The Plot (16 page)

"Gotcha. See ya later."

As Ed ambled over behind him, Max hung up, paid the cashier, and led the way to the door.

"Problem?” Ed asked, breaking the deep silence that accompanied them back to the Hoover Building.

"I'm not sure,” Max answered. “I'll let you know. Meanwhile, give me a call if you find out anything."

"And you'll let me know what you find out about the Cordon woman?"

"You bet,” Max assured him, shaking his friend's hand before they went their separate ways.

August in Tallahassee was even hotter than in D.C., and the air conditioning felt good to Cassie as she stepped into the small bank and looked around. The lobby smelled like furniture wax and popcorn. There were two tellers on duty and a couple of glass-windowed offices on the left. A secretary sat at a desk between the two offices, and Cassie walked over to her, aware of the echo of her footsteps against the gleaming hardwood floor.

"May I help you?” asked the heavy-set woman, looking up from her computer screen. Her hair was bleached blonde and tightly curled. A bowl of popcorn and a dish filled with hard candy rested on the edge of her desk.

"Yes, please. Is Mr. Charles in?” Cassie offered her friendliest smile.

"Do you have an appointment?” She looked down at the calendar on her desk.

"Uh, no.” Cassie's heart sank a little.

She looked closely at Cassie for a moment. “And you are?"

"Cassandra Hart. I believe he knew my father, Madison Hart."

"Oh, yes.” The secretary's tone warmed considerably. “He came in here often. I was so sorry to learn of his death. Such a fine man. Always so friendly."

"Yes, he was. Thank you."

"Just have a seat. I'll let Mr. Charles know that you're here."

Cassie positioned herself in the leather chair beside the desk where she could watch what was going on behind the not-quite-closed blinds of the office window. She could just make out the secretary gesturing toward the window and the top of a bald head nodding. Within moments, the balding man in the office came out and extended his hand to her in greeting.

"Miss Hart. What a pleasure,” he said, squeezing her hand warmly. “Please come in."

Cassie returned his handshake, then followed him into his office and sat on the chair in front of the wide mahogany desk as he shut the door. She noticed that he closed the blinds completely before he sat down.

"I was terribly sorry to hear about your father's death.” He seemed to be studying her face.

"Yes, thank you.” She wished she knew something to say besides thank you. After a few thousand times, it sounded so trite, fake even.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You look just like the photos he showed me."

She smiled back. “I appreciate your seeing me without an appointment. Did you know my father well?"

He sighed. “Your father and I went back a long way. To our days at Yale. We once belonged to the same, er, group. I hadn't seen him for years, though. Not until he contacted me last May.” He leaned forward with his thick arms stretched out on the desk in front of him. “His phone call was quite a surprise. I couldn't imagine why he would be looking me up after all this time.” He stopped, peering sideways up at the security camera mounted near the ceiling, then continued, “But, well, it seemed we still had something important in common.” He picked up the pen on his desk and scribbled something on a piece of note paper. “Tallahassee's a very historic town. While you're here, you ought to take a tour.” He slid the paper across the desk toward her. “This should help you."

She nodded and looked down at the note. “
We can't speak freely. The camera picks up voices as well as images.
” The more people insist on privacy, the less we have, she thought. Scanners record our purchases in central databases. Internet “cookies” insert themselves into our computers. And cameras watch everything from our driving to what we do in restrooms. She looked back at him and nodded. “Thanks. I'll keep this in mind."

"Well, I know you're eager to retrieve your father's belongings.” Standing, he led her from the office and escorted her down the steps on the far side of the lobby. A guard behind the desk signed them in and unlocked the door, admitting them to a room filled top to bottom, wall to wall with locked, steel drawers and the inevitable surveillance camera.

Cassie handed him the key, watching as he unlocked a drawer containing a tapestry satchel like the one Mother had given Selena many years ago. “It is beautiful,” Selena had said, caressing the soft paisley print. She'd meant it. He set the drawer on the table in the room's center.

She picked up the satchel, unclasped it, and peered inside. Four manila envelopes and a black leather book peered back at her. The back of her neck tingled.
Soon.
She closed the bag and looked up at Mr. Charles, who put the drawer back and turned toward her. His face was impassive, but the look in his brown eyes spoke volumes. She nodded slightly and, clutching the satchel's handle, followed him out of the vault and up the stairs.

"If you need anything while you're in town or, uh, have any questions about, uh...” He paused and looked at the teller standing within earshot, “anything, give me a call.” He handed her a business card. His home phone number was written on the back.

"Thank you. I will.” She put on her sunglasses and walked outside, almost bumping into two men rushing in through the door.

A hot shower and a warm meal were at the top of Cassie's wish list when she parked the rental car in front of the brick, two story motel and walked inside.

A young, red-haired woman behind the reception desk smiled at her woodenly. “May I help you?"

"Yes. I have a reservation? Cassandra Hart."

The red-head, whose name tag identified her as Sally, checked her computer records. “Ah, yes. Here it is. A reservation for two?” She raised her eyebrows when she said
two
.

Cassie looked at her squarely and handed the woman her credit card. “Yes. That's right.” Cassie signed the bill and picked up her credit card.

"Room 211,” the woman said, sliding the keycard across the counter. “Second floor. It's around there, about halfway down.” She pointed her thumb over her left shoulder. “There should be a parking space right by the stairs. How long will you be staying?"

"I'm not certain. A few days, I imagine. By the way. Do you have a restaurant ... or room service?"

"No. But there's plenty of restaurants nearby.” Sally's voice trailed off as she lost interest and turned back to the paperback novel lying open on the desk.

Cassie frowned and turned to walk outside. Well, at least they always leave the welcome mat out, she thought, climbing into her car and driving around to the west side of the building. Funny. Max said people around here were so friendly. Of course he's been away a long time. Things change.

The telephone rang as Cassie lay her belongings on the bed. It was Max.

"Hi,” she said, gazing through the window at a live oak tree draped in Spanish moss that fluttered in the breeze. “I just walked in. Your timing is incredible.” She heard him take a deep breath before he answered.

"Yes, I've often been criticized for just that.” There was no smile in his voice. “Listen, I got some information today that I thought I'd better pass along to you.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “How well do you know Selena Cordon?"

"Selena?
Why, she's been like a member of my family for years. Why do you ask?"

"I did some checking with a friend of mine who, you might say, is on the inside. He says the FBI is looking for her."

"Did you find out why?"

"They say she's a spy. ‘Counterintelligence agent’ to be precise. Which may be why the Feds took over the case."

Cassie hesitated. Selena was the one person who knew everything about Daddy. Where he went and when. What he was working on. She'd been in Hong Kong during all the trouble and had followed to D.C. when Daddy was reassigned. She shook her head. “Max. That's preposterous. If they're looking for her, it's because of my father."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, how much do you know about her
past
?"

"Well...” She began, then stopped. What
did
Selena do before she entered their lives? And where did the money come from that allowed her to travel so freely? As far as Cassie knew, Selena only worked when Daddy was freelancing and needed a secretary. She shook her head again. No. Selena would
never
betray Daddy's trust.

"Cassie? Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm here. And it's true that I don't know much about Selena's life before she began working for my father. But, Max, I don't believe she is anything other than a dear, loyal friend. Anything they say about her is probably just an effort to discredit her. Selena knows what's going on, and she's a threat to them."

"I'm not so sure, Cassie. My friend is pretty reliable. That's why I had Sheila do some checking."

"On Selena? You had your researchers check up on
Selena
?” She felt her anger rise.

"Calm down, Cassie. There's nothing to get upset about."

"Selena's my
friend
, Max. The very idea that you'd go snooping..."

"Cassie, it's my job to ‘snoop.’ And it's a good thing I did.” His voice was low, his words measured. “Selena's got one hell of a checkered history."

"Don't we all?” Cassie asked, but the fight had left her.

"Yes, but not like this. Do you remember studying about the Bay of Pigs invasion? Well, it appears that Selena Cordon, alias Celesta Carbon, also known as Selena Gordon, was involved not only in the failure of the Bay of Pigs invasion but also in its aftermath."

"What aftermath? I don't understand."

Max took another deep breath. “A thirteen-year-old girl by the name of Celesta Carbon was publicly accused of tipping off Castro's forces about the planned military invasion. She was working as a babysitter and, apparently, overheard her employer discussing it with another freedom fighter. Shortly after the invasion failed, the man she worked for was murdered in a Miami parking lot. Celesta, alias Selena, disappeared right after the story broke but was finally traced to Havana, where she had close relatives-one of whom was associated with Castro."

His words hit Cassie like blows to the stomach. “That doesn't prove anything,” she finally managed.

"There's more. In 1968, Selena Cordon-under the identity of Selena Gordon-turned up in New York where she worked as a secretary in Administration at Columbia University. Following the student siege of the Administration Building, information surfaced that she had been instrumental in coordinating the sit-in and was in large part responsible for its effectiveness. She was never caught or arrested, however, because she disappeared the night before the students took over the building. Need I go on?"

"But, Max,” Cassie protested, regaining her composure. “That's all pretty much circumstantial, isn't it? I mean, I remember something about Selena getting
sent
back to Cuba. I think it was something about the immigration authorities. And, for Pete's sake.
Dozens
of people work in Administration at Columbia. I know. I went to school there. It's entirely possible she got wind of the students’ plans and just didn't want to get caught up in it. I know
I
wouldn't hang around for it."

"Wouldn't you have told your boss ... or
someone
... if you'd heard about plans like that?"

His logic was hard to refute, but she tried. “I don't know whether I would have or not. Being
me
, I might have. But I can't say what
she
would do. She was young ... and
foreign
... Who knows how that might have played into her decisions?"

Max was silent for a long moment. “Anything is possible,” he said at last. “But, I've never known anyone to use an alias who wasn't up to no good. And the Castro connection is pretty convincing. The Cuban government was deeply interested in the unrest of the sixties, even to the point of being implicated in the assassination of President Kennedy and being in league with the North Vietnamese."

"I know. But my father was extremely cautious about the people he confided in, and he trusted Selena completely. My mother trusted her, too.” She paused. “And Mother was an excellent judge of character."

"Cassie, I hope you're right. But frankly, I can't help being concerned about your safety. Besides me, Selena is the only one who knows where you are. And she's the only one who may actually
know
what your father was working on. If she's not who-or
what-
you think ... well, there's already been two deaths."

Cassie considered what he said. If his suspicions were true, she couldn't let herself be blinded by loyalty ... or her own feelings toward the woman who'd been so much a part of life these past many years. “What do you suggest I do?” she finally asked, leaning back against the pillow she'd propped against the headboard.

"Well, I'd tell you to come back here where I could look out for you, but I know you're not gonna do that, so I won't. I will tell you that you need to be prepared to protect yourself. I've made arrangements with a friend of mine down there to provide you some, uh, protection other than just pepper spray, if you get my point.” He paused. “He'll be contacting you around eight o'clock."

Cassie understood perfectly. “That's fine. I'd appreciate it,” she said. “But what about Selena? What shall I do about her?"

"You'll have to play that by ear, I'm afraid,” he replied, sighing. “When you talk to her next time, see what you can find out. Then I'll have Sheila check out what she says. If she's on the up-and-up, we'll find out. If not, we'll know that, too."

"I think it'll turn out that you're wrong."

"I hope so.” He stopped, then changed the subject. “Did you find what you were looking for at the bank?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I just checked in and haven't had a chance to look through anything yet."

"Well, I'm getting ready to leave the office. Give me a call at home later."