It was too early for dinner and too late to go downtown so I went to the pool instead. I put in some laps and then worked on my tan. It had faded since the canceled movie.
I ended up having a nice nap but was awakened by a young lady, not really so young, mid-twenties or so. I had been lying on my stomach for a while and was starting to turn pink. She didn’t think I should go beyond medium-rare.
I appreciated the wake up, but the way she looked at me when she talked about steak scared the heck out of me. The first thing I thought of was Russian honeypot. What a bummer, a teenage boy shouldn’t have to worry about such things.
After thanking her and having a drink for her and her two friends put on my tab I bailed for my room. It was now late enough I showered and put on fresh clothes to go to Little Havana to find a good restaurant.
I took a taxi as I didn’t know the area and parking would be a problem. I was dropped off at Calle Ocho where it met with the Tamiami Trail. From there I walked the boulevard towards town. I don’t know if it really was a boulevard by name but it looked like one.
There were restaurants, bars, and stores galore. They cheerfully overlapped the sidewalk and in some cases the road. It was colorful and with no sense of coordination between stores. It was like they had moved Havana, Cuba to Miami.
There were people all over the place. The only English I heard was spoken by a few tourists. Spanish was the language of the day. The accent wasn’t as soft as mine and they talked about ten times faster. I could follow okay, just like I could follow someone from New York, I just couldn’t speak that fast myself.
There was one little café that attracted me. They had food and drink. Half the tables outside were taken up by domino players. I had noticed this before. If you were from one of the Caribbean Islands you played the game with a passion.
Each table would have players and watchers. I noticed a few bills changing hands. I can play the game, but not with these sharks.
My waitress asked for my order in English. I gave it in Spanish. I swear this got me better service. I had a leisurely meal and a cup of Cuban coffee afterward. If you have never had it, it has a kick like a horse. You drink it in a small cup and don’t be shy about the cream.
I listened to those talking around me. They were all excited about the invasion force that was training to retake Cuba from Castro. They were training down in Nicaragua. These guys were talking openly about the 1400 armed soldiers and the B-26 Bombers which would be painted as belonging to the Cuban air force.
They spoke about how the US Air Force would provide fighter support for the bombers.
If this was true there was an intelligence leak of mammoth proportions. I decided to call someone in Washington first thing in the morning.
After my meal, I walked on down the Boulevard several blocks and had another cup of coffee. Not only did I pick up the same information I heard a name I was familiar with. One of the CIA trainers was supposedly Rip Robertson. He was the guy who was going to teach me how to spot a tail.
I had to call DC. It sounded like this operation was doomed before it started.
I took a taxi back to the hotel. This was one of the few nights where I didn’t have a good night’s sleep. I was awake at first light so I went for a run on the beach. It was a wonderful time to be out. There were others taking a stroll and a few like me running full bore.
I kept on the hard-packed sand next to the water. After putting in five miles I returned to the hotel and used their exercise equipment. It was a little lightweight from what I was used to but did the trick.
After cleaning up and a hearty breakfast I called the White House. Not messing around I went straight to the top. The President wasn’t available but I did get to talk to his Chief of Staff. I had the feeling I had better back channel this some other way as he didn’t appear to take me seriously.
I asked to be put back to the White House switchboard but got ‘lost’ in the transfer. I called back and asked to be connected with Mr. Gerry Droller of the CIA.
I was put on hold for a few minutes, probably to see if it was okay for me to be transferred. I was finally put through. I found out that it had taken so long because he was in Paris.
He remembered me and my connections so gave me the courtesy of hearing me out. He told me that he wasn’t read in on that operation but if what I was telling him was factual they had a big problem. He would take it from there, the whole thing might be a disinformation ploy, so please don’t rock the boat.
I told him I wouldn’t. This didn’t mean I wouldn’t call Mum in a few hours after she had her morning tea. Mum was like most women, an Angel, but if you broke her wings she still would fly on her broomstick. Talking before morning tea was breaking wings. She could rock the boat.
When I talked to Mum she told me that I had done all I could. Trying to do more and I would be causing myself problems with the different government agencies involved. They had to know
