to wrap the cigar. I shan't bore you by telling who is what. And I certainly don't want to make any of this seem tenuous. So let's just start with this church in the plaza. The one you photographed so well.
The Iglesia del Santa Angel Custodio is run by a Father Xavier, a good, simple man who cares only about his church. The church itself is in a poor state of repair, but there is not much money with which to carry out the work. I told him of the existence of the Instituto per le Opere di Religione. The IOR. It's the Vatican Bank in Rome, through which funds may be sent to the Cuban church in this time of need. The IOR is run by Cardinal Alberto di Jorio, who's very old and probably hasn't even heard of Cuba. But I told Father Xavier that I was acquainted with Cardinal Spellman, in New York, who was a good friend of di Jorio's secretary, a Monsignor who also happens to be a qualified building engineer. It's this fictitious person's job to go from one poor country to another, inspecting the fabric of the church's buildings and deciding whether or not money shall be donated. Spellman is a friend of mine, from Boston. He owes me more than one favour. And naturally he hates the communists. So he'll provide any credentials we need in order to pass Tom off as this same Monsignor.'
Genevieve handed Tom a number of pamphlets and booklets to do with the Catholic Church's catechism and sacraments.
Of course, you'll have to read these,' she told him. If you are a Catholic, I'm assuming, given what you do, that you're not a very conscientious one.'
You could say that,' agreed Tom.
Naturally we'll have a real priest to help you with the way a priest handles himself and that kind of thing. But the important thing is that, as a priest who is also a building engineer, you'll have the perfect excuse to spend a lot of time up on the church roof.'
Sounds good.'
And naturally you'll be supported by the MIRR in Havana,' said Bosch. Whatever you need to get the job done.'
We'll take you in,' said Lanz, grinning wolfishly. And we'll take you out, too.'
Tom nodded, but he wondered what Lanz meant by that remark. If the red-haired Cuban had meant it to sound at all ambiguous.
Which leads me to the next leaf in our cigar,' said Genevieve. The copa. The wrapper. The patsy. We believe we've found the perfect mark. His name is Everton Echeverria and he's a jockey right here in Miami, at Hialeah.'
He's not so much a jockey,' interrupted Diaz Castillo. Not these days, anyway. He's more what we call a hot walker. An exercise boy. After races he cools down the horses by walking them around. If he had a little more nerve he might make it as a jockey, but he took a fall a few months back and since then he's lost the cojones for the job. Anyway, he's a real loner. Lives in a crummy motel close to the track. And he likes to gamble. Knows even less about betting on a horse than he does about riding one. He's into me for about a thousand bucks. But naturally I'm prepared to wipe the slate clean, even leave him some extra dough besides, if he's willing to go back to Cuba and do me a little favour. It's out of season right now, so there's no reason for him to say no.'
He's Cuban?'
Ella cabeza? Didn't I say?' Castillo continued. Yes, his background makes him just right for us. He was a soldier in Batista's army. Not a bad shot by all accounts. His father was a croupier at the Capri until they closed the place. Then he tried to leave, only, unlike Everton, he got caught and now he's in prison. His mother runs a small shop in Havana, selling sponges, mother of pearl, turtle shells. But since the revolution the business hasn't thrived. She still keeps Everton's room though. A couple of our people took a look around while she was out, and found his old army rifle under the bed. A thirty-calibre Ml Garand, and apparently still in good working order.'
Tom nodded, although he had his doubts about the effectiveness of a Second World War rifle left gathering dust under a bed in a port like Havana. All that sea air was bad for a rifle left without gun oil for any length of time. And even the best M1s had a poor trigger pull and a badly designed stock. But you didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Finding the copa's own army rifle was a real stroke of luck for them. They knew that. And they would expect him to be pleased. He said, With a Griffin and Howe mount, and a four-power Bear Cub telescopic sight, not to mention some gun oil, that might just do the job. And even if it doesn't, it'll be a good bit of evidence to leave for the Cuban authorities. Excellent work.'
Tom lit a cigarette and smiled optimistically at HA1/4ber Lanz, who grinned and wagged a finger back at him. As if he was warning him he wasn't going to forget to remember. Then he noticed that Sorges had come into the room while Castillo had been speaking and was now sitting in the corner. He was wearing a seersucker sports jacket and a button-down shirt. Seeing him, Tom nodded, and this seemed to prompt Sorges to bring his chair closer to the rest of them.
Tom? How's it going? Got any questions?'
Tom nodded, but addressed his next question to Castillo: And what are you going to tell our friend Everton?'
That there's a false passport for him and someone else. Someone we'd like to get out of Cuba. A political dissident. Everton's to meet this person in the church on the night you kill Castro. We'll have him wait inside the confessional. Only instead of a political dissident turning up on the other side of the screen, it'll be the murder weapon. Here's what I propose, Tom. You come down from the roof and put the gun there, on your way out. Simple as that. When Everton's arrested they'll find the rifle, the two false passports, and back at his mother's shop they'll find all sorts of other incriminating shit. Copies of Bohemia. Money. Maybe even some of the photographs you took of the plaza, Tom, with the balcony on the palace marked out with a neat little cross. A diary about how much he wants to kill Fidel. We have a handwriting expert to help us with that.'
Tom thought it all sounded okay, apart from the bit that had him leaving the rifle in the confessional. Leaving the rifle up on the roof would be a better option. Not that it mattered enough to say anything now.
This Everton character,' he said ruminatively. I'd like to take a look at him myself.'
Sure, no problem,' said Sorges. You can check him out to your heart's content. And the money, it should be hitting your account any time now.'
Tom glanced over the pamphlets. My mother always wanted me to be priest.'
Not just a priest,' said Genevieve. A Monsignor.'
Let's pray it works,' said Bosch. Because as soon as Castro's dead, the invasion can begin.'
You really think that whoever wins the election is going to do that?' asked Tom.
Listen,' said Sorges. Nixon. Kennedy. Either way we win. But as it happens, I've heard that JFK's election is in the bag. The fix is in. Momo's seen to that.'
You reckon?'
Sure,' said Sorges. Look, it wouldn't be the first time the mob delivered votes for the Democrats. Coolidge, FDR, and now JFK. What? You don't believe us?'
Tom looked less than convinced. I don't know,' he said. Somehow I can't figure the mob fixing things for someone who was on the McLellan committee.'
That's part of the deal,' insisted Sorges. In return for the votes, Kennedy will call off the dogs. Leave the mob alone again. Things will be just like they were before. Here, and in Cuba. You'll see. After the election, Kennedy's going to do what he's told. Momo has an insurance policy handsome Jack doesn't even know about. Him on tape, in bed with Marilyn Monroe.'
That's a tape I'd like to hear,' chuckled Gonzales.
Me too,' admitted Lanz. How about it Jenny?'
But Genevieve was shaking her head. Count me out,' she said, good-humouredly. If I want sounds for swinging lovers, I'll listen to Frank Sinatra.'
That pimp,' snorted Sorges. He's the one who introduced them.'
Tom glanced at his watch. Well, I've got to be going,' he said. Everything sounds good, though. I'm impressed with what you've devised.' He stood up and pointed at Lanz, wanting to be away from him but going along with the idea of hoping to remember where it was they had met. It'll come to me, where it was we met,' he said, trying to turn things so that it looked like it was him trying to remember Lanz from somewhere. It'll take a while, but I'll get there.'
Yeah, you do that, friend.'
Tom shook hands all round. Even before he left the room he had decided to kill Lanz. And as soon as possible.
