Cast No Shadow by Peter Sharp (books recommended by bts .txt) 📗

they had had their way, this would have become a Russian revolution in Cuba - and it would have failed. The people would not have accepted that.”

“The revolution, when it comes,” he continued, “must be driven by the people, otherwise it will become just another junta that will fizzle out.”

“Then a revolution is inevitable?” asked Kelly.

The Cuban smiled and nodded. “Oh yes, Mr Kelly, it is certain. A number of us will stand in the next election, but the election will be rigged, and Batista will return to power.” He raised his eyebrows and grimaced, “Then it will be time for action.”

There was a pause and the Cuban smiled again. “Now we must help you two out of Cuba. Your positions here have become untenable. Your presence in my group could be construed as an alliance with Britain and that cannot be allowed to happen. The people must be clear that we are Cubans, for Cuba and non-aligned.” He gestured down the hill. “I understand, Mr Kelly, that you have registered a preference for Guantanamo.”

Kelly smiled as he remembered the car chase and his brief argument with Negrin. He nodded. “Yes, that would seem the most likely escape route. The Americans seem fairly autonomous in that area.”

“For the moment at least.” The Cuban frowned. “That will have to change, but I agree that would seem to be the best option. Unfortunately, travel into Guantanamo by road is out of the question. You will need to go in at night by the river. One of my lieutenants, Prieto, will take care of things.”

The Cuban gestured to one of the men nearby, and then turned back to the couple. “All that remains is to wish you luck!” He again embraced Sybilla and shook hands with Kelly.

“I didn’t get your name,” said Kelly.

“Good!” said the Cuban and strolled back to one of the groups.

Alvaro Prieto, the lieutenant, joined them. “Come!” he said. “Much to do and little time.” He set off diagonally across the mountain, climbing gradually.

As they walked, Kelly tried to question Sybilla. So many questions.

Was she Skadi? Yes.

Where was Jenny Drinkwater? Gone through diplomatic channels.

Why could they not go that way? Both wanted by the authorities.

When Kelly questioned her on how she came to be here, Sybilla smiled and linked his arm again. “I will tell you the whole story when I can, Dan. Now is not the place or the time. Please trust me.”

It occurred to Kelly that she had said that to him once before and that trust had been betrayed, but he held his peace. His mind was in turmoil. He couldn’t deny that his very soul felt lifted at her nearness, but the feeling shocked him. He should be experiencing loathing and disgust.

Kelly was fine for the best part of a mile, but then the weight of the past few days descended on him. The injuries inflicted by Botvinik’s baseball bat, the sleep deprivation, the fire fight, they all began to take their toll. Eventually he stumbled and fell to the ground.

“Sorry senor, we must go on,” said Prieto and reached down to help Kelly to his feet. As he did so he pulled up Kelly’s shirt, revealing the extent of the wheals inflicted by the crazed Botvinik. Sybilla gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth. Recovering quickly, she raised his shirt completely as Prieto held him up. What she saw sickened her.

“We need to rest. It is essential!” Her tone was authoritative.

“I understand,” said the Cuban, also shocked by what he saw. “Is about two miles to the village. I will help the senor.”

The Cuban was not a big man, but his muscles were honed by regular exercise and, with him on one side holding the bulk of Kelly’s weight, and Sybilla on the other side giving some assistance, they struggled across the mountain terrain to a small village high in the Sierra Maestra. The village, as the Cuban explained on the journey, was his home village and like himself, the villagers were all Afro-Caribbean, people who had suffered under successive regimes and hence were as one with ‘the movement’.

In the village, the Cuban took Kelly to his mother’s tiny cottage and laid him on the bed in one of the small rooms, shooing two of his brothers out of the way as he did so.

The mother hovered over them all, ringing her hands and shouting orders. Sybilla gave a series of instructions in Spanish, and people went flying off in various directions to carry out her orders.

Kelly was sound asleep in no time, oblivious to what was happening. He awoke feeling groggy and worn, every part of his body ached. He was alone in the room, lit only by a few candles, with the exception of Sybilla. She was dozing on the chair at the side of the bed. He started to pull the blanket from his body until he realised he was naked and thought better of it, especially as his female companion had woken with a start.

“How are you feeling?” she asked felicitously, a look of genuine concern on her face.

“I’ve felt better,” he said, understating the situation significantly. “Who undressed me?” Sybilla looked shocked.

“Why Mother of course!” she said, but the coy look suggested otherwise.

“And what’s this?” he asked, scraping a gooey substance from one of the wheals on his arm.

“That, Mr Kelly,” she said, sounding officious, “is the local equivalent of witch hazel, only much better, especially as it’s brewed by real witches.” She smiled. “If I’ve used the correct salve it will heal your wounds in a remarkably short time.”

“And if you’ve used the wrong salve?” asked Kelly intrigued.

“Then you will turn into a little green frog in about one hour,” she answered sternly, before adding, “which, by the way would be something of an improvement.”

“Thanks very much!” said Kelly. The banter cheered him up. His head felt clearer. “What happens now?”

“It’s nearly six o’clock and the dawn is just breaking. You have slept since four o’ clock yesterday afternoon.