Casa de la Rosa, Cuba
As dawn crept through the windows, Erin heard the hospital come alive below her. She’d already been awake an hour, pulling herself from bed, stretching her stiff muscles. Her side still ached, but as long as she moved carefully, it was bearable. Her father had tried giving her painkillers the night before, but she’d refused them.
She didn’t want to cloud her mind.
She’d just pulled on the clothes Nancy had brought the night before when someone knocked softly on the door. It was one of the nurses bringing breakfast.
“You’re up?” She set the tray down on the bedside table.
Erin grinned. “Yeah. I couldn’t take lying around another minute.”
“Are you sure? Does Dr.,” the nurse hesitated, “I mean, does your father know?”
“He’s sending me home today.” Erin sat on the edge of the bed and poked around at the food on the breakfast tray. “So I expect he does.”
The other woman frowned, evidently not certain this was a valid reason for Erin to get out of bed so soon. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.”
“By the way,” Erin asked, “what time is the flight back to Miami? I want to make sure I’m ready.”
“It’s not until this afternoon, around 1:00.”
“Well then, everyone should be leaving fairly soon, shouldn’t they? What is it,” Erin calculated quickly, “a four-hour drive to Havana?”
“Oh, you’re not flying out of Havana. DFL has arranged a charter flight out of the airport near Santa Clara.”
“Really?” There had been nothing about private flights in Erin’s briefing about DFL. “Is that normal?”
The nurse shrugged. “They’ve done it before. I think they get some kind of deal with the charter service. But no, most of the time the volunteers return on commercial flights out of Havana.”
“Well . . .” Erin smiled, making light of this new information and turning her attention to the food. She wondered why no one else considered it odd that an international aid organization would spring for a charter flight for its volunteers. Unless of course, the plane was transporting something other than people, and someone else was footing the bill. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem.” The nurse headed for the door, but stopped just before leaving. “Oh, I almost forgot. Dr. Taylor asked if you’d stop by and see her before you leave. That is, if you feel up to it.”
“Sure.” Erin couldn’t imagine what Jean wanted, but she wouldn’t mind having another conversation with the woman. “Where is she?”
“She’s covering the office for Nancy today, who’s getting ready to leave.”
“I’ll go see her.”
As the nurse left, Erin abandoned her interest in breakfast.
Armando stuck his head in the door. His frown of disapproval spoke volumes.
“I’m fine,” she said before he could voice his objection.
“Señor Diaz will not be happy about this.”
“What is everyone expecting? That he’s going to carry me to that plane?”
That seemed to confuse Armando, and she felt a little guilty. Since her father had brought her into the clinic, putting her in his own room upstairs, Armando and his brother had taken shifts by the door. Although nothing had ever come of it, she didn’t doubt they would have protected her with their lives.
Smiling, she crossed the room to him. “Armando.” She took his hand. “I’m fine. Really.” Then she raised up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He blushed furiously and backed away. “It was Señor Diaz.”
“Yes. I know my father fixed me up. But who found me in those woods?”
He couldn’t deny it and didn’t even try.
“Look,” she said, “after I get back to the States, if there’s anything I can ever do for you or your family. . . .” She let her voice, her offer, trail off. “Please, promise you’ll contact me. They have my information in the office.”
“You are very kind, Señorita.”
Erin sighed. She didn’t feel kind at all. Instead, she felt like a fraud. Something underhanded was going on here, but it had nothing to do with the people who made this place their home. They were good, they were honest, and they were at the mercy of not only their own government, but men like Gregory Helton. And she’d been lying to them all.
“Well,’’ she said, putting a bit of a false smile in her voice. “I’m heading home in a few hours, so I’m going to go say my good-byes.”
He looked doubtful, and she knew he’d go straight to her father—which meant she had only a few minutes before she’d have to explain herself and get past Emilio. She needed to get moving, because she doubted her father would be as easy a subject to bluff.
She gathered up her things, grateful Nancy had thought to bring her bag from the PNR Jeep. However, without her Pocket PC, Erin had no way to contact the backup team. She knew Jensen would be worried, but she’d get Padilla to send another message today. Just outside the door, she stopped where someone had set up a chair and table: Armando’s guard post. Leaning against the wall was a shotgun, and on the table, beneath a folded paper, a Colt .38 revolver.
She glanced around.
Armando had disappeared down the stairs, evidently in search of her father. No one else was around. She’d leave the shotgun, but she grabbed the revolver, checked quickly to make certain it was loaded, and then slipped it into her bag. The weight reassured her. She wouldn’t be caught unarmed again.
Outside, the morning air was clear and bright, washed clean by the typical early morning showers. She’d known before coming here that these mountains had more rainfall than anyplace else on the island, but it had never registered until the last few days. Until she’d been caught in a nighttime shower, alone and in pain, stumbling through the woods.
Getting out of the camp was easier than she’d expected.
Half the staff was rushing around, packing, preparing to go home, while the other half was pulling double duty to cover for those leaving. Even the ever-present guards seemed to be absent. So she walked down the drive and headed for town without anyone even noticing her.
Santa Rosa was a small, mountain village, which a century earlier had grown up to support the La Rosa Plantation. Like most Cuban towns, it was built around a central square. This morning, it was alive with farmers and merchants setting up their booths.
She strolled through the displays, stopping to look at a trinket or two, then buying an orange to peel and eat. She didn’t see Padilla, though she wasn’t worried. It was still early, and he was coming in from Santa Clara, an hour’s drive away.
After a while, she drifted over to the café on the square and ordered coffee. Hanging around the vendor stalls too long without purchasing anything would look suspicious. From here, though, she could see Padilla when he showed up.
The waitress delivered her coffee, and Erin thanked her, remembering to use her stilted Spanish. Then from behind her, a vaguely familiar male voice startled her.
“Are you American?”
She turned, and for the briefest moment didn’t recognize him. He was so out of place, so out of context. Then it came to her in a rush, and she just barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around him.
“Mind if I join you?” Alec said. “I’d kill to hear English.”