Cuba Libre

"Many of them now down with yellow fever." Boudreaux sipped his drink, then shook his head. "A shame."

"We were poorly armed," Neely said, "compared to the dons. Their Mausers fired smokeless rounds; the Springfields most of our boys had gave off plumes of white smoke when fired, revealing the rifleman's position."

Boudreaux was looking toward the arched entrance again. "Clara Barton came to the field."

Boudreaux said, "Good old Clara," and glanced at Neely. "Can you guess who's coming here, to see me?"

The man so confident, more relaxed than he had any right to be. Neely was going to say "Amelia," but changed his mind and shook his head.

"I give up."

"Lionel Tavalera," Boudreaux said, "the Guardia major, and if he finds you here… If you haven't heard, Spain still runs Havana and American correspondents are not allowed in the city."

"They are," Neely said, "if you have a Double Eagle for the harbor police. I got here on a Norwegian cattle boat out of Santiago. It happened to pull in there looking for coal." He paused to sip his drink before bringing up what was foremost on his mind.

"I spoke to Amelia. She's in the lobby."

"Sitting there for a couple of days now," Boudreaux said, "waiting for someone, but won't tell me who. Did she happened to mention what she's up to?"

Neely shook his head. "But I think she looks-I was going to say no worse for wear, but actually she looks better than ever. Don't you agree?"

"Other than the hair, yes, still quite lovely."

"I understand you met with her. And got on your knees begging her to come back."

"I'm sure you recognized that as a figure of speech," Boudreaux said. "Our relationship, at the moment, is in negotiation. After all, I did put up a great deal of money when her life was at stake. She respects that."

"You make it sound like a business arrangement." "It does have that tenor, doesn't it?" "You think you'll get back together?"

"I think Amelia will always go to the highest bidder." "She seems quite self-sufficient to me."

"Or, as you were going to say, no worse for wear," Boudreaux said. "The sunburn and callused hands might indicate a spirit of enterprise, but what did she get for her effort? Has she told you about it?"

"You know I was with her out in the country."

"With that bandit, Islero. But that was the last you saw of her."

"I got a ride to Key West on a monitor and went on to Tampa, where the troops were assembling. I can't tell you what a mess that was. Confusion reigned, trains backed up all the way to Columbia, South Carolina."

"You're full of war stories, aren't you, Neely?"

"Once I get talking about it. I'm sorry, I interrupted you." "Amelia hasn't told you of her adventures?" "She told me she was ill for quite some time." "That's all?"

"We only spoke for a few minutes. She seemed to want to be by herself."

"You don't want to betray her confidence," Boudreaux said, "as I trust you will keep what I tell you in confidence. Is it agreed?"

"Of course."

"You can give me your views after. So, who should come to see me but Lionel Tavalera. He's not out in Oriente defending his country's honor, no, he comes to deliver Amelia-not as a courtesy, mind you, but expecting a reward. It's the reason he wants to meet this morning, I'm sure, to badger me again. He arrives with Amelia in tow, I thank him for rescuing the dear girl, and he tells me, no, he didn't save her, he captured her. He tells me it was her scheme from the begi

Neely interrupted. "I haven't seen him around."

"I fired him."

"I'm sorry, go on."

"I asked Tavalera, where's the money now? You understand, since Amelia obviously doesn't have it. Lionel said he didn't know. I asked him when it was he became aware of this conspiracy. On that score he's vague or makes no sense. I think he found out about it early on and pla

"Business is business."

Boudreaux shrugged. "If you like. I asked Amelia what happened to the money, and you know what she told me? Victor has it, my segundo. Victor? If it's true and you appreciate irony, then you must see this as a glaring example, the humble servant rides off with forty thousand dollars of his master's hard-earned cash."

Neely couldn't help but smile.

Boudreaux accepted it with a weary expression. "I thought you'd like that, a happy ending for the poor Cuban. Meanwhile, I have no idea what's happened to the cowboy. Amelia doesn't seem to know either. She resides in her own room here at the Inglaterra, under what Tavalera calls 'house arrest." That applies to me, also. I can't leave the premises until he decides how much of a reward he wants. He claims he could even have us, as he puts it, 'jailed with every courtesy." I mentioned that Spain still rules here, under the temporary articles of surrender, but with no advice from Madrid. So, I bide my time."

"Knowing," Neely said, "you'll be back in business before too long."

"If not sooner," Boudreaux said.

"But did Amelia actually admit she pla

"She did, while looking me straight in the eye." "Contrite about it?"

"If she were, she wouldn't be Amelia, would she?" Boudreaux smiling just a little. "And I doubt if either of us would hold her in such high esteem."

"You respect her effort?"

"She saw the opportunity and took it."

"But, Rollie, she tried to swindle you out of forty thousand dollars."

"Bless her heart," Boudreaux said, "she's quite an astonishing girl."

Neely had to agree. He said, "I've been wanting to do a feature story about Amelia since the day I met her."

"If you ever do," Boudreaux said, "leave this business out of it, or I'll bring suit against you and your newspaper, whatever it is. And you know I'll win."

Three days ago in the dining room having coffee, Amelia looked up to see Rudi Calvo approaching through the tables, Rudi with a stout cane in each hand, hobbling, throwing one leg out with an effort and then the other. Amelia hadn't seen him since Atars. She rose to put her arms around him and heard him say, close to her, "I told Tavalera." So ashamed, but had to tell who was at the fortress with him and what they were doing there, or they would have cut off his son's legs. Amelia kept him in her arms-people watching, it didn't mattermtelling Rudi no one could blame him, don't think about it, she would have done the same, consoling, mothering, getting him to joiner at the table. As soon as they were seated he said to her, "The cowboy is near Jovellanos. He's going to be coming here soon. Two more days."

Amelia wanted to pull Rudi over and kiss him, but sat there as he explained how the cowboy was seen, how Tyler was hard to miss even trying to appear Cuban. "He was seen and spoken to by some of our people," Rudi said, "and the news about him came to me because they knew of Ataros." The cowboy, Rudi said, had been looking for the old man, Fuentes, but no one has seen him, not a soul, like he was disappeared. So they kept Tyler hidden until the war ended and now he was coming; but it would be two more days because there was no train he could take. "When I learn you were here, I knew I should tell you. Also that I confessed to the Guardia."

"He has me in prison now, so to speak," Amelia said. "I'm not allowed to leave the hotel without his permission." "You mean Lionel Tavalera?"

Amelia, that morning in the dining room, nodded and said, "I just hope he's not here when Ben comes."

This morning she was in the lobby and held the door for Rudi as he came in with his canes.