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an answer.
    "You know how Ernesto is," he said. "Somebody spilled the beans to him about the trip. We talked about it. He made his point, and I made mine. It's no problem."
    She waited. "Is that all you talked about?"
    Turning around, Anthony must have seen the knowledge in her face. He said, "What did Hector tell you?"
    "That you and Ernesto were expecting visitors. He wouldn't say who."
    "Ah. Well, I wasn't expecting anyone. My grandfather set this up. Bill Navarro flew in from Washington. He brought an aide with him. I think his name was Bookhouser." Anthony closed the jewelry case, put it into the drawer, and slid the drawer shut.
    Gail waited.
    He said, "They asked me to talk to Ramiro, to invite him to defect to the United States."  
    "No way."
    "Oh, yes. They said Marta can come with him, the kids too. You see what Navarro is after. If he can snag a Cuban general, he'll score some points for himself in Miami. I might talk to Ramiro, but I don't expect him to say yes, oh, thank you, I have been wanting so very much to resign from las Fuerzas Armadas and buy a little duplex in Hialeah."
    Gail didn't smile. "You weren't going to tell me about this, were you?"
    "I probably shouldn't have told you this much."
    "I'm your wife."
    "I know you are. I know. But some things..." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Sweetheart, this is not a matter that we can discuss openly. If Ramiro decided to leave, and people got wind of it, there could be ... serious political complications. You understand."
    "Of course."
    "It won't affect our visit, I promise, but don't speak to anyone about this. Not your mother, not Marta. You know nothing about it. All right?"
    "I understand."
    "Good." Anthony kissed her lips. "Go pack your suitcase. You have half an hour, no more. Then I'm going to come and get you."
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    Gail had Karen's suitcase packed in ten minutes. Zipped it closed, rolled it across the living room. Then went back to hers. Yes to a jacket, no to the extra sweater. These two dresses, not that one. Folded them around some tops to keep them from wrinkling. Tossed two pairs of shorts onto the sofa, put the other three pairs in the bag. She checked her list: toiletries, cosmetics, lingerie. Hair dryer, in case Marta didn't have one.
    How strange, she was thinking, that Congressman Navarro had come to Ernesto Pedrosa's house so late at night. Very strange that he hadn't come out to work the party and shake some hands, because the guests included quite a few of the people who ran things in Miami. And who was the other man, the aide? They had come all the way from Washington. The more Gail considered what Anthony had told her, the more certain she became that he had not told her everything. That was not unusual: Anthony Quintana could be infuriat-ingly secretive. This time, he might have a good reason. He could have simply said, I'm sorry, I can't discuss it, national security. Or whatever. He could have said that. But he had tap-danced around the truth, assuming she was too credulous to know the difference.
    Gail put a knee on her suitcase to close it, wrestling with the zipper. When she rolled the suitcase to the front door, she saw a pair of high-heeled sandals on the sofa, the black ones that matched her dress for Janelle's quinceañera. Gail doubted that her suitcase would hold so much as a nail file. She took the shoes over to the big duffel bag on wheels that Anthony had filled with gifts for family and friends. He had said that his sister always told him not to bring anything because she didn't want to admit that shortages existed in her socialist paradise. But Anthony would come loaded, and Marta would accept the gifts and pretend she did it to be polite.
    Under a package of new bed sheets Gail found a stack of books and some shirts still in their wrappers. Anthony said he was never searched at the airport in Havana, not he, the brother-in-law of General Ramiro Vega. The books were for his friends, Yolanda and José. Yolanda