Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

The guitarists finished, and I gave them a ten and they gave us a happy smile. So if anyone was watching us, we looked more like dumb tourists than enemies of the state.

Floridita was getting more crowded and Sara said, “There’s a floor show later. Do you want to stay and drink sixteen double daiquiris?”

Or do I want to go to Key West and drink sixteen Coronas? Sara didn’t know she had that option.

“Mac?”

I looked at her. “The crews and fishermen are meeting at a place called Dos Hermanos at eleven.”

“That’s a famous old seafarers’ bar.”

“Jack asked if we’d like to meet them there.”

“We can’t do that.”

I leaned toward her. “Jack says he can get us onboard The Maine tonight.”

Sara looked at me.

“The fleet sails for Cayo Guillermo at first light. The Maine will sail for Key West.”

She stayed silent awhile, processing that, then asked, “What did you tell Jack?”

“I told him not to expect us. But he said I should ask you. So I’m asking.”

“I thought we made the decision to push on.”

“We did.”

“All right... what has changed?”

“Someone offered us a ride home.”

She seemed to be considering this and asked, “How do you know we can get on the boat?”

I explained about the blank visitor passes. I added, “Sort of like the letters of transit that Bogie gave Bergman and her husband. Just fill in the names.”

She nodded absently.

I continued, “We have everything we need with us — passport, visa, and bribe money.” To give her all the info she needed to make a decision I also told her, “Jack gave me my Glock, which I’ll ditch before we go through security. And let me remind you that Eduardo is on the boat, and he needs to go back to Miami.” And finally, I reminded her, “If the tournament gets cancelled, the fleet will be heading home in the morning and we’ll be in Cuba without a boat.”

The guitarists were serenading a young couple who were holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. I looked at my watch, then at Sara. “We need a decision.”

“I’m... weighing the pros and cons.”

“The reasons for scrubbing this mission far outweigh the reasons for going ahead. But that’s not how you’re going to make this decision.”

“Call for the check.”

I signaled the waiter for the check, paid in cash, and we left Little Florida, perhaps to go to Big Florida.

She asked me, “Where is the gun?”

“In a fanny pack around my waist.”

“Is that why you wanted to meet Jack?”

“No. But maybe it’s why he wanted to meet me. And maybe Eduardo being onboard is why you didn’t want me to meet Jack.”

“I was as surprised as you were.”

“Life is full of surprises.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Some pleasant, some not.”

“Indeed. Where are we going now?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Calle Obispo was a pedestrian street and we walked past her grandfather’s bank, where this all started fifty-five years ago, and came to the corner where a few cabs waited for tourists. We climbed into a Coco cab and the driver asked, “A dónde vas?”

Good question.

Sara replied, “Hotel Parque Central, por favor.”

“Good decision,” I said.

“And the right one.”

That remained to be seen.

Sunday was not a day of rest nor a day of worship unless you worship an air-conditioned Chinese bus.

Our itinerary had us on a road trip to a city called Matanzas, a hundred kilometers east of Havana, and Sara and I sat together as the bus pulled away from the Parque Central, our home away from home.

The morning had started off with two messages: a phone message from Jack, a.k.a. Cristo, saying, “My flight is on time,” and an announcement from Tad saying, “Antonio won’t be joining us today.”

Regarding Jack’s message, Sara saw this as a sign that she’d made the right decision last night and that the mission was back on track. I wasn’t sure Jack would agree. In any case, I hope he got laid last night.

Regarding the news that Antonio was AWOL today, Sara asked, rhetorically, “Where do you think he is?”

Well, hopefully he got run over by a Coco cab. Or shot by a jealous boyfriend, thereby saving me the trouble. On the other hand, be careful what you wish for. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting Antonio tonight, but neither did I want him dead before I heard what he had to say.

Sara, however, said, “I don’t think we should go to that bar tonight.”

Well, if we were on The Maine now, heading to Key West, she wouldn’t have to worry about that.

“Mac?”

“That’s how we left it with him.”

“I’m wondering why he didn’t tell us he had today off.”

“Ask him when you see him.”

“I think tonight is a trap and he didn’t want to... interact with us today.”

“Interesting logic. But you could make the opposite case. If tonight is a trap, Antonio would be on this bus reminding us about cocktails at seven.”

She had no reply.

In fact, though, she could be right. Antonio seemed like a guy who didn’t have the cojones to look you in the eye before he gave you the kiss of death. Judas had more balls.

Also missing today was José, our driver, and a guy named Lope was subbing for him. If I were paranoid, I’d say Lope was actually subbing for Antonio. Another week in this place and I’ll start to think my dick is reporting to the police.

The bus rolled through the quiet Sunday streets of Havana and Sara put her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.

We’d slept together in my room, and this morning I gave her a quick tutorial on how to fire the Glock. Pull the trigger. The Army women I’d dated considered a gun a fashion accessory, but with most civilian women it was best to keep the gun out of sight when you dressed or undressed. Sara, however, was happy that I was armed, though she understood that the gun totally blew our cover as innocent tourists.

There was no safe place to stash the Glock except on my person — or Sara’s — so I had it with me now in Jack’s fanny pack along with the three loaded magazines. Hopefully, there’d be no occasion today for the policía to inquire about the contents of my butt bag.

Sara had advised me last night, “You can’t take the gun to our meeting with Antonio. If it’s a trap, the gun is all the evidence the police need to turn us over to a military tribunal.”

Right. You can bullshit your way out of a lot of things, but getting caught with a gun wasn’t one of them in Cuba.

Also last night, while we were discussing evidence of our crimes against the state, Sara explained to me the alterations she’d made to the treasure map. They were fairly simple, basically reversing a few double-digit numbers, and as a former infantry officer well-trained in map reading, I was sure that I — if I was on my own — could follow this map to where X marked the cave.

We were on the coastal road now, heading east toward Matanzas. The countryside was very pristine — no gas stations or outlet malls, no motels, and no billboards advertising a pick-your-own-mango farm. Also, the countryside seemed sparsely populated and many of the farm houses appeared abandoned, as were the fields around them. Off in the distance I saw a field being plowed by a farmer with two oxen.

Antonio wasn’t onboard to tell us about the new five-year agriculture plan, so Tad stood and gave the group some uncensored info, telling us that agriculture in Cuba had regressed to the nineteenth century, validating my opinion that the organic farm we’d visited was a pile of bullshit.

Professor Nalebuff was onboard, and he offered more subversive information. “Cuba’s last financial lifeline was Venezuela, whose socialist government kept Cuba afloat with oil money. But the price of oil has fallen, and Venezuela, like Cuba, is an economic basket case.” He added, “Ironically, Cuba’s last real hope is U.S. tourism and trade.”