Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,108
a drink. Jackie sat in the chair across from him and plunged right in.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” Phillips said, none of his usual aplomb absent from his voice. She had to hand it to him. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it.
“Are you enjoying your stay here?” she asked.
“Well, I usually prefer the Eden Roc.”
“But you wanted to stay here so you’d be closer to me—is that right?”
Phillips said nothing.
“You don’t have to worry,” Jackie assured him. “I know you work for the CIA.”
When Phillips didn’t answer, Jackie forged ahead. “The Thorndyke Fund is a CIA proprietary company. It’s secretly owned by the agency, and you run it for them.”
His face remained impassive.
“You weren’t in Cuba looking for investment opportunities. The only one you really wanted was Walker’s treasure. Well, I’m sorry to say, there wasn’t any.”
For the first time, Phillips allowed his face to show some emotion. He seemed impressed with Jackie’s recitation of the facts.
“I was told you were a neophyte agent. How did you come by this information?”
“Let’s just say that I have my ways and leave it at that.”
“It would seem that I’ve underestimated you, Miss Bouvier. You’re right. The Thorndyke Fund is a proprietary company. It finances off-the-book operations for the CIA. What is known in the trade as black ops.”
“And does Allen Dulles know about this?”
“Let’s just say that what Allen Dulles knows and what he doesn’t want to know are two separate things.”
Jackie shook her head. Once again she had come up against the CIA’s ability to use the end to justify the means. She was in over her head, and she knew it. She should just confine herself to the little picture and leave the big picture to the experts. That way she would never end up with conflicted loyalties.
The waiter came, and Jackie ordered lemonade. She told him to put it on Phillips’s tab. Phillips made no objection. Under the circumstances, it was the least that he could do.
“I’m sorry there was no treasure,” said Jackie with finality.
“As am I,” said Phillips. “I wonder what did happen to all that money Walker looted from the Nicaraguan treasury.”
Gabriela was taking a break and sunning herself. It was siesta time, and Fidel’s camp had gone somnolent in the late afternoon sun, except for some of the men who had chosen up sides for a baseball game (with Fidel pitching for one of the teams, of course). As she watched, Gabriela found, to her surprise, that this new life agreed with her. She felt part of something. What was that forgotten word? Ah, yes, family. So all right, she wouldn’t be a dancer. For now. But maybe, come the revolution, she would once again have her chance to fulfill her childhood dream. If she wasn’t too old by then. The thought made her laugh to herself.
She saw that Emiliano was playing shortstop on Fidel’s team, which also included his brother Raúl and Camilo Cienfuegos, one of Fidel’s top lieutenants. She noted that the lawyer had lost nearly all of his pasty courtroom complexion and was now as brown as every other one of Fidel’s compañeros. It was still only a fledging army, to be sure, but it was gaining new adherents every day, and Fidel spoke of a time, probably only a year off, when they would make their first big move against the Batista government.
In the weeks since saying farewell to Jackie at the pirate inlet, Emiliano had seemed a changed person. He often kept to himself, and he didn’t seem to have a lot to say. He appeared to be on some kind of inward journey, one that had nothing to do with his new situation as a fugitive from justice. Fidel was even thinking about temporarily sending him away, for safety’s sake, to Mexico. She recalled overhearing part of their conversation.
“And while you are there in Mexico City,” Fidel said, “I want you to meet with a man, an Argentine doctor.”
“You want me to go all the way to Mexico to recruit a doctor to treat our troops?” Emiliano asked in confusion.
“No, he is some kind of genius at guerrilla warfare. We could use his expertise here. His name is Ernesto Guevara, but he prefers to be called Che.”
In the past few days, Emiliano had come out of his shell somewhat and seemed interested in spending time with her. She felt flattered by this attention and wondered if it was the beginning of something else.