Best Left Buried by Neil A. White

Author:Neil A. White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, political thriller, expat, espionage, secret service, spies, Cuba, America, CIA, US senate, double life, mystery, organised crime, underbelly, foreign correspondent, mission, John le Carre, Jack Reacher, James Bond, Argyle, Ben Macintyre, Shadow Lives, anticipated, series, Adrian McKinty, Tim Ayliffe, Matthew Reilly, Cobalt Blue, Slow Horses, Mark Brandi, Liam McIlvanney, Retribution, Sarah Barrie, vigilante
ISBN: 9781760689322
Publisher: Echo Publishing
Published: 2025-05-07T00:55:39+00:00

The view from the front steps of the Nacional, the sparkling turquoise waters of the Florida Straits beneath a cloudless cobalt blue sky, was picture perfect. The only blemish, the exhaust cloud billowing from Frankie’s Fairlane.

‘Change of plans, Frankie.’

He looked across the roof of the rickety Ford as is to say, Whatever, but it’ll still cost you one hundred pesos.

‘No go to Varadero? You not want to see beautiful beaches?’

‘Maybe another time.’

I hopped into the back seat of the ancient Ford and wound down the window. The interior already smelled of sweat and melting plastic and the sun had barely made an appearance.

‘You the boss. Where to?’

‘Madruga.’

‘Madruga? Why you want to go there?’

‘There are a few sugar plantations in the area I’d like to visit.’

‘Why you no say. I know much better place—’

‘Madruga, Frankie. I’ve already called ahead and they’re expecting me.’

That was a lie but I didn’t expect Frankie to know that.

‘Is that a problem?’

His eyes said yes, but the promise of one hundred pesos kept his mouth clamped shut.

I’d talked to Ryan earlier and he gave me a few useful tips. Many of the taxi drivers supplemented their income by acting as chivatos – police informants. I wasn’t sure if Frankie fit the bill but if he’d phoned in our destination ahead of time, I’d just ruined his day. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but unless we were followed, it’d ensure a welcoming committee wouldn’t be waiting at our destination. If he made a call along the way that seemed suspicious, well … I’d think of something.

‘No problem. We go Madruga.’

‘Good man.’

Last night, a search of the internet offered up the names of three sugar plantations in the vicinity of Madruga. From Aleja, I knew the one where she and her father, Osmel, had lived and worked. I’d mix in a visit to another to avoid suspicion. Ryan gave me the idea of visiting the plantation before attempting to visit the cemetery. Osmel disappeared under suspicious circumstances, so hopefully I’d find someone there willing to share what they knew. There was no way of knowing if his interrogators had gotten what they’d searched for or not. If they had, perhaps he’d previously shared the information with a friend. If not, then they may be lying in wait at the cemetery.

It took thirty minutes to navigate the surface roads of Havana and reach the A1 Autopista Nacional. The highway would, when complete, slice the island in two from Havana to Guantánamo. For now, Fidel’s bold dream had only made it halfway, which was far enough for my purposes.

Getting my first good look at Havana in daylight, I realised bringing his Autopista dream halfway to fruition appeared to be the highpoint for Fidel. Havana was literally falling apart at the seams. The US embargo had undoubtedly stunted the economy for decades, but Cuba had been a starving child in search of a good meal ever since the Iron Curtain fell and Russian investment dried up. Baroque mansions, seventeenth-century churches and

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