Page 91 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"We killed an innocent man," George said. "I thought he deserved a moment of respect."

"He was working for the Communists!"

"He was the night watchman--he probably didn't know Communism from cheesecake."

"You're a goddamn pussy."

George looked back. The warehouse was now a giant bonfire. People were swarming around it, presumably trying to put out the blaze. He returned his gaze to the sea in front, and did not look back again.

When at last they reached Miami and stood on solid ground again, George said to Tedder: "While we were at sea, you called me a pussy." He knew this was stupid, almost as stupid as going on the raid, but he was too proud to let it pass. "We're on dry land, now, with no safety issues. Why don't you say it again, here?"

Tedder stared at him. Tedder was taller than George, but not so broad. He must have had some kind of training in unarmed combat, and George could see him weighing the odds, while the Cubans looked on with neutral interest.

Tedder's gaze flicked to George's cauliflower ear and back again and he said: "I think we'll just forget it."

"I thought so," said George.

On the plane back to Washington he drafted a short report for Bobby, saying that in his opinion Operation Mongoose was ineffective, as there was no sign that people in Cuba (as opposed to exiles) wanted to overthrow Castro. It was also a threat to the global prestige of the United States, as it would cause anti-American hostility if it ever became public. When he handed Bobby the report, he said succinctly: "Mongoose is useless, and it's dangerous."

"I know," Bobby said. "But we have to do something."

*

Dimka was seeing all women differently.

He and Valentin spent most weekends with Nina and Anna at the girls' apartment, the couples taking turns to sleep in the bed or on the floor of the living room. In the course of a night he and Nina would have sex twice and even three times. He knew, in more detail than he had ever dreamed of, how a woman's body looked and smelled and tasted.

Consequently he looked at other women in a new, more knowing way. He could imagine them naked, speculate how their breasts curved, visualize their body hair, imagine their faces when they made love. In a way he knew all women, knowing one.

He felt a little disloyal to Nina when he admired Natalya Smotrov on the beach at Pitsunda, wearing a canary-yellow swimsuit, with wet hair and sandy feet. Her trim figure was not as curvy as Nina's, but it was no less delightful. Perhaps his interest was pardonable: he had been here on the Black Sea coast for two weeks with Khrushchev, living the life of a monk. Anyway, he was not seriously courting temptation, for Natalya wore a wedding ring.

She was reading a typed report while he took a midday swim, and then she slipped a dress on over her swimsuit at the same time as he changed into his homemade shorts, so they walked together from the beach up to what they called the Barracks.

It was an ugly new building with bedrooms for relatively low-status visitors such as themselves. They met with the other aides in the empty dining room, which smelled of boiled pork and cabbage.

This was a jockeying-for-position meeting ahead of next week's Politburo. The purpose, as always, was to identify controversial issues and assess the support for one side or another. Then an aide could save his boss from the embarrassment of arguing in favor of a proposal that would be subsequently rejected.

Dimka went on the attack right away. "Why is the Defense Ministry so slow in sending arms to our comrades in Cuba?" he said. "Cuba is the only revolutionary state in the American continent. It is proof that Marxism applies all over the world, not just in the East."

Dimka's fondness for the Cuban revolution was more than ideological. He was thrilled by the bearded heroes with their combat fatigues and their cigars--such a contrast to the grim-faced Soviet leaders in their gray suits. Communism was supposed to be a joyous crusade to make a better world. Sometimes the Soviet Union was more like a medieval monastery where everyone had taken vows of poverty and obedience.

Yevgeny Filipov was aide to the defense minister, and he bristled. "Castro is not a true Marxist," he said. "He ignores the correct line laid down by the Popular Socialist Party of Cuba." The PSP was the pro-Moscow party. "He goes his own revisionist way."

Communism was badly in need of revision, in Dimka's opinion, but he did not say that. "The Cuban revolution is a massive blow to capitalist imperialism. We should support it if only because the Kennedy brothers so hate Castro!"

"Do they?" said Filipov. "I don't know so much. The Bay of Pigs invasion happened a year ago. What have the Americans done since?"

"They have spurned Castro's peace feelers."

"True: the conservatives in Congress would not let Kennedy make a pact with Castro even if he wanted to. But that doesn't mean he's going to war."

Dimka looked around the room at the assembled aides in their short-sleeved shirts and sandals. They were watching him and Filipov, discreetly remaining silent until they could tell who was going to win this gladiatorial contest. Dimka said: "We have to make sure the Cuban revolution is not overthrown. Comrade Khrushchev believes there will be another American invasion, this one better organized and more lavishly financed."

"But where is your evidence?"

Dimka was defeated. He had been aggressive and done his best, but his position was weak. "We don't have evidence either way," he admitted. "We have to argue from probabilities."

"Or we could delay arming Castro until the position becomes clearer."

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