“A whim? Hardly. This is just one country in a long line of them, Miss Perez. One threat in a never-ending series of dangers that keeps me up at night worrying about the nation I have sworn to serve and protect. You see us as the villains in this piece, and perhaps to you Cubans we are, but ask yourself this— “Have you not seen the lengths to which you would go in order to protect your country, your family, those you love? How is what we do any different? I do not do this for some evil machination, nor do the men and women embedded with our enemies at this very moment, learning their secrets and gathering intelligence that will save American lives, do it for theirs. They risk their lives, their families, everything because they believe in the cause that they support.

“It’s not a matter of politics or ideology, but a duty to one’s country, a sense of patriotism that supersedes all else. A willingness to engage in great sacrifice and risk great personal peril. We are a nation at war—the Soviet Union seeks to destroy our way of life, to reduce our position in the world, to spread communism far and wide. It is my duty to defeat them, and I owe it to the men and women fighting in the field to make sure they are protected and supported.

“So here’s your chance. What are you willing to do for your country? Your family? Your people, Miss Perez? For Senator Preston? What will you sacrifice for Cuba?”

All in all, it’s a pretty enough speech, and he knows it. But at the end of the day, it’s not his words that convince me, not even close. It’s the fact that I’ve given so much of my life to this cause that the need to see it to the end is inevitable.

In the end, it’s my decision, and I already made it a long time ago.

“We have a deal.”

chapter twenty-eight

The thing that has always surprised me most about politics is the sheer unpredictability of it all. Events creep by slowly; so slowly you’re convinced nothing is happening at all, change moving at an unbearable snail’s pace. And then, suddenly, a transformation comes, moving so swiftly, so unexpectedly, that your world shifts, and you struggle to play catch-up, to understand how everything altered so quickly.

We move from President Kennedy warning the nation of the threat of nuclear war to waiting. So much waiting. And then, just five days after he addressed the nation, we receive the news that an American reconnaissance plane was shot down over Cuba, the pilot, Major Rudolf Anderson, killed, and war appears inevitable.

“They’re preparing to invade Cuba,” Nick announces over dinner late that evening.

“Do you think the invasion will really happen this time?”

“I don’t know. The president’s advisors whisper different things in his ears. Kennedy favors peace, diplomacy. And at the same time, there is much fear surrounding him. We cannot afford to be weak in front of the Soviets.”

It’s the entrée I need to tell him of Mr. Dwyer’s visit. I’ve kept it from him since yesterday, nervous to shatter the fragile peace we’ve developed between us.

“They want me to go to Cuba.”

Nick sets his glass on the table gently.

“They?”

“The CIA.”

“So Dwyer is hard at work. I didn’t realize you were in contact with him again. What did he say about London?”

“They took care of it. It won’t come back on me. Everything is handled.”

“Good.”

We’ve spoken little about the day I killed Ramon since we returned to Washington, but the relief in Nick’s voice tells me that it’s been on his mind as it has been on mine.

“Dwyer came to the house yesterday,” I add.

“He turned up here?”

“Yes. He was waiting on the steps for me when I arrived home from the market.”

“That man has no shame, does he?” Nick pauses. “So they know about us.”

“I think everyone knows about us at this point. We haven’t necessarily been discreet. Does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t bother me, but it complicates things.”

“I think everything is already pretty complicated now.”

“Yes, it is.” With careful precision, he slices into the meat I overcooked, his knife forced to saw to and fro to cut through the dried bits.

“What did he want?” he asks.

“They want me to go to Cuba,” I repeat.

“Of course they do. And what do you want?”

Silence falls between us.

“You didn’t tell him ‘no,’ did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t you see what a mistake this is?”

“The only mistake is the fact that Fidel has been able to remain in power for so long.”

“Are those your words or the CIA’s? After London, how can you put yourself at risk again? You saw what comes of the work you do for them. You saw what the stakes are. You got lucky. You could have been killed. Do you really think you can make it into Cuba and back out again? That you can kill Fidel Castro?”

“I have to try. The CIA thinks I have a chance. What do you expect? I’ve always been clear with you where my loyalties lie.”

“And what about my loyalties? Or that this is bigger than Cuba? The Soviets have nuclear weapons trained on us. They shot down one of our reconnaissance planes. The situation is volatile enough as it is, and the only way a safe conclusion will be reached is if cooler heads prevail. This is no time for the Agency or for Dwyer to insert themselves into the diplomatic solutions being crafted. The CIA has been allowed to run rampant for far too long. They’ve become too powerful, too arrogant. They think they’re the ones running the show these days.”

“And perhaps the president has allowed it by doing so little and creating a vacuum where the CIA could step in. The administration is talking about potentially invading Cuba. That’s hardly a diplomatic solution. Why can’t I be one of those solutions? Why are some more acceptable and others not?”

“Because you’re risking your life heedlessly. You aren’t a spy, and you aren’t an assassin.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I did a pretty good impersonation of one in London. You killed men in war. Why is what I am doing any different?”

“This isn’t war, Beatriz. Not yet.”

“Why isn’t it war? Because we’re fighting with other weapons? Because we don’t have planes and tanks?”

“Tell me you aren’t seriously considering this. That you can’t be this foolish.”

“I’m not foolish. You knew this about me all along.”

“I hoped you would realize your life was worth more than this. I thought after what happened in London, after you killed a man, you would come to your senses.”

“And I thought you would understand, considering how much you’re devoted to your work, the things you’re passionate about.”

“I do understand. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. You won’t let anyone take care of you.”

“I am neither a child nor an invalid. I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You, you stupid man. Just you.” I reach for him, my fingers connecting with the warm skin at his neck, threading through his silky hair, pulling him close to me.

“When will you go?” he asks, as though he knows my answer was given a long time ago, his mouth against mine, his arms holding me tight.

“When they send for me,” I answer.

“Then I will pray for peace.”

* * *

? ? ?

Perhaps it was Nick’s prayers, or Kennedy’s cool head, or the success of diplomatic channels, or assets run by men like Mr. Dwyer, but it appears we are to have peace.

“Can you believe it?” Elisa asks over the phone the next day, after the crisis has ended.

The Soviets are to move the missiles out of Cuba. The invasion plans are abandoned, and whatever my role is in all of this, I’ve yet to hear anything from Dwyer. If President Kennedy is to have the appearance of peace, then the CIA will likely have to put their plans on hold. I can’t imagine Mr. Dwyer is pleased. In a way, neither am I.

While I certainly didn’t want a nuclear war to break out, I had hoped that this was the final straw, that the United States would finally rid us of Fidel. And once again, we are disappointed. Nothing is changed. Fidel lives to fight another day.

“I thought we would die,” Elisa says.

“I wondered it myself a time or two,” I admit.

“And now that the crisis is passed, will you stay in Washington D.C.?” Elisa asks. “Or will you go back to London?”

“We haven’t spoken of it. I haven’t decided.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I liked London, but it didn’t quite feel like home. I’m not sure what does anymore, to be honest.”

Now that the mission with Ramon is over, there’s really no need for me to return. As much as I enjoyed attending school, there are other universities I can attend, other places to live. The problem with a cover is that it’s really not a life. You wear it like a second skin, make yourself believe the truth of it, but once the mission is over, the cover is gone, and you’re left with a sudden need to reinvent yourself.

“It’s funny how your sense of home can change, isn’t it?” Elisa muses. “Havana was home, and it still is, but there’s something about this house, the life Juan, Miguel, and I have built here, that feels right, too.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Elisa. Glad you found what you were looking for.”

“Sometimes it’s a choice, Beatriz. You can’t always predict how things will work out, but you can still forge a life for yourself, still find a way to be happy.”

“I’m too tired to speak in riddles, Elisa. Too confused.”

She laughs. “Patience was never your strength, was it?”

“So you think I should marry and have children?”

“No.”

“Then you think I should go back to London?”