Free Suspicion of Rage by Barbara Parker Page A

rocking chair.
    Someday, when things changed, he would spend more time here. He could help rebuild the country. His country. Still his country, even after thirty years of separation. They could buy some property he and Gail. A second home, a house on the water. The kids would visit. They would bring grandchildren. He would take them to Camaguey to see where he had grown up. He would teach them to fish in the clear streams, as his father had taught him.
    The truth was an ache in his soul: He wanted to come back. As the grandson of Ernesto Pedrosa, he was here on sufferance. If Ramiro defected, what then? Who would be blamed? Whose name would appear on that long list of people who would never be let in?
    He had thought of saying nothing. Let fate work itself out. If General Vega had skimmed money from the regime, he could pay for it. But there was Marta to think of. The children.
    When would he talk to Ramiro? Soon. Tomorrow, the next day. Where? Not here. Someone in the household could be reporting to State Security. The housekeeper, the man who came to trim the plants. Even Cobo, who had lived here ten years. A part of the family. Gail had called him a house slave. She noticed things, and often out of context, but her vision was clear. Upstairs she had asked the question that had been rattling around in his own head. Why was Ramiro so important? It wasn't Navarro who wanted him; Navarro was only the messenger, useful because of his connection to Ernesto Pedrosa. Was it Everett Bookhouser who wanted him?
    Gail had been on the mark about Bookhouser. Before leaving Miami, Anthony had told Hector Mesa to find out what he could. Hector had once been employed, unofficially, by the CIA. That had been years ago, when Oliver North and his pals were trying to topple the Sandinistas, but Hector had kept his friends. Hector had confirmed Anthony's suspicions: Bookhouser was a high-level spook.
    Why did he want Ramiro Vega? Ramiro had just been made a general. His job was to oversee industrial facilities; he had nothing to do with strategic planning. Maybe Bookhouser was handing him a plate of bullshit. Using him to take a reading on loyalties at las Fuerzas Armadas.
    Anthony felt the chair come suddenly to a stop. He looked around.
    Olga Saavedra was holding on to the back of it. A bleached-blond pony tail spilled over one shoulder. She slowly shoved gold-trimmed sunglasses into her bangs. Her long nails glittered. She spoke to him in her own bizarre mix of Spanish and English.
    "Hola, look who is here. El norteamericano de Miami. How you doing, mi amor? You looking muy handsome and rich, como siempre"
    "Life in America," he said. "You don't appear to be suffering either, Olga. Are you still traveling?"
    "Oh, yes." She pronounced it jess. "To Barcelona last winter for the festival del cine." Her shiny pink lipstick filled in the brown pencil lines on her mouth.
    He said, "You must have been a sensation."
    "I wish so! I was es-stuck in the hotel pouring drinks for the Minister de Cultura and his buddy-buddies. I should have stay in España, you think? Ay, Cuba, qué horror, it's get so bad. The new year will bring good fortune, si Dios quiere. You never know."
    "No se sabe nunca," Anthony agreed, switching to Spanish.
    Olga did the same. "So you got married to an American. Your sister told me."
    "Her name is Gail. I brought her with me. My children as well."
    "Is she as pretty as me?"
    "How could I compare you to anyone, Olga?"
    She laughed, showing a gap between her front teeth. "You are full of shit, baby." She touched his cheek with a forefinger, drew a line. "I still like you."
    He jerked away from her hand as if it had been a mosquito.
    "I tell you the problem with Americans," she said. "They lack passion."  
    "My wife doesn't think so."  
    "I didn't mean you. You aren't American."  
    "Part of me is."  
    "I hope not that part."  
    "Enough, Olga. I don't have other women."  
    "No?"  
    "No."
    "How sad for you."