Havana Harvest (43 page)

“Such as?”

Gal laughed. “I'm involved in politics a little.”

“How deeply?”

“Oh, just some light fund-raising for the Republicans here in Florida.” He got up and stretched. “I have a lunch to attend tomorrow—five hundred dollars a plate—to help finance the campaign of the new Republican candidate for the Senate.”

Lonsdale was surprised. “How did you get involved in that?”

Gal shrugged. “You know how it is. They have a professionalsto-professionals campaign and they cold-call you. In my case a lawyer who had sent me some business put the bite on me about two years ago. He's not a bad guy; keeps sending me business. He's quite wellknown in the Miami area. Practices immigration law.”

Lonsdale went rigid. “He must have been working for the previous Senate incumbent then.” He tried to sound calm, casual.

“Yeah.” Gal yawned and picked up his glass. “He and Acting CIA Director Smythe, the previous incumbent, are still close friends. Smythe will be at the luncheon tomorrow.”

Lonsdale forced himself to tread with care. “Your guy must be making a killing here with the hundreds of thousands of Cubans and other Latinos around.”

“You're right. Especially with the Cubans, since Ray is Cuban himself.”

“Ray?”

“Yeah. Ray Puma, all around good guy.”

Lonsdale felt as if someone had kicked him in the solar plexus.

Gal stood up and began walking toward his room. “Let's start work early tomorrow. Would seven o'clock suit you?” “Fine by me.” “Goodnight then.” Gal left Lonsdale to face his newfound demons alone.

There is no greater agony than uncertainty. Lonsdale couldn't sleep. Ray Puma was a close friend of Smythe! Ray Puma may have had access to information about Fernandez's new identity. Smythe certainly had. Did Puma betray his cousin? Was Puma working for the Cuban Intelligence Services? How much did Reyes Puma know about what was going on? Lonsdale had to find out. But how with so little time left?

Friday
Miami, Florida

Morton was very worried. Lonsdale had called him on the special line at six a.m., declaring a Grade 1 emergency and asking for a meeting in Miami at lunchtime. This, in spite of their having agreed to keep communications between them to an absolute minimum and to declare emergencies only in extreme circumstances.

Morton had not expected complications this early in the mission.

“What's going on?” he asked as soon as Lonsdale sat down. They were having lunch at The Office, a small restaurant on LeJeune Boulevard near Miami's International Airport.

“Jim, I think it's very bad.” Lonsdale gulped down some water.

“What's up?”

“I've been up all night chewing on what I stumbled into by pure chance yesterday evening. Our operation may be compromised; it may even be in the process of being turned against us.”

“Suppose you start from the beginning.”

Lonsdale drained his glass then told Morton about his conversation with Reuven Gal. “Fernandez,” he ended up, “must have told Reyes Puma everything about the Cuban drug operation prior to surrendering to the INS. Reyes Puma could have asked the director about Fernandez. Since Reyes Puma was representing Fernandez and already in the know, Smythe may have told Reyes Puma about his cousin's new identity.”

“You're assuming Smythe knew it.”

“Yes. It's the first point we have to clear up.”

“But even if he did, why do you assume he would be so indiscreet as to reveal it to Reyes Puma?” Lonsdale's hypothesis did not make sense to Morton.

“Because Smythe may have assumed that, as Fernandez's attorney and cousin, Fernandez was entitled to the information.”

“That's unlikely. Smythe wants to bring Fidel down at any cost so why would he blab? But let's assume Smythe
was
indiscreet. How does this tie in with your theory of a reverse sting?”

“Let us now assume,” Lonsdale was trying to sound calm, but, within, he was anything but, “that Reyes Puma is working for the Cubans, either as a freelancer or as a regular informer. He passes the information along to Cuban G2 and this enables the Cubans to kill Fernandez.”

Morton was skeptical. “But even if you're right it still wouldn't explain why we may be looking at a reverse sting.”

Lonsdale rushed on. “Fernandez is the third person to die, after Siddiqui and Schwartz.”

“The fourth.” Morton corrected him.

“You mean counting the girl in Cayman?”

“No. I mean the BCCI manager in Luanda.”

Lonsdale nodded. “Tell me, Jim, what do all these people have in common?”

“What do you mean?”

“What knowledge did these four people share?”

“What?”

“They were all in a position to testify that Cuba was participating in questionable activities.”

“Such as?”

“Plundering in Angola, smuggling gold and silver coins, ivory, and God knows what else. What's more, Fernandez knew that Raul Castro knew about the drug operation.”

Morton was still skeptical. “You know as well as I do that it was the Agency, and not Castro who started Operation Adios.”

“It's for this very reason that I'm convinced we're facing a reverse sting.”

“I don't follow you.”

“Listen to this. According to both Casas and Fernandez, Raul seemed to know about the drug operation before Fernandez defected. If so, he also knew that he and Fidel had authorized no such thing. So why then did he not intervene to stop the operation and have Casas and De la Fuente arrested?”

“You tell me.”

“One: to get his hands on the drug money; and two: to harm the CIA by showing that the operation was CIA inspired.”

Morton saw what Lonsdale was driving at. “So you think Raul started killing off the people who could testify to Cuba being involved in questionable operations.”

“Yes.”

“And you think he is trying to isolate De la Fuente to force him to confess to CIA involvement in exchange for his life.”

“Yes.”

“And you think Reyes Puma is working for Raul?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Morton allowed himself a bitter smile. “You may be right.”

Lonsdale was taken aback. “How come all of a sudden you agree with me?”

“Because of something I know that you don't.”

“What's that?”

“We completed our background check on Reyes Puma. He has a seventy-year-old mother in Havana who, for no apparent reason, receives a stipend from the Castro government well in excess of the average pension paid to Cubans over age sixty-five.”

Lonsdale's excitement was mounting. “Reyes Puma working for the Cubans explains all the murders. He might even be the guy responsible for setting them up. Maybe he is running a network of Cuban undercover agents in the States. And maybe he is trying to send us a message.”

“What message?”

“Simply that the Cubans know we Americans are behind Operation Adios. And that they're a step ahead of us, and that they are eliminating all potential witnesses who could testify to Cuba's involvement in any kind of impropriety. They also want us to note that Cuban Intelligence has a widespread network of agents who can function with lethal effect on at least two continents.”

“Sounds hard to believe.” Morton, though hesitant, was becoming a convert.

Lonsdale pressed. “We must find out at once what Reyes Puma is up to. Otherwise, I cannot continue our operation. It would be too risky.”

Morton was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. “There is also the problem of De la Fuente. If you're right, he is the keystone of Castro's case against the CIA. Therefore, there can be no question of abandoning efforts to extract him.”

“Or of killing him before he can hurt us.” Lonsdale felt he had to articulate what both of them were thinking. He wanted no subsequent misunderstandings.

“What do you propose we do?”

Lonsdale cut into his steak. “I'll tell you in a minute, but first I want to settle pending money matters.”

“Do you have your bank account numbers?”

Lonsdale handed Morton a piece of paper. “It's all there.”

Morton glanced at it. “I'll take care of the two transfers as soon as I get back to Washington. Your money should be in your accounts by noon on Monday.”

“There's one more thing.” Lonsdale extracted another piece of paper from his inside pocket. “As you know, I met with Ivan Spiegel in London—”

“I know all about it. Smythe showed me Spiegel's summary of the meeting.” Lonsdale was aghast “What if Smythe also told Reyes Puma about Ivan Spiegel?”

“Don't be silly. Smythe may be indiscreet, but not stupid.”

“Or a traitor?”

“You're becoming paranoid,” Morton snapped.

Lonsdale shrugged and handed Morton the piece of paper. “That's a copy of Maria Teresa Montalba's Swiss bank account, which I obtained with Spiegel's help. It shows a balance of over three hundred and fifty thousand U.S. dollars, made up mostly of transfers from the National Bank of Mexico. We need to find out who is originating these transfers in Mexico and why.”

Morton nodded. “I'll see what I can do, but frankly, I fail to see how this can be of any use to us. Montalba's daughter is not Montalba.”

“Agreed, but the account was opened by Montalba with a thousand dollar cash deposit, and Montalba remains the sole signatory on the account as long as he is alive.”

“That's a different story.” Morton was impressed.

“Let's get back to Reyes Puma. Here's what I propose we do.”

Monday, November 28
Miami, Florida

Sunday, November 27, was Reyes Puma's fiftieth birthday, which he celebrated at a gigantic barbecue in his own backyard organized by his family and close friends. There was lots to drink, good Cuban music, and, in typical style, mountains of food to consume. But there were no stone crabs. For this delicacy, Reyes Puma's favorite, he had to wait until the following day, on which some of his grateful clients and business contacts had organized a special dinner in his honor at Joe's Stone Crab Restaurant in South Beach.

The event was called for nine, but by half past eight most of the fifty attendees, who'd arrived by car, boat, and motorcycle, were at the bar of the famous crab house. Reyes Puma showed up a few minutes after the hour and was greeted by thunderous applause and boisterous shouts of “Salud” and “Viva.”

Dinner got underway an hour later, and Reyes Puma ate as if he'd never eaten before, demolishing more than a dozen fair-size crabs in the process.

The party was in full swing when the guest of honor began to complain about a stomach ache, something he very seldom experienced. By midnight he was seriously ill. One of the guests, Que-sada, who had been so helpful with organizing Fernandez's release, arranged for an ambulance to take the ill, semiconscious Cuban to a private clinic nearby. The doctor in the ambulance administered an emetic at once, which caused the three hundred pound attorney to be violently sick. The doctor then injected him with a tranquilizer, which was also an antidote to the stomach irritant Reyes Puma had unknowingly ingested during his marathon meal.

At the clinic he was rushed to the room that the solicitous Quesada had reserved for him, where the doctor, who had never left his side, arranged for intravenous treatment. In addition to the regular rehydrating saline solution, the treatment also contained a generous amount of sodium pentothal. The doctor waited for thirty minutes for the drug to take effect and then administered a stimulant that brought the fat Cuban back into a more or less conscious state.

That's when Lonsdale took over. Dressed in Cuban Army fatigues with the insignia of major on his shoulder tabs, sporting a false beard, his nose and cheeks altered by a master make-up artist to resemble a bit to El Che, and sporting dark glasses, he clattered into the room, followed by Morton, similarly attired, but showing the rank of Lieutenant.

“Good morning, Major Reyes Puma, can you hear me?” he asked in Spanish.

“Yes, I can, but who are you?” whispered the drugged attorney.

“We're from Havana, here to congratulate you on the fine job you're doing for La Patria.”

“Then you know I'm not doing this for La Patria, but mamá,” replied Reyes Puma, “besides, I'm not a major, only a captain.”

“You have been promoted, comrade.” Lonsdale turned to Morton, who handed him two shoulder tabs marked with the
galones
of a major in the Cuban Army. He laid them on Reyes Puma's shoulders then saluted smartly. “Congratulations Comrade Major on your promotion,” he snapped. “La Patria thanks you for your efforts. Your pay has been increased to correspond with your new rank,” Lonsdale improvised, “and will continue to be paid to your mother in Havana.”

“Thank you, and thank Comandante Raul for me.” Reyes Puma tried to salute, but his arms were tied down, though in his drugged state he had the impression he was actually saluting.

Lonsdale pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “How is Director Smythe?” he asked. “Is he still providing useful information?”