'Did you like disposable things— when there were disposable things? Pens, cigarette lighters, things like that?'
'Yes, I suppose I did,' she answered, her tone defensive Rourke thought.
'Good for you. I didn't.' Rourke said nothing else. Already, the amphibious, twin-engine aircraft was closing on the surf. He gunned the Harley down the sandy embankment to meet it.
Chapter 20
'Miami Beach was the home of so many capitalists— it is appropriate that I have taken the finest home along the beach and made it headquarters for the People's Army.'
Natalia smiled, studying Diego Santiago's fleshy, slightly sweating face. She remembered the file. Diego was correct, but Santiago was an assumed last name, ever since his rise to prominence in the Cuban Communist hierarchy.
'General Santiago?' she asked.
'Si, Major Tiemerovna,' he responded.
She smiled at him again, then looked out over the veranda and across the sand toward the inky blackness ridged with white foam, the breakers. 'All of this— doesn't it distract you? It would me, I confess,' she said and laughed a little.
'You would distract me, Senorita. I use this house because it is centrally located; it fills my needs. I swim. It is the only exercise my demanding schedule allows me. Perhaps, while you and Colonel Miklov are here with us, you too can go for a swim. It is relaxing. I find it so at least.' He smiled again, then, looking at her glass, asked, 'More wine?'
She smiled. 'A little, I suppose— but only a little, Comrade General.'
'You are too formal, Senorita. There is no need for a beautiful woman ever to be formal. Call me Diego. I insist. Take it as an order, if you like, from a superior officer in an allied army.'
She smiled, taking his outstretched right hand, feeling it to be slightly clammy. She watched his eyes watching her cleavage.
She leaned back in her chair, her hand slipping from Diego Santiago's hand, then resting on the white tablecloth. She studied the hand, knowing, feeling Santiago's eyes studying her. She had arrived with Miklov, expecting nothing to do with Santiago until morning, feeling emotionally drained after her uncle's revelation. She had felt tired, confused when Santiago's aide met them at the airport, announcing there was a formal late supper being served in two hours. She glanced to her Rolex watch. It was nearly eleven.
With Miklov, the aide had had them driven to Santiago's house along the beach— another surprise. She had brought formal attire— she always did on an assignment such as this. While Miklov had changed, she had showered, washed her hair, dried it, then dressed. Looking at herself in the full length mirror before coming down to dinner she had done two things— slipped an ultra light, thin boot knife into a garter holster on the inside of her left thigh, then checked her appearance. She wore a black evening gown, not too much jewelry, black shoes and a small black bag— her COP derringer pistol was in the bag. She didn't worry that it would be discovered. If Santiago had reason to suspect her as KGB, he'd suspect her all the more without a weapon. And an obvious weapon was always a good thing— it sometimes ended a search quickly enough that a hidden weapon, like the knife on her thigh, would not be found.
Now she moved uncomfortably in the chair, straightening her skirt, moving her eyes from her hand to her shoes, then up her ankle to the hem of her dress. Santiago was talking to Miklov and she was trying to appear disinterested.
'I think, Colonel Miklov, that there is no cause for alarm for your superiors. It is only natural to assume that two dynamic nations such as ours operating in such close proximity as we do should, from time to time, become abrasive with one another. Yet it is this very dynamism and this very strength which makes us allies. How is the expression in English— the fortunes of war, no?'
Natalia looked up from the hem of her dress, seeing Diego Santiago's eyes watching her.
'But, Comrade General— Diego,' she asked, her voice low, soft— and she intended it to sound that way. 'If we are both such worthy allies, then why cannot we learn to function like well-oiled cogs in the Communist machine— together?' She looked into the Cuban's eyes, smiling.
'My dear young woman— you are exquisitely beautiful and you are also very intelligent. You have brought us exactly back to square one, have you not. Senorita, I am overwhelmed,' and Santiago bowed toward her.
The skin on her shoulders, her throat— all the parts of her that were naked to Santiago's eyes—
crawled under his gaze, but she leaned forward, knowing he could look down her dress more easily.
'Comrade General,' she almost whispered. 'I do not understand. This beautiful house, this dinner— I was very fatigued when we arrived.'
'Perhaps then a swim, as I suggested.' Then Santiago, as if he had forgotten Miklov existed, suddenly remembered he did. 'You are welcome to join us, Colonel.'
Miklov, gray, with tight jowls and dark eyes, smiled. 'The young lady is correct. I too am tired, and I'm afraid age precludes a midnight swim. I should be in bed. It has been a long day and I eagerly anticipate our renewed discussions tomorrow.'
'Comrade Colonel,' Santiago said, 'tomorrow, I shall show you both the cream of the armed forces of the People's Democratic Republic of Cuba.' Then, turning to Natalia, Santiago said, 'But tonight, Senorita, I will show you the ocean. In my humble role as leader of the People's Army, as I have indicated to you, the water is my one form of solace, of rest, of renewal. Perhaps, since these waters touch my homeland of Cuba— perhaps I feel from them the renewal to go on, despite all obstacles. They touch my home, my heart. You can understand this, Senorita?'
'Yes,' Natalia answered, watching his eyes.
'You will join me then for a swim?'
'Si,' she answered, smiling, watching his eyes smiling. 'That is the right word, yes?'
'Very right, Senorita,' Santiago answered.
'Gentlemen,' she began, standing. Both Miklov and Santiago stood then as well.
