Felipe looked doubtful, thinking, I’m sure, about his side trip into the mangrove swamp, rough seas, winds, and maybe outmaneuvering a faster patrol boat.
“Or close enough,” I said. “We’ll be in international waters in less than an hour, and U.S. waters in about six hours.”
He nodded, but we both knew we didn’t want to be towed in by the Coast Guard. Not only was it embarrassing, but if they had to tow us they might also ask questions. Like, “Where were you and what do you have onboard?” Or, “Are those bullet holes in your hull?”
Well, that was a worry that wasn’t worth worrying about. We should be so lucky as to get that far.
Chapter 52
I decided we could all actually use another drink, though I insisted it be beer. You can’t get drunk on beer.
I glanced at my watch. We’d been here close to an hour, and though we weren’t attracting attention, we should think about splitting up — Sara to the room, and me nursing a beer and keeping an eye on the Buick. Felipe needed to go back to the marina.
Our beers came — Coronas — and we clinked bottles and Sara said, “To a happy voyage home.”
Anchors aweigh.
Felipe took a piece of folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Sara. “That’s the map. It’s easy. You go west on the beach road for about two miles and you’ll see a sign on the left that says ‘Swamp Tours.’ It’s about a half mile on the dirt road to the dock.”
That sounded close to where I’d taken my siesta in the thick brush. “Anybody go there at night?”
“I checked it out two nights ago at eleven. No one there.”
I had to admit that Felipe was competent. Or he was a jerk-off who was motivated. I mean, like Jack, Sara, and me, he was putting his life on the line, so he had motivation to keep his head out of his ass. And why, I wondered, had he volunteered for this? I’m sure for the money. And maybe for the cause. But also because he couldn’t stay in Miami while his girlfriend was risking her life in Cuba. She might think less of him. Or even cheat on him.
I asked him, “How do you get around the island?”
“Everyone rented bicycles. That’s how I got here.”
“And Jack’s with the boat now?”
He nodded. “Someone has to stay onboard.” He explained, “The Cubans are not thieves, but they take things.”
I could use that line at the Green Parrot. “Any problems with the guns onboard?”
“They’re still there.” He complained again, “We have to tip the Guarda Frontera every time we cast off and tie up, and we make donations to keep them off the tournament boats.”
Fishing for peace was expensive. “Any mechanical issues?”
“I would have told you.”
We were in a little bit of a pissing match, which we would not be in if Sara were named Steve. Men are assholes.
Felipe took a key card out of his pocket, gave it to Sara, and said, “You go first. Room 318. I’ll be up shortly.” He looked at me. “And you can watch the car. Then it’s your turn to use the room.” He asked, “Is that okay?”
Actually, no. “Let’s finish our business here.”
“What else do you need to know?”
“How was the fishing?”
“It’s been excellent.” He let me know, “We were in third place, but today we’re in second.”
“Congratulations.” Jack has an uncanny knack for finding fish. “Too bad you can’t stay a few more days.”
He smiled, then looked at the key, which Sara had put on the table. He really wanted to get laid.
I glanced at her and saw she was... tense? I think, too, that Felipe was baiting us. Or running a test.
I asked him, “How was the Pescando Por la Paz received here?”
“There were a few government press photographers when we arrived. But no one is covering the tournament. Why?”
Sara replied, “We were worried that the fleet might be kicked out of Cuba.”
Felipe nodded. “Well, that would have left you both high and dry.” He asked, “What would you have done?”
Fucked our brains out until we figured out how to get out of Cuba. “I was thinking we could make it to Guantánamo by land.”
He thought about that. “That’s possible.” He added, “But the question is now moot.”
How could she love a man who said “moot”? I asked Felipe, “Did Jack mention my concern about the police connecting me to Fishy Business?”
Felipe looked at me. “He did, and we made sure that none of the other fishermen mentioned to anyone that Fishy Business used to be The Maine, and we asked all the crews to tell us if anyone came around asking questions.”
“Okay.” Glad Jack remembered. He, too, was motivated — by money and survival. The money wasn’t there anymore, but survival is a good motivator by itself.
I said to Felipe, “You understand that the police in Havana could be making this connection right now, and calling the police in Cayo Guillermo as we speak.”
Felipe had no reply, but I thought he went a little pale.
“Also, I have to tell you — if Jack didn’t — that Sara and I came to the attention of the police in Havana.”
He nodded, as though Jack had filled him in.
“And now that we’ve disappeared from our tour group, the police will be looking for us.” I also told him, “And the Buick could be hot by now. So if there’s any way we can move up the sail time, I suggest we do it.”
He nodded. “I’ll... check the tide table again... but...”
“Is there a public phone you can use at the marina?”
“There is...”
It was time to get rid of Felipe, and I said to him, “Okay, so you need to return to the boat now, brief Jack, then leave a message here at the front desk for Jonathan Mills. That’s me. The message will be to meet for drinks at the Sol Club, at whatever time you think you can get The Maine into the mangrove swamp. Shoot for ten P.M. You have a depth finder. Also, if you are in the custody of the police, use the words ‘coming storm’ when you call. Meanwhile, get the boat out of the marina, ASAP. And if you see police cars at the marina, you can assume they’re there for you, and you’ll pedal your ass back here and we’ll get in the Buick and try to get across the causeway.” I added, “And make sure Jack is pedaling with you.” My instructions to him were so chilling that I’d scared myself.
Felipe looked more pale and nodded.
“If I don’t see you or hear from you in twenty minutes, tops, I’ll assume you are in the custody of the police, and Sara and I will be heading for the causeway. And you — and Jack — will hold up well under police questioning, to give Sara and me time to get to the mainland.” I looked at him. “Understand?”
He seemed to have zoned out, but then he looked at me and said, “Maybe we should all get on the boat now. I think I can get you onboard without—”
“We’re really trying to avoid interaction with the authorities, Felipe. We and the car may be hot.” I also reminded him, “We have cargo. And we can’t have the border guards looking at it.”
“Leave it.”
Sara said sharply, “We will not leave it.”
I stood. “Time to go. We’ll see you — sooner or later.” I added, “Vaya con Dios.”
He stood, and we made eye contact. He definitely understood he wasn’t going to have sex in Cuba with his girlfriend, and I think he knew why — and it wasn’t for the reasons I’d just laid out.
He took a deep breath, glanced at Sara, then said to me, “I never liked this idea of me being on the boat and you being with Sara.”
“Well, we all have different skill sets.”