Die Run Hide

by P. M. Kavanaugh

  A sweet oily smell greeted Anika when she stepped across the threshold. “M-m-m, fried plantains.”

  “You have a good nose,” Maggie said, laughing. “They’re Daisy’s favorite.”

  “I had my first taste at your cousin’s in Havana. They were delicious.”

  Maggie escorted her to the living room. “Please, have a seat.”

  She pointed to a sofa, accented with yellow and red pillows as colorful as the ones in the cottage. In front of it sat a squat-legged table with a big pitcher of lemon-colored liquid and glasses. A sultry samba tune floated out from a surprisingly modern entertainment center that took up most of the far wall.

  “The sound is great.”

  “Roberto’s pride and joy.” Maggie nodded at the gleaming silver and black electronics, a contrast with the simple wood, rattan, and cotton fabric in the room. “He insisted we bring it back with us from Chicago. I’m sure it’s very outdated compared to what’s available in the States now. But for Cuba … ” Maggie shrugged. “Drink?” She poured a full glass of the liquid and handed it to Anika.

  “Is that the same lemonade you left for me at the cottage? I think I’m becoming addicted. What’s in it?”

  “Secret ingredients.” Maggie winked. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Roberto and Daisy raced through the front door.

  “Beat you,” Daisy shouted, her breath coming out in open-mouthed gasps.

  “You are too fast for your Papi.” Roberto clutched his chest and made exaggerated breathing sounds.

  “Mama.” Daisy ran over to Maggie and threw her arms around her waist. “¿Puedo cocinar esta noche los frijoles negros?”

  “In English, Daisy.” Maggie stroked her daughter’s hair.

  “Can I make the beans tonight?”

  “I need you to set the table, mi corazon,” Maggie said. “But first, you have to put your crayons and paper away.”

  At Daisy’s crestfallen face, Anika spoke up. “Do you like to color, Daisy?” The little girl nodded. “I loved to color when I was your age. Still do.”

  “Do you want to color with me? Mama, can we?”

  “May we,” Maggie corrected her.

  “May we? Please, Mama?”

  “Are you sure you want to?” Maggie turned to Anika, who nodded and stood up. “Fifteen minutes. Then it will be time to set the table.”

  Daisy stretched out her hand. “Over here, Jane. I’ll show you.”

  She led Anika to a wood table and four chairs in the far corner. Pieces of scrap paper covered the table’s surface. Images of fantastical objects — green houses, blue suns, orange horses — danced across the paper. Anika smiled at the innocence they suggested, a child’s vision of a magical world.

  “These are very good.” She fingered a few of the pages. “Did you draw them?”

  Daisy nodded, her cheeks flushing. She pulled two of the chairs closer together. “Sit here, Jane, next to me. What color would you like?” She held out a handful of crayons.

  “I’ll take purple, thank you.” Anika rolled the used stick between her thumb and forefinger. She enjoyed its smooth surface and the light waxy smell.

  “Don’t forget your drink.” Maggie placed Anika’s half-full glass down on the table. “Mi corazon,” she said to Daisy, “I’ll get you some milk.” She walked off, heels clicking on the floor and returned a few minutes later with a plastic glass and a bowl of nuts. “Careful. They’re just out of the oven.”

  Daisy reached for the salty snack and Maggie tugged playfully on one of her braids. “Not too many now. We’ll be eating soon.”

  Maggie held out her hand to Anika. Two pale pink gel tabs nestled in her palm. “Roberto told me about your leg. These will help.”

  “What are they?”

  “They’re ‘feel better’ medicine,” Daisy spoke up. “Mama makes them all the time. The blue ones are for your tummy and pink for your head.”

  “They’re a general pain blocker,” Maggie said. “Good for anything that hurts.”

  “My leg is feeling better. As long as I keep the weight off it.”

  “Try them. You won’t be sorry.” Maggie extended her palm. “Go on.”

  Anika placed the tabs in her mouth and took a sip of lemonade.

  Maggie turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  The mouth-teasing aroma of onion, garlic, and other seasonings Anika didn’t recognize permeated the room. Her stomach started to respond to the fragrant smells. Good. Her appetite was returning. Clearly, Maggie had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare a wonderful dinner. It would be awkward to try to avoid eating.

  Anika sketched to the backdrop of Daisy’s high-voiced chatter about her field trip to the aquarium on Bahía de Naranjo, Roberto’s and Maggie’s companionable murmurs in the kitchen, the pulsing samba beat.

  Lovely sounds of family and home and belonging. The crayon dug into the paper. The sting went deeper now, threatening to steal from her even this bit of happiness.

  “When we finish coloring, we can do some beading.” Daisy’s nose almost touched the page in concentration. “I have all the stuff we need in my bedroom.”

  As if she had heard her daughter, Maggie called out, “Time to put the drawings away, Daisy. Set the table, por favor.”

  Anika straightened and looked down at the rough portrait of the young girl, in profile, bent over her piece of paper, the end of one pigtail brushing the table.

  “Is that me?” Daisy’s eyes peered over at the drawing.

  “Do you like it?” Anika held up the paper for a better look.

  “Can I show Mama?”

  Daisy clutched the drawing between both hands and jumped off her chair. “Mama, Papi, look!” She ran toward the kitchen. “Jane drew my picture.”

  Anika gathered up the papers and crayons.

  Daisy skipped back toward her, the paper pressed to her chest. In her excitement, she bumped the table.

  Yellow liquid splashed across the surface.

  “Daisy Maria Beatriz!” Maggie’s voice stabbed the air. Before Anika could sweep the rest of the papers out of the way, Maggie appeared beside her, grabbing Daisy by the arm, jerking her back. “¡No toques!” she hissed. “Vete a la cocina. ¡Ahora!”

  Daisy turned and fled.

  “I’m so sorry about this.” Maggie slipped her hands into rubber gloves and wiped up the spill with a thick cloth.

  “It’s all right. She just … miscalculated.” Anika’s guard shot up, like she was on a mission and had to defend a team member’s mistake.

  “That’s no excuse.” Maggie’s reaction was as understanding as Second’s would have been. A last swipe mopped up the rest of the liquid. “I’ll get you another drink.”

  “That’s okay.” A vise gripped the back of Anika’s neck and her headache dialed up a notch. “I can wait until dinner.”

  She wished now that she hadn’t come. The relaxed mood had morphed into something dark and tense. Maybe she could plead fatigue and make an early departure.

  “Nonsense.” Maggie bit off the word. Then, softening, she added, “Please, relax on the sofa. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  She strode back to the kitchen and lowered a panel over the countertop, cutting off the view from the living room.

  Anika spit out the gel tabs under her tongue and dropped them through the leaves of the potted plant next to the sofa.

  The throbbing in her leg and head was bearable. And she preferred medicine that was sealed, labeled, and bought at a pharma-mart.

  The tray with the pitcher of lemonade and fresh glasses still stood on the coffee table. She poured herself another glass. Within minutes, giggles bubbled through the air from behind the closed kitchen door.

  So this was family, too. You fight, you forgive. The Estradas made it seem easy.

  The vise relaxed its hold. She settled back against the cushion and took a sip of the refreshing liquid.

  Chapter 26

  “How long have you been teaching
art?” Maggie handed Anika a platter of golden-roasted chicken flecked with green and red herbs.

  “Two years.” Anika forked a few pieces of the tangy-smelling meat and set them on her plate next to black beans and plantains. “I was inspired by a great teacher in high school.”

  “When I grow up, I want to be an art teacher like Jane!” Daisy’s dark eyes beamed at her from across the table.

  “I thought you were going to be a doctor, like your mama,” Roberto said.

  “I’m going to be that, too. I’ll be an art teacher in the mornings and a doctor in the afternoons!” Daisy grabbed a plantain from her plate and jammed it into her mouth. “And I’ll be a cook at night.”

  “You’re going to be a very busy girl, mi corazon,” Maggie said, laughing.

  “And busy girls need to eat their vegetables.” Roberto spooned a helping of yucca onto Daisy’s plate.

  Emotions chased across the young girl’s face. Flushed excitement gave way to slumping dismay and landed on quivering resolve. She picked up her fork, speared the smallest of the pale brown cubes, opened her mouth, and deposited it inside.

  Anika was amazed at the complete lack of hard feelings from the earlier mishap with the spilled drink. Despite the vegetables, Daisy remained cheerful and talkative. Maggie and Roberto were relaxed and smiling. She was glad she had decided to stay.

  The evening would be even more enjoyable if her head didn’t hurt so much. The insistent pulsing at the back of her neck had inched up her skull and spread out to her temples. She regretted ditching the pink gel tabs that Maggie had given her, but it was impossible to retrieve them from the plant in the living room.

  Maybe there were more in the bathroom. She could excuse herself, go in there, search through the drawers …

  “How long will you be in Cuba?” Maggie’s eyes were steady on her.

  “As long as possible.” She blurted out the truth by mistake.

  “Don’t you have to return to your teaching job?”

  “Yes, of course. School starts up again in a few weeks.” Was that what she had told Roberto in the car last night? Had they even talked about it? She couldn’t think straight with the drumming in her head. “But I wish I could stay longer. I haven’t seen much outside Havana. Where should I go to — ” Hide from the authorities and MININT? “Where can I see more of the real Cuba?”

  Maggie and Roberto rattled off several places that she didn’t think she would remember once her head cleared. The throbbing had moved past her temples to her forehead where it sat like a giant exposed nerve. Time slowed to a pain-filled crawl.

  When Daisy wished Anika good night with an enthusiastic hug, her thin arms tightened like iron cables and the ribbons in her pigtails scratched like steel wool.

  “Mama,” Daisy said, “can Jane come back and make bracelets with me?”

  The young voice, loud as a siren, pierced Anika’s ears.

  “We’ll see, little one. Time for bed now. Come.” Maggie scooped up Daisy in her arms. “Are you feeling all right, Jane? You look flushed.”

  Anika wanted to confess to the agony in her head, but her training stopped her. Relaxing her guard by coming here had been risky enough, but revealing weakness was out of the question.

  “Too much sun today.”

  “Ah, yes. You need to be careful the first few days here. Why don’t you sit in the backyard where it’s cooler? We’ll have our coffee out there.”

  Anika prayed caffeine would help.

  But twenty minutes later, when she stood by the car and said good-bye to Maggie, the throbbing had spread to her arms and legs.

  Maggie set containers of leftovers into her hands. The kindness reminded Anika of Gianni and the extra portions of pasta and meat dishes he used to store in her cold cell whenever he cooked for the two of them.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Appalled, she blinked them away and blamed the bombs exploding inside her skull for her near-display of weakness.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Maggie placed the back of her hand against Anika’s cheek. “You’re welcome to stay the night. We can make up the guest bed.”

  “No, really, I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.” Anika steadied herself against the open car door. “Thanks again for a lovely evening.”

  She kept up the pretense with Roberto during the drive back and the walk through the quiet streets of Guardalavaca. When he insisted on escorting her all the way to the cottage, she couldn’t summon the energy to refuse.

  The journey down the beach turned into a sensory attack. The sand bit into her feet, the salty air stung her nostrils, and the rolling surf hammered at her temples.

  As soon as she closed the front door on Roberto’s “buenas noches,” her legs gave out and she sank to her haunches. Her teeth chattered like dice in a gambler’s fist.

  The knapsack slipped from her shoulder and the containers of leftovers thudded on the floor.

  What was wrong with her? Had she contracted some tropical fever?

  When she lifted her head, the room slanted at a terrifying angle. Her legs refused to carry her. On hands and knees, she crawled across the floor that seemed to bruise her skin with every move. She covered the distance in slow motion and used her last bit of strength to haul herself up and over the edge of the bed.

  Something sharp gouged her rib. She groaned out a curse, removed the Glock from the wrap and shoved it between the mattresses. Even with the covers wrapped around her, the shivering wouldn’t stop.

  When sleep came, it called forth a very specific nightmare, with a date and a place: 05.27.54. Budapest.

  • • •

  Anika and Sommer, a senior operative, had been assigned the capture of a low level arms dealer living in the plush neighborhood of The Buda Hills. A standard “grab ’n go,” it would be Anika’s twelfth successful op since completing her training.

  While Gianni waited in the transport vehicle down the street, Anika dispatched the guards and Sommer disabled the security system of the luxury residence. Once inside the house, they entered a cave-like bedroom, slipped a sack over the dealer’s head, and secured his hands behind his back. Throughout it all, the man offered no resistance.

  Anika pulled out a sedative to ensure his continued cooperation, but Sommer waved it away. Making a running motion with his index and second fingers, he indicated that they would travel faster if the dealer remained conscious and mobile.

  She went along with the decision, trusting Sommer’s greater field experience, believing the mission would be over soon and the dealer handed off to U.N.I.T.’s interrogation team.

  Steps from the transport vehicle, the mission had gone disastrously wrong.

  Anika thought she heard a noise from behind. Darting a look over her shoulder, she loosened her hold on the dealer.

  He jerked away from her, freed one hand, and pulled off the sack. Then he grabbed Sommer’s laser and blasted the operative in the face.

  Anika froze as she watched her team member crumple to the ground. The acrid smell of burned flesh stung her nostrils.

  The dealer swung toward her.

  Gianni shouted a warning through her transmitter.

  She hit the ground and rolled away from the dealer, who tried to get a fix on her.

  His discharge just missed her left cheek.

  She was still fumbling for her weapon when Gianni threw open the vehicle door and fired.

  The dealer cried out and fell, stunned but alive.

  After a quick glance at Anika, who struggled to her feet, Gianni snagged the man’s silk pajama collar and hauled him into the transport.

  She was left to collect Sommer.

  She half-dragged, half-carried the operative into the back of the all-terrain and secured his body in one of the seats. Even though she took shallow breaths through clenched teeth, his stench penetrated her pores until she felt as if she were swimming in death.

  She collapsed into her seat, hugged her arms to her chest and tried to quell the nausea while
Gianni manually navigated the vehicle back to the airfield, his rigid back and utter silence a stinging reproach.

  They didn’t make eye contact, didn’t speak throughout the return flight.

  Forty-five minutes outside the agency’s complex, he stopped the vehicle and turned to face her.

  “Tell them Sommer released the dealer.”

  “What? I don’t understand.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. Trying to keep from vomiting. Trying to avoid another look at Sommer’s face.

  “Tell them it was Sommer,” Gianni repeated. His hand clamped around her arm like a steel trap. “If you admit to the mistake, it’ll go on your record. Permanently.”

  “I don’t care about my record.” She twisted her arm to free it, but Gianni held steady. Heat coursed through her. The anger felt good. Better than the shivers. “I screwed up. I’ll take the discipline.”

  “Have you heard about solo missions?”

  “What? No. Let go of me.”

  “Listen.” Gianni tightened his grip. “Sommer’s dead. Nothing can bring him back. There’s no point in both of you going down.”

  “I don’t — ”

  Gianni cut her off, his hand grabbing her jaw, forcing her gaze to his. What she saw there doused her anger.

  “But the debriefing,” she said. “Won’t the machines show I’m lying?”

  “We can scramble your body’s responses. I’ll back up your verbal.”

  She knew that if Gianni hadn’t stepped out from the transport when he did, she’d be dead and the target, free. She blew out a short breath, releasing some of the tension.

  “How?”

  “A laser stun.” Gianni held up the weapon he had fired at the dealer.

  She focused on the end of the barrel that could deliver excruciating pain, even death.

  “The lowest setting should do it.” He thumbed a switch on the side. “Ready?”

  She pressed herself against the seat and gripped the sides for support. Like all trainees, she had taken hits during weapons classes and mock exercises. She knew what was coming. Knowing made this moment worse.

  Gianni fired.

  Her body jerked once, then slumped sideways.

  A fiery tingle, like a web of white-hot wires, spread through her. It started in her right shoulder and moved across her torso, out through her other arm, and down her legs.