Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,87

it has a map of Cuba hidden in it. Sanchez figured that it must be a treasure map. He knows you’re hunting for that treasure, and he wants it in exchange for the hostages’ freedom. You have forty-eight hours to hand it over to him. Otherwise, they will all be executed.”

Jackie gasped and clutched her throat. Executed. The very word sent shivers coursing up and down her spine. She couldn’t bear to think of such a cruel and undeserved death being visited upon Gabriela, her own brave angel of mercy, and the other passionate revolutionaries who had flocked to Fidel Castro as their only hope of deliverance from tyranny.

Emiliano, pale and visibly shaken, spoke up. “We think we know where the treasure is,” he told Castro. “At least we have some idea of where it might be. According to a map we found, it’s probably right here in Oriente Province, on the southern coast somewhere between Santiago de Cuba and Guantánamo Bay.” He drummed his fingers on the table and shot an urgent look at Jackie. “But we only have forty-eight hours to find it. We’d better get moving.”

Jackie was bone tired and would have liked nothing more than to catch a few hours of sleep, but with the clock relentlessly ticking down the minutes to their deadline, she shook off her fatigue. “I’m ready,” she said.

On the one hand, she wished that Castro had not taken so much time letting them unwind, but on the other hand, she appreciated learning about his personal history and plans for the future. Now Jackie’s mission to find the treasure went far beyond her own emotional reasons, strong as they were; they had a context in the larger, all-encompassing scheme of things for the Cuban nation.

When she returned to the States and reported to Dulles, she would be able to tell him that Fidel Castro was a force to be reckoned with. Contrary to Ambassador Beaulac’s disparagement of him as some hooligan in the hills who wouldn’t amount to anything, Jackie would let Dulles know that Castro was determined to free his people at all costs and was gathering the resources to do it. She would also warn him that unless things changed, American business interests in Cuba could be in jeopardy. The Cuban people were fed up with Batista’s corruption holding sway over them hand in hand with American imperialism (Castro’s word, not hers). Castro was a champion of human rights, but he was also rash and impulsive and something of an egomaniac. The situation was a powder keg ready to explode.

Jackie was getting ready to leave when Castro stopped her. “There’s something I want you to see,” he said as he picked up a copy of Bohemia magazine from the table, opened it to a page, and handed it to her.

It was an article about Castro’s public protest of Batista’s coup, accompanied by a photograph of him addressing a crowd. He pointed out some lines with his finger. “Why would anyone say something like that?” he asked her, his voice rising in indignation.

Jackie quickly scanned the lines, a quote from a U.S. observer of the rally whose assessment of Castro echoed the one made by Ambassador Beulac. The observer, a well-regarded political commentator, described Castro as “a young Cuban of wealthy background who, in a prolonged rebellion against the extravagances of his youth, has gravitated toward gangsterism and politically naive rabble-rousing that will probably not gain much headway.”

When Jackie looked at the photograph of twenty-seven-year-old Castro, she was struck by how much younger he appeared than his years. It occurred to her that it wouldn’t be hard for someone who didn’t know him to think that this was an overgrown kid who was playacting at being the leader of a national revolution.

Castro’s eyes searched Jackie’s face. “You’re an American journalist,” he said. “You know how your people form their opinions. What do I have to do to be taken more seriously in your country?”

“Grow a beard,” she said.

XX

They left the camp in a jeep borrowed from Fidel’s extremely limited motor pool. By the time they got to the abandoned leprosarium, it was dusk, which they hoped would give them just enough time before it turned full dark to explore the grounds, locate the cemetery, and find the grave that they thought might hold the treasure.

To Jackie, the treasure had started out as a kind of puzzle, an academic exercise of wading through the bargain basement of history to arrive at the