Chapter 50
“Leave us,” she said, and I started to stand. Jack and I would have to make a break for it. That was all there was to it. I didn’t know why Miss Kelly was here, but she was providing the distraction we needed.
But Mr. Worthington stood up, cigar in hand. He lit it at the door, its woody aroma lingering as he shut the door behind him.
Miss Kelly came around the desk and sat in Mr. Worthington’s chair, fanning the air in front of her face. “I’ll never understand why he smokes those. They smell awful.”
“They’re Cuban,” I said.
“They are,” she agreed. “When you have the kind of money he has, you tend to want the best. And we’re willing to look the other way in exchange for certain favors.”
Jack and I exchanged a look. It was clear neither of us knew what was happening.
The phone on Mr. Worthington’s desk rang suddenly, and I jumped at the disturbance.
Miss Kelly picked up the receiver. “Yes?” she said, as if she answered the publisher’s phone all the time and had no need to identify herself.
She listened for a few seconds before saying, “No. She doesn’t need to come in. Not yet anyway.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Then she looked at the two of us, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the top right drawer of the desk and offering us each one.
We both shook our heads. She removed one for herself, lit it, and took a long drag before setting it down on an ashtray.
“We will not be running your story,” she said coolly.
My blood turned hot in my veins, and I could feel my chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re working with them,” I said, jumping to my feet.
“Them,” she mused. “Yes. But likely not the ‘them’ you’re referring to. Have a seat, Miss Greenberg. You’re in no danger today. At least not from me.”
“Then who—?”
“In due time,” Miss Kelly said. I looked to Jack uncertainly, but he was as bewildered as I was.
Who was she working with if not the Russians and Cubans?
How had she dismissed Mr. Worthington like he worked for her?
None of this made sense. Miss Kelly gestured with her cigarette, and I sat at the edge of my seat.
Ready to spring up at a moment’s notice.
And do what, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to take whatever it was lying down, that was for sure.
I had worked too hard to let everything end like this.
“Little spitfire, aren’t you?” She was almost smiling as she turned to Jack. “I do see why you like this one.”
“So what, then? You’re firing me because I fraternized?”
She leveled her head at me. “I think we took it a bit past fraternization with a room at the Hay-Adams, don’t you?”
“We didn’t—” Jack started as I said, “That’s none of your—”
We both stopped. “We played gin rummy for an hour and then left,” I said.
“And you expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care if you do or not, it’s the truth.”
She knocked ash off of her cigarette into the tray on the desk. “That’s irrelevant anyway. We aren’t running the story because it will make the country look weak. Not to mention likely start a war with Cuba, who is currently in bed with the Soviets. Do either of you want that?”
The implications of what she was saying sank in, and we both shook our heads.
“Good. The FBI will handle it from here.” She studied us for a few seconds. “Mr. Fields, you’re free to go. Miss Greenberg, I believe there’s more we need to discuss before you leave today.”
“No,” Jack said.
She looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not letting you fire her. Judy found this story.
She’s the one who convinced me we needed to follow the lead.
She made the connection between Alejandra de Bernal and the vice president, and she’s the one who got her to confess the plot on tape.
She should be working in the newsroom, not the typing pool. ”
I reached over and put a hand on his arm.
I appreciated the show of support. But he didn’t realize he was doing more harm than good.
The more evidence he gave that I went outside of what I was supposed to be doing in the typing pool, the less likely I was to keep working here in any capacity.
I may have saved the president, but my job was beyond salvation, and I knew it.
The most I could hope for was a referral to another newspaper, and I doubted she was giving me that.
But a flicker of expression—was that a smile?—crossed Miss Kelly’s face. Yes, she looked almost amused.
“I suppose you can stay, then,” she said, her head tilted as she considered this. “You do know too much anyway. Though I need to warn you, Mr. Fields, that your career as a reporter is likely finished if you choose to stay.”
He looked at me and I shook my head. “Don’t give this up for me.”
His eyes met mine. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want this if you can’t have it too.” My breath caught. Betty had said maybe he wouldn’t mind me working, but never in my wildest dreams had anyone felt something like that for me, let alone said it.
“Both staying, then?” Miss Kelly asked.
I reached across the chairs, and Jack took my hand. We nodded. Whatever came next, we would figure it out together.
“Well, then,” she said briskly, stubbing out her cigarette. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Permission to extend to both?” she asked. No greeting. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “I think that will work if not.” Then she hung up the phone.
“Mr. Hoover and I would like to offer you a new job,” she said.
“Mr. Hoover?” I asked, the face of the man at Duke Zeibert’s flashing before me. She couldn’t mean—
But she nodded, pulling a badge from her pocket and holding it up for us to see. “Agent Ann Kelly, FBI.”