CURSE THE MOON (26 page)

Atcho searched her face, but found no indication of what she wanted to say. He opened the door, slid from the seat, and walked round the car. As they moved up the walkway, he sensed a mental warning again. She’s going to end this, he thought. Hell, now is as good a time as any.

As he entered the townhouse, the scent of fresh flowers greeted him. It was decorated in a contemporary country motif, complemented by fine pieces of Old World charm. Bright, floral wallpaper in the sitting area blended well with a subtle, classic pattern in the dining room. Atcho looked around as he settled into a white leather sofa. Tasteful, contemporary artwork adorned the walls. On the other side of the room, Sofia poured sparkling wine into long-stemmed glasses, and soft music played from a hidden source. Atcho wondered if he would ever enjoy such a setting without having its enchantment robbed by overriding concerns.

Sofia crossed the room, set the wine glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and sat next to him. Atcho breathed deeply and picked up his glass. “Cheers.” His heart pounded.

Sofia retrieved her own glass, and clinked it against Atcho’s. “Cheers.” Gazing into each other’s eyes, they sipped wine. Atcho was captivated. He hardly dared breathe for fear of spoiling the moment. Sofia sighed, acquired a matter-of-fact expression, and placed her glass on the table.

Here it comes, Atcho thought. “What is it?”

“Atcho, I really haven’t known you long. On the other hand, I’ve known you for about seven years.”

Atcho nodded. “That’s true.”

Sofia struggled for words. “May I speak plainly?”

“Please do.”

“Atcho, many people care for you. But you don’t have any close friends.” She studied him, but saw only a blank expression on his refined, yet rugged face.

“Go on,” he said.

“I see a wonderful man who distances himself from anyone who attempts to be close to him.” Atcho stared at her.

Noting his expression, Sofia hesitated. “I’m not doing this well,” she said. She sat in silence a moment longer, and then placed her hands on Atcho’s arm. “I’m going to tell you straight, Atcho. I love you. I’ve loved you since we were together in the Swiss Embassy. I had never seen a man with such character, strength, and compassion, who hurt so much. I was moved by the sorrowful look in your eye when I first spoke to you. It haunted me. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I worried about you when you didn’t come back to the embassy, and looked for you every day.”

Shock registered on Atcho’s face. Realizing that she rambled, Sofia stopped. Tears ran freely down her face. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I was going to tell you. But I think it’s better that you know how I feel, so you’ll understand what I’m trying to say.” She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Atcho, you are both an open book and a mystery.”

Atcho sat in stunned silence a moment. “What does that mean?” he asked hoarsely.

Sofia gripped his arm. “You’re a well-educated man of strong character, demonstrably courageous, and a leader others willingly follow. You are intelligent, hard-working, compassionate, and comfortable with social graces. You live in a free country where you’ve become wealthy, and the highest office in the land honored you. Although the relationship with your daughter has been strained, it’s been warmer than between many parents and their children. And we both know that you could have any woman in the country.

“Despite all that, you carry a burden of sadness around, and you won’t allow anyone to get close to you.”

Atcho stood and walked to the cabinet and poured a fresh glass of wine. His hand trembled. “Why are you saying these things?” He tried to sound angry, but was too dumbfounded.

Sofia rose from the sofa, crossed to him and touched his shoulder. “Twice I watched you struggle with incredible emotional pain. Both times I saw a man whose suffering had gone beyond what most people could bear. Don’t forget, I lived in Havana. I helped political prisoners as they came through the Swiss Embassy. I know how they react. I saw their transformation from incarceration to freedom. Quite frankly, you act like a man still imprisoned.”

Atcho whirled. “What do you mean?”

Sofia shrugged. “You avoid political discussions and close personal relationships. You are very skilled at your work, but seek outside activities not requiring interpersonal relations. You attend social events, but use the contacts only to enhance your business; and you do that halfheartedly.”

Atcho studied Sofia’s face and saw only sincerity. “Why tell me this now?”

“For two reasons, Atcho. First, to let you know you have friends who care about you, and would help if you’d let them.” She hesitated, and then looked steadily into his face. “And, because I love you more than I ever thought possible. I want your suffering to end.”

Atcho stood unmoving. “Did you really look for me in Havana?” he asked in a low voice.

Nodding, Sofia smiled. “Some refugees saw you leave with several other men for the Peruvian embassy. When I heard about the shooting and your disappearance, I didn’t know if you’d gone into the embassy and stayed, or if you’d been shot. When you came out of Cuba six months later, I had been transferred to Switzerland. I know there was press coverage of your arrival in Miami, but I didn’t see it in Geneva. Since your real name was used in news reports, and I knew you as Manuel Lezcano, I wouldn’t have known that was you anyway. Until someone contacted me about the reception, I thought you were completely gone from my life.”

Atcho had regained outward calm, and, as he regarded Sofia, warmth spread through him. “How did they find you?”

“Several refugees remembered me. Some had sent thank-you notes. When the reception was planned, the organizers wanted to invite anyone who had been part of your past in Cuba. I wasn’t hard to find.”

Atcho thought a moment. “Whose idea was it to have the reception?”

“The guy you call Burly put it together. He became quite fond of you in Jaguey Grande. Somehow, he learned that the president would present you to the nation. Burly keeps in contact with his old friends in the CIA. He thought that people who fought beside you might like to honor you as well. He was right. Everyone who knew you in Cuba was touched by your dedication and courage, and wanted to be there that night. I saw you on television during the president’s address. Nothing could have kept me from that reception.” She stood and embraced him. Soft lights played over her ivory skin and long, dark hair. She caressed his lips with her own. “I adore you,” she murmured.

Atcho stood rooted to the floor while memories and fears of the past, and visions of a desolate future whirled through his mind. He caught a fleeting image of a dark figure in the moonlight grinning over Sofia’s limp body.

She put her arms around his neck and pressed gently against him. “Kiss me, Atcho.”

His resistance melted as, urgently, he drew her to him. “I love you,” he whispered. The instant the words passed his lips, the pain and stress of years rolled away. One second later, they rolled back with double their ferocity. The insistent warning sounded again in his mind. Deliberately, he closed it out. I am not going to be imprisoned forever!

They lingered long into the night, sipping wine and dancing to soft music. For the first time since before his wife died, Atcho felt truly happy. In the early morning hours, her eyes filled with desire, Sofia took Atcho’s hand and pulled him towards the bedroom.

Atcho hesitated. Sofia touched his face and looked steadily into his eyes. “Darling, I still don’t know what’s hurting you. You don’t have to tell me, but there’s no need to be afraid of me, or for me. I love you with all my heart, but if you disappear from my life tomorrow, well … ” She paused. “I’ll feel terrible loss, but I’ll live. Meanwhile, please don’t let anything take this night away from us.”

Hours later, when they fell asleep, Sofia lay next to Atcho in a tender embrace.

36

Atcho’s eyes blinked open. Moonlight streamed through the bedroom window across Sofia’s sleeping form. His muscles tensed as he heard again the warning buzz in his mind. He pushed the sheets away, and sat up. Next to him, Sofia stirred.

He slid out of bed, crossed to the window and stared out into the night. Had he been duped again? Behind him, Sofia stirred softly. Atcho glanced at her, and then began to dress.

“Atcho?” Sofia called. He made no reply. “Atcho, what are you doing?”

Atcho whirled around. “Who are you?” he snarled.

“What?” Sofia was still half asleep.

“I asked who are you?”

“What do you mean?” Distress and fear tinged her voice.

“I want to know who you are,” Atcho growled. “Whom do you work for? The CIA? The FBI? Army intelligence?”

“Atcho, what are you talking about? I work for the State Department. You know that!”

“Well Miss State Department, I have a few questions for you.” He flipped on the light and glared at her. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, pulled the sheets around her, and stared at him.

“How did you know about that picture?” There was menace in his tone. Stunned, Sofia did not answer. She just stared in disbelief.

“How did you know about the picture of Isabel? I never told anyone about it. Juan is dead. Clary knew what it was, but he didn’t actually handle it, and no one else ever saw it. How do you know about it?”

“Actually, quite a few people know about it,” she answered quietly. “I’ve heard your story in several places.” She stood and reached for her robe.

“I hope you can concoct a better line than that,” Atcho said sarcastically. “Or your superiors might refer you for remedial training.”

“That’s the truth,” Sofia interjected angrily. “What do you think everyone was talking about at the reception? If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought someone had invented a Cuban Davy Crockett. There’s the story of the firefight and how you killed a lieutenant with a knife, then faced a Russian officer. Then there’s one about stealing a tank and hightailing through the swamps with it.”

Her sarcasm was beginning to match Atcho’s. “I almost forgot. You had to hitchhike through enemy lines to the battle, because you were off trying to rescue your daughter from kidnappers when the invasion began. And, you single-handedly defeated a squad of soldiers. And let’s not forget about the attempted escape – which actually succeeded because one guy got out and spread the word about the Isle of Pines!” She tapped her foot while tightening a cloth belt about her. “Shall I go on? There are stories I’ll bet even you haven’t heard.” She stopped as she saw his expression change from anger to chagrin. “Atcho, separating truth from fantasy in your past is not difficult. But there is a part that puzzles everyone. I think it explains your strange behavior.” She scrutinized his face. “Why did you stay in prison under an alias all that time? You might have been released years earlier, except for that.”

He was silent, bewildered. Sofia crossed to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “As for your original question, I think Burly told me about Isabel’s photograph. Didn’t you and Juan spend a lot of time with him?” Shamefaced, Atcho nodded.

“Maybe Juan told Burly about it. You’ve been the hot topic of more than one conversation.” She pulled his face close to her own. “Come back to bed, and let’s get some sleep.”

Atcho shook his head. “No,” he said sadly. “I’d better leave.”

Sofia jerked her head. “Why? This doesn’t change anything. I knew a long time ago that something was wrong. I love you, Atcho. Does that mean anything to you?”

Atcho nodded. “Too much,” he replied, while tucking in his shirt. “That’s why I can’t stay.”

“Atcho, I want to tell you something.” Sofia crossed to the bed and sat down. “I loved my late husband with all my heart.” Atcho raised his head. “He was like you in many ways. I told you that he was killed in a black operation.” Atcho nodded. “I didn’t tell you that for pity, but because I want you to know that I understand danger, and sacrifice.” She looked into his eyes. “You’ve confirmed that something is terribly wrong. Won’t you please let me help?”

Atcho felt like his heart was about to be ripped from his chest. He sat next to her on the bed and embraced her gently, and then kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’d better go.” He stood and buttoned his shirt.

Tears ran down Sofia’s cheeks. “Will I see you again?”

“I think not.”

As he turned toward the door, Sofia choked back sobs, and clutched his sleeve, but there was a determined look in her eye. “Atcho, I’ll be here if you need me, and I’m not someone who sits around. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

PART XII

37

An hour later, sitting in his own apartment, Atcho cursed himself again and again for being a fool, and for hurting Sofia. You’ve been so caught up in yourself; you’ve failed to think about problems of others close to you. He thought about the last thing Sofia had said. What did she mean when she said ‘I’m not someone who sits around’?

He was tired from lack of sleep, and his emotions churned. He tried to drive thoughts from his mind, but they kept intruding. When Sofia had said he was an open book, she approached the truth. In a matter of weeks, she observed the same discrepancies in his story and arrived at the same conclusions as Isabel. He wondered how many others had also done so. Realizing the implications, he cursed. Time was running out. I’ve got to go on the offensive.

But how?

Suddenly, he sat up. He reviewed again the events and conversations of the past few months. Then, he walked through darkness to his desk in the next room and turned on a light. Scanning his personal phone directory, he located the entries for Burly and Rafael that he had taken from the business cards they had given him at the reception. After memorizing the numbers, he tore the page into little pieces, took them to the bathroom, and flushed them. Then he went to bed.

At six in the morning, he descended to the street for his regular jaunt. Under a full-length running suit, he wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Because he believed he was often being watched, he had been religious about maintaining an exercise schedule. He had learned at the camp outside of Moscow that being careful about establishing behavior patterns allowed freedom of movement without raising suspicion. By mixing up routine and varied habits, he could find pockets of time during which he could hide and accomplish things in plain sight. At least that training wasn’t a total waste on me. He ran three to five miles on most days, but varied the route so that he never ran the same course twice in a row.