Chapter Five
At the Miami airport, she took the shuttle to the parking lot where Syd had left her car. She found it exactly where it was supposed to be; the keys were in the specified hiding place, and the weapons were in the trunk. Putting the handgun in her purse, she deposited her carry-on in the trunk, closed it, got in the driver's side, and drove to the hotel.
Barbara didn't sleep very well that night. Questions swirled through her mind, disturbing her rest. Did she really want justice, or did she want to assuage her guilt? Did she just want revenge? Finally she admitted she could not answer these questions. Instead, she would focus on the mission: killing Carlos Costa.
Monday morning Barbara awoke early. As yesterday, she dressed as Amanda Perkins, her sometime alter ego. She checked out of the hotel, hoping to return to New York that evening. Deciding not to carry her handgun—too easy to spot— she placed it in the trunk with her carry-on. After breakfast in a local café, she drove toward the conference hotel. Parking the car a few blocks from the back entrance, she walked to the hotel and strolled through the lobby, locating the conference meeting rooms and checking out the security arrangements.
She found the registration area, paid her money, and collected her packet of information. The next step was to chat up an unsuspecting volunteer. Amanda Perkins was such an unprepossessing figure that others confided in her easily, and they often revealed more than they imagined. She found the right volunteer in a University of Miami student named Rita.
"Hello. I'm Amanda Perkins from Portland," Barbara said, putting out her hand for Rita to shake. "What a fantastic conference, don't you think, Rita?" This she conveyed with suitable enthusiasm.
"Oh, yes, I can't believe I'll be able to see Nelson Mandela in person. I never thought I'd actually see him with my own eyes," replied Rita with unfeigned enthusiasm.
"Will you be able to speak to him? I mean, you'll probably never have another chance to talk to him, will you?" Barbara was prompting Rita to tell what she knew about the leaders' schedules and the personnel with them.
"I so wish I could, but I'm sure I'll never get that close. He'll be surrounded by security people all the time," Rita sighed.
"I guess that's for the best, isn't it? We wouldn't want anything to happen at the conference, would we?" Barbara was pleased Rita had brought up security.
"My God, no." Rita was appalled.
"I'm amazed that Raoul Castro is one of the guests. I don't think of him as promoting world peace, do you?" Barbara said skeptically.
"Well, I don't know, but I can tell you, my parents are up in arms that he's here. Mama and Papa are from Cuba, you know, and they totally hate Castro and all of them. I think the delegation from Cuba is worried that there might be some trouble from Miami's Cuban community. Their security team got here yesterday."
This was important information.
"My, they MUST be worried. How can you tell they're Cuban security, anyway? I mean, do they look especially Cuban or something? I haven't seen many Cubans in my life," Barbara said innocently.
The girl laughed. "No, but one of them kind of flirted with me this morning, and he told me who they were. I think he wanted to impress me."
"Was he cute?" Barbara was partial to dark haired men herself. One particular Cuban she had known… She smiled to herself.
Rita laughed again. "Sort of. But my parents would have a fit if they knew I was flirting with a Cuban. His boss didn't much like it either. He chewed the poor guy out when he saw him talking to me." She stopped for a moment, then continued: "Funny, though, his boss didn't sound Cuban. His accent wasn't right. But I don't speak Spanish that much, maybe I'm wrong."
Carlos Costa spoke with a Salvadoran accent. Could Costa possibly head the Cuban security contingent? How strange was that, she thought? It was also dangerous, for it meant that her target was already here. She'd have to be vigilant. She didn't want him making her before she made him.
"I heard the Cubans have taken over the whole seventh floor. Funny, they're supposed to be Communists, but they must be spending a fortune on their suites," Barbara said.
"No, they don't have all of the seventh floor space. They've only got two of the suites up there. One of the waiters—he's cute, too—told me that there are two suites on that floor, but a bunch of regular rooms, too." Rita was full of information.
"I've never even been in a suite in a hotel like this. Have you?" Barbara was hoping her waiter friend had showed Rita around a suite so she could provide details about the layout of the rooms.
"No. Probably never will, either. I want to be a Spanish teacher. I'll never earn enough money to afford a suite in a hotel like this," Rita said with a small, very attractive sigh. At that moment, another conference attendee stepped up to ask Rita a question, and Barbara turned away.
It had been a very useful conversation. She was fairly sure that Costa was the head of Cuban security, and that he was already here. If she could find out what room he was in.... A plan was developing in her mind.
Barbara walked once again around the lobby. She located the stairs and walked up to a random floor, the fifth. She noted that the stairwell doors did not lock when closed, important if she needed the stairs to escape. On the fifth floor, she walked to the elevator. As she moved down the hall, she studied the door locks on the doors, which were traditional, not card locks. She could pick a traditional lock in a few seconds.
She waited for the elevator. When it opened, a young woman stepped out. With a shock, Barbara realized that she knew the woman; at the same time, the other woman realized she knew Barbara. Barbara hesitated a few seconds, and the elevator door closed, leaving her and the other woman alone in the hallway.
"Susan, du lieber Himmel, was machst du denn hier?" the other woman asked. ["Susan, for heaven's sake, what are you doing here?"]
Barbara was speechless. She did not want to be recognized, especially by this woman, but it was already too late.
"Marianne, kann es sein? Du siehst ja blendend aus. Wieviele Jahre ist es her?" She didn't answer Marianne's question. ["Marianne, can it be you? What are you doing here? You look fantastic. How many years has it been?"]
Marianne Jaspers was as shocked as Barbara, for she knew this woman, whom she knew as Susan, was a CIA operative. Marianne also knew she was not a member of the official US security team.
Barbara had to do something, now. Just as she was about to ask another question, a door opened far up the hallway, a man put his head out, and called to Marianne: "Frau Jaspers, was machen Sie so lange? Kommen Sie doch, wir haben viel zu tun!" ["Ms. Jaspers, why are you taking so long? Come on, we have a lot to do!"]
Barbara turned to Marianne and said hurriedly: "Bitte, Marianne, triff mich um zwölf auf einen Kaffee. Es ist wichtig, Marianne, bitte!" Barbara told her about a café she had seen several blocks from the hotel. ["Please, Marianne, meet me at 12 for a cup of coffee. It's important, Marianne, please!"]
In her heart, Marianne thought she owed this woman something, so she agreed: "Ja, in Ordnung, ich komme." She turned and went to the room down the hall. ["Yes, OK, I'll come."]
Barbara waited for the elevator, rode down, bought a paper, and sat in the lobby, watching and listening. She willed herself to be calm. There was nothing she could do until she spoke with Marianne Jaspers.
When Karl Frenzel had stepped out the door to call Marianne Jaspers, he only wanted to get his young colleague's attention. What he saw jolted him to the core. The woman talking to Jaspers: he knew her, and he was sure she would recognize him, if she saw him. She could ruin everything.