“It’s not that. Believe it or not, I’ve used the vomit technique myself.” Brad’s head shot up to meet her eyes. “Quite recently.” She smiled at him.
“I know Cuba. I have friends here. I can help.”
She shook her head.
“I do a good fake. You said so yourself.”
“You weren’t faking.”
“I will be. Next time. Let me help.”
“If you want to help, contact the police. Tell them you were attacked. You fought back and the woman got shot.” Anika wiped the First Aryan’s gun clean of her prints, emptied the magazine, and handed the weapon to Brad. “Keep your story simple. Don’t use the exact words every time. Say you can’t remember some things. You’ll sound more believable.”
“Why won’t you let me help? You can trust me, you know.”
“I do. But I’m waiting for someone. And when he gets here … ” She spread out her hands to finish the sentence.
“Oh.” Brad’s eyes widened. “Lucky guy,” he whispered.
No, not really. Not at all.
“Go to the cottage anyway. The train to Holguin leaves in the morning. Just after seven. With no delays, you’ll be there by tomorrow night. I’ll let the Estradas know you’re coming.”
She could contact Gianni from there. Let him know she had been forced to leave Havana, but that she was still waiting for him.
“We need to get them out of the street.” She nodded at the two bodies lying on the ground.
“I’ll take care of it. Here.” Brad tucked the gun into his waistband, bent to pick up the knapsack, and handed it to her. “And when you meet Maggie Estrada, let her know about your leg. Like I said, she’s a medical magician.”
“Make it a good fake. With the policía.” Anika clasped his hand between both of hers. “Now I owe you.”
“Tell me who you are.”
She raised one hand to his face and gently rubbed away the blood. “I’m Jane.”
“I’ll always remember you, Jane.” His fingers tightened on hers.
“Don’t.” She squeezed his hand to soften her words. “Don’t remember.”
Chapter 22
Anika slipped off her sunshades and walked down the aisle of the train to the last row of bench seats. The boy saving her place looked at her, his round brown eyes two giant question marks. She nodded and smiled. He had found a seat matching her exact specifications — in a corner, by a window, near an exit.
He jumped up and almost spilled the two boxes of cellophane-wrapped gum in his lap.
“¿Cuánto?” she asked.
“Diez,” the boy answered, pride swelling his thin chest.
“Muy bien.”
Anika concluded their deal by buying twenty packets of gum, twice what the boy had sold to the policeman who had been strolling the train station when she first arrived that morning. Clearly, the boy had followed her instructions to be persistent with the official in trying to make a sale. When she had risked a glance from her hiding place in the bathroom during the final departure call for Holguin, the policeman was nowhere in sight.
With a final “gracias,” the boy scampered up the aisle, his coltish legs poking out from oversized shorts.
She took the corner seat and winced from the contact with the too-thinly padded cushions. The aspirin capsules from the bathroom vending machine were no substitute for the pain blockers left behind at the Santa Isabel along with the numbing gel, contact lenses, facial tape, and other supplies.
They were all probably being catalogued and analyzed by whoever had been in her room when she had returned to the hotel after the attack in the alley. From the shadows of the Plaza de Armas, she had studied the rim of light edging the balcony doors of her room and wondered who was inside.
The police? MININT? More First Aryans? She hadn’t stayed to find out, but relocated to a rundown hotel near the train station where the desk clerk cared more about pocketing an extra currency note than checking her papers.
She tugged on the ball cap borrowed from a man asleep in the doorway of last night’s grungy accommodations. The cap smelled of grease and diesel but it provided some protection from curious eyes.
She had made good use of the in-between time inside the bathroom. The gun wrap was snugged around the outside of her skirt and the Glock hidden at the bottom of the knapsack. She had rolled some of the skirt under the stretchy material to hide the worst of the damage from the fight. And she had traded the sparkly impractical sandals for a sturdy pair worn by a teenager who had been complaining about her mother’s complete disregard for fashion. At least now, Anika didn’t have to worry about blisters on top of her other aches.
The train chugged out of the station, wheels rumbling and windows rattling. She was grateful to be leaving Havana with its policía, Ministerio del Interior, and enemies of U.N.I.T. Her stomach unknotted and her fingers relaxed their hold on the knapsack. Ten slow breaths later, her eyes started to close.
The first time the train lurched to an unexpected stop in the middle of the countryside, she bolted upright.
Was the stop because of her? Had they found out she was on board?
She swiveled her head and checked the windows on both sides of the aisle. Fields of a bluish-green crop stretched into the distance. No vehicles sped up to the tracks, no armed hostiles charged aboard.
The other passengers carried on as before, dozing in their seats, playing card games, fiddling with clunky antiquated handhelds, chatting with their neighbors.
“¿Que pasa?” The white-haired woman next to Anika spoke through a spray of saliva that shot out from the spaces between her teeth.
“¿Por qué paró el tren?”
The woman raised her shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. Then, as if offering a consolation prize, she held out a piece of gum. The plastic-wrapped pink square, flecked with sugar, looked just like one of the pieces Anika had bought from the boy. Probably harmless.
The trusting civilian in her wanted to accept the small gift, but the trained agent warned against taking an unconfirmed substance from an unknown source. In the end, the agent won.
“No, gracias.”
The train started up again and Anika sank back against the seat. Her heart slowed to normal. By the third unexpected stop, her pulse didn’t even skip a beat. Two hundred fifty slow breaths later, when the train still hadn’t budged, she stared longingly at the motorists whizzing along the throughway that paralleled the tracks.
The cars, like the models of electronic goods in the dollar shops, were an eclectic mix of styles. As in Havana, all the drivers kept their hands on the wheel and their eyes on the road. Manual navigation. No autopiloting. She wondered if any of them were going all the way to Holguin and, if they were, how much sooner they would arrive than this stop-and-go transport.
Five hours later, the train pulled into Ciego de Avila, the halfway point on the map. God only knew whether it was halfway in terms of time. She remembered the Havana travel shops advertising the beach town’s first-class resorts: sky-high geometric constructions of cement and glass marching in a row along the sandy shore.
She shifted position and the back of her top pulled away from the sticky seat cover. Her muscles quivered at the promise of a climate-controlled room, a hot shower and a soft bed. There was still the problem of her not being registered. But given how erratically everything else worked in this country, she was willing to bet the computer systems in Havana weren’t networked throughout the country. She rehearsed what she could say to a hotel clerk.
Change course, zigzag your trail. That’s what her trainers had taught.
She stood up, then bit down on her lip as her muscles protested the movement. She limped off the train. From the hubbub inside the station, Ciego de Avila seemed to be a popular stop. A cacophony of excited voices, shuffling feet, metal luggage carts and high-pitched whistles vibrated off the walls of the small building.
A slight bump nudged her knee from behind. Thank goodness it was her go
od leg.
A little girl with dancing eyes and dark curls giggled up at her. Before Anika could say anything, the girl spun around and ran to the woman who had called out to her.
Anika counted four children of varying ages, the little girl and three boys. A fifth child slept in the woman’s arms. The youngsters all clustered around her, grabbing onto her skirt, jostling for attention.
A man appeared at the woman’s side, holding the hand of yet another girl.
Good Lord. Six kids?
A pair of men, with official-looking patches on their short-sleeved shirts, separated the crowd of people into two lines. One of the men waved locals toward the left side of the room. The other directed Anika to the right, where an uneven row of poles carried promotional signs for the different resorts in town.
On tiptoe, wincing as her thigh protested, she strained to see the front of the line. What was going on? Was this some kind of hustle to get the foreigners into the pricier hotels?
A shout rocketed through the air. The people ahead of her shifted and her view cleared.
Two men in dark gray uniforms pulled a traveler from the line. Tall and silvering at the temples, the man shook them off. His face flushed underneath his tan. He reached for something in his jacket pocket and one of the officials drew his gun. The man quieted and the three of them disappeared behind a curtain.
A warning buzzed up Anika’s spine.
A bigger gap in the line opened and revealed a sign above a small table at the very front. All non-residents register here. Please. Ministerio del Interior.
A woman, in the same gray uniform as the men, sat at the table and scrutinized the papers of waiting travelers.
The mood in the line changed from boredom to anxiety. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, shoulders hunched.
When changing course doesn’t work, retreat.
Before Anika could take a step, one of the officials re-emerged from behind the curtain. His gaze locked on her and narrowed.
She pretended to scan the ground around her feet as if looking for something. She moved backwards, excusing herself, smiling apologies. The official started in her direction. She turned around and quickened her steps.
“¡Pare, señorita!”
She didn’t stop, but ducked underneath the poles so that the line of people stood between her and the official.
“Stop! Lady!” The words came in English now.
She pressed her arm against her side and felt for the Glock. Nothing. Her heart skittered. Then she remembered that the gun was stowed at the bottom of her knapsack. She half-ran, half-limped past more people whose eyes widened and mouths fell open.
The end of the line beckoned ahead. The two men still directed people to the right and left. The young family she had noticed earlier, with all the kids, gathered behind them.
She ignored the stabbing sensation in her thigh and thrust her hand inside the knapsack. Her fingers closed around a weapon more powerful than the Glock. She pulled out a fistful of gum. Squeezing between the men, she ran toward the family.
“Niños,” Anika called out. Eager faces turned toward her. “¡Cojan!” She tossed the gum high in the air.
The littlest girl squealed. Her small arms reached for the airborne candy and missed. Pieces hit the station floor, sending the boys diving after them.
Anika scattered another fistful and dashed past the parents, their eyes round circles of surprise.
The kids, joined now by others, scrambled all over the floor, creating a pint-sized human roadblock.
She sprinted outside.
The train for Holguin was already chugging down the track.
She pushed herself forward, clenching her teeth against the hot pulses in her thigh, but the train moved farther and farther away. She spun around in a full circle. Her eyes searched frantically for another route, another zigzag.
Then, for once, Cuba’s unpredictable transportation system worked in her favor. The train lurched to a stop.
She dashed toward it.
Chapter 23
Anika descended the steps onto the station platform in Holguin and adjusted the Che Guevara T-shirt and drawstring pants she had bought off a vendor at the previous stop. Even though her skin was sticky from dried-on sweat, she hoped the clean clothes made her look presentable.
The sky had turned a dusky blue-gray and the broiling heat of the day had gentled to a moist simmer. She wondered if her ride was still waiting, despite the train’s late arrival.
At least the station building was quiet. No checkpoint. Relief feathered through her.
A man in a T-shirt with the Las Estrellas twinkling star logo stood in front of the building. The family resemblance with his Havana cousin was unmistakable — same brown eyes, thick hair, and generous smile.
“Señor Estrada?” Despite her achy fatigue, she forced the corners of her mouth to lift. Always meet a mark with a smile. Especially a male. More disarming than a laser shot or a quick jab to the throat.
“You are Señorita Brown?”
“Yes, but please call me Jane.”
“I am Roberto. I hope your journey was pleasant.”
She didn’t hold back a sigh. “It was long. Thirteen hours. Did you check for delays before coming?”
“Of course.” His smile deepened. “In Cuba, there are always delays. Is that all your luggage?” He pointed at the knapsack slung across her shoulder.
“I travel light.”
“You are different than most Americans.” Roberto reached for the knapsack.
Anika let him take it. All her practicing with Brad was paying off.
“I’m Canadian.”
“It’s almost the same, no?”
“Not to a Canadian.” She fell into step beside him as they headed down the platform. “At one of the other stops, Ciego something,” she said, “I noticed some kind of checkpoint for visitors.”
“Ciego de Avila?”
“That’s it. Do all the stations have those?”
“Not all the time. The Ministerio del Interior does spot checks. They were here last week. So we probably won’t get another one for a couple of months. But as long as your papers are in order, you’ll be fine.”
“Good to know.” She hoped she sounded sincere. “It’s reassuring that they keep an eye on visitors. Must make people feel safer.”
“Exactly,” Roberto said. She didn’t detect any sarcasm in his answer. “The car’s just over here.”
A sweet breeze cooled her cheeks and forehead. She wished she could relax and breathe in the luscious scents. But those luxuries would have to wait.
Roberto held open the door of the sedan. She stayed where she was and scanned the perimeter of the poorly lit parking lot, taking in the drivers and passengers of the other vehicles, the vegetation bordering the grounds.
“Is something wrong?” Roberto asked.
She made one final sweep. No warning signs.
“It’s just so nice to be outside after that long train ride.” She slid onto the worn leather seat, rolled down the window, and leaned her head out. She inhaled more of the night air and adjusted the side mirror. Now she could see behind them.
Roberto settled into the driver’s side and started up the engine.
“Your English is very good,” she said. “Do they teach it in school here?”
“I didn’t get good at it until I attended graduate school in the United States.”
“You went to school in the States? Where?”
“University of Chicago.”
Check. Just as Brad had said.
“Have you ever been to Chicago?” Roberto asked.
Images from the solo streaked through her mind.
“No.”
“It’s a wonderful city. So alive. And the blues … ” Roberto smiled. “I met Magdalena there. My wife.”
“Yes, Brad mentioned her. How did you two meet?”
“Over a spilled lunch tray in the cafeteria. She was studying medicine. I studied engineering
.”
Yes and yes.
“We were there four years. Some of the best years of my life. I got my degree and my first job there. Magdalena worked in the ER at the University Health Center.”
Check again.
Anika relaxed and her muscles sank deeper into the seat. Maybe she really could let go here. Ease off the hyper vigilance.
“Brad says Magdalena works magic with her medicine.”
“He mentioned your leg is bothering you,” Roberto said.
“Oh?” Her nerves sharpened.
“He said you hurt it and that Magdalena might be able to help.”
“Brad’s such a nice guy.” What else did he say about me? “Did he tell you how we met?”
“He said you saved his life. Several times.”
“He said that? Funny guy.” She forced a laugh. “He actually saved me from being bothered by the police in Havana. They seem to target single women.”
“Yes, Magdalena hates that.”
“Do the police check papers here like they do in Havana?”
“Not so much. Bad for business.”
“Brad told me your cousin’s wife learned all about cooking from Magdalena. I still have dreams about the plantains from that dinner. Your wife must be an amazing cook.”
“One of the best.” In the dark, Anika could hear the pride in his voice.
Suddenly, Roberto hit the brakes and Anika tensed. The car swerved around a large lizard in the middle of the road. “Sorry. Iguana.” He resumed speed.
She eased back against the seat. Relax, remember? Try to relax.
“When did you leave Chicago?” she asked.
“Just over six years ago. Right before our daughter, Daisy, was born.”
“You wanted to raise her here in Cuba?”
“We were hoping she could be born in the U.S. But the government’s relationship with ours soured again and all Cuban citizens had to return home. Even though Magdalena was under doctor’s orders not to travel, we had to leave.” Robert’s voice hardened. “The authorities were … like stone.”
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