The Kremlin File

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.

Lewis was a huge black man who had played professional football in the United States a few years back. He was aloof until I called him Freight Train, the tab the press had hung on him, and recalled some of his big plays. Then he loosened up, told me about the special precautions he was taking with the President in residence, and took me up to Fleming’s floor to introduce me to his staff.

There were four, all burly American blacks, huddled in a corner of the corridor. Lewis swore under his breath and growled about army arrogance. All alike, he said, everywhere, push you off the earth. He was burned because a lieutenant and two privates were by the doctor’s door and had brushed off his guards. They had also apparently brushed off two men now languishing at a corridor intersection down the other way — swarthy, short, thick Italian-Americans. They gave me pause. The Mafia was looking out for the doctor too, protecting their own interests in the casino.

I was introduced to the hotel’s security squad, then to the three army men in front of Fleming’s suite. I asked the lieutenant if the President was back. He looked through me without an answer. Lewis bellowed that I was Thomas Sawyer’s handpicked man, imported to protect the doctor and they’d damn well better cooperate. The lieutenant still didn’t see me; he just turned and knocked a code on the door. A flunky opened it. Fleming saw me from across the room and called for me to come in.

A swarm of government people filled the room, fighting for the great man’s ear, with Colonel Jerome hovering nearest. I didn’t stay long, only the minutes it took to thank Fleming and compliment him on his speech. Fleming was up to his ears organizing his government, but he was still solicitious of my welfare. He hoped I’d encounter no further difficulties on the island. I thanked him and left.

In the hall Lewis asked if I wanted to look at the security setup on the other floors. We rode down a flight and I saw soldiers, guards, Mafia everywhere. President Randolph Felming was tucked in tight.

I congratulated Lewis, excused myself and went into my room. The little booby traps I had left weren’t disturbed. Nobody had been there. I wondered if AXE’s information about the unreliability of the Grand LaClare army came from the fertile imagination of some nervous diplomat. I put in a call to headquarters to talk to David Hawk.

His voice lunged through the instrument, demanding to know why I hadn’t reported in as soon as we landed. When he heard about the hassle over the gun, he had some special words for pompous officials, and when he got that out of his system, I gave him a rundown on where else I’d been that had used up time.

“The skyjacking was set up by the Russians, I’m sure,” I said, “But that’s all taken care of. The stewardess didn’t know she was a cat’s paw. She’s not very bright, and she panicked. Do something for her.”

He was silent while he made a note, then, “Fleming, did he have any suspicion why you were aboard? He’s not stupid.”

“He doesn’t seem to realize why I’m around. Anyway, all is well on the island so far. The people act like God is the new president.”

“Splendid. Let’s see how our Red friends react to that. Keep your eyes open.”

I blew a lass at the mouthpiece, rang off, and went for the Scotch room service had brought up with the earlier drinks. I had two long, leisurely shots to toast the chief. Then I phoned the desk to call me at five and sacked out.

My face was set in a stiff smile when the ring woke me. I took the luxury of a full yawn, called Tara to meet me in the bar at five-thirty, and spent most of the time until then in the shower. Vacation.

She had martinis in icy glasses waiting when I got there, with every eye in the dim room undressing her. Gorgeous. She was out to make me slaver and I obliged. We dawdled over a few drinks. She knew a restaurant at the far end of Bay Street with a terrace overlooking the harbor. We had turtle soup to begin with, but I was too wrapped up in her to notice the rest of what we ate.

Lights came on with the dusk like stars and formed a glittering necklace around the shore. From the street came the noise of wild celebrating.

“Let’s go join them,” I said.

A band was whooping it up at the open market and the mob was drunk on the joy of living, the air electric as a storm. The people dancing in such abandon were poor, descendants of slaves, ill used most of their lives. But there was a spark in them that hadn’t been extinguished by the poverty of generations.

We danced all the way back to the hotel. On the top floor the sentries had been changed, but my hotel ID card cleared us. Without a word Tara stopped at my door. I opened it, held her back while I looked for signs of entry as a matter of habit, saw none and ushered her in.

Tara kicked off her shoes and wriggled long slender toes in the deep carpet while I poured warm whiskey for us. She tasted hers, tipped her head back and let it trickle down her throat.

“Now,” she said, “I’ll take you up on that offer of a shower.”

On Grand LaClare you couldn’t take too many. We went to the bedroom to undress and she had the advantage over me. She peeled off the little dress and there were no clothes underneath. I got out of my stuff, watching her. She had a long, lithe, golden body.

She walked ahead of me to the shower, turned the water on full, a little warmer than tepid, and stepped in. The space measured about four by six feet. We could have waltzed there. She didn’t mind her hair getting wet, stood facing me, then moved to let the stream reach my body. I lathered my hands and soaped her, face, throat, body, feet.

I sudsed myself to a thick froth, and reached for her. She came against me, slippery, in a flow of movement.

Turning together to rinse off, I bent my head, found her mouth, kissed her, gently, slowly, and felt her respond.

I picked her up, snaring a large beach towel from the rack on my way to the bedroom. I smothered Tara in the towel, dropped it on the floor, then placed her gently on the king-sized bed. She was very ready when I lay down next to her. I entered her in one swift movement and she thrust up to meet me.

She was fantastic, anticipating me, joining me at every turn. I don’t know how long we stayed together, but I fell asleep almost as soon as we finished. She had simply worn me out.