Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (34 page)

Tampa, Florida

Friday afternoon

16 December 1892

A hundred feet south and across Franklin was a row of brick saloons serving the courthouse crowd of lawyers, judges, politicians, and policemen—not the sort of places I enjoy. But Rork being Rork, and in serious need of a brew, that's where we steered.

Once we walked into the largest of the bars, the aptly named Final Appeal Tavern, and sat down at a back corner table, I made an unpleasant discovery. Rork had lied to me. He didn't want beer. He wanted rum, and only the best, Matusalem.

Once I paid for it and he'd had his first sip, he said he wanted to talk. Well, that wasn't an unusual cause and effect. The topic, however, was unusual.

With a grimly determined look, he said, “We need to speak on a delicate an' heartbreakin', but necessary, subject.”

The list of woes in Rork's life was long, but ordinarily he
didn't dwell on them. In fact, Rork was a pretty cheerful fellow. It must have something to do with one of his women friends, I thought. At any given time, one of them would be giving him trouble.

“I've noticed something's bothering you lately. What is it?”

“Sean to Peter? Man to man? No rank?”

That boded ill. It was something about me, not him. “Yes, of course. Sean to Peter. No rank.”

The color faded from his face. “'Tis
you
what's botherin' me, boyo. Your head's befuddled over this fine Spanish lady, an' you're not thinkin' clear an' smart. You're headin' full speed for a nasty reef, Peter. An' not only inside Uncle Sam's Navy, but inside your own heart an' soul as well. This won't turn out well, Peter. Not at all.”

It took me aback. “Sean, I thought you liked Maria. I know she likes you.”

“Aye, that's true on both accounts. But it's not the point, boyo. She's a fine an' lovely lady, but there's more to the situation. You're not seein' things as they are. You're dreamin' the way you want 'em to be.”

“Me, a dreamy-eyed fool? You're always telling me I'm not romantic enough and I need to loosen up. ‘Have a little Irish in your soul, Peter,' you say to me.”

He smiled at the memory. “Aye, that I did. But it was for fun an' this lady ain't one o' those girls. You're takin' this to another level with a lady whose not o' your kind. There's danger ahead, me friend.”

“Oh now, really. I think your Gaelic imagination is getting overworked on this, Sean.”

“It ain't me imagination, Peter. Me eyes an' ears're workin' just fine, an' they tell me what you're thinkin' an' gonna do even afore you can fathom it. You're wantin' to marry her an' live happily ever after.”

“Yes, I've been considering that. We love each other, Sean. And she's different from the others I've known since Linda died.”

“You said the same about Cynda, back in eighty-eight.”

He had a point. I'd fallen head over heels for her, a love born of shared danger and desperate loneliness on both our parts. But Cynda had refused my offer of marriage, and died in childbirth of our daughter, now three and being raised by her maternal aunt Mary Alice in Illinois.

“Very well, I admit I was wrong on Cynda, and I learned from that mistake. Now listen well, my friend. Maria's completely different from Cynda. Maria understands me and this profession.”

He shook his head. “She'll not be happy, Peter. Not as the wife of a sailor. Not as the wife of an American. Not as the wife of a man without wealth. An' not as a wife to a Protestant. Maria is used to bein' comfortable an' havin' servants, culture, excitement, fine cuisine, an' always surrounded by her fancy lady friends. Can you give her the fancy life? Can you see her alone at Patricio Island while we're at sea, toilin' away on the island to make ends meet?”

“Maria is very strong and intelligent. She's not as frivolous as you think, and yes, she can handle living on the island. Besides, she wouldn't have to live there all year. She—we, when I'm home—could live up north in the summer.”

Rork then did a rare thing. He bought us a round. Typically, he considered this the responsibility of the officer, namely me. When he occasionally bought a round, it was either to celebrate a victory, commiserate over a defeat, or mourn a death.

“Peter, you're lonely an' tired an' feelin' your age. She's beautiful an' exotic an' clever, with more brains than most o' the people you know. She makes you feel young and strong and hopeful for the future. 'Tis only natural for you to think the way you are, for any normal
civilian
man surely would.”

I didn't like where this was going. “Sean, say your piece and be done with it.”

He downed a gulp and nodded. “You're not like any other man, civilian or even naval. A fellow such as you don't have the
luxury of gettin' dim-witted by love. Nay, Peter, for you have to think about things most men don't. You know things, secret things, that're valuable to our enemies.”

He sipped pensively, his eyes seeing something beyond the barroom. “An' make no mistake about it, me dearest old friend, the Spaniardos're our enemies an' we'll be fightin' 'em someday soon. An' as me an' you damn well know, Marrón's the shrewdest bastard o' the lot. He's the best at infiltratin' his enemies to learn their plans, an' always ten steps ahead o' 'em.”

“You think Maria is a spy? For Marrón?”

A hesitant shake of his head. “Don't know rightly whether she is or not. But how do you know for certain she ain't, Peter? How do you know the wily bugger hasn't put a double agent in place well ahead o' the war that's surely comin'? An agent who'll be able to hear an' deduce confidential things from the one
yanqui
naval officer who knows more about the Spanish military in Cuba than any other. Aye, that'd be a valuable agent to have, now, wouldn't it?”

It suddenly dawned on me the reason his words sounded familiar—Rork's private interview with Admiral Walker when we first were summoned to Key West.

“Sean, you're using the same language Admiral Walker used with me. Did you two talk about Maria and me? Did he put you up to this?”

He exhaled sadly, not answering. He didn't have to, for I could read his thoughts too. The admiral had certainly put him up to this, but Rork was more than willing because he had his own doubts about Maria.

After another gulp of liquid courage, he admitted it. “Oh Peter, o' course Walker asked me about the lady, an' how serious this thing was becomin'. Hell's bells lad, he's covered your scrawny arse for years against the ring-knockers and brown-nosers up at the palace. An' now that he's on his way out in a couple o' years, he wants to make sure you're not gonna do somethin' stupid to ruin all his efforts when he's retired.”

“All right, let's get this straight. I'm not going to ruin my career. I'm taking care of my own personal happiness, Sean. Yes, I was feeling old and tired and worried. And now, for the first time since eighteen-eighty-one, I feel alive and happy and hopeful for the future. So I'd be a fool not to seize this chance for love. Why the hell can't I be happy?”

I interrupted his reply by declaring, “And Maria is not a spy! The damned paranoia of you and Walker is astounding—and not a little aggravating!”

He waved to the barman for yet another round, then leaned closer to me.

“Peter, nobody, least o' all me, wants you to be without the love o' a good lady. Just please, slow it down a bit. Get to know her better. You've lots o' time, so don't make fancy promises out o' pipedreams.”

My resentment at all this meddling boiled over. “Why is it you haven't used her name, Sean? Do you despise her that much?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Run your guns back in, Peter. Maria is a lovely name an no offense is intended by me omission. An' no, there's no despisin' o' her by me. Just bein' careful is all, for you've only known her for five months, an' you're actin' like you've known her for years.”

“Yes, and you've known me for twenty-nine long friggin' years, so I would think you've got a higher opinion of me than as some fool who's swayed by a pretty face and curves.”

Rork's temper was rising too. “Aye, Peter, o' course me opinion o' you is higher than that. If you think otherwise, than you
are
actin' like a friggin' fool an' ought to damn well stop it right now.”

It was time to stop this useless prattle. “Yes, well, you've had your say, and helped me cement my decision. So drink up, Rork, it's time to get the hell out of here. I've got an important engagement with my love at the hotel.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” muttered Rork as he called for the waiter and
put coins on the table. I sure as hell wasn't going to pay for that third round.

Tampa Bay Hotel

Tampa, Florida

Friday afternoon

16 December 1892

The riverfront was delightful in the cool breezy air. In the gardens around us, hundreds of green bushes and trees were trimmed in yellow, red, pink, and blue flowers. The opulent hotel spread along the western horizon, its towers and domes and spires reaching high into powder blue sky puffed with white. The green river itself was a hive of action as the fishing smacks and trading schooners sailed in and off the docks of Tampa across the way. In a gazebo nearby, a string quartet began a soothing Spanish melody.

All of it was the backdrop for the main entrée of the scene, the lady in white strolling beside me. I'd never seen Maria in white and the effect, from parasol to hemline, was marvelously angelic in the sunlight.

“Peter, I have wonderful news I learned today in the newspaper. As of the eleventh of this month, Sagasta and the liberals are now back in charge in Madrid. My cousin-in-law Antonio Maura has been named the Minister of Overseas Colonies. None of these men want war with the Cubans or the Americans. I am hoping sanity will return to my country's policies. This must end the threat against your friend Martí, do you not agree?”

I wasn't sure of that at all. Havana was a long way from Madrid, and I was convinced the decision to kill Martí was made in Havana. Sagasta was despised by the conservatives, royalists, and army. This was his fifth term as prime minister and I wondered how long this one would last. No, I decided, Marrón would go ahead with the plan.

“We shall see, dear. I hope you are right about Spain and Cuba.” Taking her in my arms, I whispered, “But why are we talking politics? I have less than two hours now, so let's enjoy it somewhere more secluded.”

I guided her back toward the hotel. She rewarded my effort with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

“Peter, neither of us have had our lunch yet. Would you like to share it in my room? It is very comfortable and there is a magnificent view of the river and gardens.”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Passing through the main lobby arm in arm, the naval officer and his lady, we engendered envious glances from the patrons, an experience I could tell she enjoyed. Using the elevator, a new experience for many Floridians, we ascended to the third floor and strolled to her spacious corner apartment.

Comfortable was an understatement—the place was luxurious. As we sat down at a table for two in the bay window alcove, my attention was diverted to the large soft bed in the center of the suite. My mind reminded me how long it had been since I'd had any real sleep, in addition to more amorous uses for a bed.

Maria feigned to ignore my gaze, and concentrated on the matter at hand, ordering lunch from the stoic waiter. She was delighted with the en suite luncheon selections the hotel offered, selecting
vivaneau rouge
(which I learned was red snapper),
haricot verts tarragon
(green beans), and a mango
tarte
(pie).

It took only twenty-five minutes to arrive, which I found quite amazing. From the hotel's
Carte des Vins du Sommelier en Chef
came an accompanying bottle of Château Olivier
Sémillon
white wine. The entire repast was the perfect ambrosial therapy, just what I needed to alleviate my Rork-instigated headache.

Encouraged thus by the lady, the luncheon, and the plush boudoir, my disposition improved so much that, for the first time in our courtship, I boldly made a risqué suggestion. “There's not much time left, my dear. Might we retire to this beautiful bed? Do you know the English word
snuggle
, my dear?”

Maria did indeed understand both the concept and my intent and, relaxed herself from the luncheon wine, acceded to my request postehaste. Within seconds she had locked the door and joined me on that soft expanse.

Well, I must admit I had never had a lady take care of me in such an elegant and expensive fashion, and thought the entire experience absolutely grand and one to which I could easily become accustomed. As any gentleman can readily understand, by then my mind was swiftly transitioning to anticipation of consummating even grander experiences in that bed.