Chapter 45
There were no guarantees that either the vice president or Alejandra de Bernal would be at the Hay-Adams that night. But we were ready if they were.
I fixed my hair and put on a respectable dress but rolled the green one up under my skirt. Maybe Betty’s blessing to keep the dress would bring me luck.
When Jack arrived, I kissed my parents and grandmother each on the cheek as I left.
“What’s that for?” my mother asked, surprised by the gesture.
I shrugged, taking a good look at them. “Don’t wait up.”
“She’s acting suspicious,” my mother said as the door closed behind me. “You don’t think she would elope, do you? I’m definitely waiting up.”
I smiled a little. She would be asleep by nine based on how ragged Betty’s kids were running her.
My grandmother, on the other hand, would probably be awake until I got home.
Which meant I had better make it home. No, I would make it home.
This Alejandra de Bernal may have fought alongside Cuban revolutionaries, but she hadn’t yet met Judy Greenberg.
Okay, she had, briefly. But still.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jack said, holding the passenger door open for me. “We could go out for a nice dinner and see a show instead.”
I sat and looked up at him. “When this is over, I’m going to take you up on that offer.”
He shut the door and went to the driver’s side. “You’ve got the Spanish down?”
I repeated the phrases Frank had taught me, substituting Havana and Siberia for San Juan and Chicago.
“I hate this,” he said. “It should be me.”
“Always trying to take my credit.”
“And only you would make a joke right now.” He turned onto the side street, and I climbed into the back seat. “How do you want to do this?”
“Well, it helps if you don’t look in the rearview mirror, for starters. But first I take off the old dress and then put on the new one.”
“You are the most irritatingly—”
“Delightful woman ever? Aww, thank you. Eyes up front, please.” He obliged. “I sit next to her at the bar and ask about the weather in Havana in Spanish. Then tell her we need to talk in private.”
“What if she pretends she doesn’t know Spanish?”
“I use her name.” He met my eyes in the mirror, but I turned around and asked him to zip me.
“Okay,” he said as I climbed into the front seat. But I sat close to him, our legs touching, and changed the subject, telling him about Patricia and her congressman.
“I don’t believe a word he says.”
“Me neither,” I agreed. “But she mentioned the room next to hers is going to be available soon. I was thinking I might try to rent it.”
“Your parents would hate that.”
“They would. But I wouldn’t. And hey, if I start making reporter money, it’ll be a little easier to afford.”
“We’re not there yet. We still need a plan for how to go over Pullman’s head with the story—if he alerts the Russian, we’re in big trouble.”
I hadn’t actually thought about that. “What if he just wasn’t in the office when we turn the story in?”
“Pullman is always there.”
I thought of Florence, warning me not to go into Pullman’s office with the door shut. Something about the way she had said it told me she had spoken from experience. “I think I could slip something into his coffee—if you could get something that would do the job without killing him, that is.”
Jack laughed tightly. “You’re too much. But yes, that would work.” As he parked, he said, “Last chance to change your mind.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. Then I remembered what else I had brought, and I handed him my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.
He flipped it over. “I thought you were a library girl.”
“This one was worth buying.”
“I’ll take good care of it,” he promised.
We crossed the lobby, and I went into the bathroom, Jack waiting outside, the book held in front of the extremely noticeable bulge of the portable dictation device under his jacket.
The coast was clear. I poked my head out and gave him a thumbs-up.
He looked around, but there was no one in sight, and we hid him in the first stall.
He handed me an Out of Order sign and a roll of tape. “Where did you get this?” I asked.
“Swiped it from the bathroom on the newsroom floor.”
“What happens when someone tries to use the stall you stole it from?”
He shrugged. “They get an unpleasant surprise.”
I shook my head and pointed to the dictation machine. “You know how to work that?” He nodded. I didn’t ask if he had brought a gun. I didn’t want to know.
“You’re okay?”
“I am.”
He pulled me in quickly and kissed me. “For luck,” he said sheepishly.
I kissed him again, then shut the stall door, told him to lock it and keep his feet up if he heard anyone come in, and then fixed my lipstick at the sink.
It was time.
My palms were clammy as I crossed the lobby and went down the stairs toward Off the Record, my first time entering a bar alone. I had to hope none of the girls from the typing pool were there. But no one had mentioned plans to go out for the evening.
I ordered a champagne cocktail at the bar, then went to the table where Jack and I typically sat—it was secluded but also had the best view of the whole bar. And I thought about the first time I was here—I had still been mad at Jack for taking credit for my work. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Patrons came in, one woman nodding at me—I was a regular now.
I sipped my drink, practicing my Spanish in my head, and waited, wondering how Jack was faring with Scout and Jem and Atticus.
I wished I had something to read as well—it was awkward sitting alone.
But then again, I needed to be on the lookout.
So I sat there, shredding a cocktail napkin into tiny pieces until Alejandra de Bernal walked into the room and took a seat at the bar, looking bored.
The bartender poured her a martini as I watched from the corner of my eye, trying not to stare.
I waited until she had taken a sip, then I discreetly spilled what was left of my drink under the table and stood up, tossed my hair, squared my shoulders, and went to the bar, where I climbed onto the stool next to our target.
She didn’t turn to look at me. I ordered another champagne cocktail, stayed quiet while the bartender made it, and then waited until he was as far from us as possible. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, took a deep breath, and leaned closer to Alejandra.
I didn’t look at her. “Nuestro amigo quiere saber como esta el clima en Havana,” I said. “Siberia esta frío terrible.”
She didn’t turn her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said slowly.
“I think you do. Extremely well, in fact.”
“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but.
“Hmm.” I shifted to look at her. “Our—friend—will be quite interested to hear that, Alejandra.”
Her head swiveled toward mine. “What do you want?” she whispered, her eyes steely, dangerous.
“Just to talk. A little more privately, I think.”
She looked me up and down, clearly assessing the threat. What I wouldn’t have given for another six inches in that moment.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll let our friend know that you aren’t cooperating, and he’ll talk to you himself. He can be very . . . persuasive. Even if his methods are a bit . . . more severe than mine.”
Something indecipherable crossed her eyes. It wasn’t quite fear, but yes, she knew it was a threat.
“The lobby bathrooms can be locked from the inside,” I said. “Public enough for safety. Private enough to talk.”
“Fine. But they’ll be looking for me here soon. And if anything happens—”
I smiled at her, feeling powerful. This woman, who had fought alongside men in a war, perceived me as a threat. “We’re on the same side, amor. Just a friendly chat between . . . compatriots.”
The use of Carmen’s endearment seemed to convince her, and she stood from her seat, signaling to the bartender. “If my . . . friend . . . comes looking for me, tell him I’ll be back soon,” she said quietly to him.
“And put my drink on her tab,” I added boldly.
She stalked up the stairs ahead of me, looking around the lobby.
But there was nothing out of the ordinary.
We entered the bathroom, and I locked the door behind us.
I held my breath when she tried to turn the knob to the stall Jack was in.
If she pulled out a hairpin and picked it .
. . but she didn’t. I exhaled as she peeked under the small crack, and seeing no feet, seemed satisfied.
Then suddenly, she was on me, throwing me against the door. She towered over me, holding me pinned there.
“Who sent you?” she demanded, her face contorted into a snarl.
“I told you,” I said, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I worked desperately to maintain a tone of calm, all while mentally begging Jack not to come out, gun blazing to defend me—he was just as likely to shoot me as her.
My life very likely depended on my ability to intimidate her—and on Jack’s ability to keep his cool.
“Our Russian friend. He wants to make sure you’re going to get to the ‘Mass goal.’ If not, then I’m to take over. ”
She looked at me for a long moment. “It was you last week, wasn’t it? When he canceled on me?” I nodded once, honest this time, and she released me. “Tell our friend,” she hissed, “that it’ll be Thursday. The first lady is up north this week, and that’s the night he’s free.”
“And you haven’t made it to the White House yet?”
She glared at me. “If I had, I would have finished the job and been back home or dead by now.”
Finished the job. Finished the job. She wasn’t getting information or starting an affair with the president.
Everything inside me was screaming, but I managed to keep my face neutral and nodded. “I will relay the message.”
“Relay that I don’t appreciate”—she waved a hand in my direction—“this as well.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure our friend cares about what you appreciate.
Dosvedanya, comrade,” I said with a smirk.
The Russian sounded more threatening than “goodbye.” She blinked at the term, stared at me for a few seconds, then turned the lock and strode out of the room.
I counted to twenty before peeking out of the bathroom to see her going back down the stairs toward Off the Record.
“She’s gone,” I said, and there was a click as Jack unlocked the stall door. “Did you get it?”
He nodded, eyes wide. “I think so.” He reached shakily for the play button, but I stopped him.
“We’ll listen in the car.”
“Judy, she—”
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “Now.”
I opened the door again, waited until the few people in the lobby had cleared, and then gestured for him to come out, both of us watching to make sure no one followed us.
The July air was oppressive in the District, even at night, as we burst out into it, the White House illuminated to our right. For a second, we both stared at the building.
“She’s—”
“An assassin,” I finished.
He took my hand, and we ran across the street to his car.