Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

She smiled. “I’ll take pictures.”

Our group arrived and Antonio invited everyone to enter the ballet school with Tad and Alison, then he came over to us and asked, “Are you joining us?”

“We’re thinking about it.”

“And have you thought about my offer of a drink?”

“Are you buying?”

“No. I’m selling.”

I glanced at Sara. Still sitting, she looked Antonio in the eye. “We’ll be there.”

“Good. It will be worth your time and money.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.”

He nodded, then hopped up the steps like he’d just made two years’ pay — which he had.

Sara looked at me. “I’m trusting your judgement on this.”

“Trust my instincts.”

She stood. “We’ll see.” She asked, “Do you want to see sweaty young girls in leotards?”

Yes, but... “How far is it to the Parque Central?”

“About three blocks, right down this road.”

“Let’s go.” I stood.

“We’ll miss the Museum of the Firefighters.”

“I’ll show you my hose. Come on.”

She smiled and took my hand. “If we’re playing hooky, we first need to go see if the fleet has arrived.”

“If we’re being watched, we don’t want to go anywhere near that terminal.” I said, “We can check out CNN or Tele-whatever in the room.”

So hand in hand we hurried to the Parque Central for a spontaneous afternooner.

On our way to the Parque Central, we passed one of the old men who hawked the Communist Party newspaper, Granma , and Sara gave him ten pesos from her stash and took a copy.

We entered the hotel and stopped at the front desk, but there was no fax or phone message from Carlos, and I said, “No news from Carlos is good news.”

The elevator came and I asked, “My place or yours?”

“I think I was assigned a bugged room.”

We rode up to my room, and I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out and double-locked the door.

Sara turned on the TV and sat cross-legged on the bed, dividing her attention between Tele Rebelde and Granma.

“See if you can find the Mets score.”

The minibar was stocked and I opened two Bucaneros and gave one to Sara, then sat in a chair with my beer and watched the news. The anchor guy and his female sidekick sounded like they were reading an eye chart in Spanish.

Sara used the remote to switch to CNN, but there was no signal so she turned back to Tele Rebelde, sipped her beer, and flipped through Granma again. “I can’t believe there’s not one word in here or on TV about Pescando Por la Paz.”

“If the tournament was cancelled, the regime would be happy to report that and lay the blame on some American treachery.” I repeated, “No news is good news.”

She nodded. “You may be right.” She said, “We need to discuss a few things about tonight. But first bring your map here and I’ll decipher it for you.”

I looked at my watch. It was almost 5 P.M. and I didn’t want to be late for my six o’clock with Jack, so I suggested we talk in the shower, and we got out of our sweaty clothes.

The shower was freezing, but I left the water running in case my room was bugged, and I turned on the water in the bathtub, which, as per Tad, was warm. We climbed into the tub, facing each other.

Sara leaned toward me and said, “On your way to where you’re meeting Jack, I want you to swing by the cruise terminal. If the fleet isn’t in, you’ll come directly back here.”

“No, I go see if Jack shows up at our meeting place.”

“Why—?”

“Because the fleet could have been delayed. Or if the government wants to low-key the arrival, it could have been diverted to someplace out of town, like the Hemingway Marina.”

“All right... but when you get to where you’re meeting Jack, call me from a pay phone and leave a message at the front desk. The message will be either, ‘We’re having a drink,’ or, ‘He’s not here yet.’ ”

I watched the water rising above my periscope.

“Are you listening to me?”

“I am.”

“If he’s there, I’ll know that the fleet is in. But if he hasn’t shown up by seven, you’ll leave and meet me here in the lounge. And on the way back here, you’ll swing by the cruise terminal again.”

I was going to wait for Jack at the Nacional, but I said, “Sí, comandante,” so I could get laid.

“And make sure you’re not followed.” She informed me, “The best way to do that in Havana is to take a Coco cab.” She explained, “You have clear visibility all around, and the Coco cabs take shortcuts through back alleys and narrow streets that cars can’t use.”

Same in Kabul.

“And I don’t have to tell you not to give your driver your actual destination, and get out a few blocks before.”

“Right.” The water was now starting to float Sara’s tub toys, so I turned it off, but the running shower provided some background noise.

She reminded me, unnecessarily, “If The Maine — Fishy Business — is not in Cuba, then we have no way to get the money out of here.”

I pointed out, “We don’t have the money yet.” I asked her, “Aside from the money, how about the other thing that will please me? Is it bigger than a bread box? And can we get it out of Cuba without a truck and a boat?”

“I shouldn’t have told you about that.”

“You should tell me what it is.”

“I can’t.” We made eye contact and she said, “The important thing tonight is to see if the fleet is in.”

“Right. And if the fleet is in, and Jack confirms to me that they’re going to Cayo Guillermo, then we’re in business — and then we need to think about if we’re going to wait in Havana for our contact, or head off on our own to Camagüey. We also need to meet Antonio to see what he’s selling.”

She thought about all that, then said, “Carlos, Eduardo, and I were very confident that we had a perfect plan...”

“It’s a wonderful plan,” I assured her. “That’s why I agreed to it. Unfortunately, none of it has gone right. And, by the way, it never does. So we have to make it go right.”

“I like your can-do attitude.”

And I liked that she was back on track. “We make a good team,” I agreed. “And that’s why you hired me.”

I lay back and closed my eyes. This was a pleasant moment, and I enjoyed sharing the warm tub with a friend and teammate.

I felt Sara’s fingers fondling my bolas and I smiled.

My teammate said, “Now that I have you by the balls, where are you meeting Jack?”

Funny. I think. I reminded her, “The less you know—”

“I need to know in case I need to get hold of you.”

“You’ve already got hold — don’t squeeze. The Nacional. Hall of Fame bar.”

She released my bolas and said, “If Jack doesn’t show up and you don’t see the fleet at the Sierra Maestra Terminal, we’ll take a taxi to the Hemingway Marina.”

“Okay.”

“Have we covered all contingencies?”

“And some.”

I don’t recall life without cell phones, voice mail, texting, and the Internet, but in the good old days — according to my parents — all plans, contingencies, and meeting places had to be discussed and understood before people parted or hung up the phone, and my generation was spoiled, they said, and lazy, irresponsible, and too dependent on technology, including electric toothbrushes, and if anyone moved my dinner plate six inches to the left, I’d starve to death.

Well, my five years in the Army proved my parents wrong. I could survive without my iPhone.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that if we have Plan B and Plan C, we now need Plan A.”