Noel Hynd - Hostage in Havana

Then her thoughts tripped a mental landmine, one of sadness and longing, one of still painfully missing her late fiance. The memories set off a worse wave of loneliness within her, one she fought almost every day for at least a few moments. Intellectually she had accepted what had happened in Kiev, but emotionally she hadn’t.

She let the curtain close. She didn’t feel like working. She didn’t feel like praying more. So, dragging herself back to the laptop, she accessed the flash drives the CIA had given her and poured through the files that Maurice Fajardie had provided. It was tedious stuff, poorly organized and repetitive. It added nothing to what he had presented to her in person. But she plodded through it.

Roland Violette came off as the loosest of cannons. She read copies of his most recent correspondence to the CIA, frequently struggling with Violette’s drifting handwriting – and his reasoning, which drifted even more obliquely.The cold war ended in 1986, but the true struggle lies before us …The socio-economic exploitation of the population of Central and South America has exceeded anything Karl Marx could have imagined …I love America and its ideals very deeply …

And, almost inexplicably,Even if greedy America were knocked out of the game by heroic Islamic fundamentalism, the price of fish in Lima, Peru, would hardly be altered.

The latter was the opening salvo in a wandering five-thousand-word essay that tortured Alex’s ability to read.

After more than an hour, she had read enough and seen enough to understand the assignment. She went to her cell phone and called her friend Ben, who lived just a few blocks away.

The phone rang once, twice -

“Well, I can leave him a message,” she thought to herself. “He’s probably at the gym playing basketball. Or maybe he’s with his girlfriend.”

Three rings. A fourth.

“Maybe we could chat later when – “

Then Ben picked up.

“Hey,” she said, almost in surprise.

A pause, then, “Alex?”

“Really,” she said. “Your favorite head case. The one and only.”

“What the – ! What a nice surprise!” He paused a little awkwardly. “How are things?”

“Oh, they’re okay,” she said. “Hey, listen …”

“Yeah?”

“I’m in Washington.”

“You’re what? Now?”

“I’m in town,” she said, rallying. “Passing through. One overnight and – “

“And you didn’t tell me in advance? I’m hurt.”

“It happened suddenly. Part of a case I’m on,” she said. She hesitated. “But I’ve got a little time later. Want to talk?”

“Where are you?”

“At the Madison Hotel.”

He laughed. “Slumming, huh?”

“Right. At the taxpayers’ expense. Listen, I only called to talk and – “

“So let’s talk in person,” he said.

She turned and glanced at her door and pictured her guards beyond it. “Oh, I don’t think that would be possible,” she said, “but – “

“Come on, Alex,” he said. “You’re here in town. Let’s get together.”

“Ben, it’s complicated,” she said. “I’m on an assignment. I’m dealing with some bad people, okay? That’s why I’m passing through quickly and – “

Her voice wavered for a moment as memories came flooding back. She remembered the night Ben had convinced her not to commit suicide and saved her life. She remained quiet as she regained her composure.

“You there?” he asked.

“I’m here. Hey. Wait for a second, okay?”

“Of course.”

She thought for a moment, rose, and went to the door. She opened it. MacPhail and Ramirez were sitting outside, playing cards.

“Hey …,” she said, putting a hand over her phone.

MacPhail looked up. “Problem?” he asked.

“Listen, guys. I know I’m under some form of high-rent house arrest,” she said, “but do you mind if I have a friend come over?”

The Feds looked at each other. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in the room with you unless we’re there, Alex,” MacPhail said. “Those are the instructions. Isn’t that going to cramp your style?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh, it’s a ‘friend’ friend?” MacPhail asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to get across. So how about the restaurant downstairs? Can I meet a guy for a drink?”

“You buying for the four of us?”

“No. You are, Walter,” she said.

The Feds looked at each other again, back and forth. “We got to go with you and watch the door,” MacPhail said. “You know that. Unless you’re in that room by yourself we can’t take our eyes off you.”

“That’s fine. In fact, I appreciate it. So how about the bar?”

Ramirez shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

“Good,” Alex said. “We’ll do it.”

“Go for it,” Ramirez said.

She gave her bodyguards a thumbs-up and went back into her hotel room. She closed the door. “So?” Ben asked.

“Be at the Madison Hotel in ninety minutes. Fifteenth and M Street.”

“I know where it is,” Ben said.

Alex settled in at the far end of the bar and waited. The room was sleekly modern, an offshoot of Palette, the adjacent restaurant. The counter was light wood, and the cylindrical hanging lamps echoed the shape of liquor bottles. Tall, comfortable stools flanked the bar.

MacPhail and Ramirez took up positions near the door that led to the lobby. Alex scanned the room. It was moderately busy. She saw at least one congressman and a gaggle of lobbyists. She waited.

Alex saw Ben before he saw her. She lifted an arm and gave a subdued wave. He spotted her. He was in jeans and a polo shirt and looked fit and happy, with only a slight limp. He came directly to her and didn’t even notice when she gave a nod to her FBI babysitters to indicate that this was her friend and he was okay.

“Hey,” he said in greeting.

“Hey,” she answered.

She slid off the stool into his embrace. It was longer than it needed to be, but she went with it. She felt his lips linger on her cheek. Then he released her, and she installed herself back on the barstool.

“No hard feelings?” she asked.

“From what?” He eased onto the chair next to her.

“I didn’t like the way we said good-bye … in New York.”

“Nah.” He waved her off. “It’s forgotten. We’re friends.”

“You’re okay with that?”

He shrugged and winked. “I’m allowed to keep hoping that something might change, right?” he said, gently teasing. “I mean, no law against wishful thinking, right?”

“You’re allowed,” Alex answered.

The bartender appeared, and Ben ordered for himself and Alex. Alex glanced over at MacPhail and Ramirez. Ramirez gave her a goofy grin and a thumbs-up. She scowled back just as Ben turned back to her.

“So?” he asked. “What sort of trouble you in now?”

She blew out a long breath. “I’m making a trip out of the country. That’s all I can tell you. It’s against the rules even to say that much. I’m nervous and scared, and I need someone friendly to settle me down.”

“Okay,” he said. He put his hand on hers. “I’m here.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Between us, there were threats against me in New York. So I’m dropping off the radar and taking what might loosely be called a short-term foreign posting, also known as keeping my head down and trying not to get killed. If I seem blase about it,” she concluded, “that’s a huge feint, because I’m nervous as a dozen scared cats, but you’re the one person I can bare my soul to. How’s that?”

“Lousy,” he said. “And I know you well enough to see how shook up you are.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“To me,” he said. The drinks arrived. Ben continued, “You going alone?”

She hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”

He looked at her strangely. “Someone you work with?”

“No. Someone I know. I can’t tell you the name.”

As he tried to decipher the situation, Alex began to feel the whole conversation was going the wrong way. “Someone you’re involved with?” he asked after a long pause.

“No,” she answered immediately. “And, Ben, don’t ask questions like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked you not to. Please?”

“Okay, okay,” he said.

“Ben, I need a friend right now. I need you to be that friend, to have a strong shoulder, and to believe in what I’m doing. Without asking questions. Can you do that?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’ll try. It’s just that … you come to D.C., I see you, I think I’m over you and can accept the way things are, and I take one look at you, and it all goes in another direction. I’m not over you. That’s what.”

She steepled her fingers in front of herself. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. She should have known this was a bad idea. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her two FBI guards. It was 11:00 p.m., and they were watching ESPN’s Sports Center more carefully than they were watching her.

“How long have you known this guy?” Ben asked.

She quickly calculated. “Just shy of a year,” she answered.

Ben leaned back on the stool. He seemed to stretch slightly, then settled again. “Wow,” he said. “That explains a lot.”

“What does it explain?” she asked, turning the conversation around.

“Why you were never interested in pursuing anything with me,” he said. “There was someone else. You might have at least told me. Or mentioned it.”

“Ben, I don’t need this right now. It’s not why I asked you to come over. And I’m not involved with Paul. It’s a professional assignment.”

“Yeah, right, okay,” he said sullenly, hearing but not listening. “We’ll just be buddies. I’ll listen to what you have to say. I won’t get mad, and I won’t tell you how much I burn with envy and jealousy over the guy you’re traveling with.”

She put a hand on him, but he seemed unreceptive. In the back of her mind, a voice told her that she should have left him alone this evening.

He looked down into his drink.

“I asked you over as a friend,” she said.

“Sure,” he answered. “But you just play around with me, you know that? Just play around.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “I’m in love with you. You know that.”

She was unable to respond.

“There,” he said, “I said it. It’s in the open. Do you think that’s meaningless? Does it bother you? Don’t answer any of this,” he continued quickly, “because anything you say will make things worse.” He paused. “But I’ve given you plenty to think about, haven’t I?”

“I already had plenty, Ben,” she said.

“And now you have more,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“There,” he said. “That makes me happy and probably makes your FBI guys happy as well, or it would if they were paying any attention. The only person it doesn’t make happy, I’d guess, is you. But at least I told you. If you don’t come back from this trip, wherever you’re going, at least I got to say it once.”

He stepped from the stool and downed the end of his drink.

“Good night, Ben,” she said.

“Good night, Alex.”

She watched him in the mirror behind the bar as he disappeared out the door, his limp more pronounced than when he arrived. She stayed, in frustration. A lonely businessman at the far end of the bar sidled over to her and attempted a clumsy late-evening no-one-is-ugly-after-midnight pickup.