𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕪 •𝕁𝔽𝕂•

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11 - ꜱᴀɴᴛɪᴀɢᴏ ᴅᴇ ᴄᴜʙᴀ

I couldn't sleep through the night and my thoughts kept me tossing and turning uncomfortably. Castro's offer of becoming his mistress and going with him to Cuba swam through my mind, then there were the horrendous broken phrases I had heard, the ones that involved overthrowing the President.

The decision was a difficult one but in the end, I slipped out of the White House discreetly, empty handed with nothing but my handbag stuffed with a few essentials. As expected, Fidel Castro was pleased to see me. 

Now, I sat in a seat on Castro's private aircraft, Castro sitting next to me, smoking a blunt, his feet resting on the seat in front of him while my eyes were fixed on the small square window, trying to absorb everything I could about the view from the aircraft, America, because I had no idea if I would ever get the chance to come back to America or not. Although I felt glum and disheartened, there wasn't an ounce of regret in me, if choosing Fidel Castro over John F. Kennedy was the only way of saving his life, I would choose Fidel Castro a thousand times. I would gladly sacrifice my everything to keep Jack safe.

I held my handbag closer to my chest, mainly because it held my most prized possession – a framed photograph of Jack, a picture that had been taken during the Second World War, onboard the P T - 109, that I had managed to steal from the Oval Office today before leaving the White House. The main reason why I kept this photo was because I was scared, not for my life, but for the fact that maybe this was the last time I will ever see John Kennedy and our time together had finally come to an end. I didn't want to forget him, not that I would, but having something that belonged to him just felt more personal. I closed my eyes and a stray tear escaped my eyes and fell down my lap the minute our flight took off and we left America.

At 2 pm, Central time, we reached Santiago de Cuba where Castro's advisors were already waiting to receive us and drive us back to his temporary mansion – he had told me while in the flight that his security reasons did not permit him to stay at one place for more than a month due to the countless failed assassination attempts that had already been made by the CIA at him.

Once we had landed in Cuba, I waited for Castro to step out of the plane first and I followed him. I fixed my glasses over the bridge of my nose and tipped my hat in such a way to block the heated glare of the sun which was strong in Cuba. He threw out his palm towards me and I looked at him blankly, my hesitation slightly visible. Slowly, I lifted my hand and placed it in Castro's hand who only tightened his grip on my hand. As we walked towards the black sedans that were parked a few yards away, I couldn't stop thinking about Jack, he must have found out by now that I had eloped with Fidel Castro, his mortal enemy.  He must hate me now.

(Oval Office, White House)

President Kennedy paced up and down the Oval Office, his eyebrows creased in a permanent frown as he waited for his brother, the attorney general. He turned to his desk and placed both his hands on the surface, hunching over the desk and momentarily closed his eyes when the door behind him creaked open and Robert Kennedy walked in, his jaw tense and his hands buried in his blazer pocket.

"Jack, she was seen this morning boarding the Cuban aircraft with Fidel Castro." He walked up to Jack and placed his hand on his shoulder, patting it in a sympathetic manner.

"Who is she, Bobby? She a spy? She been playing us all this while right under our noses?" Kennedy asked, the hurt evident in his tone of voice.

"Can't you see it, Jack? This all links to November 22. Don't you think it is a bit odd that Joanna Thompson exactly knew that Oswald would be at the sixth floor of the depository?" Bobby mumbled, leaning against the wall with his one leg plastered at a ninety degree angle on the wall.

"But they missed and shot Jackie instead? That doesn't sum up, Bobby." Kennedy replied.

"Well, something could have gone wrong. I think that the sole motive Castro came to America was to see for himself how much we knew about his involvement in the assassination –"