Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (30 page)

My eye wasn't on the crowd. It was on the far corner, a romantic alcove of areca palms around a table for four. Two couples sat there. One was a well-dressed couple with a stunning blond woman in yellow and a tall distinguished-looking gentleman in a gray suit and fedora. They were listening intently to the man of the other couple. He was resplendent in the dress white uniform of a naval officer and, by his animated face and gestures, apparently telling a funny story. It didn't surprise me Gardiner had already made his social mark after only an hour there. What did shock me was the beautiful dark-haired lady sitting next to him, laughing.

Maria.

“Ooh, now me boyo,” counseled Rork in a low tone while laying his false left hand heavily on my shoulder. “Don't ya be goin' off an' doin' something bloody stupid. That bugger ain't worth it, so let's be smart about this.”

“What is wrong?” Cano asked again. “We need to find a hackney to Ybor.

This time, Rork answered him. “Commander Gardiner's over there with Commander Wake's lady.”

“Oh . . .” said Cano, without further comment.

I was astounded. Of all the hundreds of guests at the hotel, how the hell did she end up with Gardiner? I'd never told her about him, nor him about her. In fact, only Rork knew all the details about my relationship with Maria.

But damned if Norton Gardiner didn't have an unerring instinct to find and engage beautiful women in conversation. I'd seen him do it repeatedly at social events in the West Indies. He also had the ability to bore them within five minutes.

As I sloshed my way toward them through the maze of tables, my companions followed, forming a less than impressive parade.
In an irksome reversal of our usual dynamics in confrontational situations, Rork kept whispering for me to keep calm.

I finally stopped and said in a voice a bit louder than I'd intended, “Of course I'll be calm, Rork. I won't hurt the sonofabitch, I'll be calm as hell and just tell him to shove off.”

That got the gasping attention of the guests and the management. The latter, in the form of an imperious-looking gent with a long indignant face, was headed on a collision course for me, with a waiter tagging along for his reinforcement. I was faster, however, and was going to make it to the table first.

The other couple at the table hadn't noticed me. Likewise Gardiner, who had his back to me. Maria had noticed, though, since she sat facing my direction. She looked like one of those new Gibson dream girls, her hair swept up in the French fashion, a blue taffeta dress with embroidered flowers perfectly complimenting those sapphire eyes. I could gaze into those eyes for hours. Her face widened into a beautiful smile and melted my heart right then and there. I decided not to hit Gardiner when I saw that smile.

“Good morning, Doña Maria. You are absolutely radiant on this damp morning,” I said with a bow. Maria's smile turned into a sly, impish expression. I knew exactly what she was thinking, for I was thinking the same thing.

Before Maria could reply, I said to the other couple, “Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Peter Wake, obviously of the Navy, and an acquaintance of Doña Maria. I apologize for my rather soggy appearance, but my friends and I just had to walk here from downtown. There are no cabs or hackneys in town, and we were told we might find one here. We need to get to Ybor City.”

I introduced Rork as my assistant, and Cano as my acquaintance, with no further details. Maria said a warm hello to Rork, whom she met in Washington and had instantly liked. All women love Rork, for some reason. To Cano she offered a polite greeting, and he replied ornately in Spanish, telling her only that
he was a lawyer from Havana.

Maria introduced the couple as Dr. William Welch, a surgeon in Tampa, and his wife Sherry, and said they had invited her to have breakfast at their table. They enjoyed breakfast at the hotel once a week.

Until this point, I and everyone else had ignored Gardiner, who just sat there wide-eyed and speechless, staring at me. Maria raised an eyebrow and glanced at Gardiner.

Then, in a neutral tone which confirmed her opinion of him, she said, “Gentlemen, this is Commander Norton Peabody Gardiner. He came in on his warship this morning and appeared lonely, so we asked him to join us. He has been entertaining us with anecdotes of his life upon the sea and what it's like to be in charge of a big ship. What was the name of your ship, Norton? I cannot remember. Maybe Peter will know it.”

His
warship? I looked at Gardiner. Rork put his boot on my shoe, cleared his throat, and murmured, “Steady on, sir.”

“
Bennington
, right? Yes, that's it,” said Dr. Welch. “And what ship are
you
on, Commander Wake?”

“Why, the very same ship,” said I in faux surprise. Leaning down toward Gardiner, I exclaimed, “Hello there, Norton! My goodness gracious, spreading more lies about how important you are? Isn't that conduct unbecoming a United States naval officer and gentleman?”

“Ah . . . I was just telling them . . .”

The manager arrived in time to divert everyone's attention from Gardiner's rapidly reddening face and deflating form. Behind the manager, the waiter cast a nervous look at Rork and backed up a step.

“May I help you, sir?” the manager asked as he inspected me. “I'm afraid I don't know you. Are you one of our guests, sir?”

“Commander Peter Wake, captain of the U.S.S.
Bennington
. No, I'm not a guest, but I am a friend of Doña Maria, and am delighted to find her here at this fine hotel. I must be off though, and wonder if perhaps you can help. My friends and I need a
hackney right away to get to Ybor City. Can you arrange that?”

Dr. Welch, who had heretofore been bemusedly watching the show, suddenly spoke up. “Commander Wake, I absolutely insist we take you there in our landau. It would be no imposition at all. We've enjoyed a wonderful breakfast with this gracious lady, our new friend from Spain, and were about to invite her to enjoy a drive with us around the city. It is a convertible and our driver has the folding top up already set up for the rain.”

He glared disgustedly at Gardiner for a second. “I'm sure Mr. Gardiner is very busy and can't come. What a pity.”

“We very much appreciate your offer, Doctor,” I replied quickly. “We gratefully accept.”

Gardiner was left in the conversational dust as Welch added, “Excellent! I am a naval enthusiast and it would be an excellent opportunity to hear all about
your
ship. Maria, please say you will come along.”

“It sounds delightful,” she said softly, looking into my eyes.

And thus I was rid of Norton Gardiner, for the third time in as many days. I fervently hoped it would be the final time.

Tampa, Florida
Friday morning
16 December 1892

Dr. Welch's driver shared his outside bench with Rork. It had a canvas awning affair, which gave partial shelter from the rain, so I didn't feel too guilty for leaving my friend outside. Inside the snug interior compartment, the good doctor's wife sat between Cano and her husband in the back seat, the arrangement allowing Maria and I to have the forward seat.

I am sure our furtive mutual glances and closeness did not go unnoticed, but the others made no comment and instead spoke of the hotel, the weather, and the local politics. I learned the newly elected governor of Florida—a Mr. Mitchell, who was from Tampa and a friend of Dr. Welch—was due to be inaugurated in two weeks up at the state capital. Dr. Welch would be in attendance. Clearly, William Welch was a man of repute and influence and I made a mental note to maintain our acquaintance. One never knows when friends such as he could come in handy.

Dr. Welch was also well versed on the history of the community, in which he had lived for many years. He provided a running commentary on the sights as we crossed the iron-trussed Lafayette Street swing bridge, recently built by the city of Tampa to serve Mr. Plant's hotel guests. The rain had diminished to a sprinkle and as we clattered across the bridge, I looked to the south, down the river and out over Hillsborough Bay.

Reina Regente
was still at anchor, the funnel smoke a mere wisp now as her boilers cooled and machinery slowed down. A steam launch was departing her, heading for the mouth of the river. I didn't think she had one, so they must have hired a harbor launch. The Spanish were certainly wasting no time in getting someone ashore.

We continued east on Lafayette Street through the city's center at Franklin Street, which featured an opera house, the county courthouse, and the city hall, with Welch giving the history of each. By the time we'd veered left to go four blocks north and turned eastbound on Polk, the doctor ran out of interesting anecdotes.

Cano took up the slack and began conversing about his life in Havana and his law studies in Madrid, with Maria asking supportive questions. He told the story in a very self-deprecating style and soon had everyone charmed by his wit and candor, including, I must admit, me. He had already shown his determination and innovation the night prior, now I was seeing his humility. Perhaps, I began to think, he would be a good husband for my daughter after all. If only I could be sure of his distance from the world of revolutionary intrigue, for it worried me. She had already lost a love to that.

The rest of them plunged into discussions of Havana culture, a long-winded subject, allowing Maria and me a moment to talk in semi-privacy. Conspiratorially, she whispered, “Peter, I am so thrilled we are together—my dreams actually came true. The train to Tampa was slowed by a storm, which got me here later than I anticipated, so it must be kismet.”

She leaned closer and it was all I could do not to kiss her right there. Breathing in her delicious scent, I closed my eyes, wanting it to fill my lungs and stay there forever. She chuckled at my expression and asked, “But really, darling, why are you in Tampa? I hoped to see you on my way to Cuba, but thought it might be at Key West.”

Holding her hand, I whispered back, “Your last letter, dear. You mentioned something in it which was the answer to an issue I'd been working on. That is what's led me to Tampa, to warn José Martí.”

“Martí, the writer? Then
he
is the man they spoke about in the embassy? I thought it might be Gomez or Maceo. Is the threat imminent?”

I shrugged rather than answer.

“What madness, to hurt a peaceful man like that,” she said. “I love his prose. Do you know him personally?”

“Yes, José is my friend. He is more than a writer these days. He's been elevated into a leadership role now, and has brought the various factions together into a united front for the independence of Cuba.”

“Peter, when I arrived yesterday, I read in the local paper that Martí is arriving from Ocala this evening and speaking at a big gathering in Ybor. Will he stay at the Tampa Bay Hotel? I would be honored to meet him.”

“No, he usually stays with friends in Ybor City.”

“Will you be here for the event? We could go together.”

“No, dear. I'm only here long enough to warn him. I have to get under way to get my ship back to Key West.”

All polite social etiquette had evaporated by then and, blissfully ignoring our fellow passengers, we held each other's hand tightly. Her words came out sensually, igniting my passion even further. “That still gives us some time . . .”

Using all my willpower, I forced myself to say, “No, I can't, dear. I need to get back to my ship today. There's a storm brewing to the northwest.”

Her eyes were filling with tears. “This afternoon then, after you deliver your message. Just a little time. I have to be with you, Peter. I dream of nothing else.”

That was what ended my meager resistance. “Hmm . . . well, yes, I think I could stop by later for a little while.”

“Excuse me, Commander Wake. Commander Wake?”

It was Welch, trying to get my attention. I looked at our companions in the back seat. All three regarded Maria and me with perceptive smiles. Embarrassment must have blushed my cheeks, for they laughed, including Maria.