But I don't think they'll stop trying to kill Castro just because a few of them get arrested,' he added. There are too many people who want him dead and who are willing to pay for it to happen.'
Ameijeiras slipped the envelope unopened into his briefcase and lit a cigarette. After a longish silence, he removed his straw hat and fanned himself with the narrow brim.
What happened to Mary wasn't supposed to happen,' he said quietly.
If you say so.'
I do say so. Most emphatically.'
So what are you going to do about it?'
Ameijeiras shrugged. Nothing. What's done is done.'
Funny, but somehow I thought you might look at it that way.'
What choice do I have? There's too much at stake to let this interfere with our plans. Right now there are other more important things to worry about. Such as whether the Americans will invade or not. Already they are sending ships and planes to Guatemala and Nicaragua. Ostensibly to protect those countries against communist-led invasion. But of course the reality is different. We may have frustrated one attempt to kill Fidel, but, as you say, doubtless they will try again. And even if they don't, they will try to invade Cuba by using what's happening in Central America as a cover. Our sources tell us that Kennedy knows all about this plan. That he even agrees with it, despite what he may say about Eisenhower's Cuban policy in public. So he has to be stopped.' Ameijeiras took a long drag of the cigarette and then added, You have to stop him, Tom.'
Tom's drink arrived, and he sipped it thoughtfully, avoiding the Cuban colonel's penetrating brown eyes.
And you think this action we're taking is the best way of doing that?'
Ameijeiras replaced the hat on his head. Yes, I do.'
I sure hope you're right.'
This shouldn't be a problem for you.'
You think so?'
No, it shouldn't be a problem at all.'
Tom grinned uncomfortably. I dunno,' he said, I never did anything like this before.'
It's true there are certain features that make this an unusual contract-'
Oh, I'd say so.'
But fundamentally,' insisted Ameijeiras, it's just the same thing you always do. And do very well, I might add. You've done this kind of thing dozens of times before.' The Cuban colonel handed Tom an envelope. Here is Kennedy's schedule for the next two months, obtained by our Russian friends. It's up to you how and where you do it. But please remember that we'd like to deliver our message before the inauguration. We don't think it's likely there will be any invasion before then.'
Tom pocketed the envelope.
Whatever you say. This is your party.'
Tom? It has to be this way. You do appreciate that, my friend?'
What's the matter, LA3pez? Don't you trust me?'
This has to go way beyond trust. This is life and death.'
You've got that part right.'
Listen to me, Tom.' The colonel's expression was sombre. There can be no room for mistakes with something like this.'
I never make mistakes. That's why you're paying me so much.'
Then we understand each other.'
Perfectly. Where is the money?'
The usual arrangements have been made with your bank in Venezuela.' Ameijeiras finished his cigarette and lit another. So, what will you do now, Tom?'
Find the where and the how.'
By scouting the shot?'
Of course. But first I'll go to the safe house. Study the schedule. Do some homework. Buy some books about Kennedy. Get to know my man. Frankly it's the part I like best: the planning. I will call you the day after tomorrow with some ideas. I already read a few books. Mary had quite a little Kennedy bookshelf. Anything else I'll probably find in New York. City's got bookshops like other cities have banks. And then there's always the library.'
Ah yes. The New York Public Library. What a remarkable institution that is. You know, in many ways, this really is an excellent country to live in.'
Yeah? Well don't tell anyone, will you? They'll all want to come here.'
Chapter 11
The Word for Death
Jimmy Nimmo felt pleased with himself. Thanks to Rhoda he had enjoyed a sleepless night. And now here he was, flying back to Miami aboard a Convair 880, with ten thousand dollars in cash in his bag. Perhaps he would postpone buying the MGA until the job was complete. But there was no reason why he shouldn't buy a colour television right away. He even knew the set he wanted: the new Fontainebleu by Andrea, with a twenty-three-inch tube, a handsome mahogany finish cabinet, and sliding tambour doors. From the airport he would go straight to Burdines and hand over $250. The rest of the ten thousand he would place in one of the safety deposit boxes the Miami National Bank had for rent. There would be just enough time to do both of these errands and make a few telephone calls before going to the Orange Bowl.
After the low fifties of Chicago, Miami was in the high seventies, and as soon as he found his car in the airport parking lot - a powder-blue Chevrolet Impala - he took the hood down. Driving a convertible was one of the few compensations for living in Miami. But not just any convertible. Nimmo saw himself driving something a little more distinctive than the Impala. Not that there was anything wrong with it. With a V8 mated to a two-speed automatic transmission, there was little to criticise in the nearly new car, unless you were driving it flat out, and then the back end had a tendency to rise up and float around a bit. But flat-out was what Nimmo really wanted. That, and some European class.
From the airport, he drove east towards the ocean, to East Flagler Street, and Burdines. After ordering his TV, and depositing the cash in the bank, Nimmo drove a few blocks south to Tobacco Road, on South Miami Avenue, where, over a couple of beers, he used the phone, calling Johnny Rosselli and then the coroner's office. Tobacco Road was a good jazz bar, although it was too early for anything other than the jukebox. Nimmo often went there when he couldn't stand his office in the Hall of Justice any longer. Or before a football game. And sometimes after one, too.
There was a big crowd to see the Miami Hurricanes play Syracuse and, for most of the time, it was a close game: 7-7 at half-time, and 14-14 in the third quarter. But then, in the last period, Ernie Davis carried the ball fifty- two yards in an eighty-yard attack to score the decisive touchdown from the three-yard line. It was a thrilling game with a last-minute drive by the Hurricanes bringing the Miami crowd to its feet, before the final whistle blew. Nimmo didn't miss a game like that for anyone.
But the next morning, Saturday, he was up early and on the case, driving the three miles that separated his home in Keystone Islands -a Keystone home for a Keystone cop, his wife had quipped, not long before he'd given her the slap in the mouth that made her pack her bags - from Tom Jefferson's address in Miami Shores. At the red traffic light on the junction of North East 123rd Street and Biscayne Boulevard, he glanced over the front page of the New York Times and saw that the President-elect was giving serious consideration to the appointment of his younger brother, Bobby, as Attorney-General. Nimmo lit a cigarette and grinned as he tried to picture some of the wiseguys when they read that. People like Jimmy Hoffa, Carlos Marcello, Dave Beck, and, for that matter, Sam Giancana were going to be none too pleased with the idea of their old McLellan tormentor in charge of the Justice Department. Most of those guys were probably hoping for Ribicoff or Byron White - anyone but Bobby Kennedy.
Nimmo found the address in Miami Shores and parked up the street. Then he went round the back of Jefferson's house, put on some gloves, and, from inside the fold of his newspaper, produced an improvised snap gun made from a wire coat-hanger. He inserted the sharpened business end into the doorlock, and squeezed the makeshift trigger, pulling the upper spring bracket down. Releasing the trigger abruptly drove the bracket hard up against the needle, snapping it into the tumblers, and opening the lock.
Once inside the house, Nimmo drew the blinds and switched on the television. Slowly, the set warmed up,
