“Exactly,” Enrique replied, his voice as hard as the gun pressing against Anika’s side. “A foreign guest.”
“It’s all right,” she said.
Everybody stay calm
. “I’d be happy to show you my papers. Unfortunately, I don’t have them with me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Señor
Alejo stiffen. “I was in such a hurry to go out this morning and explore your beautiful city that I left them in my hotel room.” She blew out another stream of smoke. “I could bring them by your offices later.”
“Or, I could come by your hotel.” Enrique’s eyes gleamed at her. “Where are you staying?”
She tried to remember the name of the hotel that the man she had rescued from the bus had mentioned.
Ingle … ?
Something like that.
“The Inglaterra,” she said.
“One of Havana’s finest,” Enrique murmured. She watched his eyes travel over her face, down her body, and back to her legs. “Wonderful bar.”
“We could meet there. In the lobby.”
“Lobby?” His brows drew together. “The Inglaterra’s bar is on the roof.”
Shit
. Anika took another puff.
“I meant,” she said, exhaling, “we could meet in the lobby and then go up to the bar.” She dropped her glance to stare at the gold band on his left hand, then lifted her eyes back up to his. He had tracked the move. “When should I expect you?”
“I’ll call ahead.” He tipped back his glass and drained it. “Thank you for the hospitality, Alberto. Excellent, as always.”
Señor
Alejo escorted him back inside.
Anika stubbed out the cigarette and placed her unfinished drink on the table. She leaned against the railing and released a shaky breath.
“My apologies.”
Señor
Alejo reappeared. “We play this little game every month or two. Usually when his office notices the sign offering a room. The government likes to discourage renting to foreigners.”
“Why is that?”
On the street below, Enrique exited the residence and walked over to the sedan. He glanced back up at the balcony and she gave a small wave.
“Years of living in our own world. Cut off from others,”
Señor
Alejo explained. “It creates unhealthy mistrust.”
You could be talking about U.N.I.T.
“I see.” She continued to scan the street, half expecting the car to re-appear, perhaps with some police vehicles.
“You handled Enrique perfectly.” He chuckled. “He has an eye for a pretty
señorita
.”
“Will he come by my hotel, do you think?”
“I am certain he will try.”
I wonder if he’ll arrive before or after Gianni does.
Her mouth curved a little at the thought of a possible encounter.
That would be interesting.
“I hope you’re still considering the room? Now that Enrique has made his official visit, I’ll be in the clear for another month.”
“I need to think about it.” The breeze coming from the sea chilled her back where a patch of sweat had formed.
“Of course.”
Señor
Alejo bowed his head. “But please, you should know there’s nothing to worry about. Even if the
Ministerio
objects to your renting the room, the worst that can happen is I’ll have to pay a fine. You won’t be bothered, as long as your papers are in order.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Can I let you know tomorrow?”
“Of course. I’ll be delighted to hold it for you until then.”
Back out on the street,
Señor
Alejo bid her “
buenas noches
” and tipped his hat in farewell before heading down the boulevard that was now beginning to pulse with people dressed for a night out.
Anika spotted her teenage driver across the street. The girl lounged against the seawall next to a
Cubano
who looked about her age. She was laughing at something he had just said when she saw Anika.
Instantly, she turned away from the young man. He reached for her arm, but she shook him off and sprinted through the traffic. Anika held her breath until the girl made it back to her rickshaw.
“Do you always rush into traffic like that?”
“Always! It’s exciting, no?” The girl flashed a smile. “Ready to go to your hotel,
señorita
?”
“Call me Jane. I need to stop at a computer center. Is there one on the way?”
“They’re all closed by now.”
“Closed? But it’s early. Not even eighteen hundred.” Frustration fizzed in her veins. “I mean,” she said, converting to civilian time, “six o’clock.”
“They close early on Wednesdays.”
“Why?”
“Because.” The girl shrugged and straddled her bike seat. “That’s Cuba.”
“Then I guess you can drive me to the Santa Isabel. But take your time getting there. I’m not in a hurry and I’d like to arrive in one piece.”
“
Sí, Señorita
Jane. I haven’t lost a passenger yet.” The girl flicked her bell. “Ready?”
Anika nodded, but didn’t move right away from her place on the sidewalk. The sky looked like a tangerine-and-scarlet shawl fringed with gold. Dozens of people sat on the seawall to watch the sunset. Kids
chased one another along the wide ledge, running over and around the adults.
A pair of young lovers sat side by side, facing the water. A lock of the woman’s hair came loose from the knot atop her head. Her boyfriend smoothed it back and began playing with the silver circle on her shoulder-length earring. His hair was a darker version of Gianni’s, thick and straight and worn in a half-ponytail.
Watching them, Anika’s throat tightened. She tried picturing herself with Gianni, their arms wrapped around each other, enjoying a private moment in a public place, unconcerned about their location and anyone nearby. But the picture wouldn’t hold. They had never had that kind of relationship. And they never would.
She turned her gaze away.
“You know them?” The girl jerked her head toward the couple.
“What? Who?” Anika shook her head, embarrassed that she had been caught in her reverie.
“The lovey-dovey ones. They were watching you. When you came out of the house and said good-bye to the old man.”
“His name is
Señor
Alejo.” Anika looked back at the couple, who still sat close together, their backs to her. “I don’t know them. Are you sure they were watching me? Maybe they’re just interested in the room for rent.”
“The guy was definitely checking you out. Until his girlfriend jerked on his ponytail. Probably just jealous. You Americans are always trying to steal our men, with your foreign currency and your promises of sex.” The girl grinned at her, a spark of mischief in her dark brown eyes.
Anika laughed out loud. “First of all, I’m Canadian. And secondly, I’m not interested in stealing your men. Right now, all I want is to get back to my hotel. Safely.” She climbed into the rickshaw and settled against the hard seat.
And I want a drink. Tall, cool, and mind-numbing.
Anika slid her hands down the aquamarine skirt she had purchased earlier that day and adjusted the shoulder-length earrings. She hoped she looked the part of a tourist out for a nice meal.
No computerized voice greeted her at the front door of the house
.
The concierge at the hotel had suggested this
paladare
, a mini-restaurant that operated out of a family home, one of the few types of private enterprises legally authorized by the Gonzalez government.
Anika scanned the immediate area, but didn’t find a security monitor. Not even an intercom or buzzer.
Her plan to eat at the hotel had changed abruptly when one of the ball-capped men from this morning’s tour group had found her in the bar and asked her to join him and his friend for the evening. Claiming a prior commitment, Anika had thrust her unfinished drink into the man’s hand, dashed out of the hotel and into a taxi.
Now, the taxi had driven off, the concierge had assured her this place served excellent food, and her stomach growled to be fed. Despite the weeds hanging like green dreadlocks from the dilapidated terrace, she had decided to stay. If only she could figure out how to get inside.
She reached for the doorknob. Locked.
Voices and laughter burbled through the door like a quick moving stream.
She knocked. No response. She raised her hand again, but before her knuckles hit the wood, the door swung open.
“
Señorita
Brown?” A middle-aged man, with short dark hair and brown eyes, stood on the threshold. Though slightly out of breath, he greeted her with a warm friendly gaze. “I’m
Señor
Estrada. Welcome.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. “The concierge from the Santa Isabel just called. Please come in.”
Anika stepped inside a small foyer. Mouth-watering smells of onion, garlic, and chilies teased her empty stomach.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,”
Señor
Estrada said. “Excuse me for a moment.” He turned toward the hallway behind him. “Nicolas,” he called out.
“¡Ahora!”
“Sí, Papi,”
a male voice replied.
“My son,” he explained, turning back to Anika. “Trying to pull him away from his computer games is like trying to peel glue off paper.”
Computer?
Hope sparked in her.
Down there?
The taxi had driven past two computer centers on the way here, their dark interiors a taunting reminder of her failure to connect with Gianni. She reached for the St. Jude medal around her neck. Maybe she could make contact after all.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I teach high school back in Toronto.”
“Ah, then you do understand. Please, follow me. The others have just sat down. The concierge explained we serve family-style, I hope?”
Señor
Estrada led her inside what looked like the house’s living room. Six people sat around a large rectangular table.
Anika catalogued details on each one.
Naomi, shoulder-length blond, late twenties, Australian.
Sister Judy, short-haired brunette, freckles.
The Bosserts. Middle-aged couple. Danish. Ruddy cheeks. Kind faces.
The Mottesis. Older, mid-seventies. Argentinians. Wife, dark haired, stern expression. No obvious enhancements. Husband, salt-and-pepper. Distinguished looking.
Anika chose an open seat that allowed her to face out, with her back against the wall. She had a view of the front door, another one through the window on her left and a clear exit.
When she sat down and realized what she had been doing — filing away descriptions, identifying a safe exit — she wasn’t happy to know she was still being controlled by her training.
“Lemonade, Jane?” Naomi sat across from her and held up a pitcher.
Anika’s eyes trailed to the woman’s hands and zeroed in on her lilac-colored nails. Lilac. Jewel. Was that the only nail color available this season?
“Yes, thanks.” She forced a smile and held up her glass. Her fingers itched to get to the computer located a few short meters away. “When did you arrive in Cuba?”
“Three days ago.” Naomi tilted her head at her sister. “Our first trip. How about you?”
“First time for me, too.”
“Be sure to go to the glass exhibit at the
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes.
” Mrs. Bossert spoke up. “Thomas and I went there yesterday. It’s stunning.”
“I’d rather have gone to a cigar factory,” her husband muttered.
Señor
Estrada pushed aside the rose-colored curtain that separated the room from the kitchen. In each hand was a large platter piled high with food. A teenage boy followed him with more dishes. The boredom on the boy’s face told Anika he was Nicolas, the avid gamer.
I need to get to that computer.
She started to ask for directions to the bathroom when the front door opened and a tall slender man with light brown hair entered the foyer.
Anika recognized him from this afternoon. Her neck tingled a warning. Was it just coincidence that he had shown up here?
Señor
Estrada glanced over. The platters slipped from his hands and thudded on the table. “Excuse me one moment.” He hurried over to the visitor and greeted him with welcoming cries.
“Maria,” he called toward the kitchen.
A woman with dark upswept hair and a frazzled expression poked her head around the curtain.
“¿Qué pasa?”
Upon seeing the visitor, however, her expression changed from irritation to delight and she rushed into the room, her arms outstretched. She embraced the visitor, who lifted her off her feet and twirled her around in a circle, both of them laughing.
All conversation and activity at the table stopped. The sisters nudged each other.
“Sorry to interrupt.” The man ducked his head under the archway and stepped into the dining room. When he saw Anika, his eyes widened. So did his smile. “Hello, again.”
He had on the same blue shirt and khaki trousers and his knuckles had turned multiple shades of black and blue.
“You two know each other?” Naomi asked.
“Jane saved me from a nasty run-in with a bus earlier today.”
“I was just in the right place at the right time. A lucky break,” Anika said. But she didn’t believe in luck. Especially not the good kind.
“I’m Brad.”
Naomi twirled a lock of hair around her finger and patted the seat next to her. “Have a seat, Brad. I’m Naomi and this is my sister, Judy.” She handled the rest of the introductions then passed him a platter of shredded pork and started firing off questions.
Good-naturedly, Brad answered all of them. He’s visiting from the States. No, this isn’t his first time in Cuba. Yes, he’s American, but as a college professor, he’s allowed unrestricted travel courtesy of an educational visa. He teaches world history at Berkeley University in California North. No, he isn’t staying in Cuba much longer.
After a polite back-and-forth about how much the women were enjoying their trip, Brad turned to Anika.
“How about you, Jane? Is this your first visit or have you been to Cuba before?”
“Oh, it’s her first time,” Naomi said.