NOVEMBER

Paige Wellington had her own style, her own look. The people of the island in the Caribbean thought she resembled the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. She had it all – beauty, wealth, talent - as well as the love and affection of the Prime Minister, Douglas Freeman.

Paige caught a flight on Eastern Airlines from Churubusco, Mexico where she had been studying in a program supported by the government public education office at an institutional department attached to UNAM, specifically to research the development of the political organizations and trade unions in the Caribbean and Central American region.

Paige’s arrival in New York was expected to be after 2 a.m. It took an extra hour, for Paige to retrieve her luggage, clear customs and travel by taxi to an apartment located across from the United Nation’s building on First Avenue.

It was Paige’s first visit to New York. She stepped from the city cab and dragged her luggage to the elevator. It was early morning of April 2, 1981. The old city anticipated the seasonal arrival of Spring . There was more than climate change ahead, after a long cold winter.

Peter Thornburn, the former -Senator was on an important visit to Manhattan. Beside a brief vacation, he hoped to attend the wedding of a political friend in New York. Within hours, - Peter, - in his early fifties, would be captivated by the free-spirited personality of an exotic, beautiful island-woman. David Henley, Peter’s personal assistant had leased an apartment located opposite to the United Nations for his friend’s occupancy for the fortnight.

Peter knew beforehand that the woman he was scheduled to meet was no ordinary penniless student on a spring-break. The present administration invited him to continue gathering security information as he had during the previous government. Peter was acquainted with the personal profile of Paige from the photocopied letters written by the woman, sent to Peter from the desk of his associate, David Henley.

The shape of her cheekbones was the envy of the professional European fashion industry. Her riveting eyes were akin in shape to ancient Amazon-Mayans or Egyptian pharaohs. Peter never suspected Paige’s history highlighted centuries of revolution and strife. He could not appreciate the knowledge of a culture which echoed through the Ages in prehistory; years before Europeans arrived to the New World. Paige revered her ancestral lineage, the unique combination of European heritage and North African bloodlines. Paige personified, the best aspects of the lands and continents of The Americas and the islands in the Caribbean Sea.

Paige learnt her history at her grandfather’s knee, Captain Emmanuel Lawson. She was born to a political family. Daily discussion of government and international politics were the topics of conversation at breakfast and dinner. For more than twenty-five years, Paige had heard the pros and cons of almost every political philosophy. She had experienced British Colonialism to self-government as well as Socialism and Capitalism. Presently, the island struggled to survive financially, after the backlash of three hundred years of British Colonialism’s underdevelopment plan in a complicated competitive political Third World.

Peter Thornburn ’s intention was to befriend Paige. His mission required verification as to the reasons behind her visit; as well as, garner the truth of The Peoples Progressive Party. Peter’s research information and advice was gleaned on behalf of Wall Street to chart investments and goals for the newly elected government The Peoples Republican Party, and an investigative agency which needed critical factual reports. For the task, Peter assumed a disguise of his own. He dyed his silver hair, dark brown. He assumed a vulnerable position by feigning a back injury.

The brief extended holiday offered Peter a period to consider his own future. Would he make a bid to enter politics again, after the devastating defeat of his party at the general election six months before? Would he continue as a figure behind the scenes in the investigative agencies analyzing information from suspected enemies to his country?

Paige walked across the carpeted reception area. In a low pitched voice, the woman inquired from the uniformed doorman, Mr. Jervis the whereabouts and direction of the bus stop which would take her to Fifth Avenue.

Peter was seated in a chair reading the newspaper. Paige followed closely behind. Peter lowered the newspaper, he was reading. He looked at the figure beside the doorman into the eyes of an exotic, dusky woman with brown eyes. For a moment, Peter stood in Egypt before the Sphinx.

Peter’s first impression of Paige was a defensive reaction. In the chilled air of the early morning, she was a refreshing breath of sunshine, a whiff of tropical spices. She moved with unusual fluid movements, controlled and supple. He noticed that her black hair was waist-length brushed from the brow. Paige’s face revealed the classic tilt of a narrow nose, the naturally arched shaped brows, well-defined, framed the slant of her large wide eyes, above generous unpainted lips.

Paige’s encounter with Peter, came with an intuitive warning of caution. Her thoughts calculated, “Early fifties, extremely well-kept, perhaps a successful businessman –of European stock, confident, intelligent and curious. His hands are large but not laborer’s hands. A man who has been victorious and had battle -scars to prove the fight.”

Peter reminded Paige of her grandfather. For that reason, she concluded, she was already his friend. Paige moved towards Peter, there was the subtle fragrance of tropical flowers and spices. “It was a fragrance of sophistication and probably designed especially for her,” Peter thought.

As Paige bent her head to spread the New York road-map, her hair fell like black silk across her face. He noticed the length of the slim, tall fingers, the lightly polished fingertips colored with a tangerine-coral polish. He stared at the upper lids shaded lightly with a leaf green powder and outlined near the lashes in black.

On the East River, Peter heard the distant sound from a barge passing below on the river. The sound of the foghorn blew long and hard. “Perhaps, a woman like ‘this Bathsheba’, bewitched David as she bathed below his balcony,” Peter thought.

Paige was puzzled by Peter’s odd expression. She questioned his hesitancy and the slow response in his reply. Paige repeated her query. “Do you understand what I am asking? “

“I understand you well enough,” Peter replied.

The color of burnt orange in her sweater’s knit coordinated with the necklace of agates. There was colors of orange and green in the plaid- tartan of the light woolen kilt-type skirt. Peter’s glance went to Paige’s feet, she wore the ugliest black leather Oxfords with thick heels, the old fashioned style of footwear English matrons chose.

Peter was confused and his pride dented because Paige failed to immediately recognize his popular face from the newspapers. Nothing in her attitude displayed the slightest sign of recognition. On the spur of the moment, Peter decided to enjoy a game, at Paige’s expense, he would assume a new name and identity.

Paige’s eyes lingered on Peter’s face and figure. She shivered as she contemplated where to begin her tour in the cool spring weather. “I’m ready to be friends with this man,” Paige admitted to herself. “But, knowing my luck with acquaintances, he might end-up being a sinister janitor.”

Peter struggled to his feet, pretending to endure an injured back.

Automatically, Paige extended an outstretched arm to offer support. Peter’s reflexive shrug from Paige’s touch telegraphed a warning that her help was unnecessary.

Immediately, Peter picked up on Paige’s body language. He noticed Paige’s figure had taken a step backward. He scrambled to regain ground, “Let me have a look at the road-map outside in the daylight,” Peter suggested.

Paige seemed confused and together they walked from the reception area under the dark green canvas canopy to the street.

Paige tentatively agreed, “Yes- but of course.”

“The reception area is dark,” Peter explained. Silently Paige handed over the written direction outlined on a sheet of paper, prepared by her host, -Robert Eltham earlier in the morning. Peter studied the map and confirmed that Robert’s directions were accurate. “You will identify a bus stop on the other side of the small park. There are steps which will lead you down from the park to the road.”

“Are you sure this is the bus, I need?” Paige asked.

“This has been ‘my beat’ for over fifteen years,” Peter replied.

“You do not speak with a New York accent,” Paige observed.

“I live in Philadelphia. There are many different spoken accents in the United States,” Peter replied.

“I am freezing. Do you think I should take an overcoat with me today?” Paige asked, observing that Peter was warmly dressed wearing a thick woolen sweater and corduroys.

“Where are you from?” Peter asked.

“Originally, I’m from a small Caribbean island, but I am studying in Mexico.”

“Last week there was snow outside,” Peter noted. He did not add that the snow was in his home state in the north.

“Goodness, I had better get my overcoat,” Paige said as she returned to the apartment to collect a coat.

The doorman informed Peter that the woman was the houseguest of Robert Eltham, the resident who worked at the United Nations. Peter was curious about their relationship and did not pursue additional information. Within minutes, Page reappeared buried in a grey coat, gloves and a scarf.

“I’d rather not be wearing these clothes,” Paige announced to Peter.

He looked up and asked, “Are you more comfortable?” Paige nodded in agreement.

“Is something the matter?” Paige asked.

“No, I had to speak to a traffic warden and explain the situation to him about my vehicle,” Peter replied.

Paige stepped away from under the apartment’s canopy into the road. She looked around at the surrounding landscape– the United Nation’s building near the East River, a new hotel under construction, the topmost section of the Chrysler building and the roof of the Grand Central building.

“What’s your name?” Peter asked.

“Paige Wellington. Did I not mention it before? What’s yours by the way?”

Peter hesitated and deliberately misinformed the woman, “Paul Richmond.”

“Are you an actor? Your face seems familiar.”

“Ronald Reagan is the actor and President,” Peter replied.

“There’s no explanation but your face is familiar. In the past three or four years, I’ve neither read propaganda magazines nor watched a television newscast. What’s your birth sign?

“Leo,” Peter replied. The second piece of misinformation was easier to lie. “Do you know about those astrological signs?”

“I don’t know anything about astrology. It’s my effort to change the subject of conversation since you are uneasy with basic questions. Who are you?”

“You mean, what’s my name?” Peter asked not answering the question.

Peter stopped and turned to face Paige. There was a fine beaded spray of perspiration collected across his upper lip. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and arched an eyebrow, quizzically. He looked slightly down the side of his nose at her sturdy brown walking shoes.

“What’s happened to your leg?” Paige asked as she faced him squarely meeting his eyes with a steady disarming stare.

“It is not my leg. It’s my back,” Peter replied.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Not today, tomorrow, perhaps. There are one hundred and fourteen museums in New York City. I would like to visit all of them during my fourteen day visit. Hence, dear sir, I’ll be off. By the way, what’s happened to your back?”

“I twisted it playing golf.”

“In the islands, I live near a golf course. Is there a golf course near here?”

“In New York City? No. (Hardly likely!) It did not happen here.”

“It’s my first visit to the city. When and how did it happen?”

“It happened last year but it seems to be getting worse.”

“How is it you are not at work today?”

“I’m retired.”

“You’re fairly young. Was it because of your back? Did the injury lead to an early retirement?”

“No, I retired as a sort of ‘captain’ before I twisted my back.”

“Where were you? In the army or the police?”

“It had to do with the law.”

“So, you were with the police?” Paige accepted the answer. “I’ll be back about two, today. “Remind me of your name?”

“To you, I am Paul Richmond,” Peter said.

“So, you are. We’ll continue this later, Paul Richmond,”i Paige spoke aloud at the end of the path. She turned and waved farewell.

Thomas Morton stood at his office window and stared down into Times Square. “Paige has arrived in New York,” he thought. “What charity or welfare program is she touting for the socialist cause today? “ Morton asked himself.

The white man with the long ash-blonde ponytail was disgruntled. The wealthy financier, Thomas Morton was dressed in black: black shirt, jacket, jeans and boots. He was (once) ranked among the richest men in the British Empire. His fortune had experienced a rise and fall, seven years ago his wealth fell into ruin. However, after seven years of shenanigan, theft and scams, his wealth had rebound

Robert turned away from the window and spoke softly to the withered old black West Indian man who brought the news of Paige Wellington’s arrival in the city. “Thanks for keeping me updated with important pieces of news. Of course, I had known of her visit, but you did a good job. Stop by my secretary’s desk and you will find the contents of my gift envelope helpful.”

Morton implied dismissal of the messenger when the white man turned to face the large window.

Ten years before, Morton was unquestionably the wealthiest and most affluent man in the Caribbean. His inheritance of the largest banana plantation coupled with two hundred luxury villas, a golf course set in the Azure Mountain Range placed him in the untenable position of power.

Historically, on the island, The Mortons owned Arabian horses and polo ponies. He kept his animals in air conditioned stables. Whenever, Morton travelled he was transported by his private jet, helicopters or chauffeured limousine as he moved around his vast holdings between the islands. He was most proud of the massive deposit in the Kings Town bank which evaded taxation in the United Kingdom.

Seven years before, Morton was travelling on an overseas mission collecting checks in US currency from Socialist and Communist countries, when he was notified that an order to confiscate his family’s fortune was ordered by the island’s parliament. Morton who was the Company Executive Officer (CEO) of the National Trading Commission had in his possession, the government payments drawn in his name. Morton deposited the total payments to a newly registered New York corporation. He wrote a letter of resignation to Prime Minister, Douglas Freeman referring to the clause in the contract pertaining to his accumulated commission payments; ending his employment with the island and his friendship with Freeman.

Morton believed he was justified in his action. He applied the substantial sum which he had taken from the island‘s treasury to his new company. The Wall Street Stock Market never was an attractive venture for Morton because of its regulations. Instead, Morton opted for a situation which was less structured and pragmatic in its legality; he gathered a membership of Caribbean businessmen in a secret syndicate many of whom had experienced financial disaster through the politics of Socialism.

It was Thomas Morton’s influence and suggestion which led Robert Eltham to host Paige’s stay in New York. Thomas was informed that Paige needed accommodations. She had difficulty in identifying a host because of her (previous) status, as the former mistress of Prime Minister Freeman. Many islanders in New York did not wish to antagonize the former political leader by being involved in their lovers’ spat.

Politically, Paige was also socially stigmatized for her association with Socialism and Communism members, though she held no political philosophy or agenda. In Mexico City, when Paige first applied for a Visitor’s Visa at the US Embassy, her visa was denied as she was suspected as a subversive element.

Overnight, for unexplained circumstances, Paige received a telephone call from classmate, Julian Holyoke who advised her to re-apply for a Visitor’s Visa at the USA consulate in Mexico City. The next day at the USA Embassy Paige’s visa was granted- ”One Visitor’s Visa for three months with one entry.”

The two North American undercover agents in Paige’s lectures, Julian Holyoke and Lourdes Bruno de Rivera attached to UNAM in the special licensing program for professionals in the dissemination of information from the Department of Public Education. The two observers or operatives in the Mexican institutions submitted their identity on the handpicked group of graduate- students from the Caribbean and Central American countries.

The two women were fully trained by the USA State Department and furnished the USA Foreign Affairs department with the most current data on each student visiting New York City.

Prior to the departure date from Mexico, the director of the program, Director Senior Javier Rivera Cantu, a former investigative security specialist coded the heightened security risk and invited the group of students to a meeting held in his office at the Mexican Institute. “Exercise precise control over your natural inclination to express any adverse political ideas during your visit to New York City,” the Director cautioned the students.

The afternoon before Paige was scheduled to leave Mexico, Julian Holyoke and Lourdes Bruno de Rivera made a surprise visit to Paige’s rented rooms. “We are here to help you pack,” announced the acquaintances.

“I’ve already packed,” Paige replied.

“Let’s see if we can make your luggage neater.”

A small Xacto knife which Paige used to sharpen a cosmetic pencil was removed from Paige’s suitcase,” The X-ray machine at the airport will pick this up, ”Lourdes explained.

Julian Holyoke is Jewish. She shared a flat with Lourdes Bruno de Rivera. Paige had long suspected that the two young women played a double-role as undergraduates and investigative operatives.

At first, Paige had been confused. During the first trimester, Lourdes Bruno de Rivera met with a young Bolivian pilot, Alberto Eduardo and six other South American students in Miami, Florida for a long weekend. “The shopping budget for the weekend was US$10 million. What would students be purchasing for that sum?” Paige asked curiously.

Paige knew details of the transaction between the students because of her friendship with Hamid Menelik, a handsome Algerian diplomat whose undercover involvement in Mexico City

was involved with weapons and ammunition to rebels.

After Hamid had departed to Brussels, Belgium for a short business trip to Brussels, Paige received new development in the students plot. Lourdes arrived in tears for the evening’s lecture. “One of the aircrafts which Alberto Eduardo was flying, crashed. It was loaded with weapons and most of the supplies with all they needed for the coup. Half of the quota of firearms and ammunition were lost when his flight from Panama crashed in Venezuela, “ Lourdes whispered.

“Did they call off the rebellion?” asked Paige.

“Once the operation had started they had to go through with the program. Alberto Eduardo and his family were captured, there was a trial and they were exiled to Brazil. If they had been arrested in Bolivia, his family members would have been executed,” Lourdes sobbed.

“South America is like South Africa in many aspects. The small European class in South America thinks that the native Indians are too illiterate to govern their own country. How can a revolution survive when only a minority supports it?” said Maria Garjales from Puerto Rico.

The Mexican Director of the Institute was worried about the students touring New York. Collectively, the undergraduate students were an unpredictable element. ”We agree to observe the North American methods for acculturation through the arts and culture. We’ll not be involved with anything which will embarrass the Mexican Institute,” the students pledged.

Paige informed The Director she had accepted a minor -speaking engagement at a fundraising Sunday dinner in Jamaica, Queens. He gave his full permission.