Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (35 page)

Anticipation, however, is not always an accurate harbinger of things to come. In this particular instance, that most misleading of human emotions played second fiddle to the physiology of age and exhaustion. Half a minute after I stretched out on the blissful bed, I seemed to somehow have lost consciousness.

I regained consciousness almost two hours later, when Maria nudged me and asked, “Peter, weren't you and Mr. Rork supposed to go to your ship now?”

A quick glance at the bedside clock showed the time to be almost four in the afternoon, an hour after I'd planned to leave.
Disaster! I fairly leaped off the bed and went over what had happened. I clearly recalled the feast and my plan of action, but nothing else. When awakening, both Maria and I were fully clothed and atop the covers. Could it actually be that when in bed with a beautiful woman I'd fallen asleep?

To say I was embarrassed is far too lightweight a description. Maria, seeing my mental evaluations and realization, came over and cupped my face in her hands, then kissed me. With maternal gentleness and a wisp of a smile, she murmured, “Peter, you were
very
tired, my love. Do not worry. There is no time now, but there will be other opportunities for us.”

My response was rather lame. “Thank you, dear. I guess I was pretty tired.”

“I do not want you to go, but should you not be finding Mr. Rork?”

She was right, I had no time left for small talk. “Yes, I've got to be going. I suppose this is it, dear.”

My right hand was on the door knob and my left around her waist when my mind was struck with yet another realization—I wouldn't see Maria again until possibly at Spain in late January, and if not then, until the spring. A decision needed to be made and the time was now or never. Rork and the United States Navy would have to wait another five minutes.

“Maria, there's something I need to ask you. Will you marry me?”

She frowned. “Your American humor is sometimes beyond my comprehension, Peter. Is this a joke of some kind?”

I held her close to me. “No. I'm very serious, Maria. We love each other. We need each other. We should be together, not in periodic rendezvous, but in marriage.”

Maria looked out the window for an instant, then back to me, trying to hold back tears. “Peter, you are the strongest, finest, and most decent man I have ever known, but our two cultures are completely different. Many people on both sides would scorn our marriage and make our lives miserable.”

“I understand exactly what you are saying, and you are right, up to a point. There will be some people who will try to make our lives miserable. Whether they do or not will be up to us. They can't make us miserable, Maria, unless we let them. And if we stay together, we're stronger than all of them on both sides.”

She pulled away and walked to the window. Sensing she wanted to be alone, I stayed at the door and waited. After looking out at the gardens and river, Maria turned around and answered me.

“My family has known over five hundred years of turmoil and fear directed at us because of our beliefs and our Jewish history. I am not afraid of the small-minded men who speak Spanish or English, for they are without honor or history. And I will not let them, or anyone else, keep me from the man I love. My answer is yes, Peter. I would be very happy to be your wife.”

I fairly ran to the window and took her into my arms tighter than I'd ever held her before. I held her like I'd never let go. Our lips met and I knew I would remember that kiss forever.

But the thing that worried me was still lurking in my mind, and I had to bring it up, especially now. “Maria, there is something else we need to remember. In our happiness, we can't be blind to reality, and we have to take a few precautions at the outset.”

“Such as?”

It was not without realizing the irony of using Rork's words that I said, “I know you aren't afraid of the small-minded men around us, but we need to be smart. I might be the target for gossip, but would not be in danger. Your situation is different. Our engagement can be told only to a few of your trusted friends, for your position and physical well-being could be in danger. There are elements in the Spanish government that would see you at least as an obstacle, or possibly even as a traitor. So please, for now, be circumspect about who you confide this in.”

“I understand.”

“Marriage ceremony in the spring?”

“Oh, Peter, that would be delightful. A small Christian ceremony, with just close friends. Away from Spain and Cuba and Washington. Can we have it at your island?”

“I love the idea.”

“And I love you, Peter.” She saw me glancing at the clock. “I know you must go.”

“Maria, I love you so much. You've made me the happiest and luckiest man in the world. And I promise next time I won't fall asleep on you.”

“I will not let you!”

That got us laughing, and still entwined, we walked to the door. A final kiss was our goodbye and I was gone from my fiancée.

The bustle and noise of the hotel formed but a distant background as I made my way through the lobby. Rork was on a settee near the front doors, talking to a man in a suit. They stood as I approached and, after our earlier contretemps, I was glad to see Rork smiling at me.

He then cocked his head toward the other man and said, “I am sure you remember the gentleman from the Masonic lodge, sir. He has a message for you.”

Tampa, Florida

Friday afternoon

16 December 1892

It was the same Mason. He handed me a sealed plain envelope. Inside was one sheet of note paper.

Before I could read it, he explained, “I received an immediate reply from Brother José in Ocala, Commander. No one else has seen it or will ever know its contents. After you are done reading it, I will destroy it.”

Martí was a master at surreptitious communication, and many lives depended on those abilities. Frequently in the past, he had employed several layers, as well as various types, of protection in his messages to me. Anyone in the Spanish counterrevolutionary forces trying to decipher them would have to penetrate his different methods, from invisible ink and pictograms to code substitutions, complex ciphers, and innuendo. And even if they ever did get to actual message, his intentional use of atrocious Spanish grammar disguised the
identity of the sender, for no one would think it had been sent by one of the most acclaimed writers in that language.

I had no doubt it was from Martí, for I knew his hurried cursive style, but I was surprised at its quick arrival. Somehow, from a hundred miles away in Ocala, he had gotten a handwritten note to me through his Masonic brethren in only four hours. Unlike most of his letters to me, even within the United States, it was short and in plain English. Obviously, he trusted the courier.

Peter
,

Ocala, Noon, 16 December 1892

Thank you for the warning. We need to talk. I know your ship is leaving, but please meet me at Paulina's at midnight. It is important. You can trust the man who gives you this. He can arrange everything
.

José

Rork looked at it and groaned. “Not good, sir. We've nary the time for it.”

“Hmm, I don't know, Rork. We may have to make time. Martí knew from my message to him that we had to leave this evening. For him to make this request means it's more than important, it's vital.”

To the man from the lodge, I said, “Thank you for the time and effort, sir. I have three requests of you. First, we need transport to Port Tampa straight away. Second, please get a cable to Key West. Third, we need transport between Port Tampa and Ybor City this evening, picking us up at nine. I want to get there early. Can you handle all that?”

“I can. But his note said to meet at midnight.”

“We will, but first I want to see the crowd watching his speech.”

I walked to the front desk for some paper and wrote out the
telegram. To the Mason I said, “Here, please send this cable to Admiral Walker in Key West as soon as you can after taking us to the ship.”

XX—DELAYD IN TAMPA—X—ARVG KW LATE SAT NITE OR SUN MORN—XX

He nodded. “I have a carriage standing by and we can leave immediately for the wharf at Port Tampa. Then I'll return here and have the cable sent. At nine tonight, I will return to the wharf and take you to Ybor City, remaining there until you are ready to return to Port Tampa.”

He sounded like a petty officer in his deadpan acknowledgement and I wondered this cryptic man's background. He didn't
look
like a former petty officer, or seaman of any type. No sun crinkles around his eyes, no tan, no roll to his walk. Maybe he was a former army sergeant?

I was tempted to ask his name, but a perverse streak of pride stopped me. It wasn't important. I knew I could trust him, and that was all I needed to know.

“Thank you, sir, for all of your help on this,” I said.

His answer was as matter-of-fact as all his other speech. “It is done for a brother in peril, Commander. The carriage is out front. Please follow me.”

As we walked through the open double doors onto the verandah, Rork growled in a low tone to me, “Ooh, now there's trouble brewin'. Broad on the starboard beam, sir.”

I looked to the right. A hundred fifty feet away, at the far south end of the verandah, was a group of men in crisp white uniforms. Four naval officers. Three were Spanish. I couldn't tell their rank. One was American. Another man in a gray suit was with them. They were all talking amiably and hadn't noticed us. Rork and I were in working blues, considerably crumpled by this time, and didn't stand out as much.

“Spaniardos,” observed Rork, somewhat unnecessarily. “Oh,
an' who would that be with the blighters? Why, 'tis none other than Commander Norton Gardiner.”

We stopped. The Mason, visibly perplexed, halted also.

“I know we're in a hurry, sir,” I explained to our Masonic benefactor, “but I need to talk to one of those men over there. I'll be back in a moment.”

He was no fool. Surveying the Spanish officers, he assessed the situation instantly and nodded. “Do what you must, Commander. I'll go get the carriage and meet you back here at the front drive.”

Meanwhile, I called over a waiter and, in my sternest command voice which brooked no dissent, told him to go to the tallest of the naval officers and pass my wish for him to meet Commander Wake immediately inside the hotel at the front desk.

To Rork, I said, “If the others try to come with him, divert them somehow. I want a private talk with the commander.”

This was just the sort of thing Rork reveled in, his mind being a veritable hothouse of ideas on how to divert, decoy, and dissuade people from doing things they intended, and he enthusiastically complied.

Norton arrived at the front desk alone, clearly perturbed by having a further experience with his archenemy, the low-class pretender who had kicked him off his ship.

“Wake, what now?” he scoffed. “We aren't on the ship anymore and since we're the same rank, I don't have to put up with your sophomoric stunts. Shouldn't you be on the ship, trying to be a real captain, instead of playing at being a patron of a quality resort hotel?”

I ignored that and pulled him into an adjacent office, which providentially was empty. After closing the door, I asked, “Four questions. Who are those Spanish naval officers? Who is the civilian with them? Why are they all here? Why are you with them?”

His response was unsurprising. “This is yet another charge,
Wake! Dragging me in here by unlawful touching is criminal assault and battery! And another interrogation? How dare you treat a fellow officer this way? Are you completely devoid of any sense of propriety?”

“Battery? No, Norton, not at all. Battery is when I pick up the paperweight on the desk by my right hand and smash it into your snide face to end all possibility of ever having to listen to you whine again. That
will
be battery, and it'll be well worth it.”

I was seconds from giving in to my fantasy. It would be worth it. Walker might not condone it, but would certainly understand. Gardiner saw my hand moving toward the paperweight.

“Well, if you must know,” he began, in a much reduced tone, “I met a British gentleman of the press at tea just now. He came down by train from New York, having crossed over on the
Umbria
. He is headed to Cuba to write about the Spanish governance there. The Spanish officers are from
Reina Regente
and they are here in Tampa to provide transport for him as a guest of the Spanish Navy. The journalist invited me to meet them, and I found Captain Boreau to be very impressive, clearly of the highest refinement—unlike you.”

“Did you say
Boreau?
”

“Yes, he is a commander by rank, and took command a few months ago. He speaks impeccable English, much better than yours. I do not understand this ridiculous attitude you have against the Spanish in Cuba. They are the civilizing force there. Without them, the place would descend into another version of Haiti.”