The Kremlin File

Tara led me to a suite, a big one facing the bay. I looked down on a wide palm-studded lawn, a white beach, sail boats dotting the green and blue water. Money. Lots of it everywhere you looked. After the night flight and the jail I felt too dirty to even sit on the rich furniture. I went through the bedroom and the bath. The shower was big enough for two. I called to Tara.

“Bring fresh clothes and let’s get clean.”

“Oh, no,” her laugh came back. “Not on an empty stomach. My suite’s next door and I’ll wash there.”

Well, I tried. I heard the connecting door open and close, headed for the phone to ask room service for drinks, then stripped and got under the water. I luxuriated in the hot flood until I was red, then switched to cold. It made a new man of me even without sleep. I was dressed by the time Tara came back in a low-cut, clinging dress that matched her startling blue eyes. Room service knocked as I reached for her.

The Martinique punch came in tall frosted glasses, smooth and treacherous, but it didn’t change her mind so we finished them and rode the elevator down. Of the four hotel restaurants Tara chose the second floor terrace. We had a table under a bright umbrella and she told me the langoustes here were famous, dressed with butter and lime juice.

I wondered what was coming next, when the Russians would make their next move. I’d foiled their attempt at removing Fleming to safekeeping in a Cuban jail, so now they’d have to come up with a new program

But there was no sense going hungry while I waited for the counter-move. We ate a leisurely lunch, then walked arm in arm to Government House for Fleming’s returning speech.

Four

Our timing was close. Every seat except our reserved ones was already taken and the hall was hot with too many bodies. Randolph Fleming sat on the speaker’s platform flanked by the head of the legislative body on one side and the empty chair of Carib Jerome on the other. The Colonel stood at a microphone winding up a paean to the new president.

When he finished and Fleming stood, the walls nearly came down under the applause. I clapped too and Tara beat her hands together, her eyes damp with the joy of the moment.

Fleming waited smiling through fifteen minutes of ovation until the bedlam subsided enough so he could cut it off with a lift of his hands. When he could be heard, his voice rolled warm through the mike. He was humble at the welcome, grateful to be home, proud that Jerome had called on him to lead the country again. He outlined a program that made sense and promised an open election within one year so that he shouldn’t continue in office by the present military decree. He spoke for an hour, giving a better political speech than most I had endured.

Another long ovation followed, with a cordon of soldiers keeping the crowd from rushing Fleming. Then an escort took the three men on the stand off by a rear door. So far the army was sticking to its deal with Sawyer. I thought that in the face of the over-obvious popular approval, they’d run into trouble if they didn’t keep their word. Tara and I waited until the crush around the door thinned. She had stars in her eyes.

“How about that, Nick? You know what Dr. Fleming did? General Hammond’s family is still living in the palace. Fleming told them to take their time deciding where they’d go. He’s staying at the hotel, has the whole floor just beneath us.”

Somebody somewhere liked me. It would have taken some doing to keep an eye on Fleming in the presidential palace when I was masquerading as a hotel flunky. This put him in the middle of my supposed sphere. Then it dawned on me.

“You wouldn’t happen to have nudged him into this, would you?”

Her smile said yes. She was a neat little conspirator herself.

“Fine,” I told her. “I’ve got an excuse to look in on him, thank him for that assist out of the cooler.”

The way was cleared and we left, Tara hugging my arm.

“And now that duty is done...”

“You muffed your chance, lady. Duty isn’t done and my afternoon is full. I’ll walk you to the hotel — that’s all.” The only way to handle a tease is to tease back, so now Tara could whistle for a while. And there really were things I had to do — establish my cover with the hotel manager, call on Fleming, get some sleep. I’d had no rest in thirty-six hours and there was a heavy night ahead.

She was suspicious when I put her off, pouting when I put her in the elevator. Fair enough. I looked up the manager and found him in a huff too. He wasn’t happy at having me on his staff, as though I were a reflection of poor performance on his part. He rang for his own security chief, Lewis, announced that Mr. Sawyer’s new gentleman had finally arrived, and turned us out of his office.