"We are not doing anything." Osorio stepped back.» You lied to me."

"Here are the documents."

"I'm looking at you. What I see is a man who claims to look for a picture of his dead friend while he gathers all sorts of anti-Cuban materials. I come to help you and you throw these papers, which you don't tell me where they came from, in my face. I won't touch them."

This was not going the way Arkady hoped.

"You can check them."

"I'm not helping you. I don't really know anything about you. It's your word and a picture that you're Pribluda's friend, that's all I know. Just your word."

"No, that's not true." Her words crystallized what had been vague before. What had bothered Arkady was how his picture got from Pribluda's fiat to Hedy.» Did you give Pribluda's picture of me to Luna?"

"How can you ask a question like that?"

"Because it makes sense. Let me guess. After the autopsy you came here to dust for fingerprints and found the picture of this miserable Russian who had just arrived. You naturally called Luna, who told you to bring the picture to him."

"Never."

"Who gave it to poor Hedy. Have you been helping Luna all along?"

"Not in that way."

"Do all Cuban police carry an ice pick and a baseball bat?"

"When you see Luna with a machete, bolo, that's the time to be afraid. You should have stayed in Moscow. If you had, more people would be alive."

"There you're right."

Osorio snatched up her bag. She was out the door before he could consider whether he had really handled the issue of AzuPanama as well as possible. But why would a Cuban be impressed by mere evidence? This was Havana, after all, a place where sugar attaches floated in the dark, where a Havana Yacht Club did, didn't, might exist, where a girl could lose her head two nights in a row. Osorio's lie about the picture had simply been one absurdity too many. All the same there had been a nasty edge to his words that he regretted.

When she reached the street, Ofelia realized that, apart from a bolt on his door, Renko had no protection if Luna came back. What she had not told the Russian was how Luna looked when he stood over Hedy's body at the love motel, how his eyes reddened and the muscles of his face worked like a twitching fist. Or how the sergeant had later sat in the archive room, and how simply moving by him was like walking in the shadow of a volcano.

Traffic on the Malecon-always thin at night-had as good as disappeared. Even the couples who usually courted on the seawall were gone. If Ofelia was angry with Renko, she was furious with herself. She had removed the picture of him from the crime scene. She had broken the law. For what, so he could accuse her of taking the same picture from Pribluda's? She knew by now his taste for frivolous minutiae and then the diagonal question that cut across the board. As for the documents he pulled from the briefcase she was not surprised by the lengths Russians would go to to discredit Cuba. All she needed, Ofelia told herself, was to keep Renko alive until his plane left for Moscow. She wanted a clear conscience.

Determined not to be baited again, she went back in the house. Halfway up the stairs Ofelia heard steps above and a soft knocking at Renko's door. When he opened the door the light of his room fell on an extraordinarily fair woman with braided black hair in a Mexican dress and bare feet. She was a rose on a long stem, a glamorous white flower tinged with blue. Ofelia recognized her from the Santeria ceremony, the friend of George Washington Walls, the dancer.

Ofelia watched Isabel lift her face and kiss Renko. Before they saw her, she retreated down into the dark of the stairs, getting smaller and smaller until she reached the street again.

Chapter Eighteen

"You're making a mistake," Arkady told Isabel.

"No mistake."

She guided his hand between her legs so that he could feel her through the cotton of the dress, then kissed him and slipped into the sitting room. Maybe this was a test for signs of life, he thought. The dress was thin to show the slimness of her body and the dark caps of her breasts, and if he were a normal man he would feel healthy lust. The truth was he did feel a first stirring, feeling her breath on his neck, taking in the almond scent of her hair braided like long black silk. Her pale skin made her lips all the more red.

"No mistake," Isabel said.» I asked you to do something for me. Fair trade. Gordo keeps the rum over the sink."

"I thought Gordo was the name for the turtle."

"For both. Sergei, turtle."

"What do you call George Washington Walls?"

"I call him done with. I have a new boyfriend, no?"

"Well, I can't imagine who that is."

Isabel touched the coat hung on the back of the chair, and when he pulled her hand away she said, "Relax. Such a strange man, but I like you." She found the rum herself and rinsed two glasses.» I like strong men."

"That's not me."

"Let me be the judge." She handed him a glass.» I know you've heard about my father."

"I heard there was a conspiracy."

"True. There's always a conspiracy. Everyone complains, and He ..."-she pointed to her chin-"He lets them, as long as they don't do anything. As long as they don't organize. All the same, every year there's a conspiracy, and it's always a mix of conspirators and informers. That's Cuban democracy at work, that's how we will finally vote, when even the informers decide enough is enough and they keep their mouths shut and this country is delivered." She brushed Arkady's cheek.» But not yet, I don't think. This is the first place where time does not exist. People have been born and died, yes, but time has not passed because time demands fresh paint, new cars, new clothes. Or maybe war, one or the other. But not this, which is not dead or alive, which is neither. You're not drinking."

"No." The last thing he needed was Isabel and alcohol.

"Do you mind?" She took a cigarette.

"No."

"The reason my father agreed to the coup in the first place was the assurances from his Russian friends that he would have their complete support. It wasn't his idea."

"He should have known better."

“I think I'm choosing more wisely." She inhaled as if the smoke would travel the length of her body, exhaled and spun, her arms spread, so that the dress clung to her and smoke trailed behind.» I think we're the best. English dancers are too stiff, the Russians are too serious. We have the elevation and technique, but we are also born with music. There is no limit once I'm out, once I have my letter and my ticket."

"The letter hasn't come."

"It will. It has to. I told George we were looking into going back to Moscow together."

"You and I?"

"Yes, wouldn't that be the simplest way?" Isabel came to rest against the coat and an ember from her cigarette spilled on the sleeve.» Are you married?"

Arkady brushed the ember off and took Isabel by the wrist. It was a slim wrist, an elegant wrist, but he led her to the door.» It's late. If something comes for you I promise I'll let you know."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm saying good night."

"I'm not done."

"I'm done."

He pushed her out and only had a glimpse of her in the hallway crushed as a moth before he shut the door.

"You son of a bitch," she shouted through it.» You prick, cono. Just like your friend Sergei. All he wanted to do was talk about that stupid plot that got my father killed. You're just the same, another maricon. El bollo de tu madre."

Arkady shot the bolt. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Spanish."

His way with women was astonishing, he thought. What a charmer. He wrapped himself in the coat and shivered. Why was everyone in Cuba warm except him?