“Who says nothing happens outside Havana?” the pretty girl exploded as her big dark eyes jumped from one of them to the other. She propped her hands on her shapely hips before flinging gestures again. “Well, that’s just another government lie, because you are really, really here!”
She wore cutoff jeans and a pink crewneck sweater that might have come from Abercrombie & Fitch. Her glossy raven hair hit below her shoulder blades, and her clear plastic backpack was crammed with books. She spoke strangely accented English, Claire thought—most forensic psychologists were good at placing accents—with a Slavic or Russian tang to her voice, not the usual Hispanic lilt.
“It’s kismet our papa found you,” Gina went on before anyone else could speak. “And where we lost Alfredito. Please, let us sit at the table and talk. And, oh, a bonita little girl...”
Everyone talked at once then, cross-counter introductions, greetings. Nick made some explanation of their plight, using the cover story they had been flying to a vacation when their plane went down, and that the man who owned it was going to be very angry if he caught up with them, so they needed to call a lawyer friend of Nick’s in the States.
“You are a lawyer?” Gina asked. “You know what Shakespeare said—‘First, let’s kill all the lawyers.’ Now, you know, we Cubans are well educated, yes? Free education, free health care here, so not all bad, but the joke now is if we could only find breakfast, lunch and dinner, yes, Mama?”
Carlita, who seemed to have next to no English, said nothing but beamed and nodded. It was obvious she adored her daughter but probably didn’t understand her much lately, whether she spoke English or Spanish. What a contrast in the two women, Claire thought, hoping she and Lexi never got that different. The new Cuba versus the old, that was for sure. And, however Gina had got the money, Claire had seen Carlita quickly put some paper bills in a jar. Claire decided she’d tell Nick. When they left here, he could leave some American money for them as well.
“Of course, I can help you find assistance in Havana,” Gina promised, without taking a breath, “but since you are illegal Norte Americanos, sometimes called Yanquis here, and since you not come by legal means, we have to be careful. Oh, it’s my dream to go to your country. Doctors are special there, have more money and respect, yes?”
The one thing Gina said, Claire noted, that didn’t jibe with her good English vocabulary and slight Slavic lilt was that she said jes instead of yes, just the way Heck did.
“That’s true about doctors in the US,” Nick said. “As for Havana, we have friends who can come for us if we can just get them word, then settle things at home about the lost airplane later. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves in any way.”
“Well, they cannot come here to get you, ’specially in Havana, or Raul’s security arrest you,” Gina explained. “Once you contact your friends, you need a rural meeting spot, probably for a boat, not a plane, maybe around where Papa dropped you off. Cuba security can find illegal planes in our airspace.”
“Good advice, because, of course, we don’t want to take the chance of being detained or being publicized or even recognized.”
“Right. I love that you use big words. I need to learn more and more, but I comprendo—understand—what you say. Lucky you have two good Espanol speakers here,” she said with a blinding smile that took in Heck but not Nita.
Claire had been studying Gina intently, trying to psych out her true character and intent. But she also noticed that Heck—who had been introduced to Gina as Berto Ochoa—was all eyes for the senorita. He practically had his tongue hanging out.
“Oh, for sure,” he said, sounding as breathless as if he’d run miles. “Anything I can do to help, work with you, I will.”
Oh, boy, Claire thought. You might know hormones were roiling here. She hoped it could work to their advantage, but what if it didn’t? Matters were already complicated enough considering her own problems with Jace and Nick, not to mention Heck keeping an eye on Nita since she and Bronco were lovey-dovey.
While Carlita, with Nita’s help, put quesadillas on each plate and poured homemade papaya wine, Gina suggested something they hadn’t thought of, something that made Claire hope they could believe and trust her.
“I got to explain something to Berto here—” another smile at Heck “—since he say he is a—what was that?—a computer trekky?”
“A techie,” Nick corrected her.
“Oh, yes. But I think I know a way getting to the internet that is safer than going near the embassy. We have what you call internet cafés, only the lines long and most Cubans believe what they write is watched by—you know—the government,” she added, whispering. “I have a laptop, but it only connects with university areas that been approved and what we call SNet, the Street Net. If you have any money, you should check into a real nice hotel, then rent an hour of worldwide net online, maybe between eight to fifteen dollars, so pretty expensive.”
If this woman thought that was expensive, Claire thought, things were indeed bad here.
Lowering her voice again, Gina went on, “They say others—well, you know, the government—watches that internet for problems, so the hotel, bigger the better, might work best.”
Her voice returned to normal range and she began to gesture again. “See, I was dating a musician, played at the Nacional, best hotel in Havana. Foreign tourists, European, Canadian stay there, not so many Americanos anymore, not for years, since the horrible dictator Batista and his gangsters ruled here, but that might work for you. If there’s any rooms available, if you have some cash. Cash is king here, American dollars, even.”
Nick told her, “We might be able to arrange that. When you head back to Havana tomorrow on the bus, can we all go along, maybe the last bus in the evening?”
“First of all, no streetlights there. Dark for you to be getting around at night. Besides, I have to take a bus at dawn, but I know where I keep you hidden until afternoon. Then you go to the hotel about the time a plane would land and you would arrive. We take another taxi to the airport first, since you got some money.”
This girl was proving herself as bright as she looked, Claire thought, even thinking of little details, but was she after their money or did she really want to help? At least there was just one more night’s sleep here in crowded conditions with the breeze whispering through the old wooden shutters and bad dreams to make her think someone was coming after them.
Claire hated to dwell on dangers, but they’d been through so much. When she first became a Certified Fraud Examiner and Forensic Psychologist, she’d never imagined it would lead to more than interviews of Americans who might have broken the law, even though she’d realized she could be dealing with criminals. And Nick as a criminal defense attorney certainly never planned to be defending his own life.
Later, over a dessert of amazingly little bananas that had been soaked in rum, though Claire made sure Lexi’s was without the liquor, Gina was still talking. “I know where to get some clothes to loan—or is it lend?—you all, except little Meggie, but we will manage. And you won’t have suitcases, but I know where to borrow one or two. Still, once we leave this casa, ’specially when we be in Havana,” she said, looking intently at each of them in turn, “until you get a place to stay, think of it as hiding in the shadows so you not get caught.”
After several more rural stops, the bus to Havana became crowded, though they all had seats since Costa Blanca was near the beginning of this line. Nick noted there weren’t many cars on the road until they neared Havana.
“No es facil,” Gina whispered to him and Claire from the seat behind and patted them both on their shoulders as if to buck them up. Lexi was on Claire’s lap, nodding in sleep, and Gina was sitting with