by Don Easton
Donato received a visit from one of his staff members.
“The Russians are walking this way on the beach,” said Donato. “If we go back to the restaurant we should see them pass by.”
As they stood under the awning of the restaurant, Laura was the first to comment. “I think that is just about the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.
Jack saw what Laura was looking at and immediately lost his appetite. “That’s not funny,” he replied, wondering if the chicken was perhaps a little too greasy.
The Russians strolled past on the beach. They each wore Speedos, along with black socks and sandals.
Later that evening, Jack bought a bottle of rum and the three of them returned to his room.
“Here’s to catching bad guys,” said Jack, raising his glass of rum and Coke. “No matter what nationality they are—or where they are in the world.”
“And to protecting the innocent,” added Donato, as the three of them clinked the glasses in unison.
“You have pictures of your family?” asked Jack, a moment later.
Donato nodded, taking out his wallet and showing a picture of his wife, three sons, and two daughters.
“My oldest son died,” said Donato softly, pointing at the picture. “It was night. He did not see the car coming. It had no lights. He was nine.”
“I am sorry,” said Jack.
“It has left a sadness in my wife’s eyes for two years now.”
Laura swallowed, and said, “Your children look beautiful.”
Donato beamed. “They are,” he answered, before asking, “You both have children?”
Jack shook his head. “I just got married a year and a half ago.”
“That is plenty of time to make a baby,” chuckled Donato. “In Cuba, we would have two babies by then. How about you, Laura? Children?”
“My husband and I have been trying for years. I became pregnant, but ...” she stopped and her eyes watered.
“I am sorry, Laura,” said Donato. “It was rude of me to ask such a personal question.”
“It’s okay,” she replied. “I really love children. Some day I will have one to call my own.”
“Likewise,” said Jack. “Likewise.”
“Then,” said Donato, “When this is over, the both of you must return for a visit. Bring your wife, Jack, and your husband, Laura. You are welcome to share my roof with my family. I would consider it an honour.”
“Perhaps the day will come where you are also free to travel,” said Jack. “I would also consider it an honour for you to come and stay with me.”
Donato nodded, but turned his gaze to the wall, wondering if that day would ever come.
Later that night, Jack went down to the lobby and sent Natasha an e-mail. He told her that he was being well cared for by the Cubans. They have little, but are willing to share what they do have, he wrote. A very proud people. I want to return here some day—with you!
The following morning, the Russians checked out of their hotel as scheduled. A different member of Donato’s staff took on the role of taxi driver and took them to Havana.
Jack and Laura went to pay for their rooms, only to be refused. “It was already looked after,” said the desk clerk.
Early that afternoon, Donato told Jack and Laura that the Russians checked into the Hotel Nacional in Havana. A place that Donato informed them was once frequented by Hollywood movie stars and old time gangsters like Al Capone.
Donato had Jack and Laura check in at the Hotel Saint John’s. It was a much more modest hotel located about a ten-minute walk away from where the Russians were staying. Jack, Laura and Donato were still in the lobby checking in when Donato received a call.
Donato put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Jack, “It is going as expected. Moustache Pete has already made a reservation tomorrow night at Al Medina. He reserved a table for four people.”
“Four?” replied Jack.
“Apparently they are meeting two people,” replied Donato. “The Russians are now drinking triple vodkas in the bar at the Hotel Nacional. One moment please,” added Donato, as he resumed his phone conversation in Spanish. “Bueno!” he said, and hung up.
“Good news?” asked Jack.
Donato smiled and said, “Prostitutes have now been invited to join them. I think tomorrow the Russians will be exhausted and sleep late. Our work will likely not begin until dinner time.”
“It will give Laura and me a chance to see Havana,” said Jack.
“Tomorrow, perhaps around eleven, I will meet you and give you both a tour of Havana. Tonight, I ask that you excuse me. I still have work to do and ...” Donato paused.
“And you would like to sleep with your wife,” added Jack.
Donato smiled and they said goodbye.
After checking into their rooms and cleaning up, Jack and Laura went to a restaurant beside the hotel before returning for a nightcap in the hotel lobby bar.
A vocal trio called the Trio Tesis were singing Latin songs in the lobby. Jack watched as the lead singer poured his heart out in a song entitled “Yolanda.” When the trio took a break, Jack discovered that the singer spoke English and purchased a compact disc of their songs.
“You’re very good,” said Jack. “You show a lot of emotion when you sing ‘Yolanda.’ Do you know someone by that name?”
“No,” he admitted. “But when I sing it, I think of my wife. She is a doctor and has been gone many months. The government sent her to help the people in Belize for six months. Soon she will return.”
When he left, Jack turned to Laura and raised his eyebrow.
Laura knew what he was thinking. “It’s amazing,” she said. “These people are so poor, yet they can still find it in their hearts to help others.”
“Not my impression of a terrorist state,” replied Jack.
The next morning, Jack and Laura strolled through the streets of Havana. The limestone Spanish architecture of the buildings would have made Havana, at one time, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Now, most of the buildings were in a severe state of decay and were crumbling down. Inside, whole families lived in darkened vestibules. Mothers swept the limestone dust outside where children used sticks as bats to play ball amongst the rubble.
“Do you see that?” said Laura, gesturing to a young girl holding the hand of a little boy as they came out of a building that apparently was their home. The building was dark inside, with the only visible light coming from a single bulb dangling from a high ceiling on a piece of wire.
“They’re spotless,” added Laura. “The both of them.”
Jack saw the white shirts the children wore. They looked perfect. “I read a newspaper in the lobby this morning,” he said. “The paper was called Granma.”
“Granma?” asked Laura. “Sounds like you were in an old folk’s home.”
“Actually, it is the name of the official newspaper of the Central Committee of the Cuban Communist Party. Granma was the name of the yacht that brought Fidel Castro to Cuba in 1956 to start the Cuban Revolution.”
“So what’s it got to do with these children?”
“The newspaper is not what you would call a free press. But one thing was obvious. They take great pride in looking after and educating their children. There was also an article about them assisting Venezuela with their illiteracy problem.”
“Most appear to live in squalor, but ...”
“Exactly. They still work hard to improve themselves. You can see it in their faces. I’ve been through ghettos in Canada where people sat waiting for handouts. Maybe we could learn something from these people.”
“I suspect the government of Cuba is too poor to give much in the way of handouts,” replied Laura.
Jack and Laura met Donato as scheduled and he took them to a more popular tourist area in Havana. The area was comprised of a few square blocks where many of the buildings had been restored. It was also where the Arab restaurant was located. Another restaurant th
at was also a microbrewery was just down the street and they went there for lunch.
“You both went for a walk this morning,” said Donato. “What do you think of my Havana?”
“Fifty years ago, I believe that this would have been the most beautiful city on the planet,” said Jack. “It still is beautiful, but ...”
“Yes, I know,” said Donato sadly. “The American embargo. It has taken its toll. Medicine, school supplies, parts for automobiles ...”
“From what I have seen,” said Jack, “the Americans have forced the Cuban people to walk barefoot over the coals ... but they have never brought you to your knees.”
Donato smiled, and said, “They never will. Still, it is difficult to understand why amends have not been made.”
“Allowing Russia to plant missiles here to be used against the Americans—can you really blame them for the retaliation?” asked Jack.
“That was in 1962,” said Donato. “I, like most of my countrymen, weren’t even born yet. The American mafia was taking over our country. Casinos, gangsters, drugs ... was it so wrong to kick them out and invite the Russians?”
“It does seem like a long time to punish someone,” said Laura. “Will peace ever be made?”
“I have a theory on that,” said Jack, watching Donato’s face closely. “I think there is more to it than the missiles. Back in the early 1960s, Fidel was targeted by the Kennedy administration on numerous assassination attempts.”
“This is true,” said Donato, eyeing Jack curiously.
“JFK was assassinated in 1963,” continued Jack. “I think that Fidel was exasperated and struck back. I also think the CIA is aware of this and will never allow peace between your countries as long as Fidel is in power.”
Donato looked around nervously and said, “It is not good to talk of such things. No politics, please.”
For Jack, it brought home the realization that he was in a communist country. Freedom to express or exchange ideas could bring retribution.
Jack was concerned that he had upset Donato, but within minutes, Donato was smiling and later took them on a drive around the city.
They returned to the Saint John’s at four o’clock and the three of them waited in Jack’s room. The Russians had slept most of the day, but it was reported that each one was now cleaning up and getting dressed to go out.
Conversation in Jack’s room was minimal and stilted, as each wondered what tonight—and the future—would bring.
At five o’clock, Donato drove them back to the vicinity of the Al Medina. He parked the car and took them to a nearby church with a high cathedral entrance.
“You’ve got an OP in a church?” asked Jack.
“What is an OP?” asked Donato.
“Observation post.”
“Yes, I see. It is not a church anymore. The government has turned it into a museum. It is closed to the public at this hour.”
Jack was going to ask how the parishioners felt about their church being closed, but decided against it.
Donato led them to a small room in the back and they went inside and closed the door.
“We can’t see from here,” said Jack.
“It is not to see,” said Donato. “It is to listen,” he said, gesturing to a mass of electrical cord and recorders on a table. “Others will see for us,” he explained. “Don’t worry, there will be many pictures. This is for you and Laura to listen. You will hear with your own ears.”
“I would have believed you,” said Jack, realizing the work Donato went to in setting up this room. He understood why they would not have been allowed entry to the normal facility the Cubans would use for such activity.
Donato smiled and said, “Yes, my friend. I trust you, too. But if it ever happens that someone finds out that this meeting was in Havana, they may not believe what you tell them if you only receive the details from me. It is best to hear for yourselves. You may make notes if you like, but I will also supply you with a tape of what they say. You could record it on your own recorder, if you like.”
“Thanks. We’d never be allowed to enter the tapes as evidence in a Canadian courtroom, but it still might be good to have.”
Donato received a call on a portable radio and said, “They’ve just taken a taxi,” he said. “They are on their way.”
The Russians arrived about ten minutes ahead of their reservation, but their table was ready and they sat down.
Donato turned up the volume on a recorder and Jack and Laura could hear Fat Man and Moustache Pete talking to each other in Russian, over the clink of ice cubes and water being poured.
“I know their voices by now,” said Donato. “I will translate for you. Moustache Pete just said something about an incident at the airport. I do not know what airport. He said they still have to be careful.”
Jack heard the Fat Man laugh and make a comment.
Donato looked puzzled and translated. “Fat Man said, that is why they carry insurance. With the police, insurance is always good.”
Insurance? Wondered Jack. Is there a leak? A crooked cop or someone ...
“They’ve arrived,” said Donato. “Two Arab men. Expensive suits, Rolexes ...”
Jack heard the conversation switch to English when the two Arabs sat down with the Russians.
After some general polite talk, Jack heard one of the Arabs ask, “So, when can you deliver?”
“Our people in Sweden were successful,” said Moustache Pete. “We have two that would be most suitable. Sisters raised by a single mother. They’re thirteen and fifteen years old. Both have blonde hair, blue eyes, and, as we promised, their skin is as white as snow.”
Jack’s mouth gaped open in surprise. “This is white slavery!” he said. “Not drugs or terrorism at all!”
The recorder droned on. “And beautiful?” asked the Arab.
“Of course,” laughed the Fat Man. “Their mother thinks they are being accepted as models to do a photo shoot in Morocco. They are both beautiful! As promised, we will make delivery in June. Their mother is adamant about them finishing the school year.”
“And virgins ...” the Arab’s voice was lost over Jack’s outrage.
“These bastards are kidnapping kids to sell to the Arabs to be used as sex slaves!”
Laura saw a sense of relief on Donato’s face. A potential crisis with the U.S. had just been averted. She felt relieved herself, until she looked at Jack.
Is he enraged ... or in pain? He’s been around too long to be shocked by this. Why such anguish?
Back at the hotel in Jack’s room, Donato raised a glass of rum and Coke and said, “It went well tonight. I wish you every success in putting these two Russians in jail.”
“Hear, hear,” said Laura, clinking glasses.
“They will go to jail,” said Jack. “If it is the last thing I do on the section, I will see to that.”
“Perhaps, now,” said Donato, “your boss, Captain Pendejo,” he added, smiling at Laura, “will realize that they were worthy of your attention.”
“Perhaps,” said Jack, “except we can’t tell him what we learned or that we were even here. He would have us both fired. Regardless, even if I’m not in the section long, I will still get these guys.”
“Come on, Jack,” said Laura. “Like you said before, Quaile is fast-tracked up the corporate ladder. He won’t be around long. We just have to outlast him.”
“Moustache Pete and The Fat Man are going down,” said Jack adamantly, “one way or the other.”
“No problem,” said Laura, eyeing Jack curiously. “We just continue to work on them behind Quaile’s back. Knowing what we know now, I bet these two are supplying the women for Tran’s massage parlours. We could get VPD to help us, or we could help them. Now that we know what they’re really doing, it shouldn’t take us long to get the evidence we need.”
“Jack, Laura,” said Donato, “if you will excuse me, I still have work to do tonight. I will be here in the morning to take you to the airport.”
“About what?”
“You’re keeping something from me. A secret.”
“A secret?” Jack spat out the word like it was poison.
“Yes, a secret,” repeated Laura.
Jack put his glass down on the table and turned to Laura and said, “It’s funny you used that word. Let me tell you about a secret.”
By the tone of Jack’s voice, Laura knew there was nothing funny about what she was about to hear.
“Did you know I used to have three sisters and a brother?” he asked.
Laura shook her head and said, “I just knew you had an older sister, Elizabeth, who lives out near Chilliwack.”
“I was raised in a family of secrets,” said Jack. “My father was a brutal, domineering prick who ruled the house with absolute power. That power included sexually molesting my sisters from the time they were four years old.”
Laura briefly closed her eyes and said, “Oh, Jack ... I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
Jack sighed and said, “Neither did I, back then. I knew about the physical and psychological abuse ... but even as a policeman, I didn’t know about the sexual abuse until recently.”
“Jack ... I’m sorry. Maybe this is something you don’t want to talk about?”
Jack shook his head. “That is what the pedophiles like my father want. To keep everything secret. To try and make the children ... the victims, somehow think they are responsible. They make the children think that they have to keep the secret to maintain family unity. I’m not embarrassed to talk about it. No victim should be, either.”
“How did you find out?” asked Laura.
“My youngest sister, Bonnie, finally found the courage to tell me. Once I knew, then others admitted they had been victims, too. It turns out there were a lot. Neighbourhood children, relatives—even before my father was married, he visit orphanages and bring candy.”
“Classic,” said Laura.
