Topaz - Leon Uris [39]
Kuznetov looked at both of them seriously. “I’ve come to a decision,” he said. “That terrible pain hit my chest and darkness overcame me. Then I awoke under that oxygen tent. As the days passed with nothing to do but think, many things became very clear for the first time. I realized that if I could live, above everything else I had to live for my family. But I did not want to die .... I just didn’t want to die.... I still love Russia.”
He stopped and tears came down his cheek at the mention of his mother country.
“It’s also unjust to take this country as my home and betray it from the beginning. Well, Nordstrom, you should be proud. I’m going to tell you everything.”
He blinked a moment and waited to reinforce his meager strength. “You can start your Americanization program with Olga and Tamara.”
“I keep posted about your condition every day,” Michael said. “We’ll have to take it very slowly. Soon as the doctor gives the green light, we’ll start.”
“Yes, take care. I’m a valuable piece of merchandise.... I insist that Devereaux be present.”
“He’s on a trip. Will you agree to the preliminary interrogation without him?”
“Yes, that should be all right.”
“Try not to brood,” Nordstrom said.
Nordstrom drove back to Washington, taking small consolation in the victory over the Russian.
“I suppose things do become clear inside an oxygen tent,” Sanderson Hooper said. “Mike, you haven’t spoken a word.”
“Just thinking.”
“About Boris Kuznetov?”
“About him ... mostly about Devereaux. What’s the connection? Why does Kuznetov demand André?”
“Points to the fact that Kuznetov has been on a mission against France.”
“Or maybe he is deliberately using Devereaux.”
“We all seem to use Devereaux,” Hooper said.
“He’s in a lot of hot water, wife and country. Hoop, I got a line on his health. Maybe we shouldn’t have asked him to go to Cuba.”
“Sorry about all his bad luck,” Hooper answered coldly, “but we have to think of ourselves.”
16
JUANITA DE CÓRDOBA PULLED her car to a halt before the carved wooden door of the villa. In a quick, graceful movement she spun out of the driver’s seat, gathered up her packages, and shut the door with a push of the heel.
Emilio, the houseman, rushed out and took her packages. The instant she walked into the foyer the odor of potent cigar smoke was present.
“Rico Parra, señora,” Emilio said, “he has been waiting for over an hour.”
She hid her displeasure, lowering her eyes. “Very well.”
At the end of the foyer she could see past the French doors to the veranda which hovered above the sea. Rico Parra, boots propped on the rail, sat munching a large mouthful of banana from a fruit bowl. He flipped the peeling over the rail, swallowed the load, and lit another cigar.
She studied him. The green dungarees were new and pressed, his boots polished to a high sheen, and even the unruly mop of hair and beard had been put into order for the occasion. As she approached she could smell a second odor. He reeked of cologne as though he had bathed in it in a clumsy attempt to make himself presentable.
Rico heard her dartlike footsteps, dropped his boots to the tile floor with a thud, and came to his feet. Juanita moved through the French doors without a word and his eyes followed her with obvious longing.
“I happened to be in the neighborhood,” he blurted. “I ... uh ... there are a number of public events coming up next month and I thought I could be your escort.”
There was no answer from her.
“Well, for Christ’s sake, I could have more of a welcome. I’ve been gone a long time. Did you get my letters?”
“Yes.”
“Paris, Moscow ... head of the Cuban delegation in New York. Not bad for a peasant’s son, eh?”
She continued to bear his unwelcomed presence with a quiet dignity that made the contrast between them even more apparent.
“Look, I brought some things from Paris,” he said. “France,” he continued as an afterthought. “Perfume, real French perfume and a case of champagne. And here, a needlepoint handbag. It is very expensive