Die Run Hide

by P. M. Kavanaugh

  “I need to think about it.” The breeze coming from the sea chilled her back where a patch of sweat had formed.

  “Of course.” Señor Alejo bowed his head. “But please, you should know there’s nothing to worry about. Even if the Ministerio objects to your renting the room, the worst that can happen is I’ll have to pay a fine. You won’t be bothered, as long as your papers are in order.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Can I let you know tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I’ll be delighted to hold it for you until then.”

  Back out on the street, Señor Alejo bid her “buenas noches” and tipped his hat in farewell before heading down the boulevard that was now beginning to pulse with people dressed for a night out.

  Anika spotted her teenage driver across the street. The girl lounged against the seawall next to a Cubano who looked about her age. She was laughing at something he had just said when she saw Anika.

  Instantly, she turned away from the young man. He reached for her arm, but she shook him off and sprinted through the traffic. Anika held her breath until the girl made it back to her rickshaw.

  “Do you always rush into traffic like that?”

  “Always! It’s exciting, no?” The girl flashed a smile. “Ready to go to your hotel, señorita?”

  “Call me Jane. I need to stop at a computer center. Is there one on the way?”

  “They’re all closed by now.”

  “Closed? But it’s early. Not even eighteen hundred.” Frustration fizzed in her veins. “I mean,” she said, converting to civilian time, “six o’clock.”

  “They close early on Wednesdays.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” The girl shrugged and straddled her bike seat. “That’s Cuba.”

  “Then I guess you can drive me to the Santa Isabel. But take your time getting there. I’m not in a hurry and I’d like to arrive in one piece.”

  “Sí, Señorita Jane. I haven’t lost a passenger yet.” The girl flicked her bell. “Ready?”

  Anika nodded, but didn’t move right away from her place on the sidewalk. The sky looked like a tangerine-and-scarlet shawl fringed with gold. Dozens of people sat on the seawall to watch the sunset. Kids chased one another along the wide ledge, running over and around the adults.

  A pair of young lovers sat side by side, facing the water. A lock of the woman’s hair came loose from the knot atop her head. Her boyfriend smoothed it back and began playing with the silver circle on her shoulder-length earring. His hair was a darker version of Gianni’s, thick and straight and worn in a half-ponytail.

  Watching them, Anika’s throat tightened. She tried picturing herself with Gianni, their arms wrapped around each other, enjoying a private moment in a public place, unconcerned about their location and anyone nearby. But the picture wouldn’t hold. They had never had that kind of relationship. And they never would.

  She turned her gaze away.

  “You know them?” The girl jerked her head toward the couple.

  “What? Who?” Anika shook her head, embarrassed that she had been caught in her reverie.

  “The lovey-dovey ones. They were watching you. When you came out of the house and said good-bye to the old man.”

  “His name is Señor Alejo.” Anika looked back at the couple, who still sat close together, their backs to her. “I don’t know them. Are you sure they were watching me? Maybe they’re just interested in the room for rent.”

  “The guy was definitely checking you out. Until his girlfriend jerked on his ponytail. Probably just jealous. You Americans are always trying to steal our men, with your foreign currency and your promises of sex.” The girl grinned at her, a spark of mischief in her dark brown eyes.

  Anika laughed out loud. “First of all, I’m Canadian. And secondly, I’m not interested in stealing your men. Right now, all I want is to get back to my hotel. Safely.” She climbed into the rickshaw and settled against the hard seat. And I want a drink. Tall, cool, and mind-numbing.

  Chapter 16

  Anika slid her hands down the aquamarine skirt she had purchased earlier that day and adjusted the shoulder-length earrings. She hoped she looked the part of a tourist out for a nice meal.

  No computerized voice greeted her at the front door of the house. The concierge at the hotel had suggested this paladare, a mini-restaurant that operated out of a family home, one of the few types of private enterprises legally authorized by the Gonzalez government.

  Anika scanned the immediate area, but didn’t find a security monitor. Not even an intercom or buzzer.

  Her plan to eat at the hotel had changed abruptly when one of the ball-capped men from this morning’s tour group had found her in the bar and asked her to join him and his friend for the evening. Claiming a prior commitment, Anika had thrust her unfinished drink into the man’s hand, dashed out of the hotel and into a taxi.

  Now, the taxi had driven off, the concierge had assured her this place served excellent food, and her stomach growled to be fed. Despite the weeds hanging like green dreadlocks from the dilapidated terrace, she had decided to stay. If only she could figure out how to get inside.

  She reached for the doorknob. Locked.

  Voices and laughter burbled through the door like a quick moving stream.

  She knocked. No response. She raised her hand again, but before her knuckles hit the wood, the door swung open.

  “Señorita Brown?” A middle-aged man, with short dark hair and brown eyes, stood on the threshold. Though slightly out of breath, he greeted her with a warm friendly gaze. “I’m Señor Estrada. Welcome.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. “The concierge from the Santa Isabel just called. Please come in.”

  Anika stepped inside a small foyer. Mouth-watering smells of onion, garlic, and chilies teased her empty stomach.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Señor Estrada said. “Excuse me for a moment.” He turned toward the hallway behind him. “Nicolas,” he called out. “¡Ahora!”

  “Sí, Papi,” a male voice replied.

  “My son,” he explained, turning back to Anika. “Trying to pull him away from his computer games is like trying to peel glue off paper.”

  Computer? Hope sparked in her. Down there?

  The taxi had driven past two computer centers on the way here, their dark interiors a taunting reminder of her failure to connect with Gianni. She reached for the St. Jude medal around her neck. Maybe she could make contact after all.

  “I know what you mean,” she said. “I teach high school back in Toronto.”

  “Ah, then you do understand. Please, follow me. The others have just sat down. The concierge explained we serve family-style, I hope?”

  Señor Estrada led her inside what looked like the house’s living room. Six people sat around a large rectangular table.

  Anika catalogued details on each one.

  Naomi, shoulder-length blond, late twenties, Australian.

  Sister Judy, short-haired brunette, freckles.

  The Bosserts. Middle-aged couple. Danish. Ruddy cheeks. Kind faces.

  The Mottesis. Older, mid-seventies. Argentinians. Wife, dark haired, stern expression. No obvious enhancements. Husband, salt-and-pepper. Distinguished looking.

  Anika chose an open seat that allowed her to face out, with her back against the wall. She had a view of the front door, another one through the window on her left and a clear exit.

  When she sat down and realized what she had been doing — filing away descriptions, identifying a safe exit — she wasn’t happy to know she was still being controlled by her training.

  “Lemonade, Jane?” Naomi sat across from her and held up a pitcher.

  Anika’s eyes trailed to the woman’s hands and zeroed in on her lilac-colored nails. Lilac. Jewel. Was that the only nail color available this season?

  “Yes, thanks.” She forced a smile and held up her glass. Her fingers itched to get to the computer located a few short meters away. “When did you arrive in Cu
ba?”

  “Three days ago.” Naomi tilted her head at her sister. “Our first trip. How about you?”

  “First time for me, too.”

  “Be sure to go to the glass exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes.” Mrs. Bossert spoke up. “Thomas and I went there yesterday. It’s stunning.”

  “I’d rather have gone to a cigar factory,” her husband muttered.

  Señor Estrada pushed aside the rose-colored curtain that separated the room from the kitchen. In each hand was a large platter piled high with food. A teenage boy followed him with more dishes. The boredom on the boy’s face told Anika he was Nicolas, the avid gamer.

  I need to get to that computer.

  She started to ask for directions to the bathroom when the front door opened and a tall slender man with light brown hair entered the foyer.

  Anika recognized him from this afternoon. Her neck tingled a warning. Was it just coincidence that he had shown up here?

  Señor Estrada glanced over. The platters slipped from his hands and thudded on the table. “Excuse me one moment.” He hurried over to the visitor and greeted him with welcoming cries.

  “Maria,” he called toward the kitchen.

  A woman with dark upswept hair and a frazzled expression poked her head around the curtain. “¿Qué pasa?”

  Upon seeing the visitor, however, her expression changed from irritation to delight and she rushed into the room, her arms outstretched. She embraced the visitor, who lifted her off her feet and twirled her around in a circle, both of them laughing.

  All conversation and activity at the table stopped. The sisters nudged each other.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” The man ducked his head under the archway and stepped into the dining room. When he saw Anika, his eyes widened. So did his smile. “Hello, again.”

  He had on the same blue shirt and khaki trousers and his knuckles had turned multiple shades of black and blue.

  “You two know each other?” Naomi asked.

  “Jane saved me from a nasty run-in with a bus earlier today.”

  “I was just in the right place at the right time. A lucky break,” Anika said. But she didn’t believe in luck. Especially not the good kind.

  “I’m Brad.”

  Naomi twirled a lock of hair around her finger and patted the seat next to her. “Have a seat, Brad. I’m Naomi and this is my sister, Judy.” She handled the rest of the introductions then passed him a platter of shredded pork and started firing off questions.

  Good-naturedly, Brad answered all of them. He’s visiting from the States. No, this isn’t his first time in Cuba. Yes, he’s American, but as a college professor, he’s allowed unrestricted travel courtesy of an educational visa. He teaches world history at Berkeley University in California North. No, he isn’t staying in Cuba much longer.

  After a polite back-and-forth about how much the women were enjoying their trip, Brad turned to Anika.

  “How about you, Jane? Is this your first visit or have you been to Cuba before?”

  “Oh, it’s her first time,” Naomi said.

  “You’re in for an adventure,” Brad said. “There’s no place in this world like Cuba.”

  “I’m not looking for adventure.”

  “We are!” Naomi elbowed her sister. “Aren’t we, Judy?”

  “What are you looking for?” Brad kept his gaze on Anika.

  She could see him studying her, his eyes moving down her face, to the dangle of her earrings, the drape of her ponytail, the curve of her neckline. Why was he so interested? Was it innocent attraction? Or had he been sent to find her?

  “Right now, I’m looking for the bathroom.” Anika raised her eyebrows. “Do you know where it is?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Brad smiled. “Down the hallway, second door on the right.”

  Naomi leaned in toward him. “Brad, what are your suggestions for two girls who are looking for adventure?”

  Anika skirted the corner of the table and headed for the hallway. At its entrance, she counted three doors on the left and two on the right. Judging from the strength and direction of the teenager’s voice when he had responded to his father’s impatient command, she guessed his room was the last one on the left.

  Behind the unlocked door, she found a computer that looked a lot like the relics she had trained on at the orphanage. She pressed the power button. Nothing.

  She tried it again and the computer started up with a low hum. With her fingers on the keyboard, she prepared to type in the private channel. But when the screen came to life, she froze at the bold-typed warning that flashed across its surface.

  ¡ALERTA! ¡ESTAS PERSONAS NO SE HAN INSCRITO CON LA POLICÍA!

  Underneath the caption, smaller text requested the public’s help in providing the police with information on the whereabouts of the unregistered foreigners shown below. Thirty pictures — mostly women — dotted the screen. Anika’s image appeared second row, fourth from the left. Underneath each picture were names, countries of origin, dates.

  She breathed a little easier when she saw that the information under her picture was the same as her alias. Still, she didn’t like knowing her face was being displayed on computer screens around Havana.

  Was that why Brad had been studying her across the table? Had he seen this alert?

  She blew out a short breath. Typed in the private channel and made a silent wish.

  Be here. Please be here.

  The monitor flickered and she thought for a second her wish had been granted. Then the room plunged into darkness. The laughter from the dining room died.

  Her adrenaline kicked in and she reached for the Glock strapped to her side. She exited the room, moving on instinct and training, senses on high alert. She backtracked down the dark hall, guided by memory and excited voices.

  “Second blackout since we arrived … ”

  “Can’t believe this is the middle of the twenty-first century … ”

  “ … worse than Argentina.”

  “ … damn country can’t keep the lights on.”

  “Thomas, please … ”

  Anika rounded the corner.

  No light penetrated the dining room, despite the sheer curtains at the windows. The streetlights were out. So maybe this was a legitimate blackout.

  “ … kind of fun. What about you, Brad?”

  Something clicked and a tiny light glowed from a tube in Brad’s outstretched palm.

  “Where’s Jane?” Mr. Mottesi asked.

  “I’m here.” Anika slipped into her seat, the gun tucked out of sight.

  The Estradas brought out candles.

  “Are you all right?” Brad asked her.

  “Of course.” She slowed her breath. “It’s only a blackout, right?” Not a raid, not a mission, she told herself. Not even a drill like the kind U.N.I.T. used to spring on first- and second-year trainees. She glanced at the miniature glow stick Brad had activated. “You’re well-prepared.” Like a field operative.

  “Blackouts are pretty common here.”

  “I like them,” Naomi declared. “They’re romantic, don’t you think?” She and Judy giggled like middle schoolers.

  Anika turned to Mrs. Bossert who was digging into her food with relish. “Are you and your husband sightseeing tomorrow? Maybe we could meet up.”

  And maybe you could help me avoid the police.

  “We’d like that. Unfortunately, this is our last night in Cuba. We leave for Copenhagen in the morning.” Mrs. Bossert dropped her voice and flicked a glance at Brad. “I have a feeling he would be more than happy to show you around.”

  Across the table, Naomi monopolized Brad. Her hand kept darting out to touch his arm every few words.

  Anika read his body language. His upper body faced forward and he kept his arm firmly on the table, marking his boundary. You’re being polite. If you were really interested, you’d turn toward her and lower your arm.

  “When did you say you’re heading back to the States,
Brad?” Anika cut Naomi off in mid-sentence.

  “In two more days.” He turned toward her.

  “Judy and I haven’t made any plans for tomorrow.” Naomi extended her hand again. “Would you like — ” Lemonade sloshed out of her overturned glass and spilled into her lap. She jumped up. “What the — ”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Anika held up the pitcher of lemonade. “I was just trying to refill your glass when I knocked it over.” A large wet spot spread across the front of Naomi’s skirt. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

  “Excuse me.” Naomi spoke through a tight jaw. Her heels rapped against the wood floor as she walked away from the table.

  “Any special plans before you go home?” Anika picked up the plantains and presented them to Brad.

  “Not really.” He reached for the bowl of pale yellow crunchy strips. “What about you?”

  “I’m waiting for inspiration.” Anika made sure her fingers brushed his before she released the bowl.

  “Maybe I could help with that.”

  “It sounds as if you know Havana quite well. Have you spent your entire time here?”

  “No, I just returned yesterday. On this visit, I’ve been staying near Guardalavaca.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Farther south, along the coast. It’s a resort town, west of Holguin. I rented a cottage from a cousin of the Estradas. Right on the beach.”

  “It sounds charming.”

  “It’s a bit primitive by Western standards, but perfect for my needs.”

  Anika smiled at him and watched the effect it had. A swallow, a slight flush of the cheeks.

  Naomi reappeared, her face composed despite the wet spot on her skirt that had grown to the size of a dinner platter. “What did I miss?” She started to sit.

  “Careful.” Anika held up her hand. “The chair’s still damp.”

  “This one’s dry.” Mr. Mottesi pulled back the chair next to him.

  Naomi’s lips tightened and she flounced away.

  “What do you do in Toronto, Jane?” Brad asked.

  “I teach art to high schoolers.”

  “So you’re a teacher, too!”