Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,29
all his Walker sleuthing? She decided to add the name to her mental filing cabinet, which was expanding daily due to all the new demands of her CIA training.
Maheu closed his notepad with one flip of his hand, put it away in an inside coat pocket, and reached into his briefcase, from which he produced a movie flyer.
“You’re going as yourself, a reporter from the Times-Herald, to cover a cultural event in Havana. It’s already been cleared with your boss. So you don’t have to worry about having to memorize a new legend.” Jackie remembered that “legend” was CIA lingo for a false identity.
“And what is this event?”
Maheu held up the flyer for Jackie to see. Even in the shadowy light she could read what it said:
ONE NIGHT ONLY
THE “MEXICAN” DRACULA
THE LOST VERSION
EL TEATRO DE CINEMA
PRESENTED BY
EL PRESIDENTE
FULGENCIO BATISTA
“They found the film?” Jackie asked in amazement.
“Yes, they found a complete work print in the vault of some old movie exhibitor in Havana. Batista is declaring it a ‘cinematic miracle’ and is hosting the movie to show that he’s the new steward of Hispanic culture. It’s a publicity stunt to take some of the sting out of his coup. What a con man.” He shook his head in rueful admiration, then paused and said, “That’s some coincidence, eh, about the movie being found?”
You can say that again, Jackie said to herself.
To Maheu, she said, “So do you think he’ll get away with it?”
“Who, Batista”—he turned to the screen—“or James Mason?”
Jackie didn’t answer, but turned her attention back to the movie. James Mason was stealthily removing top secret documents from the ambassador’s safe and using a camera to copy them. You’re lucky, Jackie thought. Mason had only another hour to find out his fate. The problem with real life was that it usually took a lot longer to find out one’s own.
VII
Havana, Cuba, May 1952
They took her right off the street.
Jackie was walking back to her hotel on the spacious Paseo del Prado, wearing a lightweight raincoat over her summer dress as protection against the light mist coming off of the Malecón, which bordered Havana Bay.
As she walked, she noted with continual openmouthed wonder that while Paris was blue, Rome was ochre, and Madrid was umber, Havana was colored unlike any other city she had ever seen. Everywhere you looked, building lintels and pediments and friezes and frescoes were tricked out in pleasing pastel hues—blue, green, yellow, red—making it the most festive-looking city she had visited.
No sooner had she made this observation than a big gray sedan pulled up next to her with an urgent squeal of brakes. She looked over to see what was happening, but before she could react, two men burst out of the back of the car and rushed over to the curb, effectively blocking her from flight. Then they grabbed her by both arms and forced her into the back of the vehicle, which took off with another squeal of the tires. Unfortunately, this was a quiet time of day, and there were no food vendors, pedestrians, or tourists on the boulevard to come to her aid or raise the call for help. From first squeal to last, it couldn’t have taken thirty seconds for the two men to hustle her off the street and into the sedan.
“Hey,” Jackie protested to the men, “what do you think you’re—”
But before she could get the last word out of her mouth, the man to her left pushed a piece of cloth into it while the man to her right slid another piece of cloth down over her eyes, effectively blinding her. Then, together, they pushed her down on the floor of the car, and each kept a knee on her to make sure she stayed there, where she couldn’t be seen by any passersby.
She recognized these men. They were the same East German spies who had caused her to cut short her intelligence-gathering assignment in New Orleans last year. The trio that she had dubbed Moe, Larry, and Curly after their resemblance to the Three Stooges. Moe was to her left, Larry to her right, and she assumed that must be bald-headed Curly behind the wheel.
Unfortunately, she had barely received any CIA training yet on how to react if kidnapped, but she realized the best thing to do under the circumstances was to try to remain calm. It was always better to make decisions with a rational mind than it was to act out of blind panic, “blind” being