Hawke by Theodore Bell

Author:Theodore Bell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

34

At eight o’clock in the morning, Commander Zukov was summoned to the main finca to breakfast alone with General Manso de Herreras. Two heavily armed guards posted outside the dining room waved him inside. Manso was seated at the huge table all alone, drinking a solitary glass of fruit juice. A place setting of solid gold had been set opposite the general and he motioned for Zukov to sit down. He did so, but waved away the approaching waiter. The general stared at him for an eternity before speaking.

“This fucking Russian who sold me the submarine. Golgolkin. You know him?”

“Yes, slightly,” Zukov said. “Black Fleet. Vladivostok. At one time, a promising officer.”

“Then?”

“The cliché Soviet scenario. Peace, vodka, and women. One night he surfaced without periscope surveillance and struck one of our own destroyers in the South China Sea. Considerable loss of life. That was it.”

“He has come here, the idiot, begging for his life.”

“General. Tell me. What has he done?”

“Done? Put everything in jeopardy! Everything! Met with some fucking Englishman named Hawke in the Exumas a week ago. Trying to peddle the second Borzoi, I hear. The Englishman apparently asks a lot of questions and Golgolkin gives a lot of answers. My sources in Washington say the Englishman was in the American capital the very next day! Bastard! I initiated reprisals against this Hawke, using Golgolkin’s contacts at the Russian embassy. But they, too, were disastrous.”

“What will you do?”

“What I always do. Go through, not around.”

“I will deal with Golgolkin. He is an embarrassment.”

“No. Bring him to me. I may have one last use for him.”

• • •

Zukov opened the door to the fat Russian’s room without knocking. There were three naked girls in his bed. One leapt up, a short, chubby little thing with enormous breasts bouncing, and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Zukov couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

“The majordomo told me you were ill and could not come down for your breakfast,” Zukov said. “You were missed.”

“I am better now,” Golgolkin said, the two men speaking in Russian. Leaning back against the pillows, one fat pink arm around each of the two girls, he said, “Room service.”

“Fidel is scheduled to go before the cameras in three hours. He is refusing to step down. Two of the brothers want to shoot him.”

“I have bigger problems,” the Russian said, and drained a beaker of orange juice and vodka.

“Yes, you do, comrade. El nuevo comandante, General Manso de Herreras, wants to see you. Now.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m to bring you to him. You’d better tell your little playmates good-bye and come with me.”

“Comrade Zukov, I need help. I have made a mess of this. I am probably a dead man. But you owe me, Zukov. You have a submarine under your feet again, thanks to me.”

“I will do what I can, Comrade Golgolkin. That’s all I can promise. I work for the Cubans, now, not the Russians.”

“That fucking Englishman Hawke is responsible for this mess! He made me tell.

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