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"The general thought Raymond LeBaron might be a useful pawn in negotiations with the U.S. State Department after the Castros were removed."
"His good intentions have made for a dangerous game," said Polevoi.
"Velikov assures me that LeBaron is kept under strict security and fed false information."
"Still, there is always a small chance LeBaron might discover the true function of Cayo Santa Maria."
"Then he would simply be erased."
"And Jessie LeBaron?"
"My personal thoughts are that she and her friends will prove useful dupes in laying the blame for our projected disaster on the CIA's doorstep."
"Has Velikov or our resident agents in Washington uncovered any plans by American intelligence to infiltrate the island?"
"Negative," Maisky answered. "A check on the blimp's crew showed none have current ties with the CIA or the military."
"I want no screw-ups," said Polevoi firmly. "We're too close to success. You pass my words on to Velikov."
"He shall be instructed."
There was a knock on the door and Polevoi's secretary entered. Without a word she handed him a paper and left the room.
Sudden anger reddened Polevoi's face. "Damn! Speak of a threat, and it becomes a reality."
"Sir?"
"A priority signal from Velikov. One of the prisoners has escaped."
Maisky made a nervous movement with his hands. "It is impossible. There are no boats on Cayo Santa Maria, and if he is foolish enough to swim, he'll either drown or be eaten by sharks. Whoever it is won't get far."
"His name is Dirk Pitt, and according to Velikov he's the most dangerous of the lot."
"Dangerous or not--"
Polevoi waved him to silence and began pacing the carpet, his face reflecting deep agitation. "We cannot afford the unexpected. The deadline for our Cuban adventure must be moved up a week."
Maisky shook his head in disagreement. "The ships would never reach Havana in time. Also, we can't change the dates of the celebration. Fidel and every high-ranking member of his government will be on hand for the speechmaking. The wheels of the explosion are set in motion. Nothing can be done to alter the timing. Rum and Cola must either be called off or continue as scheduled."
Polevoi clasped and unclasped his hands in an agony of indecision. "Rum and Cola, a stupid name for an operation of such magnitude."
"Another reason to push on. Our disinformation program has already begun spreading rumors of a CIA plot to launch devastation in Cuba. The phrasèRum and Cola' is patently American. No foreign government would suspect it as being hatched in Moscow."
Polevoi shrugged in assent. "Very well, but I don't want to think about the consequences if this Pitt fellow by some miracle survives and makes it back to the United States."
"He is already dead," Maisky announced boldly. "I am sure of it."
The President leaned into Daniel Fawcett's office and waved. "Don't get up. Just wanted you to know I'm going upstairs for a quiet lunch with my wife."
"Don't forget we have a meeting with the intelligence chiefs and Doug Oates in forty-five minutes,"
Fawcett reminded him.
"I promise to be on time."
The President turned and took the elevator to his living quarters on the second floor of the White House. Ira Hagen was waiting for him in the Lincoln suite.
