Sara seemed almost unaware that we’d been hit, but then she realized something was different and she got slowly to her feet and started coming toward the cabin. Behind her, I saw smoke from the engine — but no fire.
Everything seemed to go silent, and I heard the waves and the wind, and the firing from the Stenka seemed to have stopped. I looked out at the horizon and saw in the far distance the Stenka’s running lights coming toward us. He should reach us in about ten minutes. Which was enough time to go to Plan B. Whatever that was.
I looked at Jack, but he had nothing to say except, “Shit.”
Sara looked at me and I said, “Sorry.” I thought a moment, then said, “The captain will stay with the ship. You will all abandon ship now.” I also said, “Good luck.”
But no one was moving from the cabin.
Jack said, “We all go together, or we all stay onboard together.”
Felipe spoke first and said, “I’m staying onboard.”
Sara said, “I will not be captured. I’m going into the sea.” She looked at me. “And you’re coming with me.”
Jack said, “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I want a hand to bury those... those remains at sea.”
So we all went out on the deck and Jack and I lifted the steamer trunk by its handles and rested it on the gunnel.
Sara said a prayer for the dead that began with, “Heavenly Father,” and ended with, “we commend the souls of these brave men into your hands.”
Jack and I were about to tip the trunk over the side when we both heard a familiar sound and looked out at the horizon. Coming toward us from the north, a few hundred feet away, and not fifty feet above the water, were two huge helicopters. I recognized their profiles as Black Hawks.
They tipped their rotor blades, then turned east toward the Stenka.
One of them fired a long stream of red tracers across the sky, his way of saying to the Stenka’s captain, “Game over. Go home.”
The other Black Hawk turned and came toward us and I saw a big rescue basket hanging from a line below the open door.
We pulled the trunk back onboard, but no one had anything to say until Sara said, “We’re all going home. Together.”
Apparently this was true.
Part IV
Chapter 55
So this guy walks into a bar and says, “Corona. Hold the lime.”
And the bartender replies, “Lime’s on me.”
The cocktail hour in the Green Parrot begins when the doors open and ends when the lights go out. It was 2 A.M. on Monday morning and the lights were about to go out.
The place was nearly empty, so Amber had time to chat. “How was Cuba?”
“It was okay.”
“How were the people?”
“Most of them were okay.” A few tried to kill me, but why mention it?
“You have pictures?”
“No.” Well, yes, on my cell phone, but my cell phone was in my backpack and my backpack was at the bottom of the ocean.
Amber pushed a bowl of corn chips toward me. “I haven’t seen Jack around.”
“He’s off the island.”
“How’d he do in the tournament?”
“Came in second.”
“Good.” She asked, “Did you see him there?”
“No.”
She said, “You heard that they cancelled the last few days of the Pescando tournament.”
“I heard.”
“And they kicked out a tour group.”
I’ll bet I know which group.
“Weren’t you with a group?”
“I was. But then I did independent travel.”
“Did it feel dangerous?”
“Well... I guess it could be. But not for the average tourist.”
“I thought the Cubans wanted better relations.”
“We all have a ways to go.”
She changed the subject. “What are you going to do now, Mac?”
“I was thinking about retiring.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Me too.” She said, “Couple of captains asked me if you were available.”
“I think I’ve had enough of the sea.”
“Lots of guys say that.”
They must also have been shot at by Cuban gunboats.
A guy at the end of the bar wanted another drink and Amber moved off.
I sipped my Corona. It had been five days since my Black Hawk ride to Coast Guard Station Islamorada on Plantation Key. It’s a bit of a blur, but I do remember the second Black Hawk firing a rocket into The Maine and she exploded, burned, and went down. I don’t think I was supposed to see that, and when I asked about it at Islamorada, a Coast Guard officer told me the boat was a hazard to navigation and had to be sent to the bottom. Actually, as I came to understand, The Maine — Fishy Business — was evidence that needed to be buried at sea. She deserved a better fate.
Amber came back and said, “Kitchen’s dumping some fries and wings. You want some?”
“I’m okay.”
Amber looked at me. “You lost some weight. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. How’ve you been?”
“Good.” She found her cigarettes behind the bar. “Mind if I smoke?”
“It’s your bar.”
“I wish.” She lit up and blew a nice smoke ring. She asked, “Did you make it to Fantasy Fest?”
“Missed it.”
“How come?”
“I wasn’t back yet.”
Actually, I was a guest of the Coast Guard on Plantation Key. Along with Jack, Felipe, and Sara. They said we needed medical attention. Actually, only Jack did. The X-ray showed a cracked rib. No big deal. So we wanted out of there, but a Coast Guard doctor said we were quarantined for seventy-two hours, though we were actually being held incommunicado.
On day two, a guy named Keith, who had been with us on the Black Hawk, told us that the Cuban government had implicated me, Sara, Jack, and Felipe in a criminal act that might include murder. This was not good news, but also not unexpected.
The Black Hawks, by the way, were unmarked, as was Keith, and they had nothing to do with the Coast Guard. Keith was in fact a CIA officer, though he never actually said that.
Regarding the murder charges, Keith assured us that we had no extradition treaty with Cuba and this matter could drag on for years. Or be settled diplomatically. In the meantime, Keith was interested in what happened and he needed statements from us, which we said we were happy to give with our lawyers present.
I thought back to what happened in the mangrove swamp. Murder? I could make a case for justifiable homicide. Or even lawful combat. The Guarda Frontera guys were not civilians, and they were armed. On the other hand, I wasn’t a soldier anymore, and we were not at war with Cuba. But... it was Cuba. If the same thing had happened in Sweden, I’d have surrendered. Instead I’d used deadly force. Which was why I was here having a beer at the Green Parrot, and those guys in the mangrove swamp were dead. I did feel some remorse, as well I should. One Human Family. But I would eventually come to terms with what happened in Cuba as I did with what happened in Afghanistan. And as Jack did with Vietnam. Survival is a strong instinct, surrender is not an option, and all combat is justifiable homicide. But you pay a price.
Amber broke into my thoughts. “That guy Carlos who you met here last month came around a few days ago looking for you. Said he went to your house, but you weren’t there.”