They drove a while in silence. A bus ahead of them spewed thick black smoke. A truck barreled past them, radio blaring. Havana seemed more lively than three mornings before, perhaps because it was early and people were on their way to work.
"Let's get some coffee."
Luis shook his head. "Coffee is rationed. There are no more cafes."
"There must be a place-" Yes, Luis told him, there were several hard-currency restaurants that catered exclusively to foreign visitors.
"I've got hard currency," Janek said.
"But Senora Figueras-"
"She can wait."
For a moment Luis hesitated, then he nodded. "Yes, of course," he said.
He turned the car around and drove west toward the suburbs. In an area called Miramar, Janek noticed mansions with spacious gardens and sentry posts. Luis told him these were foreign embassies or the homes of high officials. He turned down a side street, passed through a wooded area, pulled into a parking lot and stopped before a vast open structure with a thatched roof.
As they walked toward it, Janek could see that it enclosed numerous tables set with plates and utensils. But except for a lone waitress, the huge place was empty.
"The tourists will come later, perhaps a group tour in the evening,"
Luis explained. He selected a table, ordered coffee. After the waitress drifted off, Janek leaned forward.
"What do you know about the Mendoza case?"
"Only what Senora Figueras told me."
Luis outlined Mendoza as if it were nothing more than a case of a man who had arranged the brutal murder of his wife.
"She told me she knew you had been looking for her after the homicide.
She was surprised to learn you still wanted to speak with her. She said these events took place many years ago and that Mr. Mendoza has been in prison for a long time."
"That's true."
"Then, why are you still investigating, Frank?"
"There are still many unanswered questions."
"You will tell me about them?"
"Maybe. First there's something else." The waitress returned with two cups of Cuban coffee.
Janek waited until she slipped away. "There was a woman who interrogated me. Do you know the one I mean?" Luis nodded. "Who is she?" Luis exhaled. When he spoke it was in the manner of an efficient, well-informed cop. "Her name is Violetta Bonilla. She is well known in Havana. Actually, she is a member of our National Theater troupe."
Janek stared at him. "An actress?"
Luis nodded. "The Seguridad uses her because of her English. She was brought up in Miami, where her father lived in the exile community, one of our best penetration agents until they pulled him back. Violetta went to school in the States and claims to understand Americans. There is a rumor that her lover is a Minister of State. I cannot confirm that for you." "She said she was a captain."
Luis shrugged. "The ranks of nonservice personnel are simulated, a method of flattery the segurosos learned from the KGB. But be assured that when Violetta examined you she was but a marionette dancing to Fonseca's tune. He is a colonel. What we call ' serious man." " He paused. "Perhaps you would like to see Violetta in another context?"
"What context?"
"She is performing now in a play. I can get us tickets. Tonight we can go together, make ourselves known." Luis smiled. "Your presence in the audience might unnerve her a little bit."
Janek smiled. It was a tempting idea. He actually liked Luis for proposing it. But there was a side of him that wanted never to see Violetta Bonilla again.
"No, thanks," he said. "I only want to know why they arrested me."
"You drew their attention."
"How?"
Luis shrugged again. "The segurosos do what they like and explain nothing. That is one reason they are dangerous." Janek stared at him. "I don't get it. I've thought back over everything. I can't figure out where I gave myself away. I know they can't search everybody's bags. So, why'd they choose mine?"
"This bothers you?"
"Of course."
"Because you are a professional."
"Because I must have made a mistake."
Luis stroked his chin. "I am not certain, but I believe they thought you were a bounty hunter."
"What?
Luis nodded. "Fonseca mentioned it. There is a rich American living here. I am sure you have heard of him an extremely crooked financier wanted by your government. Several attempts have already been made to capture this man and abduct him back to the States. I believe they thought you were another abductor, perhaps the advance man for a group."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Of course. But, you see, they have nothing else to do but think up plots and then find suspects to fit their fantasies. Which is why, in the end, it is impossible to penetrate their thinking. Better to forget about them, Frank. You are finished with them now. You are with me. We understand each other because we are real cops who deal with the reality of the streets." Luis smiled. "It is my pleasure to work with you, if only for a day. I know you will teach me many things and perhaps you will learn a thing or two from me as well."
Tania Figueras's apartment was one of twelve carved out of a huge old house that had once belonged to a wealthy family. Although the building had been crudely subdivided, there were still traces of grandeur-high ceilings, delicate moldings, fine if scarred tile work in the entrance hall. As they entered, Janek noticed a faint smell of sewage, a sign that the plumbing was overworked.
He and Luis climbed the rear stairs. Tania's apartment had been created railroad-style out of three small servant's rooms on the top floor.
When she opened the door, she and Janek gazed at each other. Yes, it's her, Janek thought. The smooth features he knew so well from the photos he had carried around with him nine years before had grown more prominent, and the seamless skin was beginning to crinkle a little around the eyes. Her body was thicker, but her black hair was still glossy and her lips still slightly petulant. She was a good looking woman, and evidently an amused one, for she smiled as she searched Janek's eyes.
"What took you so long? I've been waiting nine years."
She laughed, turned, led them through her kitchen, a bedroom where clothing hung exposed, then into a pleasant sitting room with a view upon what had once been a lush tropical garden, but was now a desiccated patch of weeds dominated by the stump of a giant palm and an overgrown, browned-out banana tree.
"You've met my little brother?" she asked casually, seating herself beside the window.
Janek nodded.
"How is Angel?" "He's in trouble," Janek said.
Tania shrugged, "If he had come here with me he might be a doctor today." She turned to Luis.
"Sometimes we think we have too many doctors," Luis explained.
Tania snickered. "Most of them do the work of nurses, but since they have diplomas we must call them 'Doctor." Isn't that right, Ortiz?"
Luis, embarrassed, did not respond.
Janek glanced around the room. It was nicely furnished. There was an old stereo, a small battered TV and shelves crammed with books and long-playing records. It did not look like the room of a woman who worked as a maid.
"What do you do, Miss. Figueras?"
"I work for the revolution."
"Can you be a little more specific?"
"I am a bureaucrat at the Ministry of Finance. But not today." She smiled. "Today I assist the cops."
"You're married?"
She nodded. "My husband manages a citrus farm twenty miles outside the capital. I also have a son. He hopes one day to be a baseball player. He is at school now, no doubt studying revolutionary principles." She glanced at Luis again, to see whether she'd overstepped. Evidently satisfied, she turned back to Janek. "Well, shall we begin?"