The Betrayal Game - [Mikhal Lammeck 02]

by David L. Robbins

  Calendar dropped the tarp. He looked one more time to the rear of the safe house. No one watched him. He mopped water out of his eyebrows. Time to go inside and get rid of the heartburn that busted plans always gave him.

  The kitchen door was unlocked. Calendar quietly pushed in. No one greeted him. He grabbed a dish towel off a rack to dry his face, arms, and hands. Then he stepped into the living room.

  Felix sat collapsed in a chair in the center of the room, head slumped to his chest. By his color, Calendar could tell he’d lost a lot of blood. Felix looked up. He was not tied to the chair. His arms hung lifeless at his sides. Crimson dribbled down his long forearms below his guayabera. Felix’s big fingers dripped into red pools shining on the marble floor. Both shoulders had been badly gashed. Felix’s wounds looked professionally done.

  Calendar wasn’t sorry for him.

  In front of Felix stood Lammeck. The professor’s right arm was also drenched in blood. Four others from Felix’s cadre of gamblers stood behind Lammeck.

  Weakly, Felix parted his lips to say something. Calendar spoke first.

  “Professor.”

  Lammeck’s bearded face seemed blank, as drained as Felix’s.

  Calendar beckoned him with a curling finger. “In the kitchen.”

  Felix dropped his head.

  Calendar waited for Lammeck to shuffle past him into the little kitchen. He pointed at one of the men.

  “Diego, get out back. Clean that car inside and out.”

  The mulatto started to object because of the rain, then shut his mouth. He stalked past Calendar to grab paper towels and a bucket from a closet. To the three others around bleeding Felix, Calendar held up a flat palm, for them to stand pat and do nothing until he said otherwise.

  In the kitchen, Calendar added to his directions for Diego: keep the Cadillac under the tarp until dark, then drive it to Matanzas; strip the license plates and leave the car with the keys in the ignition. Diego accepted this, and with his supplies left out the back door into the downpour.

  Calendar walked up to Lammeck, assessing him. The old man’s arms and bearded face were scratched, but the right palm seemed his only serious injury.

  “You alright?”

  “Not by much, but yeah.”

  “How long you been here?”

  “Maybe thirty minutes. I’m not sure.”

  Calendar poked his chin back toward the living room. “You do that?”

  Lammeck nodded.

  “I said you wouldn’t see me again if things went well. I guess that was too much to hope for. Alright. Let’s tend to that paw.”

  Calendar turned on the tap to warm the water. From a cabinet he took a white dish towel. “Turn around.”

  He put a hand on the professor’s beefy shoulder to turn him. Swiftly, he unsheathed the bone-handled knife he knew Lammeck kept in his waistband. Blood clotted along the razor edge of the dagger. Lammeck made no remark that the agent held his weapon.

  Calendar cleaned the knife in the sink, then used it to cut the towel into strips.

  He put his hand out, snapping his fingers. The professor winced when his gash was pulled under the running tap water. Calendar scrubbed off the dried blood to look at the wound. He spread apart the flesh; a clean slice. Bandages and a month would heal it.

  Calendar shut off the water. He began to wrap the hand with the strips. “What happened?”

  Lammeck watched his hand being swathed. The corners of his eyes flinched.

  “Heitor Ferrer set up a meeting with Alek. Soldiers raided it.”

  “Where’s Alek?”

  “He and I jumped out a window. Heitor gave me the plans.” Lammeck sent his gaze to a crumpled scroll on the countertop, then back to his hand. “The soldiers kicked the door in. Everyone started shooting. I fell out the window into the yard and cut my hand.”

  Lammeck hadn’t answered the question. Calendar tugged a cloth strip tighter, felt Lammeck flinch.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Lammeck. Where’s Alek?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Calendar knotted the last of the bandage. He stepped back, leaning his rear against the counter. “You don’t know?”

  “A soldier saw us in the alley. Alek and I ran together for a block, then he jumped through a hedge into somebody else’s backyard and disappeared. The soldier followed me. I rounded a corner and there was Felix in his car.”

  Calendar nodded. He picked Lammeck’s knife off the counter-top, examined the black handle. The heft of the old dagger was superb, perfectly balanced. He tested the blade’s edge. Lammeck kept it honed.

  “Calendar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Felix grabbed me. He yelled and tried to hold me for the soldier. He was the one who informed on the meeting.”

  “Seems that way. So you cut him up and brought him here.”

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “You did right, Professor, you did right. Nice job, by the way. Very skilled. Now, tell me something. What were you doing there? Far as I know, you weren’t supposed to be at that meeting.”

  “Rina, Alek’s fiancée—”

  “I know who she is.”

  “I bumped into her last night at the Nacional casino, before I delivered the pills. She asked me to go with him. To protect him.”

  Calendar chewed on this for a moment. “Why would she ask you to do that?”

  The professor slid out a kitchen chair and sat. He rested his wrapped hand across his lap.

  “I don’t think she knew what the meeting was for. But Alek tells her a lot. She was worried.”

  “I’ll have a word with the boy when I get my hands on him.”

  “I didn’t sit in on the meeting. I stayed outside.”

  “Have you looked at those plans?”

  “No. What’s going to happen to Heitor and his wife? The others?”

  “They’re already dead, or they will be. Executed. Questioned first. By the way, that’s a good damn reason for you not to have been there. Now, because you’re pigheaded, we have a problem. If Heitor’s alive, he’s in Castro’s jail. He knows your name and that you’re involved with Alek. The others know your face. And you know me.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “I’ll bet you are. Anyway, we’ll see how long they can hold out. I never met Heitor or his crew, but the Unidad guys understand the stakes. They’ll buy us a few days. That’s all we need. Now tell me about Felix. What’s he said?”

  “Only that he wouldn’t talk ‘til you got here.”

  “Good.” Calendar patted the flat of Lammeck’s long blade against his palm. “Good.”

  He took the bone handle in his right fist, locking eyes on Lammeck.

  Something on his face made the old man stand from his chair, hold out his one good hand.

  Lammeck said, “No.”

  “Don’t worry, Professor.” Calendar shook his head. “It ain’t you.”

  He left the kitchen, fingers tightening on the dagger. The gamblers in the living room made no move to intercept him. Sensing the professor at his back, Calendar closed the distance, dropped his right shoulder, and drove forward.

  He stabbed Felix with such force that the chair toppled backward.

  The chair back hit the floor. Calendar landed on top of Felix, using the concussion to shove the knife all the way to the hilt. He twisted the blade, widening the channel for the blood to run out. The effort made him grunt, like winding a large and difficult clock. Felix’s open mouth gasped. The man’s pupils rolled upward. Calendar cranked the blade one more time and heard only an empty exhale, a dead bellows. He rolled off the body, listening to his own quick breathing now.

  No one helped him off the floor. The gamblers stood back, gaping and waxen. When he stood, Calendar glared down at Felix, still in the upended chair. His arms were spread wide, an odd, welcoming sort of posture. Calendar set a foot on Felix’s ribs, careful not to step in the blood-soaked cloth of the guayabera. He leaned down to
yank the black bone handle of Lammeck’s knife out of the man’s heart.

  “Get a rug,” he ordered. “Roll him up in it. After sundown, put him in the trunk of the Cadillac before Diego takes it to Matanzas.”

  He turned away from the corpse, holding the knife. Lammeck stood there, like Calendar, in bloody clothes. The two looked like slaughterhouse workers.

  “Professor, you want to say something?” He heard the snarl in his own voice.

  “What could I possibly say to you? What would make a difference?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then I’ll just shut up before you tell me to.”

  Calendar walked past him into the kitchen. “I’m gonna shower and change clothes. When I’m done, I’ve got a car a few blocks from here. I’ll drive you back to Miramar.”

  He dumped the knife into the sink. Let the professor wash it.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Luyano

  ON THE DRIVE TO Miramar, Lammeck searched the agent for some mark of the killing. He saw none, no speck of blood under the man’s nails, not a telling word or glance. The deed had been erased from Calendar, while Lammeck still wore ripped clothes sprayed with Felix’s blood and his own; the murder weapon was in Lammeck’s waistband. He considered this an example of Calendar’s peculiar genius, the ability to have others appear guilty in his place.

  The agent knew the city well. He took a backstreet route west to Lammeck’s house. The rain kept the Habaneros inside; this was the first time Lammeck had seen the city without its vendors, strollers, workers crowding the ways, cobbled squares, and cafes. Damp, quiet Havana seemed aged and dingy.

  Lammeck’s bandaged hand pulsed with the windshield wipers, the cut started to sting. Calendar drove the Czech car without speaking. This annoyed Lammeck, who’d taken beatings, gashes, and scares in Calendar’s service, then witnessed him commit a brutal killing. Questions swam in Lammeck’s head: Where was Alek? Why did Calendar murder Felix without questioning him first? What about Rina? Was the sniping plot canceled? Would Calendar give the signal for the poison pills now? He watched the agent’s face, asking nothing. Again, Lammeck submitted himself to Calendar’s authority and threat, silently chafing at it.

  At the house in Miramar, Calendar pulled to the curb. The agent seemed uncomfortable out in the open like this, given his penchant for gloom and alleys. Perhaps he allowed himself this indulgence because of the drizzle; Lammeck didn’t inquire but opened the car door without acknowledging the favor of the ride. Calendar shut down the Skoda and got out behind him.

  “What are you doing?” Lammeck asked.

  “Just making sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “Gimme me your key, Professor.”

  Lammeck handed it over. Calendar walked in the lead. Opening the front door, he strode inside. Lammeck moved onto the porch, out of the rain, and stopped.

  Calendar paced through the house quickly, room to room. He stepped over cushions thrown to the floor, the spilled contents of closets and cabinets. The back door hung wide open. A glass pane in it had been smashed, broken bits reflected the day’s gray light.

  Lammeck entered and hurried to the kitchen. He saw what he expected. All the cabinet doors were flung open.

  “It’s gone.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Calendar said, standing beside him.

  The agent left the kitchen, headed for the front door. Lammeck followed. He watched Calendar go to the car and return with the rolled-up plans for the assassination.

  Inside, Calendar stooped to pick a cushion off the floor, replaced it on the sofa, and sat. He spread the plans on the coffee table. “Well, we know the kid got away clean. Come over here and look at this.”

  “What’re you saying?” Lammeck refused to move.

  When Calendar did not look up, Lammeck answered his own question.

  “You mean Alek’s still going through with this.”

  “Looks that way.”

  Lammeck couldn’t believe his senses. The whole operation had collapsed. There’d been a betrayal, a raid, shooting, arrests. People had died, the rest were in prison. And Alek was still going to try and assassinate Fidel on his own! This was incredible.

  “Come over here.”

  “No. Calendar, for God’s sake, the mission’s blown.”

  “The kid doesn’t think it is. Now come look at the plans.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we gotta stop him.”

  This was the last thing Lammeck expected him to say.

  “I thought you wanted Castro dead.”

  The agent ran a meaty hand over his crew cut, displeased with having to explain himself.

  “I do. But nothing is gonna be allowed to implicate the United States. Understand me, Professor. Hidell is gonna get himself caught. There’s no doubt about that. He might be a good shot, you might’ve taught him some tricks, but he’s a lousy little spy. He’ll talk, he’ll show off, he’ll do something stupid, and he’s fucked. Or one of Heitor’s boys’ll break early, and a search will go up all over the island for the kid. Any way you look at it, he’s got no backup support, no vehicle, no escape route, no alibi. He’s headed for a Cuban jail. And the worst that can happen? He’ll actually manage somehow to pop Fidel before he gets grabbed. That’s an international incident the CIA seriously wants to avoid. At any cost. And I mean any cost. So you’ve got to find him. Fast.”

  Lammeck crammed a finger into his own chest. “Me?”

  “The book on you is nobody in the world knows assassins better. So figure out what he’s gonna try and head him off. He likes you, he trusts you. You’re the only one who can bring him in with no commotion.” The agent tapped the sheet in front of him. “Alek has this plan in his head. He broke into your house for the rifle. So he’s still going after Castro. He thinks he can do this all by himself. Before that happens, you find him, you stop him, and you bring him to me in Luyano.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I hustle him and his Russian off the island before the invasion hits.”

  Lammeck recalled what he’d seen of Calendar only one hour ago, the last time someone crossed him up. “Like Felix?”

  “Felix was a double-dealing piece of shit. The kid’s just doing the job I gave him. Big difference.”

  “A few things first.” It rang false that Calendar cared a whit about Alek and Rina. The CIA would sacrifice all of them without hesitation, to preserve plausible deniability for America. At any cost.

  Calendar leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms. “You know me, Professor. I’m not much for negotiating.”

  “What about Rina?”

  “Leave her in the dark. If you have to, you can ask her questions but under no circumstances are you to let her know what Alek’s involved in. If she can help you find him, use her. If not, she’s off limits. Next.”

  “Why isn’t Alek walking away? What’s the CIA got on him?”

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I’ve got to figure out what’s driving him. How badly he wants to go through with it. So I need to know what you’ve got on him.”

  “I’ve already told you, Professor. But you weren’t paying attention. Think back.” Calendar tapped the finger against his temple. “You asked me what I’d do if Alek didn’t go through with the job. What’d I say?”

  Lammeck flashed back to yesterday, in the early morning darkness. To Calendar’s voice at the foot of his bed, a skulking shadow in the room. You want to argue with me about this, Professor?

  Yes.

  We ship the kid back to Mother Russia. And we let him stay there.

  Lammeck recalled, too, Alek’s plea in the scorched field.

  Promise you won’t try to stop me.

  “He wants to come home. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you’re holding over his head. The U.S.”

  “I guess the workers’ paradise wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Look, the deal’s simple. The kid kills Cast
ro, he gets a ticket back to America. He refuses, he rots in Russia.”

  “Does Rina know he wants to leave?”