Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (25 page)

When my presence was announced by the bosun of the watch, the area silently vacated as the off-watch officers all found somewhere else to go. With Yeats beside him, Manning briefed Warfield and me out on the port bridge wing. The lieutenant pointed to where I could see a light twinkling in the distance.

“Captain, we first saw the light about fifteen minutes ago. As you can see, the light is not from the
Gneisenau
or the
Reina Regente
, who are directly astern of us.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“The flashing light looked like a message in navy code to me, so I called Mr. Yeats topside to see if he could make it out.”

Yeats then took over. “It
is
a message, sir, and it's being sent by a man experienced with Morse, but not using our standard navy code. I checked it with the ONI code, but it doesn't make sense in that either, so I think it's a personal cypher-substitute message with the letters of the words unified. I have no idea what they are trying to tell us, sir.”

Warfield put down the night telescope and said, “Can't see anything of the ship—too dark now. She appears to be closer than the foreigners, though. I'd say about three miles to the southwest. How the hell did she get this close without us spotting her before, when the sun was still up?”

It was a good question, which Manning answered. “Sir, I think they came up directly astern of
Reina Regente
, and just passed them a little while ago.”

That indicated they came from either Key West or points to the southwest, such as the Yucatán. I asked Yeats, “Is it the same message being repeated, or are there different messages?”

“Same message constantly repeated, sir. I wrote it down in
the signal log.”

We walked inside to the chart table, where the red-glassed night lantern shed its diffused glow. Yeats showed me the log page. It had spaces to record the time, location, and ship sending the signal—but the last part was blank as yet. Then it spelled out the Morse code letters of the message.

Manning, Yeats, and Warfield watched my reaction closely, which I confined to an order, since I really didn't know how to explain the signal in a way that didn't sound crazy.

“Mr. Manning, please accomplish the following: reduce our speed to ahead slow, maintain this course, and prepare for a boat to come alongside from that vessel when she gets close. After we embark the person from the boat, we will resume full ahead on this same course.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said, clearly bewildered, a state shared by the others.

“Commander Warfield, please join me in my cabin.”

When he had done so and closed the door, I explained, “It's from a man named Mario Cano.”

I had no intention of getting into Cano's relationship to me or my daughter.

Warfield was as mystified as the officers on the bridge. “Don't know that name, sir. Does he work for us?”

“Not really sure,” I muttered, mentally conjecturing various explanations of what Cano might be up to. “But I'll be finding out. I want you to get him in my cabin the instant he steps aboard. He is not to converse with anyone.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Warfield eyed me warily, as one would a senile favorite uncle. I didn't blame him. He changed the subject. “That's a pretty fast ship he's on.”

“The only ship on this coast that can go fast enough is
Olivette
.”

Warfield had been in the squadron only for a few months and wasn't familiar with the coast or the shipping. “Don't know her, sir.”

“She's a sixteen-hundred-ton Plant Line luxury steamer running between Tampa, Key West, and Havana. Launched about five years ago. I heard ashore in Key West that she was delayed making her run south to Havana by the storm. Now it's abated a bit, I presume she's back on her schedule and trying to make up for lost time. Probably got into Key West last night, sometime after we left.”

Then, wondering aloud, I asked myself, “But she should be heading south from Key West to Havana. Why is she steaming so fast to the north? Somehow, Cano got her captain to do that . . .”

Gulf Coast of Florida

Thursday night

15 December 1892

The throb of increasing shaft revolutions rumbled like nearby thunder when Warfield showed up in my cabin doorway twenty minutes later. I knew from his grim face something was amiss. Then I saw who was right behind him—my future son-in-law, the mysterious Dr. Cano.

Warfield reported, “Sir, the situation is not exactly what we thought it was. But to start off with, this is Mario Cano, an attorney from Havana. He says he knows you.”

“Thank you, Commander Warfield. I'll handle this from here. Make sure all is well and we are making best speed.”

When Warfield had closed the door, Cano spoke up in a nervous voice, “Good evening, Commander Wake. I'm glad you understood my message.”

He was still standing, for I had not invited him to sit and relax, and had no intention to do so. “Doctor Cano, why are you
here? I really don't need any more complications right now.”

“I am truly sorry for this unusual intrusion, sir, but exigent circumstances have developed that made drastic action necessary.”

We were interrupted by the bridge messenger, who reported, “Mr. Manning presents his respects, sir and says the
Olivette
has reversed course and is steaming south at about sixteen knots. The German and Spanish ships are now about three miles astern, continuing northbound, and staying even with us.”

“Very well, Carson. No reply. You're dismissed.”

I studied Cano again. “As I was saying, Dr. Cano, why are you here? And please omit the legalese. Get to the point.”

“The Spanish are out to kill Martí, in Ybor City. I was informed of this last night, after we parted. The telegraph cable was still out, so I couldn't use that to warn Martí. The only ship available was the
Olivette
, but she was going south. So I made a large donation to
Olivette
's captain. It turns out he is a supporter of Cuban independence also.”

“Let me understand this clearly.
Olivette
's captain steamed at full speed for over a hundred miles in the opposite direction from his company route, just because you bribed him? Why didn't he take you all the way to Tampa?”

“It was a
very
large donation, sir. The man has a big family and many expenses. And, of course, I told him the reason, so he wanted to help save Martí's life. But he couldn't go the entire way, for he had to be at Havana at dawn. I thought we could catch up to you.”

There was more to it than Cano had said. Far more. But it was minor compared to the main issue. “Why exactly do you think the Spanish will kill Martí tomorrow night?”

“Lieutenant Roldan, who works for a secret unit of the Spanish Orden Público based in Havana, is the man in charge of their espionage operations in Key West. I found out he and some of his thugs are in Ybor City right now. They will kill Martí during his speech Friday night and make it look like a rival
Cuban group did it.”

“How do you know this?”

“From a confidential informant, the identity of whom cannot be revealed for obvious safety reasons.”

I studied Cano closely. He gazed back at me. He was in the espionage business himself, that much was sure, and because of it I couldn't trust anything he said or did.

“Who do you work for, in addition to the San Carlos Institute?”

“I am only a member there, one of hundreds, sir. I attended the meeting because of Useppa's presentation. I am also a member of the Cuban Revolutionary Party, and I help Martí when I am able. Beyond that, I have no political affiliations.”

“Is my daughter involved in any of this?”

“No, sir. Not at all. Though I did tell her what I had learned and how I planned to get to Tampa and warn Martí.”

“This all was a very ridiculous scheme, Dr. Cano. Bribing a steamer captain to race well out of his way to rendezvous with a warship for a ride to Tampa?”

“Yes, sir. I knew the odds were against me, but I was desperate. And it worked, for here I am. Martí must be saved, sir. Useppa said you would understand that.”

A thought entered my mind. “Dr. Cano, do you know why the German cruiser and the Spanish cruiser are heading north from Key West along this coast?”

“Rumor in Key West is the
Reina Regente
is going to Tampa, but I did not hear the reason, Commander. I presume it is to facilitate Roldan's escape after the murder. I do not know about the German ship.”

“Do you how Roldan will have Martí killed?”

“No sir. I would think they will shoot him.”

“Maybe. By the way, did you notice a Spanish lady, very attractive, in her forties, on the steamer?”

“Not that I saw, sir. In fact, there were very few ladies aboard. It was mostly businessmen.”

“I see. Well, anything else, Dr. Cano?”

“I've told you all the information I possess on the subject of Martí. There is something else, though, of paramount importance, on my mind, sir. It's very personal.”

What next?
I wondered tiredly. “Go ahead, what is it?”

“You know we are engaged, sir, but I want your official permission and blessing to marry your daughter. We have known each other as acquaintances for three years, and have been courting for a year. We love each other, are both Methodists, want a family, and will live in Key West after we marry in the spring. I can give Useppa a good life, sir. She wants to give you a grandson, and I would be greatly honored to be your son-in-law.”

I was completely taken aback. Seconds went by as my anger at his impertinence rose exponentially. Then I exploded. “Good Lord above, are you crazy, Cano? You damn near hijack a steamer, stop a U.S. warship in the middle of the night, waltz aboard with a fanciful story of skullduggery in order to get a ride to Tampa, and now ‘officially' ask to marry my daughter? You actually want my
blessing
after all this?”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Yes, sir. I actually do.”

Apparently, Cano was a complete lunatic who had somehow inveigled his way into my poor daughter's affections. Ignoring his cheeky comment, I shouted for the orderly to fetch Warfield.

When he arrived, I said, “Commander, please get somebody to escort Dr. Cano to the wardroom right away. Dr. Cano, you will remain in the wardroom until we arrive at Tampa. You may eat and sleep there—that is all. Our discussion is not for dissemination to anyone.”

Warfield, who I was sure thought
me
a lunatic by this time, hustled Cano out and reentered my cabin a few minutes later. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

“Ah, sir, there's something else we need to discuss. Actually, it's
someone
else. Another man came aboard tonight from
Olivette
. He's waiting outside, in your passageway. Dr. Cano said he didn't have a chance to go over it with you.”

What the hell now?
I asked myself.
This mission should've been simple
.

“Who would that be, pray tell?” I asked Warfield.

“Commander Gardiner, sir.”

Gulf Coast of Florida

Thursday night

15 December 1892

That explained Warfield's worried looks. I suddenly felt worn-out.

“Very well. Sit down and tell me what's going on, John.”

“According to the man himself, here is what happened. When Commander Gardiner disembarked
Bennington
, he reported to the squadron staff and confirmed his transfer, then demanded to see the admiral. Denied by the staff captain, he went ashore and checked into the Victoria Hotel. After what he described as a disgusting dinner, he went over to the naval station and spoke to the duty officer, asking about transport northward from Key West. This yielded nothing, so insisted on speaking to the station commandant privately, who is Commander John Winn, as you know. Evidently, Commander Winn had to come in to his office from his home.”