Suspicion of Rage (47 page)

"No, it's blank. But don't leave it behind. My fingerprints are on it."

She snapped the CD into its case. "You really didn't have to lie to me."

He remembered what he had told her earlier. "I am sorry."

"Like hell."

Hector opened the apartment door and peered out before signaling for them to come ahead. Blood spattered the floor in the hall from the wound Hector had made in the guard's chest. He quickly wiped it away. It was possible that the bodies would not be discovered for days, unless someone from an adjacent building noticed the man on the colonnade roof. By then, the sight of four strangers coming down the stairs might have been forgotten.

On the second level they passed some teenagers, who glanced at them without interest. Coming out of the foyer, they were caught in a crowd of tourists and Cubans out for the night. Half a dozen men, singing loudly in German, stumbled off the sidewalk. A horn blared. Anthony pushed through the crowd. He and Gail walked east toward the Capitol.

Three floors above, the block captain from the CDR sat in her rocking chair and sipped a cup of coffee. As she gazed down from her window, scanning the crowd, she noticed a tourist couple and their daughter. Where were they from? The man looked Spanish or Italian. The woman was blond. They had been too long in Havana, she concluded. The wife pressed close to her husband, whose expression said that he would rather be anywhere else than here in this miserable city. He was forced to carry their daughter, who was too spoiled to walk on her own feet.

The woman noticed the little
mulato
just behind them, close as a shadow. She wondered if he planned to beg a few dollars. It was suspicious, all right, the way he kept looking around. She thought about phoning the police, but the man was poor and probably hungry. If he took money from rich tourists, what did it matter? Those people had more than they needed. Anyway, this cup of coffee would be the last until she got her new ration card, and she wanted to enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

41

 

 

The gate at the Vega house was open when Mario arrived. He drove through, and his headlights picked up the blue Lada in the driveway. He didn't see the general's minivan.

He glanced at his watch. One minute past seven. In less than fifteen minutes the operation would have to be completed, but the general wasn't here. With a curse Mario put in the clutch and jammed the gearshift into reverse. The Rat's transmission clattered and finally caught. He glanced through the windshield and saw in the porch light the front door opening, and a girl in a pink pullover coming out. Angela Quintana. She stood there waiting for him.
 

She would know where the general was.
 

Mario parked and turned off the engine. The flute case lay on the passenger seat. He picked it up and got out of the car with it. As he walked toward the house, he put the strap over his shoulder. The case hung just below his right hip. He touched the latches to reassure himself that his fingers would find them.

She met him on the top step and put her arms around his neck. His first thought was to push her away, but he kept his hands by his sides. When she turned into the light, he saw tears on her face.

"I left a message to tell you not to come. I'm so glad you didn't get it. Somebody took Karen right off the Street. It happened near the bakery! We don't know who, but she's all right. My father and Gail went to pick her up. They just called a minute ago. We were all going out of our minds with worry." Laughing, Angela wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "I don't mean to do this. Karen's okay. She's fine, but can you believe it?"

It took Mario some time to turn his thoughts away from General Vega and understand what Angela was talking about. He had to search for the correct response.

"That's terrible," he said.

"They might have wanted a ransom. The army found her. We think so because a general called here to speak to my father. The people responsible for this have probably been arrested already."

"Good. I'm glad. Where is General Vega?"

"I don't know. Maybe he helped rescue Karen. We'll find out more when everyone gets home."

"They'll be here soon, then?"

"I think they're on their way. Do you want to come inside?" She took his arm.

"Who else is here?"

"Besides us? Aunt Marta and Gail's mother and Janelle and Danny. You wouldn't be a bother."

"Let's stay outside. Is that all right?"

"It's fine," she said. "I'd prefer it, really. Do I look all right? My eyes are red, aren't they?"

"A little."

As he took the metal chair beside hers, Mario glanced at his watch. In ten minutes the communique would be delivered to CNN. The notices would be dropped off at the university and the hotels. Soon people would begin calling Vega's house. The police would come.

Mario watched the street. Angela's voice seemed to fade in and out. He saw headlights approach, then pass by. He wondered if the neighbors would be able to hear the gunshots from inside Vega's office. He had prepared himself to die after Vega, but to die on the street would be better. He imagined a circle of faces looking down at him. They would ask who he was. A great pity to die so young, they would say, but he died for a reason.

The door opened, and a girl came outside, a short, plump girl, her full breasts hidden by an oversized T-shirt. Angela's cousin. He couldn't remember her name.

The girl came over and hung on Angela's chair and looked at him. "Angela, did you tell Mario about Karen? Isn't that horrible?"

"We were just talking about it," Angela said.

"I see that you brought your flute," the girl said. "Last time you were here you promised to play for me."

"Not now," he said. "Go back inside. We're talking."

"That's very rude." She glanced at Angela, who gave her a sympathetic look. She went in, and the door slammed behind her.

Mario thought of standing up, walking across the yard, getting into the car. Then he thought of the communique. In minutes the Movement would be claiming a victory in Vega's death. But he had done nothing. They had failed.

"You're upset about your father, aren't you?" Angela said.

He looked at her. "I apologize for being rude to your cousin."

"Don't worry about it. She doesn't understand. How's your mom?"
 

"You can imagine," he said.

Angela took his hand. She was saying something about her father trying to help José Leiva.

He heard an engine. Headlights flickered through the bushes, then appeared on the street, coming closer. A minivan. The minivan turned into the driveway. Lights moved across the trees and shone on the green Fiat. The minivan parked in front of the portico. The door opened, and he could see the general's bald brown head and olive green uniform. He got out with a leather briefcase. He looked toward the front porch.

Mano stood up. He would do it here, now. He would take the general here on the steps, then run out the gate and around the corner. Raúl would be on the other street any moment. Angela would see it, but Mario had no alternative. He touched the latches on his flute case. When the pistol fell into his hand, it would be ready to fire. He had already pulled back the hammer. One shot. Too fast for the general to react. Another if necessary.

The general vanished under the portico.

Mario heard Angela ask if he was all right.

He walked to the front door, opened it. Went into the living room. Empty. He processed distances and angles. Angela behind him, asking.him a question. He heard his own voice telling her nothing was wrong.

To the left, the stone wall with the framed portraits of Vega and Castro and his collaborators. To his right, a corridor leading to the general's office. He passed the stairs, a curve of metal and stone. Upstairs, the bedrooms. Straight ahead, a wall and a long opening. Still farther, the sliding glass doors, then darkness. As he walked, the dining table and chairs came into view. To the right, the door to the kitchen.

He pointed at the table. "Angela, wait there. Sit down, please."

"Why?"

"Go over there and sit down."
 

"You're acting so strangely. What is the matter with you?"

He tuned out her voice as he approached the open door to the kitchen. Complications. Vega's daughter was by the sink talking to the red-haired woman, Gail Connor's mother. Mario was aware of Angela Quintana staring at him, coming closer. He held up his left hand to stop her. He heard a door close. Saw the general come in. Kiss his daughter. Briefcase on the table. Beer from the refrigerator. Gail Connor's mother going over to him. Talking in English.

Mario heard the name Karen. Karen. Karen.

The general set down his beer, walked quickly across the kitchen.

Mario stepped back as the general came through the door. He clicked open the latches of his case, and the gun fell into his hand.

"General Vega."

When the general turned to see who was there, Mario pointed the pistol directly at his face. He saw his eyes and mouth opening.

Mario circled to the left. He heard Angela yelling at him. The girl came out with a glass. It smashed on the floor.

"Everyone, shut up!"

The general had turned as Mario moved around him. His hands were out to his sides, a blind man feeling his way. "What are you doing?"

"Papi! Papi!"The girl's voice scraped like rusted wires.

Mario told her to be quiet. He grabbed the back of the general's collar and held him at arm's length. The pistol was to the side where Vega could see it. "We're going to walk across the living room. Go on. Walk."

"Why?"

"Just do what I tell you."

"Are you going to shoot me?"

The women started screaming. Mario yelled at them to go to the dining table and sit down. None of them moved. They stood there in a semicircle and stared and cried like dumb animals.

A movement on the stairs. A woman's bare feet. Señora de Vega came into the living room. Angela's brother followed.

Her robe swirled around her as she ran. "Ramiro!"

"Marta, don't come any closer, my love. This boy has a pistol."

"Why? Who is this? Oh my God. Leiva's son. What do you want?"

"Shut up or I will shoot him right here!" Mario told everyone to stand back. "General, come with me."

They would go left of the stairs along the wall, then into the corridor, then to the office—

The general didn't move. "Young man— Mario. That's your name, isn't it? Why are you here, Mario? To rob us? We don't have much cash in the house."

"I don't want your money. You and I are going to talk. That's all. Nothing will happen."

"Is this about your father? You want me to get him out of jail? Is that it?"

"Walk to your office! Now!" Still gripping Vega's collar, he gave him a shove.

The general leaned toward the table. "Come. Sit down with me. Don't be unreasonable. Let's discuss it."

"Walk, or I will wet the floor with your blood."

Vega turned his head. "You want to kill me. Yes. I see it in your face. I know that look. I have seen it in war. This is a very foolish thing, Mario. You can't get away. You know you will be tracked down."

"I'm not afraid to kill you, and I'm not afraid to die for it."

The general's wife screamed and put her hands together, begging. "Please, please. Have mercy. Don't kill my husband. He's a good man. He has a family. Kill me instead."

"I said to shut up!" Mario extended the pistol toward her. The gun went off, and a bullet whined against the wall. The heavy, gold-framed mirror shattered, and the pieces fell onto a cart underneath it, through the glass shelves, sending everything crashing to the terrazzo floor.

The women screamed again, and the daughter ran to her mother. Señora de Vega fell to her knees. She put her head on the floor and cried. "Sainted virgin, mother of God, have mercy on us, in the name of your son, have mercy—"

"I didn't mean to do that.... but I will do it again if you don't shut up!" Mario tried to pull the hammer back, but his thumb was shaking. He jammed the barrel into the back of the general's neck. "I will kill all of them if you don't walk into the living room. Now."

The general moved, shuffling sideways* His head gleamed with sweat. "What have I done? Will you tell me what crime I've committed?"

"You are an enemy of the Cuban people!"

"Do you know, Mario, that I am on my way to Miami? That I am leaving Cuba and taking my family with me? It's true, isn't it, Marta? My wife has spent all day packing our things."

"Oh, God. Oh, God, please spare him. If I have committed sins against you, please take me instead."

Vega said, "I'm getting out of Cuba. Going. Good-bye forever."

"You have been indicted, tried, and found guilty by the Twenty-Eighth of January Movement for the crimes of greed, oppression, and murder." Mario glanced left to make sure that no one was in the way. "At this moment our manifesto is being delivered to CNN."

"What oppression? What murder?"

"Everyone in the army is an oppressor. You, particularly, are responsible for the deaths of Camilo Menéndez and Olga Saavedra. Camilo was one of my brothers in the Movement, who was tortured and murdered on your orders—"

"I never heard this name in my life."

"Olga Saavedra was your mistress. You killed her. Admit it!"

"Murdered Olga? Are you crazy?"

"Your mistress?" Señora de Vega's face was blotchy red. "What does he mean? Ramiro? Were you sleeping with Olga Saavedra? Were you? Answer me!"

The general nodded. "I'm sorry. Yes. But I never loved her. I've never loved any woman but you."

She wiped her eyes on her robe. "You liar! Bastard! I gave you twenty-two years of my life and three children, and this is what you do to me?"

"Both of you shut up!" Mario shook Vega by the back of his collar. "Keep moving."

The general's wife wailed. "No. Please. Mario, he may have cheated on me, but he didn't kill her. You're wrong, wrong. Cobo killed her. Our driver. Yes. He did it, I swear on the life of my grandson."