Cuban Sun (17 page)

“Sofia, you’re a woman, he’s a man. Get it done.” She was right. Sofia had hoped to come up with something a little more above board. She intensely disliked placing herself on the shelf as a shiny object, but there was no help for it. She would have to. Time was running out.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Sofia retreated to the terrace where the air was still hot but at least moving. Quint was on the other end of the terrace with a few of the ministers. She sent tender thoughts his way. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since they returned that morning. Though she was supposed to be working on finishing the details of a contract, her mind wandered to what she would have to do later that night. Would she be able to kill this man? She thought so; the man had done terrible things after all. Kidnapping, slavery, but could she actually watch a man die and know she caused his death? The thought made her shiver causing her tired muscles to ache. She put the thought away from her. She had to be focused. She couldn’t have doubts. She stifled a yawn and continued working on one of the contracts when the rattan chair beside her creaked. She turned to see Raul Castro lounging as though he were on vacation.

“Mister President, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Surprise? I’ve heard that you have been trying to see me all day.”

Damn it
, thought Sofia. She had tried to be discreet. But, she thought she could work with that mistake. Her most charming smile in place, she turned to him and spoke.

“Indeed I have. I had several questions for you regarding the contract, but I think the others can handle it.” She leaned forward and put her hand near, but not touching his, on the arm of the chair. “I see that you are recovered from our ride the other day. I have to say that I was more than a little afraid that I would be thrown out of the estate!” She added a throaty laugh for effect.

Castro’s eyes lit “Nothing to worry about Miss Koury. Just a bit of air was all I needed.”

Ha!
Sofia thought,
a bit of air.
He probably needed the entire contents of his oxygen tank
.”

“I see. Well, I was hoping to talk to you more on the subject of cars. My family has several collectors you know.”

“Yes, I know. Perhaps over dinner? Let’s make it early.”

Without waiting for her reply, he stood and strode across the terrace to the huddle of men who were deep in conversation.

As she stood, a muscle in her back spasmed causing her to wrench sideways and drop every single piece of paper onto the terrace. She cursed under her breath. Muscle spasms had always been a side effect of exhaustion for her. Even with over the counter medication, they still crept up on her. Sofia bent to pick up the papers when a little boy who looked to be no more than five and a young woman who seemed to be his mother crouched to pick them up. Sofia attempted to waive them away saying it was no trouble. The little boy stood and started to move away when a frightened look passed over the mother’s face and she pulled the boy back to the floor. She darted worried glances over to the group of men. One man in particular narrowed his eyes at her before continuing his discussion.
They must be servants
, thought Sofia. The woman handed Sofia the now neatly stacked papers.

“How old is your son? He’s beautiful.” Sofia asked after she thanked the woman.

She blanched, a feat given her coffee toned complexion. She clutched the little boy to her skirts, somewhat shielding him with her body. In rapid undertones she said, “No, no miss. He is not. He is a baby. He is disobedient and ugly. You would not want him.” Without waiting for a reply the woman snatched the little boy up into her arms and hurried inside. Sofia was left to stand with her mouth slightly open, a smoldering rage building in her chest.
They’re slaves
, she thought. There was no mistaking that kind of fear. It was the same fear she had seen in Mr. Jimenez’s eyes in Miami.

A sick revulsion filled in the places where rage had not yet penetrated. There was only one reason she could think of that a mother would say that her child was ugly. Only one reason that she would have said, “You wouldn’t want him”. She sat again to avoid being sick. A new resolve overcame Sofia’s exhaustion. Sofia glanced over to the group of men, now retreating inside. Raul Castro passed, giving a sidelong glance to Sofia before disappearing.
Could I kill him
? she thought.
Oh, yes. I could
.

That evening, before going down to dinner, Sofia visited Quint in the room adjoining hers. Not a bedroom but a small study. She left him ostensibly working to finish and deliver all the paperwork to Castro’s ministers tomorrow morning. He had squeezed her hand, told her she looked beautiful in the long navy skirt and top studded with seed pearls. She leaned close, kissed his ear and whispered, “The skirt hides the second pepper grenade.” He pulled back laughing as she closed the door to go downstairs.

Upon arriving in the dining room, Sofia saw the table laid for two. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to figure out a way to give the slip to any other guests. Hearing the squeak of polished shoes on the terrazzo floor, Sofia turned to see Raul Castro carrying two flutes of champagne.

“Good evening Miss Koury. May I call you Sofia?”

“Please do. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

He handed her a glass. “It’s rare that I have such beauty at the table. Except for what my chef prepares of course.”

Sofia’s repulsion of the man grew.
Just as I thought, women and food are the same to him
. He let his moist hand linger on hers before allowing Sofia to take the glass.

Sofia had to repress an urge to wipe her hand on her skirt and instead said, “How kind of you. Shall we toast to our partnership?”

“Let’s toast to, getting to know each other better.” Sofia heard the slight emphasis on the word “know”.
The hook is baited
, she thought. She raised her flute and moved a step closer towards Castro, smelling stale tobacco and alcohol. She let the champagne touch her lips, but kept them clamped shut. After last night, she would not take any chances. She would not eat or drink anything from this man.

She forced herself to smile. His eyes widened a degree or two and he turned slightly gesturing to the dining table. “Are you hungry Sofia? It’s been a long day. I’ll see that you are well fed tonight.” Reading between the lines, Sofia responded.

“Yes, I am hungry, but food isn’t what feeds me. I suspect it’s the same with you. Its power, isn’t it? To hold dominance on your spoon and feel its warmth in your belly.” She was close enough to see her face in his eyes alight with an affected passion. “That’s what fuels us, sustains us.” Sofia felt an arm slip around her waist. She resisted the impulse to draw back.

“Indeed Sofia, it is what nourishes me and I have grown strong and healthy with it.” After a pause in which he looked her up and down, he continued, “I may be able to share from my plate.” He now held her close, his body nearly touching hers. “To see you get nourishment from my hand,” he drew a finger along her jaw and down the side of her throat, “to see it slip down your throat into your body. That would please me.”

“Might I suggest a drive in the moonlight? That would likely nourish us more than the food. Wouldn’t you agree?” He eyed her, the gleam of mischief returned to his eye, as bright as it had been the last time she suggested a drive. Again, he looked around for handlers. She cocked an eyebrow, an implicit dare. He smiled and took her hand.

“I agree. You are turning out to be a very intriguing young woman, Sofia.” He put his hand on the small of her back guiding her to the climate controlled warehouse. Sofia paused momentarily in the doorway; the darkness that hit her was heavy and impenetrable. She felt as if she were stepping into a great void not knowing what would meet her in the dark. With a breath, she stepped forward then had to squeeze her eyes shut from the glare of the fluorescent overhead lights that flickered on.
Motion sensors
, thought Sofia. Spots danced in front of her eyes but she continued forward drawn to the 500K as though by radar. She stopped and touched the driver’s side of the car. Caressing the leather inside the door, she marveled. It really was a beautiful machine. Then, and idea struck her. She tilted her head to the side, giving Castro a sidelong look and put her hand on the door catch.

“May I?”

He hesitated. He would have to give up some control here. It was his car, he would drive. She could see the tension and reluctance in the corners of his mouth. Sofia needed to push him. She took her hand off the car, took a step back and turned slightly toward the door through which they had entered. Fine, if he didn’t want to give up control, neither did she. His eyes widened briefly then he put a hand on her back and opened the door.

“Why of course, my beauty, of course.”

He closed the door, hesitating again. She rested her foot on the clutch, the angle exposing her right leg though the high slit in her skirt. Through his ingratiating smile Sofia could see this was costing him some pride.

Sofia started the car and triggered the warehouse door to open. She saw the security camera on the way out. She would need to be quick. There was someone at the monitors all the time. Sofia double checked to make sure her stiletto and gas cartridge were in place, just in case things didn’t go to plan. And after the last few days, that was a virtual certainty. She pushed the pin into her chignon more securely and pressed a red polished toe on the gas, spraying dirt and pebbles as the car entered the track and picked up speed. For a moment, Sofia allowed herself to admire the ease of handling and smoothness of the ride. Her father and grandfather were collectors; she knew quality when she saw it. It was all the more enjoyable because of the age of the vehicle. For an instant, regret overtook her. Regret that such a wonderful, one-of-a-kind piece of craftsmanship should be wasted on one such as the man before her. A car that was meant for greatness, for a great man, a car that took engineering into a new time, could end up in the hands of this pathetic piece of humanity. This was a man who, rather than moving his country and people forward as the makers of this car had, he had send them back in time. Back into slavery.

Absorbed in these thoughts, she nearly jumped when a cool, clammy hand squeezed her knee. The touch brought her senses into sharp focus. She looked down at the speedometer. She was already going sixty, heading away from the residence. She turned her most brilliant smile on Castro who looked slightly breathless. The windows were down making it difficult for her to hear his words.

“You drive like the wind, Sofia!” His hand ventured a few inches higher, his little finger coming to rest just under the apex of the skirt’s slit. Sofia thought, calculating for one brief moment. She thought,
Push him, but not too far
. She didn’t want him to contact his emergency crew. He needed to be so captivated, so engaged that he would brazen it out until it was too late.

“Thank you. I do love to feel the thrum of the engine!” and with that she pressed the accelerator down further. She closed her eyes as if in ecstasy, though in truth, trying to keep her stomach contents in place.

“You are a woman who knows what she likes, what she wants.” His hand moved another inch.

“I am that Mr. President.” Then looking pointedly at his hand, “And you are a man who knows what he wants.” She pressed the accelerator again, making it clear what he had to do to get what he wanted.

Now they were going seventy-five miles per hour and she saw that through the bravado he put on, his face was nearly white. Not knowing the exact top speed of the car, she hoped it would be enough. To ensure success, she veered from the track onto a rougher road, hoping that would accelerate the onset of his condition. As she turned, she noticed a glint of light in the rearview. It was one of the ministerial cars.
Shit. Shit
. Castro had not yet seen them; maybe she could still finish the job.

Suddenly, Raul Castro threw his head back, hand massaging still further up her thigh and yelled, a wild, haunting ululation that made the hairs on the back of Sofia’s neck stand up. She watched as he seized, his eyes rolling back and his hand grabbing the triangle of silk between her legs. Then his body slackened and his head lolled as though in sleep.

With her attention momentarily diverted toward Castro, she didn’t see the rough patch of gravel in the road ahead. The tires caught and shimmied. Lacking dual suspension and wheel slip technology, the car faltered and Sofia couldn’t control the wheel. It pulled out of her grip and the car careened into a sturdy growth of trees. She felt a great jolt, saw the steering wheel coming toward her, and then blackness. Nothing.

SIXTEEN

Sofia felt cold, her head was splitting and something sharp bored into the back of her skull. Sofia lay dazed for several seconds. Where was she? What happened? Then her hand twitched against the place on her left leg where the pepper gas cartridge should be. It was missing. Her eyes flew open and she bolted into a crouched position. She immediately fell back onto the wall. A pulse of lighting pain seared her eyes, raced along her head and down her spine. She breathed deeply to keep from vomiting. After another few seconds, she opened her eyes slowly hoping that it wouldn’t trigger another lightning strike. Her vision was slightly blurred and she blinked a few times to clear it. She had to resist the urge to shake her head knowing it would only exacerbate the pain. Slowly she became aware of a musty, acrid stink and the feeling of slimy wetness under her bare legs. She stood slowly. Gazing in the dim light from a bare bulb some feet away, she saw that she was in a small stone jail cell. The light was coming from a narrow hall outside the corroded metal bars.

Sofia’s breath came fast and she had to close her eyes again and consciously keep her breathing under control so that she wouldn’t panic. With her eyes closed, her father’s face materialized in her mind’s eye. Something he said came back to her. When she was six, Sofia had been locked into one of the tiny sheds on their property. The ambassador’s son had tricked her and broken the lock so it couldn’t be opened. She had panicked, scratched and beat the door until her hands bled. Once they found her, her father spoke through the wooden door. “Sofia, you must calm down. You will get out. Repeat after me, ‘Calm, focus. Calm, focus.’” He had made her repeat it over and over while others were presumably getting tools to break the door down. Finally, calmed and accustomed to the darkness of the shed, she opened her eyes to see a crowbar lying on the ground among old nails and warped lumber. She hadn’t noticed it through her earlier panic. Her slender girl’s arms picked up the crowbar as she shouted.