CHAPTER II

WINTER IN HAVANA

Finally I could relax. As I sat in Miami Airport waiting for Cubano Airlines flight 53 to Havana, I felt a sense of calm and freedom. While everyone around me dripped globs of perspiration and fanned themselves with their boarding passes or Life magazines and complained about the humidity, I reveled in the stickiness and smell of humans. I was a long way from the cold of Moscow and I had taken the long way to get here.

Shelepin had insisted I work alone. The situation in Havana was on a knife's edge and the last thing we needed was Soviet agents running around and tipping the world off before the hammer fell. I looked again at my passport. Yeah, that was my face all right. But the name attached to it was definitely an invention of head office: Aaron Winter. Winter. I liked it. Winter in Havana.

Like I said, I had taken the long way to get here – Moscow to the Finnish border, then onto Stockholm. BEA to London then onto Miami. Sitting here in my vacation wear trying to look and sound like a Scandinavian tourist. That's right – doing everything possibly to not be Russian. Man, I could have pissed all over the red flag right in the middle of the airport if I wanted to.

I was still reeling from the briefing with Shelepin. It kept going around and around my head. Colonel Tom Parker. Talk about irony; the man who was puppet-master to the phenomenon which would hasten the decay of American morals was a Russian? Parker had to be a sleeper, a plant. Right there and then, I couldn't think of any other reason why the KGB would care if he was alive or dead.

I took the transistor radio from my bag and stuck the earphone in my ear. The radio concealed a small tape recorder which contained my instructions from Moscow. My sunglasses lenses magnified a microfilm which projected on the inside of the lens and enabling me to see pictures of my subject.

“Greetings comrade. By now you have studied the files necessary to undertake your mission. As stated, you will be working alone, although you will have local operatives to call on should you need assistance locating your target. They of course will make themselves known to you.”

Okay, the usual preamble. Got it.

“Andreas Van Kuijk fled Holland in 1929 after being implicated in a homicide.”

This is getting better.

“He arrived in Tampa Florida under the name 'Tom Parker' and claimed to be from Huntington, West Virginia. From then on he worked as a carnival operator with various traveling carnivals...”

Huh, a carny...

“He then entered the entertainment industry and managed Country singers Eddy Arnold and Hank Snow, before landing his biggest prize; the sole representation of singer Elvis Presley.

One week ago, Colonel Tom Parker arrived in Havana as the guest of his underworld friends Santo Trafficante Jr and Carlos Marcello and with the intention to gamble.

He was last seen leaving the Hotel Nacional in the company of an unidentified female, four days ago.

Comrade, your mission is to locate and report on the condition of your target. You will then be advised of what subsequent action to take.”

That didn't sound good. Not for Colonel Tom anyway.

Ding! “Cubano Airlines Flight 53 for Havana Cuba now boarding at gate 15.”

Just enough time to place the tape in an opaque plastic bag with a few droplets of acid from the vial concealed in the heel of my shoe. I swished the acid around in the bag: 'Shake and Bake' we called the process. I guess the guy who would eventually market that idea was ex-KGB. I dumped the bag in the rubbish container in the men's room.

It was a short flight to Cuba. The plane was about a third full, which I put down to the mood of uncertainty down there at that moment. I made the girl across from me as a dancer heading over to one of the clubs; tall, blonde about twenty-two. She had on a polka dot summer dress and blue scarf that made her hair look even blonder. When she stood up, her back was dead straight and her head slightly raised. Yeah, dancer most definitely. Probably trained and failed in ballet and followed the path to easy money in the sun at the Tropicana or Club Zombie.

I gave one last thought to Colonel Tom and how I'd feel if they ordered me to take him out. The KGB didn't stand for incompetence of any kind - especially a sleeper agent drawing attention to himself in Havana at this point in time. No, things didn't exactly bode well for the Colonel.

That was my last thought, as suddenly the sea gave way to the beach and land. Next minute the plane was flying over the Montmartre, the Casino de Capri, the Plaza and the San Souci before landing at Havana airport.

Where I headed next was obvious; the last place the Colonel had been seen. I motioned to the cab driver. Somebody beat me to the punchline.

“Hotel Nacional.”

It was the blonde. She'd cut in front of me and was going my way.

“What a coincidence. Maybe we can share the cab.”

She shrugged.

“Okay by me.”

She sounded like a New Yorker.

“I'm Winter.”

“Like Jack Frost? I'm Betty Blondell. Although here in Havana it's 'Betty Bombshell'!”

“Ah, a dancer.”

“Yeah, this is my Summer gig. My real style is...”

“Ballet?”

“No, Broadway; I was in the chorus line for Li'l Abner. You're European aren't you?”

The cab pulled up outside the Hotel Nacional. I helped Betty Bombshell with her bags and we made our way though the lobby. And man, what a lobby. Svetlana back in Moscow would pop a gasket if she could only see this. Thanks, Colonel!

Betty went ahead of me with the bellboy.

“Adios Jack Frost. Come and see me shake my big ol' ass at the Club Parisienne!”

My reservation had arrived ahead of me.

“Mr. Winter. Yes – room 202.”

I dumped my case and got to work. The Colonel's trail was four days old and getting colder by the minute. Just one quick look out the window for peek at the waves crashing onto the Malecon.

That's when it hit me: I was in Cuba.

- - -

I figured that if The Colonel had left the Hotel with a girl, then chances are she would be someone well known to the bar. Let's face it, The Colonel was fifty years old and I'd seen his picture. Only skirt he was getting was either from a clothes line or a hooker. I tried my luck with bartender.

“I'm looking for a girl.”

The bartender didn't even look up. Everyone here was looking for a girl.

“She hasn't been in for a few nights and I'm supposed...”

“Coco. She maybe in tonight Ask Rosa.”

The bartender gestured towards a waitress at the end of the bar.

“Rosa? I was looking for Coco and...”

The mention of Coco's name had Rosa bursting forth like a water balloon.

“Poor Coco! You a friend of hers? She called me. She is still having nightmares of those big beasts. Big, hairy bestia salvaje!”

“Yes, I know she got into some trouble...”

“She not get into trouble, the old man lead her to trouble. He a friend of yours?”

“No, I never met him.”

“Big hairy beasts she say. I don't know when she come back. She still scared”

“Well when you see her, give her my best.”

“Claro, senor. Who are you, again?”

I head for the hotel's cabaret, Club Parisienne. I could hear rehearsals going on for tonight's show, so I slipped in and parked myself at table at the back.

I was in luck. I'd just sat down when Betty Bombshell turned up.

“Jack Frost! You're a little early – the show doesn't start til ten.”

“Well I was hoping I would find you here.”

“Oh?”

“I need to find one of the girls who works the bar named Coco. And it's not what you think – I'm just trying to find a guy who may be in trouble.”

“Sure, I can see you're not like the ones she usually hooks. Coco Asprilla – she lives in Centro Habana at Barrio Colon. Here...”

Betty drew directions on the back of a club flyer for me.

“Just ask for her – anyone will tell you where she lives. They're not gonna deny her a customer.”

I thanked her and headed off to find Coco. Betty yelled after me.

“Hey, don't forget to come and see the show, sugar.”

I took a taxi to Centro Habana. Finding the barrio where Coco lived proved to be as easy as Betty said. Getting there was a little trickier. As I navigated the alleys and unpaved areas of the barrio I couldn't believe Coco had dragged a soused Colonel Tom through these very streets.

I knocked on Coco's door. I could hear shuffling inside so I knew she was home. I knocked again.

“I'm looking for Coco. I just want to talk.”

A frightened voice answered back.

“Ok, come in.”

I opened the door and there she was standing directly opposite against the back wall of her makeshift apartment. I thought the frightened look in her eye was because of the 'savage beasts' Rosa the waitress had talked about, but it was probably more to do with the guy holding a gun to my head behind the door. I couldn't believe I walked into it.

“Damn! Look just take it easy mister I...”

The guy holding the gun looked oddly familiar.

“...hey wait a minute – I know you!”

I turned over the flyer Betty had written the address on. And there was the gunman.

'The world famous Club Parisienne presents American Rock 'n Roll sensation JOHNNY SINCERE!'

“You're Johnny Sincere!”

“That's right and who might you be?”

“Look put the gun down Johnny, I know you aren't skilled enough to use it on me.”

“Oh and why not?”

“Because I can do this...”

With a quick move I had disarmed Johnny. I held my grip on his immobilized trigger hand for a few extra seconds to emphasize my point, then let it go.

I got down to business.

“OK, let's talk. I'm looking for the Colonel and I know this is the last place he was probably seen alive.”

Johnny nursed his hand and spat back.

“Colonel. That's a joke right there. That fat porker never spent a damn day in combat. He only got that title from his bent 'good ol' boy' senator pals.”

“Okay, so you know him. Were you and your gun here last night when Coco brought him home?”

“I wish I had put a bullet in that son of a bitch last night. Yeah, I was here, but him and Coco were already here when I arrived.”

Johnny turned his venom towards Coco.

“Of all the marks you could have brought home, you had to pick him up.”

“I not know you knew him. To me he was just American at Casino. I do this every night and it not bother you until now.”

Time was wasting. Time Johnny told me everything. Coco though, had other ideas.

“Then they burst in with their hairy hands and pointed teeth. And those eyes...those terrible eyes. They come towards me and I just go...”

As she lapsed into a puddle of unintelligible sobbing I could see that someone – or some thing – had genuinely terrified her. As Johnny comforted her, I asked him straight.

“This true?”

“Yeah, I saw them. They burst in, knocked me over and grabbed him. I never seen anything in this world like 'em. I tell you one thing though – it was worth it just to see the look in that fat bastard's eyes when he saw them coming for him.”

Coco's sobbing had turned into a hysterical wail. I decided this was a good time to cut out and leave them to it. Besides, I knew where Johnny worked when I needed to talk to him again.

I walked back through the ramshackled alleys back to the main street. It had gotten dark and Havana was about to change up a gear. Through the blanket of night, sin city was getting ready to emerge and the buzz on the streets told me that everyone was taking their places to pull the blanket down.

Then suddenly everyone stopped to listen. There – coming from the hills. It sounded like thunder, but thunder doesn't get that much attention. It was an explosion. The rebels were engaging in some conflict. And then it stopped. And like a steam train's slow lurch into action, Havana got on with its business again.

Revolution may have been the nagging uncertainty on everyone's minds, but those creatures with the hairy hands were what was on mine. Where the hell to now?

- - -

NEXT: Chapter III - 'Chic-Chicky-Boom, Chic-Chicky-BOOM!'