CURSE THE MOON (21 page)

“I know there are no guarantees,” the general said reasonably. “Your classmate is going to ask you again to allow your nomination. I want you to accept.”

“No!”

“Atcho, that is not a request. You know I do not tolerate disobedience.” His laugh was harsh. “I’ve become quite fond of you and Isabel.” His tone grew steely. “But I will not hesitate to carry out my promises should you fail to follow my instructions. Do you have any questions?”

Atcho sat in stony silence for a moment. “Why do we never speak face-to-face? And how did you connect Atcho and Eduardo in the first place?”

The general chuckled. “Atcho, you always ask the same things.” He paused. “Goodbye.”

27

“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

At the sonorous announcement, Atcho rose to his feet with the crowd. From his position on the chamber balcony in the House of Representatives, his view of the entrance was blocked, but he knew the president would be shaking hands with House members and other dignitaries clustered about the door. He would make his way down the carpeted aisle, stopping to greet loyal followers and distinguished members of the opposition until he reached the imposing wooden dais at the front of the room. Then he would mount the great platform.

The vice president and the Speaker of the House were standing on the stage exchanging quiet pleasantries while waiting for the chief to take his position in an area just below them.

Atcho wondered what the two men talked about. He had seen them on television in earlier such sessions whispering to each other, then leaning back with a dignified chuckle over their inside joke.

Atcho imagined their conversation. “You’re a white-haired, pompous ass, Mr. Speaker. Do you ever say anything intelligent, or does your resemblance to a walrus prohibit that?”

“You have the nerve to talk to me that way only because we’re being watched by the nation. When this shindig is over, if you meet me on the street, I’ll wipe it clean with your wimpy little ass.”

The two men would lean back smiling, look in opposite directions, and rub their chins. Then they would regain serious expressions and feign renewed interest in the event taking place. They would clap lightly when appropriate.

Atcho gazed around at other notables. The secretaries of state, defense, and treasury sat together near the front. Curly, Larry, and Moe, Atcho thought in amusement. He chided himself for letting his imagination run riot.

The leading department of state official had an uncanny ability to look impassive even when the occasion called for an expression of excitement. He was a hard-working survivor, whose reputation and high ideals had rescued the administration’s credibility in the foreign policy arena more than a few times.

The war chief, as Atcho was wont to call the defense department head, was a small man with sharp, angular features. He was known for high intelligence and dedication to his current task, whether that meant reducing budgets or expanding them.

The secretary of the treasury looked like the smartest man in the room. He wore the quiet expression of one who was convinced of his own quality in that regard, with the confidence to use it. His current effort involved trying to reduce the national trade deficit by deliberately devaluing the dollar against foreign currencies. Atcho shook his head, unable to fathom how the plan could work.

Continuing his surveillance, he rested his gaze on the senior senator from Massachusetts. This man puzzled Atcho. He was the most notable scion of one of the wealthiest and most glamorous families in the United States. Tragedy had followed him throughout his adult life, with every detail played in the public media. Yet it seemed that the senator brought upon himself many of his personal problems. Atcho wondered how the man could portray himself as champion of the downtrodden while his private life could be described only in less charitable terms. He shifted his gaze to a tall man at the front corner of the center aisle.

Every time Atcho saw this Texas congressman, he was left with a feeling of distaste. The man’s grin always seemed to hide a secret joke. Atcho had heard the Representative described as “supercilious” by constituents, and decided that the description fit. Rumors abounded that the congressman would be the next Speaker of the House, but Atcho did not believe the gossip. The man reminded Atcho of a grownup version of the boy in the old Our Gang films who always parted his hair down the middle.

A stir in the crowd below caught Atcho’s attention. President Ronald Reagan had come into view and moved down the aisle toward the rostrum. He waved to the crowd, face beaming with the smile that had won adulation from his countrymen. Atcho regarded him with admiration and affection. He had met him earlier that evening at a White House reception, and was amazed at how his warmth, so apparent in person, could pervade a crowd as large as this.

The “Gipper” took his seat. The Speaker rose to quell the applause, and allow everyone to be seated. To Atcho’s left, Isabel was taking her seat and Bob was sitting on her other side. The elegantly dressed First Lady, looking much younger than her years, sat on Atcho’s right. She smiled at him. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Atcho replied. “I just don’t think I deserve this type of recognition.”

“Don’t fight it,” she said warmly. “A lot of people, including my husband, think you do.”

The Speaker finished his comments, and amid enthusiastic applause, the president took the podium. After greeting appropriate dignitaries, Congress, and the American people, he looked directly into the TV cameras. With the twinkle in his eye and the familiar voice that made him famous and beloved, he addressed the American people directly.

“In a few minutes, I’m going to talk about the federal budget, expound on concerns regarding defense, and explain a plan for social programs. But first, we’ve come to my favorite part of the evening.” He smiled as if enjoying his own private joke before sharing it with his listeners. The technique had endeared him to millions. “I always like to recognize ordinary citizens who, through acts of courage, or by extraordinary dedication, achieve a level of accomplishment distinguishing them as true American heroes.” He reviewed some names he had introduced in previous years, and then continued. “Most people watching this evening might not know of our exchange program bringing foreign cadets to study at our military service academies. The program has existed for several decades, and created many long-lasting friendships for our country.

“Tonight, we are fortunate to have with us a man who first visited the United States as a participant of that program. His father attended West Point during the mid-thirties, and distinguished himself several years later as a member of our armed forces in the war against the Nazis. Years later, the son followed him to West Point.

“After graduation from the Academy, the son returned home to Cuba, and within two years found himself leading freedom fighters against Fidel Castro’s communist tyranny. His daughter was kidnapped before the Bay of Pigs invasion, and returned to her aunt after he was reported killed in action.”

For the next few minutes, the President extolled Atcho’s heroism. He spoke of his efforts to organize the resistance, related the episode with the tank, and reviewed the dark days of prison. This makes a good story, Atcho thought wryly. If only they knew the truth.

“Since arriving in the United States,” the president continued, “he has lived in Washington and built a real estate management company that enjoys one of the best reputations in the area. And, last year, before the vice president, he took the oath to become an American citizen.”

“His friends and family call him simply Atcho. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a real American hero, Mr. Eduardo Xigues Rodriguez de Arciniega.” The president gestured in Atcho’s direction and the assembly erupted in applause.

Bowing and smiling to a standing ovation, Atcho rose to his feet. Television cameras zoomed in, beaming his picture to the nation. Well, Govorov, he thought. You’ve had your way.

The First Lady kissed his cheek and the roar of applause grew louder. Atcho turned to embrace Isabel. She tolerated his embrace, and though her kiss was dutiful, she was rigid. He was not surprised at his daughter’s lack of warmth. For reasons that were a mystery to her father, she had remained distant since her return from Germany four years ago.

The audience sat back down, and the President launched into his speech. Atcho concentrated on looking as interested as the vice president and the Speaker appeared to be. When the speech was finished, while the crowd applauded, the First Lady’s Secret Service detail escorted her away.

Minutes later, Atcho surveyed the great dome covering the rotunda of the Capitol building. The size of the structure and the elegant artwork of its massive arched sides awed him. A friendly crowd jostled him, stopping to shake his hand.

Bob and Isabel stood near one of the columns in the rotunda talking to well-wishers. A short, stout man in his sixties spoke animatedly to Bob. Several times, he gestured toward Atcho, but before Atcho reached the trio the man hurried away. Atcho was sure he had met the man before, but could not remember where.

Bob tugged his arm. “C’mon!” he said. “I told some friends we’d meet for drinks.”

“Who was that man talking to you?” Atcho asked.

“Oh, just some guy who wanted to say how much he admired you. He would have told you himself, but there were too many people around you.”

Atcho accepted the answer dubiously, and followed Bob and Isabel through the crowd. They reached the car, parked in a nearby lot, and then negotiated through traffic. Thirty minutes later, they pulled in front of a fashionable hotel, and left the sedan with a valet.

Atcho puzzled over the identity of the man he had seen speaking to Bob. As they walked through the hotel lobby, he was startled to see the man rise from a chair and move quickly into one of the meeting rooms lining a hall in front of them. He was surprised when Bob led through the same door into a dark room. Atcho heard rustling and felt the presence of unseen people.

Suddenly, the lights came on, party horns blew, and a ring of faces beamed at him, while a chorus of voices yelled, “Surprise!”

Atcho looked around in amazement. Most of the faces seemed familiar, but there were many he did not recognize. Then, his gaze rested on someone he could not forget. It was Francisco, the fellow prisoner he had befriended on the Isle of Pines and through whose family he had kept track of Isabel for a time. Before he could approach the man, a voice made him turn around.

“Remember me?” It was the man who had hurried out of the hotel lobby.

“Burly?” Atcho gasped in disbelief.

Burly stepped forward, grinning. “That’s right, you snot-nosed kid!”

Remembering Jaguey Grande, Atcho grinned. “What is all this?” he asked, glancing about.

“A reception in your honor,” Burly replied. “Look around. A lot of people came out to see you! These are former 2506 Brigade members, leaders of the resistance group that met with us in Jaguey Grande, and people you knew in prison. We even tracked down the secretary who helped you call Isabel from Havana.”

Atcho’s heart skipped as he caught sight of Sofia Stahl standing nearby. She flushed, but maintained composure. As on the first day they met, her soft smile radiated friendliness.

He walked over to her. “I never thanked you properly,” Atcho stammered.

“Yes, you did.” Sofia held out her hand.

Atcho grasped it, and studied her brilliant green eyes. A tingling sensation swept through him. Embarrassed, he turned to regard the rest of the group. A distinguished man of medium height approached. “You won’t recognize my face,” he said. “We were together for a short time in the middle of the night. But, you might remember me anyway. I am Rafael Poncé. We met in the swamp when you delivered the tank to me.”

Atcho regarded him enthusiastically and pumped his hand. “Of course I remember you, and your Jeep driver. Whatever became of him?”

“You mean Toothless?” Rafael laughed. “He said you called him that! He’s right here, and he remembers you, too!” Atcho looked in the direction Rafael pointed.

A very old man sat in a wheelchair. His deep wrinkles could not mask the eyes shining brightly from behind their folds, nor a smile that broke across his face. Atcho went to lean over beside the wheelchair, and placed an arm around Toothless’ shoulder. The old man clasped Atcho’s hand weakly. “I knew it was you,” he rasped gleefully. “I knew you were Atcho.” His face became serious. “But I never told anyone.” He grinned again, and pointed at his mouth, “And look,” he beamed, “I have teeth!”

Recalling the man’s compassion when telling about Juan’s death, a lump formed in Atcho’s throat, and his eyes misted. As emotion overtook him, he lowered to one knee and hugged Toothless. Mercifully, Burly broke the tension. “Bar’s open!” he announced. A band broke into soft rhythms of Latin music.

Atcho stood up. “It’s good to see you, Viéjo,” he said. The old man nodded contentedly.

“We’re proud of you,” Burly said. “The way you handled yourself in battle, how you bore up in captivity, and what you’ve made of yourself since your release. We figured that if the president of the United States could honor you publicly, we could do it privately.”

“Thank you,” Atcho whispered.

Bob approached and embraced him. “I’m glad you’re my father-in-law,” he said quietly. “You’re a wonderful example of how to live life.”

A wave of pride swept over Atcho. He acknowledged Bob, and then looked around for Isabel. She was standing by the bar, drink in hand, watching with a strange expression. Other well-wishers closed around Atcho, clapping him on the back and shaking his hand. He accepted their compliments, and then watched as they moved onto the dance floor.

“You were right, you know.” Burly stood next to him.

“What about?”

“President Kennedy’s support for the Bay of Pigs,” Burly replied. “He was clear that he would not support the invasion. Privately, because of probable impact on world peace, he never liked the idea.”

“I know,” Atcho said. “I studied the record thoroughly after arriving in the U.S. Khrushchev threatened retaliation in Berlin if the United States actively participated in the action. Mr. Kennedy issued instructions that American personnel were not even to land in Cuba.”