CHAPTER ELEVEN

They jumped over a puddle of mud and passed a stray dog sprawled out on the sidewalk with his tongue hanging out, trying to get cool. Elliot wished he could cool himself like that—the sun, the humid air, the smell of diesel and salt was wearing him out.

“WHAT?” Yoenis said. “They have got to be kidding.”

The members of the Unicorn Rescue Society found themselves gazing across a plaza. Wide stones reflected the bright sunshine. Royal palms formed a square in the center of the plaza.

It should have been beautiful.

But one side of the plaza was dominated by a gleaming marble building with sparkling glass windows that seemed completely out of place in Old Havana.

“A new hotel,” Professor Fauna said.

“A new hotel is one thing,” Yoenis said. “But this isn’t just any new hotel. Read the sign.”

Elliot read the words engraved in gold across the front of the hotel:

SCHMOKE INTERNATIONAL HOTEL

A PROJECT OF SCHMOKE HOSPITALITY GROUP

Treating You the Way You Deserve

“¡Hermanos del diablo!” Professor Fauna spat.

“I don’t know what the professor just said,” Elliot muttered. “But I think I agree.”

Uchenna marched across the square and pressed her face against a window of the new hotel.

“Uchenna!” Elliot hissed, coming up behind her. He looked around nervously. “What if they see us?”

“Whoa, it’s like a palace in there,” Uchenna said, ignoring Elliot. “There’s a fountain in the lobby that’s bigger than my house. And it’s made of gold.”

Elliot looked around a few more times to ensure that the Schmoke Brothers themselves hadn’t suddenly appeared in Cuba. Then he peered inside, too. After a moment, he said, “It looks like they’re preparing for some kind of banquet.” All around the soaring lobby, waiters in black bow ties were running around setting up tables and throwing elegant white tablecloths over them. There was a large, strangely shaped golden fountain in the middle of the room. From outside the hotel, they couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be.

Elliot watched as two of the waiters stood on ladders and unfurled a banner. The banner read, Bienvenidos, capitanes de agricultura. And below it, in English: Welcome, Captains of Agriculture!

“Captains of Agriculture?” Uchenna repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Uh, agriculture is farming . . . so really good farmers, I guess?” Elliot answered.

Uchenna said, “Aren’t the Schmokes more like the type of people who invite, I don’t know, royalty to their parties?”

Yoenis had come up behind them. “Could be farmers,” he said, putting his face against the window, too. “Or could be the government officials in charge the Cuban farming industry. Either way, something smells fishy,” he agreed.

Elliot looked down at himself. “It may be my sweater.”

Yoenis surveyed the scene for another moment, and then he said, “Well, if anyone knows what’s going on, it’s my mother. Vengan. Her house isn’t far from here.”