Chapter 3 7

Terminal 2, Jose Marti Airport, Boyeros. Cuba. Wednesday Afternoon.

The Aero Puerto Internacional, Havana, was named after Jose Marti, the poet and political activist who is still regarded as a Cuban hero despite being killed fighting the Spanish in Cuba in 1895. Gillian liked to pick up a little local knowledge; it helped her to understand the culture of the people she would be relying upon and it kept taxi drivers on their toes.

It had already been a long day. Whilst it was still early afternoon in Havana, it was early evening back in the UK. The charter terminal was relatively modern, having been opened in 1988, and the architecture was a little bland. The design produced a profusion of white surfaces with occasional red detailing, red being the colour of revolution, she imagined. The architectural style was modernist but it still appeared dated. Gil suspected that it was probably some architect’s 1980s vision of what buildings would look like in the next century. If so, they were wrong.

The charter flight from Newcastle had passed quickly, even though Gillian seldom slept on aeroplanes, even in the premium seating. She had passed the time sipping cold drinks and watching three movies, all the time waiting for the flight to be over so that she could get to her hotel and relax.

As she stood in the passport line she noticed a handsome man wearing an olive coloured uniform scanning the recent arrivals. He caught her eye and she instantly knew he was looking for her. He walked purposely towards her.

Extending his hand, he introduced himself.

“Miss Gillian Davis, I am Alejandro Rebelda. I am pleased to tell you that you have special clearance. Please follow me.”

Gillian took his hand and smiled warmly. There was nothing to be gained by objecting to her special treatment.

“If we don’t see you again, pet, we’ll send in the SAS,” John, her aeroplane companion joked, to a good deal of Geordie laughter. Senor Rebelda smiled, taking the jest in good humour.

“Please, all of you enjoy your stay; you will find Cuban hospitality the warmest in the world.” He paused and then played to his immediate audience.

“Ho’way the lads and up the Toon!” he shouted, in a Hispanic version of a Geordie accent, to a rowdy chorus of applause.

“I studied for my Business Degree at Northumbria University,” he confided in a whisper to Gillian. “But don’t tell anyone. I am supposed to be a revolutionary.”

He laughed at his own joke and Gillian joined in.

***

“So, Miss Gillian Davis, you have pulled someone’s whiskers in Whitehall.”

Alejandro was around thirty years old and quite attractive. He was typically Hispanic in appearance, and his olive complexion was flawless except for a shadow of designer stubble. His long dark hair had a natural shine that made it appear almost blue. His brown eyes looked more amused than intense, and Gillian knew that his intention was to get her to relax, but she would remain vigilant, as ever.

“I have a fax, supposedly from the British Home Office, not the police, and so I must imagine that it is from MI5 or MI6. They cover their tracks badly.” He lifted a sheet of paper with Gillian’s photo reproduced very poorly in the top corner.

“It reads; ‘Please apprehend and deport to the UK at your earliest convenience the suspect named above. She is required for questioning.’ Well, I am thinking to myself, what questioning could be more important than a holiday in Cuba? Surely they can wait two weeks?”

Gillian smiled.

“Alejandro - may I call you Alejandro, Senor Rebelda?” He nodded his approval. “I am sure that you know, or will find out, that I was once employed by the British Home Office, and that they are not happy about their ex employees enjoying the revolutionary sun. But I assure you that I have no intention of causing you or your country any harm.”

“I never doubted it for a moment.” Alejandro Rebelda turned to his computer screen. “Look, there is no record of Gillian Davis arriving in Cuba. How strange. I had better report this to the British Home Office. It is a mystery, yes?”

Gillian smiled and nodded.

“I appreciate your help. Now, I fully understand that these administrative activities are expensive and so if there is any way I can reduce the burden on the Cuban tax payer....”

Rebelda held up the palm of his hand in the internationally recognised signal for ‘stop’.

“Please, Miss Gillian, offending your British Home Office and having them thank me through gritted teeth, is more than payment enough for my day’s work. Please, go and enjoy the sun.”

They both stood up as Gillian held out her hand. This time Alejandro kissed it. “You are a beautiful woman. Surely there must be Cuban blood coursing through your veins.”

Gillian laughed and Rebelda smiled in return.

“Remember, we have never met.” With that the Cuban sat down at his utilitarian grey laminated desk and Gillian exited the small goldfish bowl of an office.

Chapter 3 8

The Odeon, Leicester Square, London. Wednesday, 8pm.

The ridiculously extended limousine cruised to a halt at the end of the red carpet, and Dee and Katie waited patiently until security had cleared the space between the red velvet security ropes. Seconds later the doors were opened and cameras flashed continually, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls’ legs, or more, but they would be out of luck because Katie and Dee were wearing full length gowns and were modestly holding the split seams together until they were in a standing position.

Katie stood for a moment, slowly turning to look in all directions so that everyone could snap a picture of her serene, youthful smile. The photographers were always keen to take photographs of her male co stars and the adult cast members, but they all knew that the newspapers would want to lead with pictures of Katie and her even younger co-star, Amanda Jane Beery.

Dee walked just behind the young starlet as she chatted to fans, signed autographs and posed for pictures. Dee was not carrying a bag, as close protection personnel needed their hands to be free, and so she happily waved at the cheering fans who wondered who this gorgeous auburn haired beauty might be. Slowly the two women made their way up the red carpet. They had another ninety seconds to themselves and then one of the shaven headed security guards would usher them into the lobby for more poses in front of the sponsors’ boards, as the next celebrity limo pulled up to the red carpet exactly on cue.

Given the careful organisation that pandered to the fans and the Press, the red carpet should have been Katie’s alone. So, when a young man in a tuxedo emerged from the neon lit cinema portico that proclaimed the owners were fanatical about film, Dee and the security men watched him closely.

***

Rod Donkin, Big Brother winner and celebrity wannabe, strode purposefully towards Katie Norman, who had her back to him. Beside him was a man Dee recognised from the television. He was a tall well built man with muscles to die for and flowing blond hair. His name was Andy Woods and, despite the dinner suit, he was instantly recognisable as his cage fighting alter ego, the Ghost. More importantly, he appeared to be acting as Rod Donkin’s bodyguard.

Wary of Donkin’s intentions, Dee made her way towards Katie to cut off his approach, only to find that Andy Woods had stepped into her path. If the sun had been up it would have been like standing in the shadow of a mountain. The man was huge. Dee needed to make a decision; diplomacy or action.

Rod Donkin nodded to a press photographer standing against the ropes and in a clearly choreographed move he took Katie by the shoulders, turned her around to face him and proclaimed loudly:

“At last, the world gets to see Clara kissed off screen.”