by Don Easton
“With discretion?” asked Jack. “My bosses will not be informed?”
“I will recommend that it be kept secret. Perhaps you might give me some suggestions on a certain boss of mine,” he added, with a smile.
“The Russians ... you know where they are?” asked Jack.
“Yes. They are in a taxi on their way to Varadero at this moment.”
“Are they booked into a hotel?” asked Jack.
“No. They are being cautious. They told the driver that they would decide on a hotel when they arrived. That is okay. The driver is a member of my staff. Now we must go. We will get you your luggage and then you will ride with me. You will see how the Cuban police catch criminals. If these men, Petya Globenko and Styopa Ghukov, meet anyone, we will know.”
Jack glanced at Donato, who gave a slight nod of his head. I never used the Russians’ real names. Just Moustache Pete and Fat Man. “Did you search the Russians’ luggage as well?” he asked.
Donato shook his head. “Not yet. That will be done at their hotel.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier here?” asked Laura. “You wouldn’t have needed a warrant.”
“A warrant?” Donato chuckled. “We have at least one or two secret officers from the DTI at all major hotels. At customs we did not want the Russians to suspect we had any interest in them.”
“The DTI?” asked Jack.
“Sorry, you would refer to them as Intelligence Officers. The other hotel staff does not even know their identity, although, in some cases I think they suspect. It is their job to keep an eye on suspicious people. Very efficient. Do you not do the same thing in Canada?”
“No,” replied Jack with a wry smile. “Civil liberties would go berserk.”
“Ah, I understand,” replied Donato. “Your country has not faced invasions or multiple assassination attempts on your leader. Let alone be faced with an embargo that has alienated you from the world. Such things tend to make leaders more suspicious and defensive. Civil liberties become a luxury we cannot afford.”
It took four hours for them to reach the resort area at Varadero and it was eleven o’clock at night when Jack, Laura, and Donato all checked in at the Hotel Acuazul. Moustache Pete and the Fat Man had already checked in at the Hotel Islazul which was part of the same hotel complex, but was a separate building a short walk away.
Jack, Laura, and Donato’s rooms were all in a row, with Donato taking the room in the centre. Jack glanced at Donato just as the three of them were about to open their doors. He caught Jack’s glance.
“No, you’re not,” Donato said, reading Jack’s mind.
“Of course, not,” replied Jack.
“I understand. I would think the same thing,” said Donato. “Please ... I insist. You take my room.”
“It’s okay,” said Jack. “I’ve been bugged before. I have nothing to hide from you.”
“I do not want you to think that. Please, use this room and I will sleep in yours.”
“What makes you think your own people have not bugged your room as well?” asked Jack. “After all, meeting with two Intelligence Officers from another country ... you might be under suspicion yourself.”
Donato put his finger to his lips for Jack to be quiet before smiling. He then winked and stepped inside.
Minutes later, the three of them reconvened in Donato’s room. “Beer?” asked Donato. Jack and Laura both nodded.
Donato made a phone call and within minutes one of his staff was at the door and handed him a tray with six cold bottles of Bucanero.
Jack didn’t know if it was the heat and the high humidity, or perhaps just the stress of a long day, but he decided it was one of the best beers he had ever tasted.
“They have checked in for three days,” said Donato. “Now that they are in their room, they seem to be relaxed. I do not think that they suspect any police activity. They converse in Russian, but then, that is their native tongue.”
“Do you have someone on your staff who speaks Russian?” asked Laura.
Donato smiled and said, “Cuba has a huge Russian influence. Up until the collapse of the Soviet Union, they provided our country with billions. Now, those days are over. Russia has her own economic problems and has turned away from us. The embargo continues to cause us much suffering. You saw on the way here tonight. Most of our cars are old, running at night without lights. Many people are killed. One of my own children ...”
Jack picked up the sudden sorrow in Donato’s voice.
Donato realized it himself and looked embarrassed as he quickly changed his tone and said, “I am sorry. I sounded like a beggar. I am not! Enough about that.” He turned to Laura and said, “Yes, many members of my staff, including me, speak and write fluently in Russian.”
“Russian, Spanish, and English,” said Jack. “You’re not afraid to learn, are you?”
“You can also add French and German to the list. No, I am not afraid to learn. Perhaps in the next few days we will learn things from each other.”
Donato paused to answer another knock at the door. He spoke quickly to one of his men before returning and announcing, “Now, some good news. From what we have heard they have simply come to Varadero to relax and enjoy themselves ... so you two can do likewise.”
“That’s not good news,” said Jack, glumly.
“No, my friend! Let me finish. Then they plan on returning to Havana where they are meeting someone before leaving Cuba.”
“Great,” replied Jack, returning Laura’s thumbs-up sign.
“Do you know if these Russians are dealing with someone who is an Arab?” asked Donato.
“Not that we’re specifically aware of. They’ve made phone calls to several Arab countries. It is possible they could be involved with smuggling heroin or hashish out of Afghanistan. Why?”
“They mentioned a restaurant in Havana that they would be meeting at. Moustache Pete said it would make whoever they are meeting feel at home. The restaurant is called Al Medina. It is the only Arab restaurant in Havana.”
“It doesn’t really make sense to me,” admitted Jack. “If their original meeting was in Costa Rica, it should be with someone from South America arranging to bring a boatload of cocaine to Canada.”
“Perhaps Costa Rica was just a place to blend business and pleasure,” suggested Donato. “It might be drugs from Afghanistan after all.”
“Perhaps,” replied Jack. “Seizing a boatload of heroin would be even better.”
“We are conducting background checks with Moscow on Moustache Pete and the Fat Man. We will learn more about these Russian schoolteachers.”
“Russia?” said Jack, surprised. “If you get anything back at all, I imagine it will be next year sometime.”
“We have a much better relationship,” replied Donato. “I expect to hear back tonight.”
“Tonight!” said Jack in amazement. “Your relationship with Russia is far better.”
“I have a question for you,” said Donato. “How long does it take you to get information from the United States?”
“Fast ... if it is unofficial. Only a matter of minutes,” replied Jack.
“For me, it is the same with Russia. Perhaps you and I may help each other in the future,” suggested Donato.
Jack nodded and passed Donato a business card.
“Thank you,” said Donato, while reciprocating with his own business card. “Now, about these Russians, my staff will handle all the necessary surveillance and investigative duties. They will be monitored every minute they are here, so you can sit back and enjoy yourselves. I will keep you appraised.”
“I would like to see whoever they are meeting,” said Jack.
“We will have photos—but I understand. I will see what can be arranged. For the next few days, I think you can enjoy the beauty that my country has to offer. For the most part, I will remain by your side. It would not be wise for the Russians to see your faces and I will always be informed of their movements. Another cerveza?”
he asked, looking at Laura.
Laura shook her head and said, “Thanks, but no. I’m exhausted. I think it’s time for me to turn in.”
“Likewise,” said Jack, getting to his feet.
Donato’s phone rang and he answered it, speaking rapidly in Russian, but paused to look at Jack and Laura. “Wait!” he ordered, before returning to speaking Russian.
Jack and Laura each sat back down. Jack saw the surprised look on Donato’s face change to that of a frightened man.
Something is terribly wrong ...
chapter thirteen
“They’re what?” Jack couldn’t believe what he was just told. The impact was still sinking in.
“You might call them schoolteachers,” continued Donato. “Both of them did teach at various military institutions in Russia. The one you call the Fat Man has his degree in microbiology. Moustache Pete has a degree in history and was a high-ranking officer in the Russian infantry.”
The shipment will be as white as snow, thought Jack. Microbiology ... chemical warfare, anthrax?
“Jack,” said Laura. “They were looking at navigational charts around Seattle! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think all three of us are,” said Jack. No wonder Damien was scared of these guys! He knew this! Those text books in the apartment he told us about. Sure, maybe they were in Russian, but they were bound to have graphs, maybe a periodic chart of elements or a conceptual flow chart of microbes—
“Oh, man,” said Laura as she started to put everything together. “This is a plot to smuggle a dirty bomb into the States.”
Jack was still thinking of Damien. If Satans Wrath was linked with terrorists, they’d be slam-dunked by the government of every country they operated in. Half of them would end up in Guantanamo Bay, or secret prisons elsewhere in the world. Maybe never heard from again ...
“Calls to Iran, Saudi Arabia ...” continued Laura.
“This changes everything,” said Donato, quickly getting to his feet. “I must leave for Havana immediately. You will both remain in the hotel until I speak with you. Understood?”
“I understand,” said Jack. “We’ll be here.”
“We’re dealing with terrorists,” said Laura, as soon as they were alone. “It has to be! It all adds up.”
“Explains why our friend with Satans Wrath was scared and made it clear they were not involved. Tipping us off about them was just his way of covering his ass.”
“We’re going to have to tell the brass,” said Laura. “We can’t stay mum about this. We could be talking about thousands of lives here.”
“I know, but right now, it’s the Cubans who discovered this. It’s their ball game. I don’t want to do, or say anything ... without their approval.”
Laura nodded and said, “Donato is heading back to Havana, I bet we don’t see him much before noon tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” replied Jack, glancing at his watch. “I feel sorry for him tonight.”
“How so?”
“How receptive do you think Fidel will be to being woken up at this hour?”
Jack tried to sleep, but found it virtually impossible. By morning, he was just beginning to doze when the hotel came alive. After listening to the movement of hotel guests and the cheery voices of maids going about their business, he finally gave up on the idea. A cool shower helped him wake up before he put on a pair of cargo shorts and stepped out on his balcony. The day was hot, humid, and sunny.
“Can’t sleep?” called Laura.
Jack saw Laura on her own balcony and waved her over. Breakfast was included at the hotel, but, not wanting to take a chance of the Russians seeing them, they ordered room service.
Later, from their balconies, they could see the sandy white beaches and azure colour of the sea beyond. Neither one was able to appreciate the magnificent beauty as they paced back and forth in the room, trying to walk off the stress that accumulated with each passing hour.
It was ten-thirty at night when Jack answered the knock on his door and let Donato inside.
“I apologize for keeping you both waiting,” said Donato. Jack noticed that Donato was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The dark circles under his bloodshot eyes said that he hadn’t been to bed at all.
“That’s okay, Donato,” said Jack. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the two chairs in the room while he sat on the bed.
“Anything happen with the Russians today?” asked Laura.
“They drank lots and picked up prostitutes. Nothing of importance. Also nothing of importance found in their rooms.”
“Too bad,” said Jack.
“Now, on this matter,” said Donato, leaning forward in his chair. “We have a crisis that we need to discuss.”
“A crisis?” replied Jack. “I think we may have just averted one. I’m sure their meeting in Cuba is just a matter of convenience. If this turns out to be terrorists trying to attack the States, you can just notify them and be done with it. As far as Canada goes, our own Intelligence Service, along with the RCMP, will likely work with them.”
Donato shook his head and said, “It is not that easy, my friend. Are either of you familiar with the Cuban Five?”
“I never heard of it,” said Laura.
“I’ve heard of them,” said Jack. “I once did a Google search of the Cuban Five on the Internet. Lots of info, but it is difficult to understand and know who to believe.”
“Then perhaps you will believe me,” said Donato. “Our country has had many terrorist groups attack it over the years, including threats from expatriates and gangsters who are based out of Miami. In the mid-1990s we managed to get five undercover Intelligence Officers into some of the terrorist groups and uncovered plans to bring a boat full of explosives to Cuba.”
“Good going,” said Laura.
Donato shook his head to indicate she was wrong, and continued. “Our agents could have simply blown the boat up, but they were concerned that some innocent person could be injured. Perhaps an American citizen. Instead, my government informed the FBI about the boat and gave them documentation telling them who our agents were. The FBI seized the boat of explosives and arrested our five agents. That was in September 1998. They were charged with being spies in the U.S. and are still in prison.”
Oh, man, brooded Laura, sort of like Jack and I coming here ...
“So as you can see, our relationship is not good. We are concerned that the U.S. still considers us a terrorist state.
For someone now to meet on Cuban soil and plan such an attack on the U.S. ... it might give them reason to attack us, without having to say they were looking for weapons of mass destruction.”
Jack took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“Do you understand our dilemma?” asked Donato.
Jack nodded and asked, “So what do you intend to do?”
“We will help, but we would prefer to pass the information through to you. We ask that you not disclose to the Americans where this information came from or that the Russians even came to Cuba.”
“You’ve got our word on that,” said Jack.
“After all, it would appear that Cuba was simply picked as an alternative to Costa Rica. Where the meeting takes place should not matter—but we cannot risk that the Americans would feel that way. Our position is that it is what is said at the meeting that could be of significance.”
“Not where it is said,” agreed Jack.
Donato nodded.
“So, despite how the States has treated you in the past, you are still willing to help them?” asked Jack.
“Of course. Many innocent people could be hurt if action is not taken. What is your expression? Two wrongs don’t make it right? We simply prefer that they never know we helped.”
“I won’t disclose where the meeting took place,” said Jack. “I’ll say that to do so would disclose the identity of a confidential source.”
Donato gave a wry smile and said, “I presume I am that source.�
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Jack nodded and said, “I have a reputation for protecting my sources, so that is not unusual. The only problem could be with a Costa Rican policeman by the name of Eduardo. He knows we are here with the Russians, but it is extremely unlikely that he would present a problem.”
“I doubt that a Costa Rican policeman would ever connect your investigation, into what you indicated was cocaine importation, with a potential terrorist threat on the Americans.”
“Exactly. It is still a loose end, but his interest in the matter was only in relation to what was happening in Costa Rica.”
“If he ever did say something, then so be it.”
“Eduardo seemed like a good type. He did promise to keep our trip here secret.”
“Of course. To protect you from your boss ... the asshole,” said Donato.
“Yes, the pendejo,” said Laura.
Donato gave a faint smile and said, “Very good, Laura. Now you know two words of Spanish.”
Late the following morning, Jack, Laura, and Donato dressed in beach clothes and walked along a short street leading to the beach. On the way, Jack noticed a chain-link fence and a sign.
“Laura, look,” he said.
Behind the chain-link fence was a sign with two small Canadian flags attached. The sign identified the place as the Canadian consulate.
“Open from one-thirty to five-thirty every day except Wednesday and Sunday,” commented Laura, reading the sign. “Think we should pop in later and say hello?”
“Hell, no! I don’t even want to walk past this place again.”
The beach was the nicest of any Jack had ever seen. The sand was white and clean and his bare feet felt like he was walking on warm velvet. Any of the locals he encountered were quick with a smile.
They found a small restaurant facing the beach where four musicians strummed guitars and beat lively Latin music. They all ordered beer and a quarter roasted chicken that they took down to the beach, where they sat on lounge chairs and dangled their feet in the water. Jack decided that the cold Bucanero tasted just as good as it had the first night he arrived and for a moment, could feel his body start to relax.
