by Berinn Rae
Anika prayed that the storm wouldn’t last that long. She had to reach Gianni before then.
Midmorning, the pager vibrated on the bedside table. She lunged for it, relief spreading through her. At last, some news.
“Are you okay? Roberto.”
“I’m okay,” she typed back. “When will storm end?”
“Two days. More or less.”
More or less? What the hell does that mean?
“Did storm hit Havana?”
“Yes. Some lost power. Trains shut down.”
So if Gianni had already arrived, he would be stuck. Like her.
Anika signed off and the pager went dark.
She studied the device a moment longer. Roberto and Maggie had been more than generous to her. Renting her the cottage, inviting her to dinner, caring for her during the fever, checking up on her.
Why?
The kindness of strangers, with nothing asked for in return, was foreign to her. It made her uneasy. She was used to favors with strings attached. That was the world she knew. Her chest tightened and she turned the pager over in her hands, searching for … what?
She pried open the pager and explored its cavity. Nothing. Her cheeks flushed with guilt even as the invisible bands of anxiety around her chest released.
She picked up the dog-eared sketchbook and resumed her sketching. For the past several hours, she had drawn the one image that dominated her thoughts, working and reworking his broad forehead, squared-off chin, full lower lip, nose angled to the right. She spent the most time on his eyes, the way they turned down at the outer corners.
What are you doing right now? Have you even made it to Cuba? Are you staring out at the rain, too, willing it to stop?
On the morning of the third day, she awoke to an unsettling stillness. Her hand reached for the Glock even before she gained full consciousness. She sat up and listened for the falling rain, the howling wind, the crashing waves that had been the incessant soundtrack to her confinement. Silence.
Outside the front door, a flock of birds streaked along the horizon through clear skies. Lowering the gun, she took a deep breath of the rainwashed air.
She was almost out the door when the sketches of Gianni, spread across the coffee table, stopped her. She hurried over to the drawings, swept them into a stack and glanced around the room. The cavity behind the desk drawer might work. She removed the drawer and jammed the sketches into the back, then slid the drawer into place. It stuck out a little, but not enough to be noticed by a casual observer.
She raced up the beach and reveled in the blood pumping through her legs and the breath chasing through her lungs. The St. Jude medal tapped against her chest and kept time with her breath. Her thigh felt strong again, the wound now a mere shadow of pain. A medical magician, Brad had called Maggie. He had been right about that.
In town, shopkeepers swept the sidewalks clear of debris. Café workers set up outdoor tables and chairs. People were in good spirits, calling out greetings to one another. Lights beamed and machines whirred. Power had returned. That meant the computer center would be open.
Anika picked up speed and rounded the corner where the center stood.
The still-shuttered shops and broken streetlights burst her hope like mini-explosives. Broken glass crunched underfoot as she walked up to the center’s door. A sign had been taped there: “Cerrado.”
Her heart sank like a stone in water.
Maybe one of the resorts would be able to provide some information. She started back toward the beachfront. En route, a digital board on a news kiosk flickered with updates on the storm.
Major roads were clear. Trains were on schedule. She’d believe that when she actually experienced it. Still, hope bloomed inside her.
She punched in a request for the train schedule and grabbed the printout while it still chugged from the machine’s mouth. The next train to Havana left in ninety minutes. Tight but doable.
She would return to the cottage, pack up, come back and get transport to the station.
There should be enough time to stop in at Las Estrellas and say a quick goodbye to Maggie and Roberto, if they were already back at work after the storm. If not, she would leave a note.
She turned and ran toward the beach. No more waiting, no more in-between time. Gianni. Her heart galloped in her chest. I’m coming. I’m coming to find you.
Chapter 29
Thirty meters from the cottage, Anika dropped to a crouch and pulled out the Glock.
At the front window, a white-shirted torso bent over the desk. The deep V-necked shirt with rolled up sleeves didn’t look like the ones worn by the policía. She couldn’t make out the face. The torso straightened and turned.
Thumbing off the gun’s safety, she moved in. The door swung open.
“¡Pare!” she commanded. “No se mueva.”
The man stopped, one hand on the door, the other holding her sketches.
She looked up at the face she had been drawing nonstop for the past three days. In slow motion, she lowered her arm.
Those intense brown eyes tracked the movement, then traveled up her body to meet her gaze.
“You asked me to come, remember?”
Hell, yes, she remembered. Every breath-stealing, gut-gripping minute.
“What took you so long?” She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, terrified her eyes were deceiving her and the vision was only a dream.
His skin was tanner, his hair blonder than when she had last seen him — when she thought she was seeing him for the last time — behind the desk in his office. Now he looked like a tourist, in drawstring pants and a loose-fitting shirt.
She wanted to run and wrap herself around him, to prove he was really here. But she stayed still to keep the vision alive.
“I had to work to find you,” Gianni said. “I started with hotel clerks and taxi drivers in Havana. A handful of world currency notes and a story about my missing girlfriend led me to the train station. There I got lucky with a kid who was selling gum.” The corners of Anika’s mouth lifted at the memory of the round-eyed, skinny-legged boy. “I was partway down the coast when the storm hit.” Gianni paused. “Did you know your locator isn’t sending out signals?”
“I smashed it at the truck stop.” Anika bit down on her lip. “I didn’t want you to find me.”
“And now?”
She ran to him, closing the distance in four strides. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips hard against his. He was alive. Her betrayal hadn’t destroyed him.
He slid his arms around her waist.
The sketches riffled to the floor.
She gave herself this moment, this too-short reprieve before she would say the words that would send him away forever.
“You’re out of breath.” He smoothed his hands across her shoulders and down her back, drawing her closer, as if to confirm she wasn’t just a vision either.
“I’ve been running.” She nuzzled the side of his neck, searched for his pulse and found it racing. “What’s your excuse?”
“Didn’t you get my last message? Telling you I was delayed and to stay put?”
“The message cut off. And I was … compromised in Havana. I had to leave.”
He pulled back, but kept hold of her waist. “What happened?” Concern shadowed his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter now. I took care of it. I wanted to let you know I relocated here. But I got sick and then the storm came.”
“I’m here now. Why did you ask me to come?”
To … warn … you. To … save … you. The words stuttered through her mind, but she couldn’t say them out loud.
He closed the door, picked up the sketches from the floor, and set them on the desk. “Shall we sit?”
Anika moved into the living room and Gianni followed. “I have a better idea.” She walked over to the potted plant, pushed aside the leaves and removed the listening device from the dirt. Holding it up so Gianni could see, she placed the index finger o
f her other hand against her lips. “Let’s take a walk down the beach.”
When he nodded in silent understanding, she stepped past him and entered the bathroom. Setting the black device on the countertop, she turned on the faucet for good measure, then walked back into the main room and stood facing him.
“What happened the morning of my solo?” she asked. “Why did it change from Lyon to Midway? And why were you called away?”
“I don’t know why your solo changed. By the time I learned about it, I was en route to … ” He stopped himself. Her eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t access a private channel. The best I could do was send you a coded message.”
“Evan gave it to me. About the bar at the truck stop. She thought you meant that restaurant on Melrose.”
“As I hoped she would. And anyone else who saw the message.”
“I wasn’t sure what it meant. But then I learned the team’s rendezvous was an actual truck stop and I knew you were trying to tell me something about the mission. I thought you would be waiting for me afterward.”
“Couldn’t,” Gianni said. “I was still … out of range. But I was able to get the package there. I see you found it.”
His eyes focused on the medal hanging from her neck.
His only tangible link to his family. Her only tangible link to him. She should give it back, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove it. Not yet.
“You used a civilian to make the drop?”
“Too risky.” Gianni shook his head. “I programmed the service droid to hide the package, then chalk mark a key code only it knew. As soon as it had executed the task, the program erased.”
“Clever. You could teach Evan a trick or two.”
“I learned the technique from Evan.”
“Oh.” Anika’s brows lifted. “And my tracking chip? Did Evan help deactivate it?”
“No. The fewer people involved in this undertaking, the better.”
Anika thought about the people she had already involved. Boris was dead. Señor Alejo, possibly still in a Havana jail. She hoped that Brad was safely back in California North. And the Estradas … it would be best for them if she left the cottage as soon as possible. “Agreed. Why did you leave the agency the morning of my solo?” At Gianni’s silence, she persisted, “Did it have something to do with your promotion?”
He gave nothing away. His eyes didn’t flicker, his mouth didn’t twitch. Still, she could see his mind working out different answers.
“Yes.”
So simple, it had to be the truth.
“Does U.N.I.T. twelve-oh-five know you’re here?”
“No. They granted me a short leave. In exchange for intel about Command.”
“What intel?” When he didn’t answer, she blew out a short breath. “Okay, forget that. How long do you have?”
“I’m expected back tonight.”
Tonight. Her heart plummeted like a bird falling from the sky. So little time. Not that he would want to spend any more time with her once she told him everything.
“Now it’s my turn for some answers.” Gianni leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed in front of him.
Anika nodded. Heart thudding, legs quivering, she reached back and grabbed the edge of the waist-high countertop that separated the living room from the kitchen. The beaded bracelet Daisy had made for her clicked against the tile.
Treat it like a debrief. Get it over with. Fast.
“I lied.” She tightened her grip around the countertop’s edge. “About the solo. It was a trap.”
She kept the explanation short and her voice neutral. She relayed the set-up, Command’s deal, the tampered souvenir video with Jewel. But she held back about the pregnancy.
When she had finished, she stared past Gianni’s shoulder through the picture window. Waves nuzzled the shore and gulls chased one another in the cloudless blue sky. It looked so serene.
Inside, the silence pressed all around her like an invisible force until she thought she would burst. “I wanted to tell you when you came to the detention chamber.” The words rushed out of her. “I thought there’d be time after we … ” She flashbacked to their lovemaking, to Gianni’s warm hands on her bare skin, his open-mouthed kisses along her spine. “But you’d been so … distant the previous weeks.”
“I was preoccupied about the promotion. Uncertain how to talk with you about it. How to convince you to come with me.”
“Come with you? How?”
“A privilege of the promotion.”
“I didn’t know … I thought … it was something else.” Someone else.
“What else?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” She tried to push away the memory of the souvenir video. Even though she now knew it was a lie, the images of Jewel and her cat-like grin still burned in Anika’s mind. “The surveillance reactivated in the detention room and you left before I could tell you.”
“So I was right.” Gianni spoke softly, as if to himself.
It took her a moment. Then, incredulous, she asked, “You knew the solo was a trap?”
“Not with certainty. Not until now. But I wondered.”
“That morning in your office. During the pre-briefing, when you said that solos usually take longer to arrange, you were suspicious even then.”
“Even though you told me not to be. That you had just gotten lucky.” Gianni’s eyes and voice hardened, like shards of ice.
“Why did you help me then? If you were suspicious, why did you go along?” Her voice sunk to a whisper.
“To give you what you want.” He spread out his hands as if to release her. “Your freedom.”
She stared at him. Freedom. The one thing she had been sure she wanted. Except that now, when it was too late, she wasn’t so sure.
“And the baby?” he asked.
She flinched. “There isn’t … there is no … ” She shook her head, held her breath.
“Good hook.” His words pierced her.
She almost took a step back, but caught herself. Debrief.
“Second informed me that you needed more … ‘incentive’ was the word she used. To help me escape. She said that I wasn’t enough of a reason. I was ordered to Clinic. Given implants to simulate … pregnancy.” Even now, Anika burned at the memory of that moment in Command’s office when she had been told about this particular detail of the plan.
“I’m glad,” Gianni said.
“You’re what?”
“Glad the pregnancy wasn’t your idea.”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“I wish,” she said, releasing her hold on the countertop with fingers that had grown numb. Wish I could take it back. “I wish things were different. With us.” She lowered her gaze. Don’t. She swallowed hard, tasting tears in her throat. “If you go now, you can still make it back in time. Get what you want. Your promotion. Jewel.”
“Jewel?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Or whoever you choose.”
He lunged at her then, moving so fast she didn’t have time to react. He pinned her arms to her sides. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Gianni, please, there isn’t time. You have to get back.”
“There’s time. Parlami. You owe me that much.”
“I … we … don’t fit. You want a family. I don’t … I can’t … give you what you want.”
“Who told you that?”
“Second did. It’s in my profile.” Shame squirmed inside her. “Profiles don’t lie.”
“No.” Gianni loosened his hold. “But people do.” He walked over to the desk, his back to her.
What did he mean by that? A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it with the back of her hand. He would leave now and get back in time. He would be safe. That’s what mattered now. It was all that mattered.
“Why did you draw these?” Gianni turned back, with her sketches in hand.
“They’re for my cover.” She set her jaw
. She had revealed enough secrets. “I’m supposed to be an art teacher.”
“You could have drawn any subject. Why me?” He studied the pages, one at a time.
She twisted the bracelet around her wrist to keep herself from snatching the drawings out of his hands. “The storm lasted for days. I got tired of sketching furniture.”
Gianni looked up. His eyes held her captive. “Liar,” he whispered. He walked over to her and placed his hand on her heart. Held it there. “You are not your profile. You can choose what you want. What’s inside here. Your hopes, your dreams. I don’t want Jewel. Or anyone else. Just you.” Her heart hammered against his hand as if it would break through skin, muscle, bone. “Tell me what you want, cara, what’s in here.”
“I want … what I can’t have. You. And freedom.”
She twisted the bracelet again.
The string popped and beads shot out like mini-projectiles. One cracked open as it hit the floor and a tiny black rectangle fell out.
Her eyes riveted on the device.
A tracker. Too advanced to be Cuban.
Her stomach clenched and her hands curled into fists. She had been played this whole time. Damn Brad.
“How’d you get the bracelet?” Gianni asked.
“The people who own this place gave it to me. The tracker looks like — ”
“U.N.I.T.”
“Yes. It may have stopped transmitting. They’ll be coming here to find out why. We have to go.”
A quick scan outside confirmed they still had time. No dark unisuits on approach. Just sand, sea, and sky.
She pulled away from him and ran over to the framed poster of Che Guevara. Grabbed her passport and visa hidden inside the backing. “What transport did you use to get here? Jetbike?” She tossed the documents into the knapsack. The Glock followed. “We’ll take the back roads into Holguin. They’ll be a mess from the storm, but we’ll get as far as we can. From Holguin, you can take the train back to Havana.”
“You mean we’ll take the train to Havana.”
That stopped her.
“No, I’ll hitch a ride to — ” She caught herself. Don’t tell. Safer that way.
