with a grave face came on deck. He didn't look happy.
'He don't like Americans, that one,' Earl said.
'It's his training, that's all. He'll do what I say. He admires me. He thinks I'm a hero, the young fool.'
'Dumb kids.'
'We'll drop you at Key West by tomorrow afternoon. Then you're on your own.'
'Much appreciated.'
'Don't mention it. Though I must say, you owe me for one perfectly fine handkerchief. That was one of my favorites.'
'I'm a little short on cash. You'll take a check, won't you?'
'Cash, check, pesos, rubles, pounds, lira, I'll take anything, old man. A fabulous shot, by the way.'
'I was to kill him and wound you.'
'Why didn't you do it, Swagger? Look at the trouble it's caused you.'
Earl merely smiled.
They reached the craft, and leapt the foot of space between it and the dock. Earl landed, felt a tremble as the craft vibrated under his weight. He looked back and saw nothing but blackness, in the distance a blaze of light from Old Havana.
'That way, Swagger,' said the Russian, pointing across the water.' By motor we run that passage out of the harbor, between the Presidential Palace and the Morro Fortress. It's a small thing, and we are done, in open waters. Nobody can stop us. You go home. I guess I'll find a place to go. Too many people have noticed me. Your girlfriend was able to find me, so it's time to move on.'
He wore a linen suit coat over a peasant's white shirt and pants, and a pair of ropey sandals. His face was brown from all that time in the mountains, and he was still sinewy, lithe, quick, peppery and full of laughter. He turned.
'Orlov, let's put out. No point in waiting.'
Orlov nodded and shouted orders. The crew scampered to unlash the mooring lines and the boat floated out, three, four, five, then seven feet from the dock. Orlov started a motor, it coughed, spat the odor of smoke and gasoline, then ever so gently began to propel the boat ahead, gliding across the black water, while the men hurried to this or that task.
No one told him what to do, so alone Earl went up to the prow, settled against some kind of crate padded in netting, and lit a Camel. The craft seemed to pick up speed as the young lieutenant navigated it across the black water, and skillfully followed channel markers until reaching the narrows. At a certain point, two men unfurled the sails, which filled with a breeze, and the boat scooted ahead, knifing the water.
Then Cuba itself closed in around them again, until it was but a hundred yards off on either side. But no one hailed them, no lights came on, no sound arose. The country rushed by in perfect darkness.
Earl looked left and even at this late hour the Presidential Palace blazed brightly, lit up, its columns proclaiming a grandeur that really didn't exist now, if it ever had. More menacing were the forts that guard the harbor entrance and bulked up on either side of the channel, military structures with heavy walls and openings for guns to protect against invasion. The Morro was the most imposing of them.
But then the forts slid past and the open sea beckoned, black against the inky blue of the night sky. The sea was empty, unmarked by lights signifying other ships upon it. The sky vaulted huge above them, smeared with crazed pinwheels of stars that radiated enough light to glint on the black surface. The bite of air was fresh and cold and nothing tainted filled it, no stench of garbage or fuel or human pathos.
Someone settled next to him; it was, of course, the Russian.
'We'll run hard to Florida, north by northeast. As I said, by midafternoon. It's a short trip across. Key West, and you're home. What will you do?'
'Nothing. Catch a bus back to my farm. Be with my wife and my boy. Do my job.'
'Don't mix with these fellows or in these matters again. Everybody's clever, nobody believes, nothing's what it seems. It'll be the death of you, I swear.'
'I've learned my lesson, believe me. Smoke?'
'Yes, thanks.'
Earl got out his Camels and snapped out a butt, which the Russian took. Earl pulled out his USMC Zippo and leaned forward, cupping the flame, and the Russian inhaled to draw on it, the flame flared, the cigarette glowed red, and the Russian settled back to enjoy the pleasure of the tobacco.
'You know,' he said, 'you Americans make a good cigarette, that I'll say. English cigarettes, shit. The French, they could learn a thing or two from you but still, not too bad. Cuba for cigars but America for?'
But he saw the American was not listening.
Instead he peered intently over the Russian's shoulder, back to land.
The Russian turned, and saw only the dark escarpment of the Havana seawall, above it the great avenue called the Malecon where a surprising amount of traffic coursed back and forth and all the restaurants and bars still glittered, for the city never really slept.
'What is it?' he asked.
'I walked all over Havana,' Earl said. 'We just passed Manrique, which intersects Zanja Street just down from the Shanghai Theater.'
'And?'
'And I saw a gumball.'
'What?'
'A police light. Blinking red. Way up Manrique, maybe all the way to Zanja. It's only a few blocks. It had to be at her apartment.'
'Her? Who are you talking about?'
'There was a cop car at Esmerelda's.'
'Oh. The whore.'
'Yes.'
'Police cars go to Chinatown all the night long. It is the nature of police cars to?'
'This boat, it has radio gear? Sophisticated radio gear, for overhearing conversations?'
'Swagger, I?'
'You know it does. You can listen to Havana police frequencies then.'
The Russian looked at him queerly.
'What on earth are you getting at? What possible difference can it make? All that is behind you now. You go to America, Orlov will drop me in Mexico and I'll find the soft route home. It's finished, the Cuban adventure.'
'Mr. Vurmoldt, please. Have the young officer monitor the cop frequencies. This late at night, all the boys chatter. I know, I do it myself. Tell me what you hear. Tell me what is going on.'
'Swagger, you are truly insane.'
'Mr. Vurmoldt, it's important. Please.'
Wearily the Russian rose. Swagger heard conversation behind him, some disagreement, and then the younger man turned the wheel over to a mate, and vanished beneath decks. The Russian followed.
Earl smoked and brooded. He sat alone at the prow of the boat and watched the horizon pitch this way and that. Sea spray hit him, and he wondered what to do.
Then the Russian found him.
'Well, I have the whole story. What do you want to know?'
'Everything. She helped me. She didn't have to. I knew I shouldn't have left.'
'One does what one must.'
'What happened?'
'There was a raid. The story is not pretty.'
'She's dead?'
'They shot her.'
'Oh, Christ,' he said.
'Eventually.'
Earl waited a second or two, but he had no choice in the matter, so he asked the next question.
'Eventually? What does that mean?'
