But they found one for him, and rescheduled the operation for the next morning. He would meet her at the coffee shop in the morning. All he had to do was drive her to the safe house. Instead he took her to the beach at Varadero, and made love to her in the sand. And now she was leaving.
He told the others she never showed that morning, and that he’d gone for a drive by himself. He knew they didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. Operations failed. He’d take the blame. There wasn’t time to reflect, anyway—another Havana rebel group was planning to ambush a police precinct that night, set it on fire, and steal their weapons. Luis’s faction would drive the get-away car.
The operation went smoothly, and they spent the rest of the night brainstorming their next move. Unlike the rebels in the mountains, urban guerrillas had different tactics. Fidel and his men could make strategic retreats to regroup, care for the wounded, and plan their next attack. But underground guerrillas had to be constant and relentless. The point was to keep Batista’s men on the defensive, demoralize them psychologically. But they had to be careful. Unlimited jail time, torture, or outright execution were the consequences if they failed.
It was practically dawn when Luis got back to the house. As he bent down to retrieve the morning paper, something caught his eye, and when he straightened up, he saw Francesca curled up on the porch. She was asleep.
“Ay Dios mio!”
She stirred and slowly opened her eyes. “Buenos dias,” she said sleepily.
Luis’s jaw dropped. “How long have you been here?”
“Since last night.” She stretched her arms and gave him a smile.
“What are you doing?”
Her smile faded. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I—I couldn’t leave you.”
“Who—does anyone know?”
“Not yet.” Anxiety clouded her face. “It is all right, isn’t it?”
He swallowed hard. In one instant everything had changed. It was counter to everything he’d planned, everything he’d worked for. He wrestled with his thoughts, then gazed at her. Whatever he did next would seal their fate.
He climbed the porch steps and took her in his arms. Relief erased her worried expression, and she touched his face. She started to chatter about her escape and the taxi—she liked to talk when she was nervous, he’d discovered—but he shushed her with his lips. She kissed him back, and soon he heard a soft whimper. He unlocked the door and sneaked her up to his room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Tony Pacelli found out his daughter had run away, he didn’t yell, and he didn’t lose his temper. His wife chain smoked, crying one minute, cursing the next. But Tony stayed in control, if only to prove to himself that no one, including his daughter, could get the drop on him.
First he questioned his wife, not an easy task.
“What happened?” he asked for the fourth or fifth time.
“I—I already told you,” she sobbed. “I woke up, went in—into her room to make sure she was up, and she wasn’t there.”
“What time was that?” he asked.
“¡Jesù Cristo! You were there. It was about seven.”
He continued to grill her. Bit by bit he discovered she’d been concealing information from him. She tearfully admitted Francesca had been seeing a local. Marlena had forbidden it, and Frankie had promised her mother it was over.
“She swore she would never see him again. Then…” Marlena spread her hands. “…this.”
Tony’s only external reaction was to raise his eyebrows. But inside his gut roiled. How could his wife have been so gullible? No one in Havana kept their promises these days. Including, apparently, his daughter. As he struggled to maintain his composure, he decided to deal with his wife later. The imperative was to find Francesca.
“And you have no idea who this local was—is?”
Marlena hiccupped and pulled at her hair with one hand. The other, holding the cigarette, was trembling. Tony figured she was remembering the time he’d been betrayed by a capo back in Chicago and what Tony had done to the man. And if this wasn’t a betrayal, what was it?
“Is he a friend? A friend of a friend? Someone we know?”
She didn’t answer.
“Marlena, we have to consider that she might have been kidnapped.”
His wife shook her head. “She went willingly.”
“How do you know?”
She gazed at him. “A woman knows.”
And does nothing to stop them, Tony thought. Not only were women the most foolish creatures on earth, they were the most useless.
Marlena’s eyes narrowed.
Tony caught it. “What is it?”
“The waiter…Ramon…”
“The one you made me fire the other day?”
She nodded.
“Is he is the one?” He felt the cords in his neck bulge. Adrenaline surged through him. A common waiter had his hands all over Tony Pacelli’s daughter?
“It is not him,” Marlena said. “But I think he knows who it is.”
Tony strode to the sliding glass door of the balcony and stared down at the Malecón. He fisted and opened his hands several times to relieve the tension. Those hands had wrung necks in his time, and he’d happily wring more. In fact, he would smash the little spic’s face in if—no, when—he found him. He turned away from the view and went to the phone.
“What are you going to do?”
He held up his index finger and called down to the hotel manager. “What was the name of the waiter we fired the other day?”
“Which one?” The manager was chatty. “The one who was stealing supplies or the one who couldn’t be bothered to come in on time?”
“Ramon.”
“Suarez. The one who was stealing.”
Tony depressed the switch button and called down to the garage. “Enrico, come up here.”
When Enrico arrived, Tony gave his instructions. “I want you to find him and bring him to me.”
“Si, Señor Pacelli.”
“Pronto. Ahora mismo.”
• • •
Frankie was so exhausted she lay down on Luis’s bed and promptly fell back to sleep. Luis wanted to lie next to her, but he was afraid to. He wasn’t a saint, but he’d never brought a girl to his room before, and he feared she might cry out or talk too loudly if he woke her.
So he sat in a chair and gazed at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breath was soft, with a hint of snoring. If he wasn’t careful, he might start making mistakes. He knew about the power of women. A woman could weave a spell over a man, rob him of his manhood.
He shifted in his chair. He shouldn’t let her stay. She would become a target—everyone would be searching for her. Letting her stay was crazy. But he didn’t want to let her go. Or was it that he couldn’t? Maybe she was a witch. Maybe she’d already woven her spell over him.
Whatever she was, they couldn’t stay here. He’d been planning to leave in any case. The fight against Batista was intensifying, and his group was carrying out more frequent operations. It was only a matter of time before the doctor figured out what Luis was up to. At which point he would kick him out. Or turn him in. Or both. Luis rose and quietly pulled out his suitcase.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lawton was a crowded working-class neighborhood about a mile south of Havana Bay where cramped tenement buildings crowded each other on the streets. Laundry pinned to clotheslines stretched between windows. Both white and black Cubans lived in Lawton, and there were way too many of both, Frankie thought. But the building exteriors were painted in bright pinks, greens, and yellows, and every so often a tree managed to thrive between them, relieving what might have been a relentlessly dour setting.
A ceiba tree grew on the front lawn of a small house Luis and Frankie were now approaching. “Is this our home?”
Luis nodded.
Frankie had woken with the sun to find Luis packing a suitcase. When he finished they crept downstairs and stole out of the hou
se. On the street, Frankie automatically headed north, the way she’d come a few hours earlier.
Luis called after her. “Where are you going?”
“To La Rampa. To hail a cab.”
“No,” he barked.
“Why not?”
“We cannot allow ourselves to be seen in public.”
“We walked together all over Havana last week.”
“That was different. You’re a runaway now. Although they will tell everyone you were kidnapped.”
“My father wouldn’t—” She stopped herself. Of course he would.
Luis emitted something between a scoff and a laugh. “In the end it does not matter who says what. The only thing that matters is that everyone will be looking for you.”
“But no one knows who I am.”
“Francesca, you must get used to a new way of thinking. You must always be thinking three steps ahead. Sift all the alternatives. Choose the most effective. Or least dangerous.”
“It’s just a taxi,” she said irritably.
Luis gazed at her. “Ramon was right.”
“About what?”
“He said you were strong-willed.” He explained that her father would be combing the city for her. He would have called the taxi companies, who would have put out calls to their drivers to be on the lookout for someone fitting her description.
Comprehension dawned, and Frankie’s irritation vanished. “Of course, mi amor. I’m sorry.” She paused. “So what do we do?”
“We wait until the buses are filled with people going to work.”
The morning air glowed with a warm orange light. They strolled down side streets, and stopped for coffee at a cafeteria. When rush hour was at its peak, they boarded a bus to Plaza Roja. They got off and walked several blocks up a hill. Then Luis turned abruptly in the opposite direction, walked three more blocks, and turned right. He repeated the pattern until they’d circled the neighborhood and ended up near the bus stop again.
Now, Frankie gazed at the lacy canopy of leaves on the ceiba tree. “You know, it’s a sin to cut down a ceiba,” she said. “You’re supposed to ask permission from the Orishas.”
Luis looked surprised. “How do you know that?”
“The ceiba is the symbol of Cuban masculinity.” She beamed. “My nanny taught me that. And it is the place where habaneros come to throw coins when they celebrate the anniversary of Havana.”
“Then perhaps you also know that in 1898, the Spanish Army in Cuba surrendered to the United States under a ceiba, which they labeled the Tree of Peace.”
She grinned at his one-upmanship. They were a match. She was about to tell him so, but a cautious look came over him, and his smile faded. He crept up to the house and cupped his ear against the thin wooden door.
An icicle of fear chilled Frankie. “Is everything all right?”
He raised a finger to his lips. After a moment, he carefully turned the doorknob. It twisted easily. He poked his head inside, then gestured for her to come in.
“Who owns this?” she said, entering the apartment.
“It belongs to the brother of one of my men. He went to the Sierra Maestra, and his wife went back to her parents, so we use the house for meetings.”
“It’s safe?”
“For now. But you never know when you may need to abandon a place at a moment’s notice. If a neighbor’s dog barks too much, if someone doesn’t like the look of you. If there’s an informant. So don’t get too comfortable.”
Frankie set her bag down and explored the house. The front room was small and sparsely furnished. No couch, one easy chair, and a few folding chairs. Yellowed window shades. No carpeting. A hall led back to a small kitchen with a table and chairs. Most of the kitchen utensils were missing. Two doors led off the hall. One opened into a tiny bathroom, the other to a bedroom so small it would fit into her closet back at La Perla.
Luis must have sensed her disappointment. “You can still change your mind, Francesca. I will take you back.”
“I will never go back.”
“But your father will come after you. You know that.”
“I will tell him I won’t leave.”
“He will not believe you.”
“How can he not? All he has to do is see us together. He will know.”
For a moment his expression made her think they would make love again, the way she’d wanted to last night before she fell asleep. Instead he swept his arm through the air. “It is not much, but the neighborhood is solid.” He paused. “Camilo Cienfuegos grew up here.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Next to Fidel and Che, he is perhaps the most important rebel. A Comandante now. The three of them met when they were in Mexico City. He’s one of the only leaders who comes from the working class, you know.”
But Frankie wasn’t interested in revolutionary history. “Luis, there’s something I need to say.”
He cocked his head.
“I love you. More than anything or anyone in the world. I changed the course of my life for you. And I’m glad I did. But there is one thing I require.”
“What is that?”
“You need to be completely honest with me. I can understand anything. Forgive anything. As long as I know the truth.”
He didn’t reply.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
He took her arm and led her to one of the folding chairs in the front room.
“What are you doing?”
“Sit,” he said.
She did.
He gazed at her, his expression inscrutable. What was he going to say? Fear skittered around in her. Was this feeling going to be a way of life from now on? She wondered if she was prepared. Then she thought of the risks she’d taken by running away. The worst was over. It had to be.
“You say you can forgive anything? Well, let’s find out.” He told her about the kidnapping scheme. His role, Ramon’s, and the others.
She listened quietly until he was finished. Then, “I thought so.”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “How?”
“Before we met in the café the first time, in Havana Vieja, I had the feeling I was being followed. And then after the mix-up with Ramon, I—”
“The plan was to kidnap you that afternoon,” he cut in. “And then again the next morning. Yesterday. But I called it off.”
“Why?”
“Because—I am in love with you.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then, “But you see, Ramon was right. His plan succeeded. You now have me exactly where you want. What’s to keep you from carrying out your original plan?”
“Me. I will not let anyone harm you.”
She allowed herself a wan smile. “What if you’re not here?”
“The only way I will not be with you is if I am dead.” He paused. “Which brings us to the thing I require from you.”
She tilted her head.
“I cannot betray the revolution. If we are to be together, I must continue the fight against Batista.”
She pressed her lips together as she weighed the risks. Given who her family was, he must know she couldn’t be that shocked. After a long moment, she nodded.
She saw his tense muscles relax.
She rose, went to him, and slipped her arms around his neck. “Now. How long before your men come?” she whispered.
“A day or two.”
“So until then, it is just the two of us?”
He nodded.
“There’s a tradition in America when two people get married. The husband carries the wife over the threshold.”
“We aren’t married.”
“Didn’t we share vows a moment ago?” She broke into a smile, a real smile this time, and went to the door. “I’m waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“They are hunting for me all over Havana,” Ramon said two nights later. He’d shown up at the safe house after midnight.
“Why?” Luis asked.
“Where have
you been, amigo?” Ramon looked annoyed. “The Pacelli girl ran away the night before she was supposed to leave Cuba. You didn’t know?”
Luis wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Ramon’s eyebrows arched. “She’s not here, is she?”
Luis hesitated then yanked a thumb towards the back of the house. “In the bedroom.”
For an instant Ramon’s eyes widened. Then he flashed Luis a dazzling smile and threw open his arms. “My brother! You did it! We did it! We are—”
Before Ramon could embrace him, Luis waved his hand. “No. No ransom.”
“Of course there is. It’s part of the plan.”
“No, Ramon.” Luis’s voice was firm.
Confusion swam across Ramon’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“She and I—we—”
“We are together.” Frankie’s voice cut in from the back of the room.
Ramon spun around. Frankie stood there, in Luis’s shirt and not much else. Her hair was mussed, as if she’d just woken up. He sputtered in disbelief. “This—this is impossible. Luis, tell her what is really going on.”
Luis met his gaze. “I did.”
Ramon’s mouth fell open. “Then, it is true? You and she—”
Luis nodded.
Ramon was speechless. Then, “You are mad. You have betrayed us. And the revolution. Everything you stand—stood for—is ruined!”
“No, Ramon,” Luis said. “I am in love.”
“The result is the same,” Ramon said. “We are finished.”
“Ramon,” Frankie said, “Luis has given me his word no danger will come to me. I trust him.” She seemed to straighten. “In return, I won’t interfere with his—your activities.”
Ramon eyed her suspiciously, then looked at Luis. “This is true?”
Luis nodded.
Ramon was quiet for a long minute. “Well, you’d better not let the rest of the men find out. They will not understand.”
[2012] Havana Lost Page 7
