by Glen Carter
“I gathered that.”
It was the most she had said since the cemetery where Lubov was buried. At his gravesite, she had gone suddenly silent at the approach of two men who had stared at her for an uncomfortable period of time. There was nothing flattering in their gaze.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Jack needed no coaxing and had to quicken his step to keep up with her.
They boarded a taxi, and Lilia stared out the back window until they were safely away. Jack was sure he spotted the same twomen in the crowd at the entrance to the cemetery as they sped off.Maybe they were both being paranoid.
Parque Central had been his idea.There were plenty of living people and no black earth graves occupied by remarkable men. Lilia seemed to relax a little.
“How do you know about Anton Lubov?”
Lilia shifted on the marble bench. “I can’t say, exactly. But I can tell you he is…or was a bit of a legend.”
“Murdered.”
“Yes.”
“Which brings us to Vasily Rusakova.”
Lilia appeared to be gathering her thoughts. Trying to sort through the things she would say and the things she would not. After years of interviewing reluctant sources, Jack was familiar with the look.
Finally, she began. “Vasily Rusakova has made a lot of money killing people, but Anton Lubov wasn’t one of them.He died for other reasons,” she said. “He needed to be gotten out of the way.”
Jack’s face said, give me more. It was important Lilia not be crowded, pressured in any way. Jack crossed his legs, swirled frosty liquid in a plastic cup.
“Lubov may have been retired,” Lilia continued. “But he was still very connected.He cultivated people. In Cuban society, in the military and government hierarchy. It was his strength. They trusted him.” Lilia paused.There was something in her face. Jack swore he saw nostalgia. He was more than intrigued.
“The KGB would have thought it valuable, a resource to be used,” she continued. “The Kremlin needed to know everything that was going on here and they knew Castro was not to be trusted, especially after the plot to hijack those nuclear missiles. Castro would not have been forgiven for that. Ever.”
Jack got the picture.The mid-level embassy man, the KGB’s eyes and ears on the ground. Lubov gave Moscow the straight goods when it was critical. He’d proven his worth.Maybe he was a hero.
“Was he ever recognized? Lubov, I mean.”
“Yes and no,” Lilia responded. “He was forbidden to reveal what had happened. He understood the consequences if he did. A medal came to him in a diplomatic pouch. It was never worn—never seen, except by him.”
Jack felt sorry for a man he never met, never knew. A man who deserved the thanks and admiration of so many. In his mind he pictured the small grave with its simple cross and thought it sad that Lubov had never been rightly honoured. “I’m assuming Lubov still had his contacts,” Jack said, wanting to push deeper into Lilia’s incredible story.
“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes a mix of mischief and innocent seduction. “Here and in Moscow. Let’s just say a message was sent and received.”
“And?”
“Jack Doyle,” said Lilia, “I think you are playingme.”
Jack feigned guilt. “Busted,” he said. “No disrespect.”
“None taken.”
Amoment passed between them. Jack stared at a nearby statue. JoseMarti in Carrera marble—a revolutionary who was loved by an entire nation andwho died on horseback in a two-man charge against invading Spaniards. Christ. Lubov deserved no less than a bloody statue.
Liliawould need a harder push. Jack leaned in to her. “Whatwas in Lubov’smessage?”
“You’re assuming I know.”
“I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”
Lilia thought amoment.
Jack looked at his watch.
“Very well,” she said and cleared her throat. “Lubov thought something unusual was happening.”
Jack bunched his eyebrows.
“Something was witnessed,” she added.
Jack still wasn’t getting it.
Lilia frowned. After a moment, she pointed to a liquor store in the distance. A soldier stood lazily on guard near the front door, the muzzle of his weapon touching the sidewalk. “That man is useless. I can bet you the weapon doesn’t fire and, even if it did, there are no bullets in it. It’s the same everywhere.Their weapons are outdated and broken.They have no ammunition.Most, like him, have no pay and not even any food to eat.They survive on the generosity of their families and even strangers. A lot has changed under Ortega. He has no use for the fist any more. Military spending here has been cut to nothing. As a result, Cuba’s Revolutionary Armed Forces are no longer fat and happy.”
Jack had seen enough rag-tag armies to know the look of a hungry, disenfranchised soldier. Lilia was headed somewhere with this. “Go on,” he said.
“Lubov kept to himself, mostly. But there was a group of farmers who needed help with a cooperative not far from where he lived. As an educated man, Lubov was made an offer, crops for his know how. He agreed. It was a good arrangement.”
Jack guessed Lubov didn’t have much in common with the locals except for the basics of collective farming.
Lilia continued. “During one of their cooperative meetings, Lubov is pulled aside.One of these farmers is complaining to him that the military has commandeered one of his fields for some marshalling exercise.There were trucks, artillery trailers, and crates upon crates. More soldiers than he had ever seen, tromping all over his newly planted crop.”
Jack perked up. “When?” Timing was everything.
“Only a few weeks ago, in a very isolated region,” she said. “Meaning no one but the farmer and his family would have seen the tanks and armoured personnel carriers and all the rest of it.”
Poor family, Jack thought, able to guess what was coming.
“Lubov was told soldiers came to the farmer’s house. Thugs, not soldiers. While his family watched, they roughed him up and threatened to shoot them all.Then they left.The man was in tears when he recounted it.”
“What did Lubov do?”
“He told the farmer not to worry. But he believed the man had seen something very significant. A broken-down military, suddenly very well equipped for some clandestine purpose, in the middle of a major political transition.”
Jack looked again at the soldier standing post outside the liquor store, trying to shape the facts into a whole of some sort. “Did Lubov tell you anything else?”
Lilia remained silent, sidestepping Jack’s intended trap. She was still not ready to reveal if Lubov had contacted her directly.Why not? Jack wondered.
“The farmer said they were headed to a military base in the mountains,” Lilia replied. “A couple of hours from Havana.”
Jack shrugged. “Ammo and munitions. It’s what soldiers do at military bases.”
“Not this base,” Lilia said. “It was decommissioned years ago. Long forgotten.”
Jack considered this new information. If it were true, an abandoned military base with in striking distance of Havana was stocked to the teeth with ammo and weapons. It was more than just interesting. “Someone preparing a coup?”
Lilia looked at him. “Right under Ortega’s nose. So brazen, don’t you think?”
It was Jack’s turn now. “Ortega has been very busy lately. A lot of things are going on right under his nose.” He snapped his fingers. “And don’t forget. Half the government was recently out of the country at the Summit of the Americas.”
“While the cat’s away.”
Jack finished the line for her.
By mid-afternoon the little park in Old Havana was bustling with people. Tourists brought the pickpockets. There was money to be made if you had the hands. Ridiculous taxis in the shape of lemons scooted carelessly through traffic while half-dead horses pulled carriages full of people at a clip-clop pace in the same general directions.
&n
bsp; It had been a remarkable day so far, and Jack was having a nice try at absorbing everything. He knew it was only the beginning.
“So a hero of the Soviet Union is assassinated by a man named Vasily Rusakova.”
“That’s correct.” Lilia placed her plastic cup on the bench next to her. “Lubov was worried. Considering what is unfolding in Cuba, he decided Moscow would be interested. Old habits die hard.” Lilia grimaced at her choice of words. “There are still a few old colleagues at the Russian embassy and Lubov still had minor privileges.He paid a visit, stayed a few hours, they reminisced and he used one of their computers. He sent an email.”
Questions upon questions. Jack would get to them. Lilia was on a roll.
“Lubov was also sure he was being watched,” she said.
“Maybe followed?”
“Yes, that also,” Lilia replied.
“Where did he go after the embassy?”
“He loved his solitude.”
“And?”
“He was shot dead outside his little home.”
Jack wanted to say he was sorry, but what was the point?
A man carrying a plastic bag approached the bench where they were sitting. Lilia waved him away. He turned, sneering, in the direction of another target.
“Which brings us to Vasily Rusakova,” Jack said.
Lilia gave him half a smile.A look that said they’d arrived at some new place in their brief relationship. “Correct. Vasily Rusakova.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Soviet Special Forces, bodyguard and sniper. Broke off from the military establishment after the Nord-Ost fiasco.”
Jack was well familiar with what had happened when Chechen rebels took control of a Moscow theatre. Special Forces eventually stormed the building and nearly 170 people died, most of them hostages.The Spetsnaz were some of the best in the world, but crude and brutal in their technique.
“Those are the broad strokes,” Lilia added.
“There’smore.”
“Yes. Much more. Rusakova has been busy. Political assassinations— killing union leaders and social activists. I’ve got pretty good sources, but even they don’t know the full extent of it.”
Lilia had been busy. But how had she connected Rusakova with Lubov’s death? Jack asked the question.
Lilia reached into her pocket. “One of Lubov’s old embassy pals made sure I got this,” she said. Gently she unfolded a piece of paper. She handed it to him. Itwas a photocopy of a passport. Canadian.The photo showed aman namedMarc Poole.
Jack was only half way to wherever Lilia was taking him.
“Vasily Rusakova, akaMarc Poole, arrived inHavana just before Lubov was assassinated.” Lilia retrieved something else from her pocket. “Another gift from Lubov’s old friends. It’s why I was at the morgue.” It was a hunk of lead, a pulverized bullet. “Calibre 7.62R,” she proclaimed. “I’m told it’s normally chambered in the SV-98, which is the weapon of choice for a Spetsnaz sniper. The coroner removed two of these from Lubov’s corpse.”
“Some connections you have,” Jack said. Though he was still bothered. “Lubov’s email?”
“Yes.”
“Who was on the other end in Moscow?”
“Me,” Lilia replied, simply. “He toldme.”
It was getting late and Jack needed to be going. Kaitlin would be wondering where he was but too busy to do anything about it. She’d been filing stories since they’d hit the ground and the demands on her time were enormous. Jack knew the stress she’d be feeling and he felt for her.
Meanwhile, Lilia was strangely quiet. She watched people strolling the sidewalks, stopping atwindows, sipping on drinks, arms slung low after bargain hunting. After a moment she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Be careful, Doyle.”
“Careful?”What a strange thing to say.
Lilia smiled faintly. “There are things going on here we have no idea about.There’s so much at stake, so much already invested.Many will protect their ideals and beliefs at all costs.They’ll do whatever it takes, at any heights.”
Jack thought about what she was saying. After a moment, “The serpent’s egg.”
Lilia looked at him quizzically.
“And therefore think him as a serpent’s egg, which, hatch’d, would as his kind grow mischievous, and kill him in the shell.”
She smiled, even more perplexed.
“Julius Caesar,” Jack said. “Brutus talking himself into helping to kill the emperor while he can.”
“I’m impressed,” Lilia said. “Nipping a problem in the bud, so to speak.” A pause. “Beaumont and Fletcher, I believe.”
“Very nice.”
They both smiled and after another moment, Jack extended a hand, which Lilia took warmly in hers. She then kissed him on the cheek and said goodbye. Jack watched her get into a cab and she was gone.
He wondered what Lilia was up to. As usual, it worried him that another reporter was beating him on a story, even though he didn’t know exactly what that story was. He’d heard plenty, a lot that was frankly too hard to believe, including Lilia’s claims about a deadly sniper and Anton Lubov, the hermit hero. Had Lubov been warned about a coup in themaking? Is that why he wasmurdered?Why had Lilia confided in Jack Doyle? It was as if she wanted, no needed him to know.There were no answers.
Jack picked an opening in the traffic and darted across the street to his hotel.He was thankful for the cool air when he walked into the lobby. He made his way to the bar and ordered a frosty beer.Three calls had to be made.The first was to Detective Manteez, the cop who was handling the Malloy investigation. Manteez told him there was nothing new to report on the search for Malloy’s killers.A number of leads were being followed. In the meantime, the autopsy had been completed.The detective informed Jack that Ed Malloy had died of a heart attack. For Jack, it didn’tmake his death any easier to accept.
“There’s something else, Senor Doyle.”
“Yes.”
“The mutilation. It was committed after death.”
Jack clamped shut his eyes. Sick bastards.
“I’m afraid, I’m at a loss to offer any explanation,”Manteez said. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?”
“No,” Jack replied, angrily.
“In any event, the coroner’s work is complete and there is no reason to delay Mister Malloy’s departure.”
Jack thanked the detective and said something about catching the monsters who butchered his friend.Therewas nothing else to say. He hung up.
Numb, Jack stared at his beer. He knew a message when he saw one.
They had come to find a man. Was it possible that man found them instead? Jack shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had Malloy not been aboard that carriage.The man was twice a hero.
Jack realized that in short order he’d have another conversation withManteez.Themurderer Roberto Sevier would not get awaywith it.Malloy, and the others, would have justice.
Another call was placed. A gruff voice grunted hello. “Hello, Buck,” Jack said.
For the next five minutes, Kelly uttered hardly a word. The battle-hardened marine had suffered his share of death. Emotions, like his voice, were muted. Malloy would be another man for whom Kelly would occasionally raise a glass. He promised to wind upMalloy’s affairs as best his could. Malloy had spoken of family in Montana.
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Jack said, knowing it was too little to say.
“He could have commanded men,” Kelly responded, “I would have been proud to serve with him.” A moment later, the call was ended.
Then Jack called Dwayne Mesner.
“Jacko,”Mesner said, glad to hear from him.“What’s going on?”
Jack told him the grim news.
“Jesus. I’m so sorry.”
Dwayne was a man of crime and compassion. He’d never harmed a soul; in fact he’d helped plenty. Jack sensed he was genuinely saddened.
“Sons of bitches,” Mesner said.
“Real bastards to blind side you like that. Take your man. I’d say you and Kaitlin are lucky to be alive.”
Mesner offered condolences once again and then made an offer, which Jack accepted immediately.
“Just don’t get caught,” he said, providing Mesner with a name and a phone number. “And thanks, Dwayne. I know he’d appreciate it.”
“No worries. Leave it tome.”
The right amount of time was spent on Malloy’s death.Then Jack moved on to the other reason for the call. Roberto Sevier’s big fatwire transfers.Moscow and Florida. “I need names,” he said.
“Do you want the long story or the short one?”
“The end, not themeans, will be fine,my friend.”
Mesner grunted his agreement. “First of all, there was the hundred and fifty grand.”
“Right.”
“Easily traced to an entertainment company in Miami. Little Havana.They provide DJs and video for weddings. You ever hear of MojitoMike?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“That’s because you’re never invited to those hot Latinweddings where he keeps them doing the merengue. Most of them at Sevier’s Miami hotels, by the way. There are about a dozen cheques from Sevier’s company toMojitoMike.”
“Really.”
“Really,” Dwayne replied. “Anyway, the outfit’s owned by a couple of ex-cons. I’m betting the names will mean nothing to you. That’s where themoney went.”
Jack thought about the two men in the videotape they had scammed from Buckner, the security guy at Sevier Holdings. “What are the names?”
“Emilio Mantissa and Michael Sanchez.Why?”
“Not important,” Jack lied. In reality, they were likely the men who had killed Sergio Pabon and shot up that sidewalk in Little Havana. Jack wrote down the killers’ names.
Then. “That second transfer.”
“Yes.”
A moment followed, filled with Dwayne’s keystrokes. Jack waited impatiently.
“You ever hear of a guy named Vasily Rusakova?” Dwayne finally said.
50
NEAR HOLGUIN, CUBA
Apiercing alarm jarred Colonel Bovalenko from his afternoon nap. In the dimly lit radar van a blip flashed immediately on the acquisition and target screen. Bovalenko jerked to attention and picked up a clipboard next to him. Quickly, he read a series of numbers from a top-secret communiqué and compared them with the identifier of the incoming aircraft. Satisfied, he replaced the clipboard, stretched back and yawned.
