Red Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

I talked with the hospital, the second man called. He said he was a friend of my aunt’s. And he was, I’m sure of it, because he knew about you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He asked if Señor Devlin was coming with me. He said he’d make hotel reservations for a double room, if you were.”
    “How’d he know about me?”
    “I asked him that. He said my aunt told him. And if he was a friend, she would have, Paul. I wrote to her about you all the time, and she even wrote back asking questions about your job, your daughter, everything.”
    “But this guy, he wouldn’t give you his name?”
    “No, he said it was unwise to do that on the telephone. He said he’d meet us at the airport. When I told him this Colonel Cabrera was sending a car, he said it would be unwise to let the colonel know when I was arriving. He said the colonel worked for State Security, and was no friend of my aunt.” She stared at him, hoping he’d say something comforting. “It
is
strange, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah, it is. I think we should just go, ourselves, and avoid both of these characters. At least for now.”
    Something didn’t smell right, but Devlin didn’t want to say it. Not now. Not until she calmed down. He took her to their large, overstuffed sofa and drew her down next to him.
    “Tell me about your aunt. All you’ve ever said was that she was a doctor who worked for the Cuban government, and that she and your dad didn’t get along.”
    Adrianna looked at him as though confused by the question. Her features softened with thought, and Devlin realized, as he had so often before, how much he enjoyed looking at her. Adrianna’s nose was slightly too large; her mouth just a bit too wide; her light brown eyes too much in contrast with her raven-black hair, and all together it made her the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever known.
    “There really isn’t a lot I do know about her,” she said at length. “I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. My father always refused to talk about her, and when I finally got to meet her after he died, she was always very reticent aboutwhat she did. All she really ever told me was that she was a doctor who specialized in children’s problems. I do know her government sent her to several conferences at the UN and the World Health Organization, because we’d see each other during those trips. She was here eight or nine times like that, and she always stayed a week or two, so we saw a lot of each other when she was here. But that’s really all I know about her life. That, and the fact that she hated Batista, and was a fierce supporter of Fidel Castro, and everything she thought he’d done for Cuba.”
    “You must know more than that,” Devlin said.
    “Paul, I don’t. After my father died, she sort of adopted me from afar. I was an adult by then—” She stopped, as if considering her own words. “I guess I never recognized it before, but all our interactions were about me—her hopes for me and my work, whatever problems there were in my life. That’s all that seemed to interest her.
My
life.
My
welfare. Everything. All of it centered around me. Whenever I asked about her, she just dismissed herself as some country doctor who took care of children. All she ever wanted to talk about was me, and my problems, my hopes, my needs. I guess you could say she was more mentor than aunt.” She closed her eyes and fought back tears. “She was wonderful, Paul. She was the first
real
intellectual friend I ever had. The first person who ever took me seriously.”
    The call from the U.S. Interests Section in Havana came as they were completing their packing. Devlin spent twenty minutes on the phone, making notes about the arrangements that had been made and listening to a detailed explanation of what they could expect to find when they arrived.
    When he replaced the receiver he stood quietly, digesting what he had been told.
    “What is it, Paul?”
    He shook his head, a look of mild