RIVERA HAD never imagined that Pierre Belac would try to kill him, no matter how acrimonious their dealings became. Now, after the attempt, it was very easy to do so. Rivera remained frightened. No longer for himself. But for Jorge, who had almost died as it was. Jorge had to be protected. Permanently, not temporarily by all these squads milling about, squads who’d eventually be withdrawn.
Safety would be easily enough achieved. All he had to do was pay over the withheld ten percent, which he’d agreed to do in Paris and which he’d always intended to do anyway. He’d like to be able to tell Belac that. But he didn’t know where Belac was. And if he were to do so, it would make him appear scared. And that couldn’t be allowed. Rivera wished, fleetingly, there were some way he could go on withholding the outstanding money to teach Belac the lesson the bastard deserved. But he had to think of Jorge. He’d settle everything as soon as the City of Athens left San Diego.
Rivera apportioned Estelle’s death into advantages and disadvantages. An unquestionable advantage was how he came to be regarded by his government. Predictably Havana overreacted, immediately drafting extra bodyguard officers from the Directión Generale de Inteligencia, some of whom entered the country unofficially because the diplomatic complement at the embassy was already complete.
With them came the deputy director of the DGI, a sympathy-offering general named Ramirez, to head their own investigation. The apparently grieving Rivera showed the proper and expected caution, checking first with Havana mat the man was cleared to discuss the arms shipments before offering his carefully prepared story. Arms dealing was a close-knit, jealous, and violent business; the general surely knew that? Here a modest shoulder shrug, eyes sadly averted. Rivera’d known and accepted the danger to himself, never imagining it embracing his family. The attack had only one logical explanation; arms dealer against arms dealer, eliminating the source of such lucrative contracts. Another shrug. Perhaps it was fortunate that the order was so close to completion, removing the reason for jealousy, for murder. Rivera smiled the sad smile of a man bereaved He had suffered. Rivera offered, the sacrifice a loyal servant of the State was sometimes required to suffer. He was heartbroken. But still—unshakably—the same loyal servant.
Ramirez probed for the possible identity of jealous arms dealers. Rivera, determined that his hidden Swiss bank account stay very hidden, said he didn’t know, but intended to find out through the network of contacts he had established. Ramirez said that if a name or names could be confirmed, the DGI had been ordered at the highest level in Havana to match the retribution to the crime and that the DGI had every intention of carrying out that order if it became possible. The extra bodyguards would remain, Ramirez promised, under the control of the local station chief, Carlos Mendez. The official ambassadorial residence was to be fitted throughout with an extensive security system. In the immediate future, dog handlers would be employed to patrol at night. Rivera again smiled his thanks, resenting the protection even more. It was important, he stressed, for him sometimes—quite frequently, in fact—to move about unescorted: arms dealers were secretive men, nervous of identification. For the moment, the general insisted, such encounters had to be restricted. Rivera accepted the edict, realizing it would be wrong to press the argument.
The protection created the biggest disadvantage. In addition to his own people, the British assigned men from the Diplomatic Protection Squad, building a virtual wall between him and Henrietta. And her initial distancing reaction when he telephoned the day after the funeral wasn’t what he had expected, either.
“Maybe it’s a good thing, for a while,” said the woman, almost casually.
“What!” he said, surprised.
“Someone tried to kill you, that’s what you said. What if they try again?”
Rivera sighed. It had been a mistake, trying to impress her. He supposed it was natural she should be frightened. “I don’t think there’s much chance.”
“How can you say that!”
Because Belac will be too scared himself to make another attempt, Rivera thought. “They’ll know the security that’ll be in place now.”
“That doesn’t sound a very convincing reason to me,” said Henrietta. “Who’s trying to kill you? And why?”
It was an obvious question, and Rivera was prepared for it. “You know the opposition that exists against Castro? And what my family were—aristocrats—before the revolution? I’m regarded as a traitor, for joining Castro instead of the opposition.”
Henrietta was quiet for so long that Rivera thought they had been disconnected and said, “Hello?”
“You saying the anti-Castro people tried to kill you for that!”
It hadn’t sounded as good as he’d expected, Rivera conceded. Improvising, he said, “There’ve been threats in Havana, apparently. I wasn’t identified, but the government thinks it all fits. It’s another reason for thinking there’s not a lot of risk now; having failed here, they’ll choose another target somewhere else.”
“What’s it feel like, knowing people tried to kill you?” Henrietta was a complete sensualist, and for the first time her voice sounded normal.
“Strange,” he said, improvising further because he knew her need. “I felt suspended to begin with, numbed—”
“What about excited!”
“Yes, later. Very excited.”
“Excited like you know I mean?”
“Yes,” Rivera said. There were occasions during their lovemaking when Rivera was nervous about what she’d wanted to do much as he was uneasy now.
“I wish we could meet,” she said, soft-voiced.
“I’ll find a way,” Rivera said emptily. He’d tried for a long time, before telephoning her, to think of something and failed.
“What would it matter if the security people knew we were together anyway?” Henrietta demanded.
It was a valid question; where, precisely, was the problem? “That’s really more of a difficulty for you than for me now. You’re the one who’s got the husband.”
“Only in name, dear.” Henrietta giggled. “I don’t see why it should be a difficulty. They won’t be in the room with us, after all, will they? As far as they are concerned, you’re simply visiting friends.”
It was certainly a way. Rivera realized. And he wanted a way, because already he was missing her. He wished he could gauge how she really felt. Now that Estelle was gone, there were a lot of possibilities they could consider together. Rivera tried to find the drawbacks to Henrietta’s suggestion. Very few, he conceded. Mendez would obviously report to Havana, using the newly restored authority so long denied him, which might possibly prompt a query, but an explanation was easy. He was cultivating Sir William Blanchard, an influential newspaper magnate, in the hope of getting articles favorable to Cuba in the man’s publications. He could, in fact, send his own report to Havana, in anticipation of it being demanded. He said, “I think you’ve found the answer.”
“When?” she demanded instantly.
For the first time Rivera remembered how recently Estelle had died. “Not for a day or two.”
“William’s away all next week.”
“Certainly next week then.”
“Before if you can.”
“I promise.”
That night, in that part of the diplomatic pouch only Rivera was allowed to open, came the confirmation: the master of the City of Athens was scheduling his departure from San Diego in two days’ time. The ambassador was relieved that the lading had gone uninterrupted. It meant, he realized, that $12 million should be transferred to Belac, to complete their deal. Rivera smiled, less frightened than he had been immediately after Estelle’s assassination. He’d hold on to it for a few more days. He was well enough protected, for the time being. It would be good, showing Belac he was unafraid.