completely sanitized-repainted, recarpeted, the works. A young officer and his new bride had been living there for the past three weeks. The military wasn’t exactly making it easy for Lindsey’s lawyers to follow the investigative trail.
“I want to apologize,” said Sofia as they walked to their gate.
“For what?” said Jack.
“For making this trip so difficult.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything.”
“Sure I did. I got their backs up before we even got here. That JAG lawyer specifically mentioned the comments I made on television after Lindsey’s indictment. They clearly are being more difficult because of my suggestion that Oscar may have been killed as part of a government cover-up.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over that.”
“I should have just kept my mouth shut.”
“The decision to transfer all those potential witnesses to another base was made at a very high level. Even if you hadn’t said anything, they’d be playing these games. An officer in the United States Marine Corps was murdered, and you and I defend the woman whom they believe is the killer. That’s all the reason they need to launch into combat readiness.”
She gave him a tight smile, as if still embarrassed by her television performance but grateful for Jack’s words.
They found a couple of open seats near the gate. Sofia read a magazine, but Jack was thinking about Lindsey Hart. After all, it was Lindsey, in her newspaper interview with the Guantanamo Gazette, who’d first gone public with the theory that Oscar was murdered because he “knew too much.” In Jack’s eyes, that theory had been a stretch from the get-go.
It was even more of a stretch if Lindsey was dialing for dead people on her cell phone.
“Gum?” said Sofia.
“Thanks,” said Jack.
At three P.M., they were still waiting at the gate in Havana. Jack had brought a few books and magazines from Miami for the flight, but with the detour through Havana, he’d purposely left them in the path of a janitor and his broom. The guy probably couldn’t read English, and he looked too proud for handouts, but he had a wedding ring on his finger and dirt under his nails, so Jack figured he could probably use the Treasury Department-issued Andrew Jackson bookmarks that Jack had left inside.
Nothing to read. No CNN on the tube. No cell phones or laptop computer to check e-mails. The chewing gum lost its flavor in thirty seconds, and Jack kept himself busy folding the empty foil back into its original rectangular shape and trying to reinsert it into the paper sleeve. The flight to Cancun was already more than an hour late in boarding. Once in Mexico, they’d catch another flight for the final leg to Miami. Jack was sitting close enough to the check-in counter to notice dozens of other Americans with the same itinerary, all with great suntans, all without travel licenses-and all in defiance of the U.S. government’s trade embargo against Cuba.
“Lots of yanquis here,” said Jack.
Sofia had her nose in her magazine. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t understand it. How do they not get into trouble when they pass through U.S. customs with ‘ Cuba ’ stamped in their passport?”
“Simple. You fly to Cancun, then you hop another flight to Havana. The Cuban immigration guys know enough not to stamp your passport, but just make sure you put a ten-dollar bill inside when you hand it to them. You fly back to Cancun when you’re done, then back to the States. The U.S. government has no way of knowing that you were partying till dawn every night at the Copacabana. They think you were in Cancun. Honest to God, it’s that easy.”
“Sounds like the only idiots who get caught are the ones who come back with one of those goofy souvenirs that says, ‘My parents went to Cuba and all I got was this stupid T-shirt.’ ”
“Pretty much. Why do you think this trade embargo is such a joke?”
“Just bugs me,” said Jack. “People like those two slobs over there.”
“What about them?”
“I was listening to them when I bought my coffee. They were practically tripping over their own tongues, talking about how cheap and beautiful the girls are in Havana. Of course they’re cheap, you morons. Their own government is starving them to death.”
“You surprise me, Swyteck. It’s refreshing to know somebody who actually gives a rat’s ass about the girls with no choice but to come to the big city and sell their bodies to tourists.”
“I surprise a lot of people. My mother was Cuban.”
“Really? Tu hablas espanol?” Do you speak Spanish?
“Si. Lo aprendi cuando yo era un escurridero.” Yes, I learned it when I was a drainpipe.
She chuckled and said, “I think you meant, when you were a schoolboy.”
“What did I say?”
She was still smiling. “You said it exactly right. I wouldn’t change a word of it.”
He knew she was lying, and he felt the urge to redeem himself by telling her that he understood the language better than he spoke it. But he let it go.
Sofia said, “Funny, I voted against your old man in two gubernatorial elections. I don’t recall hearing anything about his being married to a Latina.”
“My mother passed away when I was young. Just a few hours old, actually.”
“Oh, how awful. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Obviously it was a long time ago.”
“Was she born in Cuba?”
“Yes. A little town called Bejucal.”
“I’ve heard of it. That’s actually not far from here.”
“I know. I checked the map before coming over.”
“You ever consider going there?”
“Every now and then. Only lately have I gotten serious about it.” Jack opened his carry-on bag and removed a photograph from inside a zipped pouch. “This is her,” he said as he offered it to Sofia.
“You brought a photograph?”
“I have a few keepsakes that my father and grandmother gave me. Not sure why I brought it. Coming to Cuba for the first time, it just seemed right to have her with me.”
“She’s beautiful. Just a teenager here, I would guess.”
“Yes. Seventeen. It was the last picture taken of her in Cuba.”
“Who’s that with her?”
“On the back it says ‘Celia Mendez.’ One look at the picture tells you they were best friends, but I don’t know anything more than that. My grandmother doesn’t seem to want to talk about Celia very much. I get the impression that she didn’t approve of the friendship.”
“Abuelas,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “They all have their quirks, don’t they?”
“Some more than others,” said Jack.
A voice over the loudspeaker announced that their plane was finally boarding. Jack and Sofia rose and walked toward the gate with the other ticketed passengers. Twenty minutes later they were inside the plane and in their seats. A few passengers were trying to stuff luggage into the overhead compartments, but nearly everyone had settled in for the flight. Jack was just getting comfortable when he heard his name over the speaker. The message was in Spanish.
“Passengers Sofia Suarez and John Lawrence Swyteck, please identify yourselves by pushing the flight attendant call button.”
They looked at each other, not sure what to think. Then Jack reached up and pushed the button. The flight attendant came to them. “Please come with me,” she said in Spanish.
“Both of us?”
“Yes.”
They rose, but as they started up the aisle the flight attendant stopped and said, “Please, bring your carry-on luggage with you.”
