Spy in a Little Black Dress

XVI



Ah, luxury at long last,” Jackie said to herself as she settled back in the Pullman compartment’s comfortable seat next to Emiliano, who looked equally relaxed. The compartment was a luxurious combination of leather, wood, and brass, everything glossed with a patina of age but very well maintained, like an elderly dowager who insisted on taking good care of herself. It was easily the most civilized place they had been in since leaving Havana for their cross-country trek.

It had been a rough twenty-four hours, beginning when the truck decided to break down in the middle of nowhere. The engine had overheated to the point where it had completely seized up and stopped running. Emiliano twisted open the radiator cap and saw that the reservoir was empty of water. A close examination of the grill showed that the radiator had been punctured by one of the stones thrown off by the explosion, causing all the water to drain slowly and imperceptibly out of it.

All seemed lost until Emiliano looked at the map and determined that they were not all that far from a village that also functioned as a stop on the railroad line that ran between Havana and Santiago de Cuba on the southern coast of Oriente Province, not far from their ultimate destination, the Sierra Maestra. All they had to do was find a way to the village.

“But won’t we be conspicuous on a train?” Jackie asked Emiliano.

“If anything, they’re looking for two people in a truck, so the train is the last way they’ll be expecting us to travel. Besides, it’s about time we ditched this truck anyhow. If that jeep had a radio on board, Sanchez’s men are sure to be on the lookout for it.”

Jackie seemed satisfied with Emiliano’s explanation. Together, they pushed the abandoned truck into the undergrowth, where it wouldn’t be spotted from the road, and hiked the short distance to the highway leading to the village.

After two hours of walking by the side of this lonely stretch of road with their thumbs outstretched, they were rewarded by the sight of a truck stopping for them. The good news was that the driver was headed for the same destination and said they could ride in the open back of the truck. The bad news was that the truck was transporting goats to market. Jackie and Emiliano were forced to spend an uncomfortable two hours sitting amidst a dozen or so goats. Their combined smell was close to unbearable. Jackie tried to hold her nose for the seemingly endless ride to the village but found that after a while, it was best to just give in to the smell and try to ignore it.

After arriving at the village and thanking the driver for his kindness, Jackie and Emiliano went to the train station and found out that they had three hours until the next train to Santiago de Cuba arrived. This gave them enough time to go to the village’s only inn and get themselves a room. On the way, they passed two soldiers on horseback, but the men showed no interest in the two ripe-smelling vagabonds. At the inn, they removed their coveralls, now dirty, torn and stiff with sweat from their overland trek, bathed, scrubbing off the odor of goat, and put on their own clothes again so they would look presentable for the train ride and not attract any undue attention.

Returning to the station, Emiliano paid for a Pullman compartment, explaining to Jackie that though he usually abhorred such wasteful luxury, he thought a private compartment was necessary in this case to insulate them from any prying eyes. The train itself was reputed to be the most luxurious one in all of Cuba, this island’s version of the Orient Express, The Flying Scotsman, or Le Train Bleu. Now, sitting in their luxe compartment, Jackie and Emiliano stared out the window and couldn’t wait for the train to leave the station.

“What’s holding us up?” she asked.

Emiliano shrugged and pointed to a peculiar-looking train car on the tracks next to them. It was completely covered with armor plating, with slits in its metal sides in place of windows. The car looked like a giant sardine can on wheels, but with a completely ominous aspect to it, as though unspeakable things could be happening inside.

Emiliano shivered involuntarily, causing Jackie to ask, “What’s the matter?”

“I know that car. It’s Colonel Sanchez’s private armored train car. That’s how he usually travels around the country. I guess it’s an accurate reflection of how well liked he is by the people.”

Jackie smiled at that but wanted to know, “What’s it doing here?”

“I have a very bad feeling that we’re about to find out.”

As they watched, a touring car with its top up bumped over the tracks and stopped alongside the armored train car. Three people disembarked. One of them was Colonel Sanchez, descending from the vehicle with all the ceremonial pomp of a petty tyrant, which, come to think of it, he was. The other two were women. They were both dressed head to toe in black and wore black veils over their faces. They looked like mourners on the way to a funeral.

Now it was Jackie’s turn to shudder involuntarily. “The ‘sisters Death and Night,’ ” she murmured.

“Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass,” Emiliano said. “How appropriate.”

“Who are those women?” Jackie asked, almost afraid to look at them.

“I’ve heard of them, but I didn’t know they were real. I thought they were only a rumor. Or the kind of fairy tale used to frighten young children. They are Sanchez’s handpicked female agents. He uses them to infiltrate revolutionary groups such as Fidel’s. They are smart. And beautiful. And entirely deadly.”

“But why the veils?”

“So their identities will remain hidden in public.”

Through the compartment window, she and Emiliano watched as Sanchez and the sisters Death and Night, walking in lockstep, entered the armored train car. Finally, their locomotive began to pull out of the station, then stopped, and Jackie and Emiliano could feel a slight vibration from the rear of the train.

“That was the armored car being hooked on. So their destination is obviously Oriente,” Emiliano said.

“And what’s in Oriente?”

“We are. Or rather, we will be.” After a thoughtful pause, he added, “I think Sanchez must know about the treasure. That’s why he’s after us.”

“Suppose he decides to inspect the train?”

“Doubtful. He thinks we’re in a truck headed east. And he feels safe in that armored car, so that’s where he’ll stay until the train arrives at Santiago de Cuba.” Emiliano pursed his lips. “And if he knows about the treasure, then I’m sure others do too. Walker’s treasure and Metzger’s map must be the worst-kept secrets on this island.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a feeling they’re not going to be the only ones on this train coming after us. We’re going to have to be careful. Stay in this compartment as much as possible until we reach Santiago de Cuba.”


Several hours later, in darkness, the train passed over from Camagüey into Oriente.

They spent the night in separate berths. Emiliano took the upper and, ever the gentleman, offered the lower one to Jackie. Jackie was both relieved and disappointed to find that Emiliano made no attempt to steal into her berth in the middle of the night. They were exhausted from their journey to the village and were desperately in need of sleep.

The next morning, Jackie awoke to a growling stomach. In the upper berth, Emiliano was still sleeping, snoring mildly, which made her smile. The train had pulled into a station, and through the compartment window, she could see a vendor on the platform. Knowing that eating in the dining car was out of the question, she impulsively decided to go out and buy some breakfast food for herself and Emiliano.

Outside the train, the air was still relatively cool from the night before, but with just a hint of the daytime heat to come. Jackie approached the vendor and ordered two tostadas and two cafés con leche.

While the vendor was wrapping the tostadas, Jackie looked up the platform and was shocked to see someone she recognized—the Mambo King, Sam Giancana’s murderous henchman. He was flanked by two men who looked like they might have been participants in the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Wearing sharkskin suits, all three seemed out of their element in this out-of-the-way train station. Hoping against vain hope that the gangster hadn’t caught sight of her, she quickly turned her head in the opposite direction, where she found another surprise waiting for her.

Down the platform, Larry, Moe, and Curly were stretching their legs. Before she could turn away again, Larry caught sight of Jackie and nudged his two compatriots.

Jackie quickly paid the vendor, gathered up the food, and fled back into the Pullman car, where Emiliano was just waking up. He looked at Jackie inquisitively. “What is it, Jacqueline?”

She put down the food, took a deep breath, and told Emiliano that the East German spies had seen her on the train platform. “Oh, Emiliano, I’m so sorry,” she said with a measure of self-reproach in her tone. “If only I hadn’t left the train. I should have known better.”

Emiliano put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s all right, Jacqueline. You didn’t realize. And I guess it’s better to know we have traveling companions.”

“But how did they manage to find us here?”

“It’s just bad luck that we all ended up taking the same train.”

Jackie frowned, and Emiliano continued to rub her shoulder. She didn’t want him to stop. But eventually, he removed his hand and said, “I guess we’d better have our breakfast before our food gets cold.”

As they ate, they listened for any sound in the outside corridor that might announce the presence of a band of intruders. The fact that the Three Stooges were riding in the next car back and the Mambo King and his men in the next car up made it difficult for Jackie and Emiliano to find any room in which to maneuver. But they knew that something had to happen before the train reached the next station, Santiago de Cuba, the last stop on the railroad.

Just as they were finishing up their tostadas, there was a knock at the compartment door. Jackie looked at Emiliano, who put a finger over his mouth to tell her to keep quiet. Perhaps if they didn’t respond, whoever was knocking would eventually tire and go away. There was a second knock at the door, this one more adamant.

Then a voice spoke from the corridor with a blunt Chicago accent. “We know yer in there. So open up before we make this door look like Swiss cheese.”

Emiliano shrugged. Jackie realized that they didn’t have any choice either. There was nowhere to hide from a fusillade of bullets. So in the end, she watched as he took a deep breath and opened the door.

“So we meet again, lady,” the Mambo King said as he and his two gunsels pushed into the compartment. It was now as crowded as the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera. But unlike the Marx Brothers, there was nothing funny about the three guns the Mambo King and his henchmen had trained on them. Jackie guessed that the Mambo King had left his trademark machine gun back in his own compartment because it was too unwieldy to use here.

Jackie and Emiliano were ordered to sit on the couch. The three men stood opposite them. The Mambo King gave a slight tilt of his head, and his two comrades began to examine the compartment.

“If you tell us what you’re looking for,” Emiliano interrupted, “we might be able to save you some time.”

The Mambo King tilted his head in the opposite direction, and the two men froze in place.

“The treasure map,” the Mambo King said succinctly. “Hand it over, and we’ll let ya live.”

Emiliano was all set to speak when Jackie interrupted him. “All right, I’ll get it,” she said. She stood up and went to the door leading to the adjoining bathroom. The two men tried to stop her, but the Mambo King waved them off.

“Let ’er go,” he told them. “What’s she gonna do, pack a powder puff?”

The two henchmen let out a raucous laugh, a very unpleasant sound to Jackie’s ears. She slid past them, entered the bathroom, and started to close the door, but one of them prevented her. Jackie looked at the Mambo King.

“I’d like some privacy, please.”

The Mambo King shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll give ya one minute.”

The last thing Jackie saw as she shut the door was the look of concern on Emiliano’s face. Poor dear, he had no idea what she planned to do.

There it was, resting on the shelf under the mirror in the bathroom—her camera bag. There had been no room for it in the compartment. Jackie opened it quickly and got to work. She figured that she had only forty-five seconds left, more than enough time to work up the nerve to do what she was about to do.

When the door to the bathroom opened again, the Mambo King and his two gunsels looked unprepared for the sight that greeted them. There stood Jackie, a dynamite stick in one hand and Emiliano’s monogrammed silver lighter in the other. The three gangsters had no idea that the lighter was out of fuel, but Jackie prayed that she could bluff them without actually having to use it. She glanced at Emiliano and could see that he was as surprised as the three intruders.

“Nobody move,” Jackie said, “or I light this thing, and we’ll all be blown to kingdom come.” To illustrate her point, she moved the lighter closer to the fuse of the dynamite stick, her finger set to flick it on at a moment’s notice. “Now, drop your weapons.”

“Who’s gonna make us?” the Mambo King asked with a show of bravado.

“My little friend here, Mr. Dynamite Stick. He can be very persuasive,” Jackie said in her best rat-a-tat gun moll imitation, hoping the tremor in her voice wouldn’t betray her. She moved the lighter closer to the fuse, her finger looking ready to conjure up a flame at any second. To her disappointment, the Mambo King and his underlings acted as if they still needed a more convincing argument.

“She’s bluffing, boss,” one of the gunsels said.

“Oh, you think so,” said Jackie, pushing the dynamite stick right into his face. “Try me, and you might soon be singing a different tune—with a heavenly choir.”

The gangster backed up until he was against the couch. But no one was listening to Jackie’s orders. She knew that she had to step things up a notch or her bluff would soon be spotted for the fake-out it was.

“Don’t mess with me, boys. I guess Lucky Luciano never told you about me. He calls me the Black Widow. Whenever he wants a lady killer, I’m his girl.”

Jackie had plucked Luciano’s name out of her brain like a lucky ace from a deck of cards. From what she’d read about the exiled New York City crime boss in the report from Robert Maheu, she figured that the last thing these Chicago thugs wanted was to get into a gangland war with him. She stared intently into the eyes of the Mambo King and was relieved to see that he was the first to blink. The three gangsters looked from one to another in growing consternation. Maybe this crazy dame was on the level.

“So ditch the rods,” Jackie ordered, warming to her new role as a mob assassin. “Put ’em down and your hands up!”

This time, her words seemed to have the desired effect. The Mambo King gave the slightest of nods to his accomplices. Very slowly, all three men bent down and placed their weapons on the floor, then just as slowly rose and raised their hands in surrender.

Without being prompted, Emiliano retrieved the guns from the floor, pocketing two of them but taking the third and holding it on the three gangsters.

“Okay, you two—get in the bathroom. Now!” Jackie commanded the Mambo King’s accomplices. Reluctant to take orders from a woman, even if she was holding a dynamite stick in her hand, they looked at their boss.

“Listen to the lady,” he said.

One by one, they filed into the small room, but not before Jackie removed her things. She could see that the space was a tight fit.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said to the Mambo King. He fixed her with a look that could have curdled milk and followed his two accomplices into the crowded room. Now it was an even tighter fit in there, and the Mambo King looked less than pleased with his new accommodations. Very quickly, Emiliano began to close the door. The Mambo King stuck his head out, his eyes radiating pure hatred at Jackie, and said, “Lady, you’ll pay for this.”

“Just put it on my tab,” Jackie said with perfect nonchalance and nodded at Emiliano, who pushed the door closed, forcing the Mambo King to withdraw his head like a turtle going back into its shell.

Emiliano took out his penknife and used its blade to jam the lock and keep the three mobsters incarcerated until the conductor could free them. Then he gave Jackie a grateful look. “That was fast thinking, Jacqueline.”

“Good thing I still had your lighter.” She handed it back to Emiliano, who already had his hands full with the pocketknife and the gun. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

As they went out into the corridor, Emiliano turned to Jackie and said, “Where did you ever learn to talk like that?”

“Watching old James Cagney and George Raft movies on The Late Show.”


For what they planned to do next, Emiliano went to the conductor and bribed the railroad man into lending him his spare uniform. More money changed hands, and the conductor gave up the number of the compartment where the Three Stooges were lodged. Jackie and Emiliano figured that if the bluff worked once, it might work a second time. So they walked back one car and went down the corridor until they found the Pullman compartment with the right number. Inside, they could hear the Three Stooges talking in German to one another. Probably scheming how they were going to accost Jackie in her compartment.

Gun in hand, Emiliano looked at Jackie and asked if she was ready. Dynamite stick in hand, Jackie nodded. Emiliano knocked on the compartment door.

“Who is it?” one of the Stooges asked.

“Es el conductor del tren,” Emiliano replied, followed by “Please open the door.” The door opened slightly, and Jackie could see that whoever was on the other side was giving Emiliano the once-over to make sure that he was really the conductor.

The door opened wider, and Emiliano, gun drawn, forced his way into the compartment, with Jackie right on his heels. The Stooges were as surprised as the Mambo King had been at the sight of the dynamite stick in Jackie’s hand. Less than fifteen minutes later, the fugitive couple reemerged from the compartment, having perfected their drill.

They quickly walked down the corridor toward the back of the car. Emiliano removed the conductor’s uniform, which he was wearing over his own clothes, neatly folded it, and placed it on a metal shelf. Then he led Jackie through the door and out onto the rear platform of the Pullman car. Right behind it was Colonel Sanchez’s forbidding-looking armored car, the last car on the train. A brisk breeze blew Jackie’s hair all over the place, and she was having a difficult time keeping it out of her face. Emiliano said, “We have to get off the train before it reaches Santiago de Cuba. Someone might have arranged a reception committee for us there. I know there’s a curve coming up, which will force the train to slow. That’s when we’ll make our move.

“Define ‘move.’ ”

“We’ll have to jump.”

“Jump?” Jackie asked, her voice rising to a note of terror.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve done it before.”

“You have?”

“Plenty of times. When I was a student, I couldn’t afford the price of a train ticket. So I rode the rails like a hobo.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Es verdad,” Emiliano said simply.

It was merely another facet of Emiliano’s life to add to the complex picture of him Jackie was putting together—and continuously revising—in her head.

“We had to watch out for the railroad bulls, patrolling the yards and the trains to keep hobos out. In fact, that’s how Colonel Sanchez started out, as one of those railroad bulls. He had a reputation for being the most sadistic of the lot. But when he found out that being a secret policeman paid better than being a railroad bull, he decided to change professions.

“And that’s why I’m going to take so much pleasure in doing what I’m about to do. I’ll be right back.”

And as Jackie looked helplessly on, Emiliano very carefully climbed over the railing at the rear edge of the platform and stepped down so that he was now standing on the metal tongue that ended in the knuckle coupler connecting this Pullman car to the colonel’s armored car. Jackie was scared out of her wits.

A giant metal pin held the coupler’s two halves together. With her heart in her mouth, Jackie looked on as Emiliano very carefully removed the pin in order to decouple the two cars. There was a sudden jerk as he lifted the pin free, and he almost lost his balance as the two halves of the knuckle coupler separated. But with the unexpected grace of Nijinsky, Emiliano maintained his balance, executed a neat about-face, and climbed back over the railing, almost as though he had done this kind of thing before.

Jackie watched as the distance between the two disconnected cars slowly increased with each passing second. Pretty soon, the armored car would coast to a stop, and Colonel Sanchez would find himself stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the engineer of the train being none the wiser that he had lost one of his cars.

Standing once more beside her, Emiliano said, “Too bad we won’t be around to see the look on Sanchez’s face when he realizes what has happened.”

Jackie realized that, in the space of one hour, she and Emiliano had neutralized all three groups that had been on their trail—not bad for two people who had been outnumbered and outgunned.

Suddenly, the train surged forward and Jackie was flung backward over the railing. She let out a shriek of fright that coincided with a blast from the engine’s steam whistle. At the last possible second, she grabbed on to the bottom of the railing with one hand and stopped herself from falling onto the track, but she was now upside down and she couldn’t lift herself up, her legs having become entangled in the railing’s vertical bars. With her body stretched out over the tracks and her face only inches from the wooden railroad ties, she could count each one as they passed right before her face and feared that this was going to be the end of her.

“Emiliano,” she cried out in a weak voice, afraid that the slightest movement would cause her to lose her grip on the railing.

“Don’t panic, Jacqueline,” Emiliano called down to her, “I’ll get you.”

She looked up and could see him leaning down in order to grab hold of her wrist through the gaps in the railing.

Jackie tried to convince herself that her situation wasn’t all that dire. After all, she had been in worse predicaments, such as hanging 228 feet above the ground from the top of Notre Dame’s south bell tower. Hanging off the end of a train was nothing compared to that. At the same time, as she continued to hold on, the wind whipping her hair every which way, she had to admit that Notre Dame hadn’t been barreling along at sixty miles an hour when she had been dangling from its towering pinnacle.

Finally, Emiliano gripped Jackie’s wrist with both of his hands though the bars and very slowly and carefully pulled her up to safety. As soon as he’d hauled her over the railing, she collapsed in his arms, and he held her head against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating rapidly. At least she wasn’t the only one.

They stayed that way for a little while, until they could feel the train begin to slow down. Breaking their embrace and looking around the corner of the car, they could see the bend in the tracks in the near distance.

Emiliano let go of her and said, “This is it. I want you to jump first. The verge here is grassy and soft. Try to roll as you land and you’ll be okay.”

Jackie looked up at Emiliano with absolute trust. “Okay.”

“Get ready. Bend your knees when you jump.” When the bend appeared ahead, the train slowed until it seemed like it was going less than thirty miles an hour.

“Now,” Emiliano said and gave Jackie a firm push. It was only a short distance to the grass verge. She hit the ground with her hands and knees and tumbled down a shallow slope before coming to a stop. Emiliano had been right. The grass was a soft carpet beneath her. She sat up and was seized by a momentary wave of dizziness. Fortunately, that subsided rather quickly, but it prevented her from moving out of the way as Emiliano came plummeting into her vicinity. He barreled right into her and grabbed hold of her. The two of them rolled the rest of the way down the shallow slope.

When they finally reached the bottom, Emiliano was on top of Jackie with his arms tight around her. This was the most intimate they had ever been. Their faces were so close together, their lips practically touching, that kissing seemed the most normal thing to do under the circumstances. The kiss seemed to last a long time, but Jackie was ultimately forced to wriggle out from under Emiliano because something was jabbing her in the ribs. It was her camera bag, which Emiliano had taken with him. Instinctively, she looked inside to make sure that her trusty Speed Graphic and the Mexican Dracula reel had made it through the fall intact, along with the bundle of dynamite sticks. To her great relief, they had.

Emiliano rose to his feet and held out his hand, helping Jackie to her feet. He led them in a direction south of the railroad line. Jackie walked on slightly unsteady legs, but whether it was from the kiss or the jump from the train she would have been hard-pressed to say.