Topaz - Leon Uris [58]
She saw her man waver for the first time. And she was stern.
“Come now, darling. We knew from the first day that we would have to come to this night and face it.”
“That doesn’t make me like it!” Then, shamed by her strength, he managed a smile. He took her hand and held it long and patted it, then put it to his lips. “You are a beautiful lady,” André said.
The alarm rang at four-thirty in the morning. The KLM flight was not due to depart until noon, but it was obligatory under Cuban regulations that all passengers present themselves at the airport six full hours before departure.
They took breakfast in total silence, then finally got around to a last-minute bit of business. André always carried out a briefcase of letters to Cuban refugees to be delivered in Miami and elsewhere about the country. A valise of tears and hope. The authorities would examine the letters before delivery, then see that they got to the rightful recipients. Juanita gave him the locked valise.
“The mail,” she said.
André hefted the valise, then looked at her curiously. “What the hell have you got in here this time? It weighs a ton.”
Juanita shrugged. “Who knows? The mail just gets heavier as the revolution goes on. This time, please don’t wait. Open it as soon as you can after you arrive in Miami. You’ll understand.”
What André understood without question was that he had received an instruction and would follow it. He nodded that he would comply.
At a quarter past five there was a knock on the door of the villa. Juanita was stunned to see Alain Adam waiting with the Embassy car. It was the very first time he had ever arisen at that early hour to take André to the airport. Obviously, she thought, something was wrong ... and a sickening wave of fear passed through her ... they are going to kill him!
His bags were loaded into the car in silence, the only sound being their feet shuffling on the gravel and the slam of the trunk lid.
André kissed her cheek. “When I send for you ... come.” He got into the front seat next to the Ambassador, dared a last look at her, and closed the car door.
She grew smaller and smaller as the car pulled out of the circular driveway past the iron gates. He looked back desperately and caught the last wave of her hand.
“Vaya con Dios,” Juanita de Córdoba whispered as they passed from sight.... “Go with God.”
In a moment a pair of G-2 men down the way in an unmarked car radioed the information that Devereaux had left the villa. Muñoz received the message at the Green House. He called Rico Parra at his office.
Parra had been up all night trying unsuccessfully to reach Castro. He was bedraggled and given to fits of temper.
“Devereaux is heading for the airport,” Muñoz reported.
“You get down there,” Parra snapped, “and you wait. Wait for my call. And God damn you, Muñoz, don’t screw it up.”
“Yes, compadre.”
“Compadre, my ass ....” He hung up. Luis Uribe, his secretary, set a cafecito before him. Uribe’s family had somehow skipped Cuba but he had no time for the man now. Rico bolted down the cafecito with a flick of the wrist and grunted. “Fidel!” he screamed, “where are you, you bastard!” He stared long at the unanswering telephone. “Uribe. Have you called all of his women?”
Uribe made a gesture of total helplessness.
Rico Parra cracked his knuckles nervously. Everything to take care of Devereaux was planned and in motion. He only needed Castro’s signal to go. When the phone rang, Rico heaved a sigh. Uribe lifted the receiver, answered, looked puzzled to his boss.
“It’s ... Señora de Córdoba....”
“Juanita ... at this hour ... of course.”
He snatched the phone and waved Uribe out of the room. “Hello, Rico Parra speaks.”
“Hello, Rico. This is Juanita de Córdoba. I wish to see you.”
Rico waited until the thumping of his heart slowed. “I’ll see you later, at a more decent hour.”
“No. I must see you now.”
“Very well. Come to my office.”
“No. I want to see you alone ... to discuss something confidential. Could you come up to my villa?”
It smelled bad to Rico. A trap. He