by Nick Cook
‘No, I’m good. Let’s get that bastard,’ I said, ejecting the spent magazine from the LRS and slipping a fresh one in.
I jumped back to my feet and in one fluid movement, kicked the door open. Keeping low, I ducked into what turned out to be an office. The contents of desk drawers had been emptied onto the floor and papers were strewn everywhere. Of more immediate significance was the smashed window, the curtains flapping in the breeze. I rushed over and peered out to see the Jeep racing away. I emptied my fresh magazine towards it, one of my bullets smashing the rear window and another sparking off the vehicle’s bumper as it swerved through the gate.
Tom reached my side just as the vehicle gunned its engine and hurtled away up the lane.
‘Whoever that was, we can be pretty bloody certain it wasn’t Carlos,’ he said.
A moment later, Ruby and Glenn burst into the room.
‘I heard shots! Are you both okay?’ Ruby asked.
‘Yes, but the intruder managed to bloody get away,’ I said, scowling and pointing towards the Jeep as it disappeared into the rocky ravine.
‘Damn it, I knew I should have brought my Accuracy International sniper rifle with me,’ Ruby said.
’Don’t forget that this was meant to be just a reconnaissance mission,’ Tom said.
‘Yeah, that part about our missions always going south…’
’Tell me about it,’ I replied.
‘But on the plus side…’ Tom said. He pulled up the images on his Sky Wire that he’d taken of the Jeep and zoomed in on the number plate to reveal F021 016. ‘Delphi has complete databases of all vehicle registrations around the world. But given that whoever it was was using a suppressor on a pistol, then you can pretty much guarantee that we’re dealing with a professional here. If so, we can almost be certain that they fitted false plates.’
‘So we’ve no way to trace whoever it is?’ Glenn asked.
‘That may be true, but I think our key priority has to be finding Carlos,’ I said. ‘Whoever it was that just broke in here, you can bet they have to be looking for him too. There are some pretty glaring signs here that his life is in danger.’
‘But Cuba is a big place; where the hell are we going to find him?’ Ruby asked.
Glenn smiled and pointed to the white board behind us that listed the days of the weeks across several months.
Most of the entries on it were booked lessons with red pen strikes through them. The only appointment I could see that hadn’t been crossed out was one for today, Wednesday, where a single entry had been written beneath it: Chess tournament at La Tropicana.
‘So Carlos is a chess player then?’ I said.
‘A very good one, according to what I’ve heard about him,’ Glenn said, flashing his golden smile. ‘And in Cuba, chess isn’t so much a sport as a religion. The man may be grieving about his children, but as the tournament is the only thing not crossed out, I will wager you that’s where we’ll probably find him.’
‘It sounds like a promising lead, but the bad news is that our intruder likely also saw that board and came to the same conclusion,’ Tom said. ‘They probably waited until Carlos was out to search his office.’
‘Kicking the front door in isn’t exactly a subtle way to gain entry to a building,’ Ruby said.
‘Which is probably exactly why the intruder did it, to try and make it look like a regular break-in,’ Glenn said. ‘Problem is that now we’ve disturbed them, they also now know someone else is keen to talk to Carlos. We may have forced their hands into making a move on Carlos to find out directly from him about whatever it is that they’re after.’
’Shit, you’re saying we’ve put his life in danger?’ I asked.
‘Maybe not intentionally, but basically yes.’
I felt a surge of guilt and responsibility for the life of a man that I’d never met.
‘Okay, then let’s get moving and just pray we reach Carlos before that intruder does,’ I said, heading for the door.
Chapter Six
After Glenn had driven the Skyliner as fast as he dared without drawing too much attention through the outskirts of Havana, we were finally nearing the heart of the city that was assaulting all my senses and totally living up to expectations. As I’d hoped, the famous 1950s cars that Cuba had imported before America imposed their embargo following the communist revolution, were absolutely everywhere. It turned out that a lot of the taxis were old Chevrolets, the very peak of retro cool. But Glenn had also identified some even more stunning examples of the classic car, like a metallic red soft top Cadillac complete with bat wing tail lights. I would never have described myself as a car woman, but I could have been swayed by the vehicles we saw in that city. The way the cars had been maintained and obviously very carefully looked after, certainly suggested a lot of love from their owners.
The vehicles I’d expected, but the horse-drawn carts I hadn’t. They were everywhere as well, many carrying goods of every kind and in one particular memorable example, a well used grand piano jammed in at an angle into the cart, forcing it hard down onto its wheels.
We drove down a broad street with colourful colonial style buildings on either side, offset against the background of an intense blue sky.
The hat of choice for a lot of the older men seemed to be panamas like Glenn’s or pork pie hats that I’d seen many a musician wear at gigs over the years. The clothing of choice for the younger generations seemed to be the obligatory shorts and T-shirts. But the other look that stood out, worn by people of all ages, was dressing from head to toe in white. We passed the latest example of this, a woman in her fifties in a long white dress, carrying a basket of bread on her arm.
I looked at the back of Glenn’s head. ‘Why are so many people wearing white?’ I asked.
Glenn took a puff of his cigar. ‘They belong to the Santería religion. Priests who are in training wear white and it sort of caught on for everyone else as a uniform to show their devotion.’
‘Their laundry bill must be pretty hefty keeping their look that pristine,’ Ruby said.
Glenn chuckled. ‘Isn’t that the truth?’
We reached the end of the road and swept around an enormous plaza with an unmistakable mural of Fidel Castro, the revolutionary leader, on one of the buildings.
‘Hey, this place is epic,’ Ruby said, taking in the expansive view.
‘That’s because this is the Plaza de la Revolución , one of the largest plazas in the world and where the biggest rallies in our country’s history have been held.’
‘Our country’s history?’ I replied. ‘I thought you were American born and bred, Glenn?’
‘Maybe I am, but Cuba is my adopted home now and also my soul’s home; it dances to the music here.’
Tom glanced across at me. ‘I don’t think you could get Glenn to leave if you offered him his weight in gold.’
‘That’s right, my old friend,’ Glenn replied, beaming his gold tooth smile.
We turned off from the square and headed down a busy smaller road.
I glanced at my smartwatch and felt my anxiety spike as I saw that it had been nearly thirty minutes since we’d left the diving school. The car began to slow because of the sheer amount of traffic and I began to drum my foot on the floor.
‘How much longer till we get to this damned chess tournament? I won’t be able to relax until we know that Carlos is safe,’ I said.
‘We’re almost there, can’t you tell?’ Glen said, gesturing to the street that we were driving along.
I looked out to see small tables nearly everywhere along the street, even up on the balconies. People were sitting at each and every one, from the young to the old, and they were all playing chess.
‘As I said, chess is basically the third religion of our country,’ Glenn said.
‘I’m starting to get that impression,’ I replied.
With several honks of his horn and a bit of negotiation, Glenn persuaded an old man with a horse and cart filled with mangoes to m
ove along enough that we could squeeze into the parking space behind him.
When we got out I saw that we’d pulled up outside a relatively modern, glass-panelled hotel, a contrast to the far older architecture around it. Over its entrance hung the sign, Habana Libre, but of more immediate interest was the blue Capablanca Memorial Elite Chess Tournament banner written in English, slung beneath it.
An assault of food smells from the street vendors hit my nose. There was everything from pizza to churros, complete with some hot chocolate pots on the side to dip the sweet treats into. There were also some fried flat patties that a line of people were queuing for.
‘What are those, Glenn?’ I asked as we passed by the line, heading for the main entrance.
‘Those are one of Cuba’s most famous street foods - plantains fried until they’re crispy and eaten like potato chips with a dip. And they taste…’ he kissed the tips of his fingers.
‘And what about the famous Cubano sandwich that Mike’s been raving about?’ Ruby asked.
Glenn laughed. ’I’m afraid you’ll only find that sold in the tourist areas, because people kept asking for them.’ He shrugged. ‘They are more famous in America now, and the locals here don’t even really eat them.’
‘Oh God, Mike’s going to be so bummed when he hears that,’ Ruby said.
Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘You do know we’re on a mission here and not a food tour?’
Ruby grinned at him. ‘Sorry, just getting a bit pulled in by the local sights and smells.’
‘Yes, be careful or Cuba will snag a piece of your heart forever,’ Glenn said. ‘That’s what brought me back here…well, that and a beautiful Latino woman who I’m lucky enough to have called my wife for the last twenty years.’ He gave us a crooked grin.
I was liking Glenn more and more by the minute. A rough diamond definitely, but one with a soft heart.
We squeezed through the crowds and reached the entrance of the hotel. As we entered the lobby the welcome chill of air conditioning wafted over us.
After the noise of the crowds outside, it was like we’d stepped into the hushed atmosphere of a library. A large bright atrium with green palms scattered throughout opened out into an area where chess tables had been set up in regimented rows. From the balconied area around it, an audience looked down intently, watching the games in progress. At the far end was a large chess board hanging from the wall, where a guy with a long stick had just moved a white knight.
Tom’s gaze was already scanning the people. ‘On the plus side, if whoever broke into the diving school is already here, at least there are far too many people for them to try anything. On the minus side of that equation is that we still have no idea what they look like. Also we may not be dealing with a lone wolf operation. There’s every chance that they could be working with an accomplice.’
‘Then we’ll just have to keep extra sharp and hope we can get to Carlos first then,’ I said. ‘And talking of Carlos, any idea where we might find him, Glenn?’ I asked.
He gestured towards an easel near the front desk where a list of names were displayed in two columns. ‘We can find out if Carlos is currently in a match and if so, who he’s playing.’
We all headed over to the board. In a glance I saw that there were a number of blanks on it where names had been removed, presumably players who’d lost their matches. I quickly scanned through the remaining names, but it was Ruby that spotted our man’s name first.
She tapped Carlos’s name on the board about halfway down. ‘According to this he’s playing some guy called Yadier Alfonso.’
‘That’s going to be a tough match for Carlos; Yadier is a Grandmaster and ranked number three in Cuba,’ Glenn said. ‘But going by the fact that Carlos’s name is still on the board, he’s still playing, which means he’s still here rather than drowning his sorrows in a bar, where he would be a much easier target for whoever is after him.’
‘So then, where is our man?’ I asked, looking at the rows of chess matches in progress.
Glenn sucked his lip. ‘According to the board he’s on table twelve so…’ He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the players. ‘Aha, there’s the great man himself.’ He gestured towards a match at the far end of the room, just below the display chess board on the wall.
Two men sat across from each other at the table. One had a mane of dark hair and was probably in his forties. The older, grey-haired man sitting opposite him I instinctively knew was Carlos. He had the well-tanned face of a diver and the lean physique of someone who was used to a lot of exercise.
‘The guy on the right?’ I asked.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ Glenn confirmed.
The old man reached out and moved his rook forward to take one of his opponent’s pawns.
At the same time the man moved the rook on the big display board at the back that was presumably reserved for the star match. On the balcony above, people nodded and bent their heads together in whispered conversation, their gazes fixed intently on the two players.
‘Well that’s a bold move. Carlos has exposed his queen to being taken,’ Tom said.
‘You play then?’ I asked.
Tom held out his hand and waggled it. ‘Just a little bit.’
But knowing Tom’s general leaning towards understatements, that probably meant he was a Grandmaster too.
I glanced at the board. I’d played a bit of chess myself and the rook move looked like Carlos was just about to throw away his queen. The old man was obviously getting desperate.
Then my gaze swept over all the people watching. ‘So the intruder is probably already here?’ I said.
‘Oh you can count on it,’ Tom replied, also scanning the crowd.
‘What I really want to know is exactly who they are working for,’ Ruby said.
‘Based on the fact we have certain vessels just off the coast, I’d say the most likely candidate is the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service,’ Tom said.
I furrowed my eyebrows. ‘Not the Overseers?’
‘Well maybe not directly but even though the agent probably doesn’t realise it, the Overseers are almost certainly pulling the strings of this particular operation.’
So we could be dealing with a Russian agent. I’d seen enough movies to know that they would be very highly trained.
I increased my scrutiny of the spectators. But without any clue about who we were looking for, suddenly everybody looked like they could be a Russian spy, even an old grandma sitting at a nearby table, sipping a small espresso.
’So how are we going to spot them?’ Ruby said, casting a hawk-like gaze over the crowd.
‘Unfortunately, we’re going to have to wait for them to show their hand,’ Tom said.
I nodded, but I really wasn’t happy. We were going to be on the back foot here, waiting for our mystery man or woman to make their move.
I tried to put myself in their headspace. What they did next would depend on their mission objective. The fact that they’d been ready to shoot three rounds through the door suggested they weren’t going to play nicely when it came to extracting whatever information that Carlos knew.
A murmur passed through the spectators and I returned my attention to the match in progress. It was then that I realised the Grandmaster hadn’t taken Carlos’s queen as expected but had instead moved his knight forward to take one of his pawns.
I stared at the board as I realised that Carlos had just been put into check. Then Carlos tipped his king over onto the board and extended his hand to shake his opponent’s.
‘Why is he resigning?’ I asked.
‘Because the Grandmaster has him on the ropes; it’s checkmate in three moves from here,’ Tom said with an approving look.
The two players stood up and nodded to each other with wide smiles.
‘Okay, we need to keep sharp everyone, because the agent could literally be anyone here,’ Tom said.
I nodded. ‘Glenn and Ruby, you keep an eye on the crowd in case anyone tries to make a
move. Tom, I think it’s time for you and I to introduce ourselves to Mr Fernández, don’t you?’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Tom replied.
Together we set off towards Carlos, who’d already been surrounded by well-wishers, all trying to shake his hand. Even though the old man had lost, he seemed as popular as though he’d just won.
I scrutinised the people around him intensely, but as far as I could tell, none were acting suspiciously, at least not yet.
We reached the edge of the perimeter of people that had formed around Carlos just as an old woman hugged him. ‘I thought you had Yadier,’ she said, squeezing his cheek.
‘No, he was too slippery for me. The rook was a gamble on my part, but he didn’t fall for it. And that’s why he’s a Grandmaster and I’m a lowly player.’
’You will never be a lowly player, my dear Carlos. You have the spirit of a marlin.’
He smiled at her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Once, maybe, but that man was gone after I lost my beautiful children.’
She rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘Never give up, Carlos, never give up. That’s what my sister would have said if she was still here.’
‘I know, I know, but now I’m all alone in the world, Mariah.’
‘You will always have the rest of your family. We’ll always be here for you.’
Carlos held her hands in his and nodded.
I immediately felt a tug of sadness for this old man. Losing his son and daughter had to be the toughest thing to come to terms with. Also, if I was reading what we’d just overheard correctly, he’d also lost his wife. But the fact he’d managed to drag himself out here at all showed to me that the old man had the courage to carry on, even if he did have a broken heart.
And for no reason I could really fathom it was then that I was reminded of Aunt Lucy. She’d always been courageous, whatever life had thrown at her, including a scare with cancer. And despite all of that, Colonel Alvarez had casually snuffed her life out on a road in Exmoor. Immediately, I felt a strong affinity for Carlos and became determined to protect him at any cost.
