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  Navarro put the cup down and smiled, showing nicotine-stained teeth.

  “What do you want?”

  90

  Mazzetti was waiting outside Casa Pilar to take Navarro back to the safe house in Matanzas. Navarro opened the rear door and lowered himself into the back of the car. It was just after nine in the morning, and it was hot.

  “Turn up the air,” he said.

  “Not working, boss,” Mazzetti said as he pulled away.

  “What is it with this country? Nothing works.”

  He cranked the window down instead; the humidity was already thick and soupy. He was looking forward to finishing the job and getting back home. He reached for the bottle of water that he had shoved into the cupholder and took a long slug of it. The water was tepid now, but at least it was wet.

  It seemed like he had worked in places like this all his life: Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan. There had been other places, too, but none of those assignments stood out in his memory the same way. There had been Vietnam, of course, but not much of any good had come out of that. He had met Lincoln, but that had been about the extent of what he would consider memorable. It had been FUBAR from start to finish, and, as far as he was concerned, it was best forgotten. This whole situation with PROSPERO had brought it back to the surface; that alone would have been enough for him to have been pissed at what Nakamura had done. Threatening Lincoln—and, by association, threatening him, too—had been the shitty icing on a particularly shitty cake.

  He took another swig of water and then dropped the bottle back into the cupholder.

  “Call the safe house,” he said to Mazzetti. “Make sure everyone’s there. We’ve got work to do.”

  Mazzetti turned to the west and they set off back toward the safe house.

  91

  Beatrix slept lightly until eleven. She was just out of the shower when she heard a knock on the door.

  “I’ve got it,” Danny called out.

  She heard his footsteps as he descended the stairs. She dried herself, dressed and went down to the sitting room.

  Alfredo was there.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Beatrix found that she was tense. “How did it go?”

  “Very well,” Alfredo said. “You were right.”

  “Wait a minute,” Danny complained. “Right about what?”

  “I asked Alfredo to keep an eye on Logan,” she said.

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “He’s CIA. I’ve never trusted him. And, after what happened last night—well, he has nothing to offer us. He can’t offer you safety. He just lost your daughter.”

  “So he can’t trade with us anymore?”

  “No,” she said. “But he can trade with Lincoln and Navarro. He’s not doing any of this because he thinks it’s right. He told me himself: this isn’t about ethics or morality. It’s about the main chance. I’ve met men like him before. This is about what he can get for himself.”

  Danny blew out his cheeks.

  She turned to Alfredo. “What happened?”

  “Mr. Logan left his hotel at four o’clock this morning and went for a walk,” Alfredo reported. “I had men waiting. They are very good at staying out of sight. They were able to follow without being seen.”

  He took out an envelope and shook a collection of photographs onto the table. He took one from the top of the pile and tapped his finger against it. Logan was walking in front of the collection of flagpoles that had been installed outside the US embassy.

  “He made a telephone call and, a short while after that, he took a taxi. One of my men was driving the car. He took him to Casa Pilar in Miramar, where he met this man.”

  He took a series of photographs from the pile and handed them to Beatrix. Danny crowded around her. She shuffled the photographs: Logan was approaching a table, pulling out a chair, sitting down. The man at the table he had chosen was facing into the camera. Beatrix remembered him from the abortive hit on Jimmy Wang.

  “That’s Navarro,” Danny said. “Jesus. You expected them to meet?”

  “I thought it was possible,” she said. “I didn’t think he would be quite as quick as this, though. He’s desperate.”

  She shuffled through the photographs again. The two men were engaged in a serious conversation, both leaning forward, elbows on the table, mirroring each other.

  “What happened next?” she asked.

  Alfredo laid his finger over Logan. “He went back to his hotel.”

  “He’s under observation now?”

  “Of course. I have two people outside.”

  Beatrix leaned forward, the expectation setting her on edge. She put her finger on Navarro’s picture. “And him?”

  “He was driven to Matanzas. Eighty miles east of Havana. They went here.”

  He took out another envelope and handed it to Beatrix. She opened it and took out another set of photographs. The first few pictures showed a car at the side of the road with two people inside; the next showed Navarro getting out; the remainder were of a building. It was a warehouse in what appeared to be an industrial area.

  “What is it?” Danny asked.

  “That looks like a safe house,” Beatrix said. “Matanzas—it’s a port?”

  Alfredo nodded. “One of the largest in Cuba. The government has invested in the expansion of the docks, but trade has not been as brisk as they had hoped. Many industrial units are vacant—like this one.”

  Beatrix flipped through the photographs and saw other cars arriving, with a collection of men getting out and going inside. They all looked like military operators and, as she flipped to the last photograph, she saw two men whom she recognised: the men who had taken out Jimmy Wang and his associates in Stanley.

  She gave the photographs to Danny. He flipped through them.

  “Did you see anything inside?” she asked Alfredo.

  “No,” he said. “There are no windows. We dared not get closer—we did not want to give away the fact that we were there.”

  Danny picked out a picture of the warehouse and held it up. “This is where Melissa is?”

  “Probably,” she said. She downplayed it a little, unwilling to raise his hopes too much, but she was very confident: why would Navarro go to the trouble of finding two safe houses? This one—away from busy areas, easy to defend—would be perfect for stowing someone away.

  “What do we do?” Danny asked.

  “You don’t do anything,” she said. “But I’d like to know a little more about the comings and goings at that warehouse before I do anything else.”

  “I have a man and a woman there now,” Alfredo said. “They are very well hidden. They will not be observed. What are they looking for?”

  “My daughter,” Danny interjected.

  “Yes,” Beatrix said. “I doubt they’ll bring her anywhere where she could be seen, but they might. Other than that, it would be helpful to know how many people are inside, how they come and go, anything like that.”

  “Of course,” Alfredo said.

  “And I’m going to need something else, I’m afraid.”

  “Please,” Alfredo said. “I have promised the Wo Shun Wo that we will provide you with everything you need.”

  “I’m going to need a house. Somewhere outside Havana. Reasonably close. Cheap.”

  “That will not be a problem.”

  “And a car. I’m afraid I lost the bike.”

  Alfredo nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Equipment,” she said. “I’ll make a list.”

  “It will be provided.”

  Danny stood. “So? What’s next?”

  Beatrix picked up a photo of Navarro looking almost directly into the camera. “I’m going to set a little trap and see if I can get anyone to bite.”

  92

  They dealt with the house first. Alfredo suggested a property in Santa Cruz del Norte, twenty minutes to the east of Havana. He drove Beatrix out to it and invited her to look around. The house was at the
corner of a block, with another empty house to the east. That was fortunate. It was a two-storey house, boxy and ugly in construction, with a wire-mesh fence that marked the boundary with the rough track that ran alongside it.

  “Who owns it?” she asked.

  “We do.”

  “And it’s used for what?”

  “Triad business,” he said, unwilling to provide further details.

  Beatrix didn’t care. “It’s vacant?”

  “It is.”

  He unlocked the door and invited Beatrix inside, then waited in the hall as she scouted the property. There were two bedrooms, a simple bathroom, a kitchen and a sitting room. The style was rustic, and the property would have benefitted from being redecorated. Beatrix didn’t care about that; she wasn’t planning to stay. She went to the windows and saw that they were fitted with wooden blinds. She opened them a little, just enough for someone to be able to see through them from the street but not enough to allow an uninterrupted view.

  There was a back door, too. Beatrix asked Alfredo to unlock it and then went outside. The door opened onto a scrubby garden that had been used as a dumping ground for obsolete household goods. She picked a path between an abandoned refrigerator and a washing machine and made her way back to a fence that had been allowed to fall into disrepair. It was a simple matter to pass between the broken panels to another dirt track that marked the beginning of a slope that led down to the beach.

  “Is it satisfactory?” Alfredo asked her.

  “Perfect.”

  “I am pleased.”

  She told him what else she was going to need to happen here, and, his mouth kinking into a smirk as he realised what she had in mind, he nodded and said that it would all be possible.

  “What now?” he said when she was finished.

  “Can you be here tonight? I’m going to need someone to give me a ride. I’m going to be leaving the car here.”

  If he was confused by her answer, he did not mention it. “And where will you be going?”

  “Matanzas,” she said.

  He nodded his understanding. “And now?”

  “I need to make a phone call,” she said.

  93

  Logan had been in his hotel room ever since the meeting with Navarro. He felt unusual: the fear of meeting Lincoln’s hatchet man had been alleviated and replaced by a sense of relief that he had—at least on the face of it—made a deal that would help him to get some of what he wanted. The dread was gone, but there was still a deep sense of unease, a twist in his gut that reminded him that the man with whom he had negotiated had been ambitious enough to reach the very heights of the Agency and then ruthless enough to stay there.

  Logan had not been promised everything that he had asked for. That was to be expected. For his part, he had offered to deliver Nakamura, the recordings of the interviews, and their source in Lincoln’s operation, and to be a source for him in the OIG. In return, he had asked to be made inspector general. Navarro had smirked at that, his stained teeth glittering behind his thin lips, but Logan had pressed on. He wanted to be paid, too: three hundred thousand dollars to be remitted to the Swiss account that he would set up for this specific purpose. Navarro had given a little shake of his head, as if in surprise at Logan’s gall, but Logan had held his gaze until the older man chuckled.

  “Lincoln should see it as a finder’s fee,” Logan had suggested.

  “But you haven’t found them yet,” Navarro retorted.

  Logan had no doubt that Lincoln would attempt to renege and reduce the compensation that he was prepared to give. He could try. Logan would keep copies of the interviews, and Lincoln would know that was the case, even if it was always left unsaid. Lincoln was a spiteful man, but strategic; there was no sense in him risking the damage to his career that disclosure would cause just to garner a measure of satisfaction in punishing the man who had once threatened him, and then used him to make himself rich. And three hundred thousand was small change. Lincoln had been using his position to enrich himself for years.

  Logan’s throat was dry. He went over to the minibar and took out a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and took it out onto the balcony.

  His phone buzzed.

  He picked it up.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  Caprice.

  He closed the French doors and went back into the room.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We need to meet. I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “About the tapes?”

  “Yes. It’s a reasonable request. We’re prepared to give you one of them.”

  “That’ll help,” he said.

  “Have you spoken to the IG?”

  “Yes. She’s on board. We’re looking into some of Lincoln’s team. We’ll find the candidates we think we have the best chance of turning and start from there. It’ll be helpful if we use the tapes to show we’re serious, and that Lincoln’s in trouble.”

  “The restaurant near the cathedral. Same as before. Tonight at ten.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  He ended the call, staring down at the display as it flicked off. He touched it to wake it again and called Navarro’s number.

  “Are you ready?” he said. “We’re on.”

  94

  They had kept Melissa in the back room all morning. It was an ascetic space: a bed with a thin mattress and a dusty coverlet over the top, a wooden chair that wobbled on an uneven leg when she sat down on it, and a chest of drawers that had been locked shut. They let her visit the bathroom once in the morning and once after lunch. They brought her food and provided two large bottles of water for her to drink.

  She had spent the time thinking about the situation in which she had found herself. She hadn’t been able to think about anything else since she had been taken, but her thoughts had been scrambled with terror in the trunk of the car as they had driven to wherever this was; now that they were here, and the immediate shock had passed, she had a clearer head.

  That didn’t mean she felt any better about it.

  She knew that what had happened was connected to her father. He had explained that things had happened in his past that had meant he had had to disappear, and that anything he did now had to be conducted with care. He had apologised in his emails to her that he couldn’t be more specific. Now she found that she needed to try to paint inside the lines: who was her father? What had he done? Who were the people who had taken her, and what did they want?

  Melissa heard the sound of vehicles drawing up outside the house. She heard the door open and close and then a collection of voices from the other room.

  She hurried to the door; there was a narrow gap between the bottom and the floor that allowed her to see a tiny sliver of the room outside. She dropped down onto her belly and looked through the gap. The angle was shallow, and she could only make out the legs of the men who had gathered there, perhaps seven or eight of them in total.

  They started to talk.

  “I think we’re finally coming to the end of this mess. We might be able to wrap it up today.”

  Navarro glanced around the room. They were all there: Morley, Harker, Millman, Ramalhete, Hook, Farrow, Schroder and Mazzetti. The eight of them were all veterans of the Special Operations Group; they had all been blooded on operations that he had orchestrated, and they were all extremely dangerous.

  “The sitrep is straightforward. Last night wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. Logan made contact with me this morning. He knows he’s lost leverage now that we have MIRANDA. He’s had a change of heart and he’s ready to flip. He knows that he can’t offer anything to PROSPERO to persuade him to cooperate now that he doesn’t have her. He wants to work with us now.”

  Hook shook his head. “And the boss is okay with that?”

  “If it means we can get to PROSPERO? Of course. He’s a pragmatist. You know that.”

  Ramalhete had doubts, too. “But Logan doe
sn’t have access to PROSPERO.”

  “He doesn’t. His job is going to be to persuade ARIEL that he can still get MIRANDA.”

  “ARIEL? The woman?”

  “Correct.”

  “Do we know anything about her?” Ramalhete said.

  “We know that she’s been telling Logan that she’s MI6, but he says he looked into that and they don’t have anyone in HK who answers her description.”

  “A freelancer, then?”

  “We’ll work on that basis. It doesn’t make much difference either way.”

  Ramalhete leaned back and stretched out his legs. “So what’s the plan?”

  “It’s already underway. ARIEL contacted Logan an hour ago and proposed a meet. She says that she’s prepared to give him one of the tapes so that he can use it to get support at Langley.”

  “Meeting where?”

  “There’s a restaurant near the cathedral. El Patio. Logan met her there before. She suggested tonight. We’ll be there. I want you to go now. Scout it out. Find the best places to get eyes on.”

  “We’ll need to be very careful,” Morley said. “She’s not naïve.”

  “You would say that,” Hook jeered. “She already got the jump on you and Farrow once. Locked you in a storeroom.”

  Farrow was leaning against the wall; he gave Hook the finger.

  “All I’m saying is that she knows what she’s doing. I wouldn’t take her lightly.”

  “We’re not about to,” Navarro said. “We run this very, very carefully. The meet is in a busy spot. Lots of tourists. Somewhere we won’t stand out. We know she’s good on the street, but we think she’ll be on her own. And there will be eight of us.”

  “Eight?”

  “Someone’s got to stay here with MIRANDA.” He pointed at Millman. He had taken the brunt of the crash in Hong Kong. “You stay here and keep an eye on her.”