Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,118

give the Cuban dictator a pasting. She had never told him about her secret mission to Cuba for the CIA, exactly ten years ago. Even though she was long retired from the agency, that assignment was still classified top secret by Langley.

She remembered that meeting with a beardless Castro. Everybody knew what he was doing today, Fidel having overthrown Batista on New Year’s Day 1959 to become the new leader of Cuba. An acceptance of Communist principles soon followed. But what about Emiliano and Gabriela? Were they still a part of the people’s revolution? She had lost track of them, and they only ever came to mind once in a while. The past ten years had been a whirlwind of activity for her, taking on one covert CIA assignment after another, then being in a high-profile marriage to a U.S. senator, and ultimately assuming the role of first lady of the country. Add two children to the mix and Jackie hadn’t been left with much time for looking back.

Once, though, she had seen a wire-service picture of Castro and thought she recognized Emiliano standing behind him, but the figure was kind of blurry and it was impossible to tell for certain if it truly was him. There had also been a photograph of marching women in militia uniforms. One of them seemed to resemble Gabriela, but it was hard to tell for certain behind the aviator sunglasses hiding the woman’s eyes.

But now, because of the events of the past several days, her memories of those brave Cubans and the way they had stood up to Batista were constantly with her.

As the bacon was frying, Jackie went over to the counter and began to prep the rest of the sandwich: putting bread in the toaster, cutting tomato slices, and picking out choice pieces of turkey. Jack stood next to Jackie and cleared his throat. She looked up at him, knowing that he was about to say something important.

“Jackie,” he said, “I want you and the children to leave Washington.”

Jackie looked at him with incredulity and said, “What?”

“If this goes bad, Washington will be a prime target for Russian nuclear ICBMs. I don’t want to take any chances. If the worst does happen, I want you and the children as far from D.C. as possible.”

The toast popped. Jackie covered one side of all three pieces with mayo, then began layering the tomatoes, turkey and bacon between the three slices of bread. She needed this time in order to gather her thoughts.

When the sandwich was finished, she put it on a plate, pushed it in front of her husband, now seated, brought him a bottle of Heineken—his favorite beer—from the refrigerator, and said simply, “No.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to look incredulous. “What?”

“You heard me—no.”

“Jackie, you can’t be serious. Do you know how dangerous things could get?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change anything. My place is here with you.”

“This is totally unprecedented—”

“No, it’s not,” Jackie interrupted. “During the Blitz, King George the Sixth made sure that he and the royal family remained at Buckingham Palace, to set a good example for the people of London and provide moral support to the nation.”

“But no one’s going to know whether you’re here or not. We’ll keep that a secret.”

“I’ll know,” Jackie said simply.

Jack looked at Jackie and gave her a rueful smile. He sighed and took a bite of his sandwich.

“Delicious,” he pronounced between mouthfuls. “Thank you.”

“For the sandwich,” Jackie said, seating herself next to him, “it was nothing.”

“Not for the sandwich,” Jack said, and paused. “For—”

He looked at Jackie. She knew a million thoughts were racing around in that complicated mind of his, a million possible ways to finish that remark. She waited to hear what he would come up with.

“For being my rock.” He took her hand and squeezed it as hard as he could.

“Ouch,” Jackie said. She extricated her trapped hand and caressed it with exaggerated motions, pretending that he had really hurt her.

That caused him to laugh, something he must have done little of in the past week, despite his fabled sense of humor. She joined in with him. There they were, Jackie thought, an ordinary husband and wife, sitting in their kitchen in the middle of the night, picking at leftovers, holding hands and sharing a laugh. But they weren’t an ordinary couple. They were the president and his first lady. And their kitchen wasn’t located in Brookline or Riverdale or Bethesda; it was in the White House. Like any other

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