“If you’re just joining us now,” Wolf Blitzer continued. “Here’s what we know. Around five-thirty last night, a distress signal was sent out to the U.S. Coast Guard by a private American fishing boat reporting they were under attack by a Cuban naval vessel. Contact was lost with the fishing boat several minutes later. This morning, four men who appear to be American citizens were shown on Cuban state television. We have this brief clip.”
On the screen, four middle-aged men, in handcuffs and orange jumpsuits, were shown being led by a uniformed soldier from a gray concrete-block building and hustled into a van with blacked-out windows. They marched in order: a tall Caucasian with wispy blond hair, a muscular black man with a shaved head, and a pudgy Hispanic with a goatee. The fourth man, pale white, was shorter and skinnier than the others, his arm in a sling and his shoulder heavily bandaged.
“The missing vessel is The Big Pig, a fishing boat registered in the state of Florida to one Alejandro Cabrera of Rockville, Maryland. CNN is still confirming if Cabrera is one of the detained men. We are also seeking confirmation of the identities of the other men shown in the video, but we believe they are all from the suburbs of Washington, D.C. and were on a fishing trip. Their last-known location in the Florida Straits is an area popular for bonefishing. I’m turning now to our correspondent in Miami. Christina, what else do we know?”
“Thank you, Wolf. At this time, we don’t have much more on the exact timeline of events or the identities of the men. We don’t have any information about their condition either. However, from the clip broadcast this morning on Cuban state television, it is clear that one of the men has been injured.”
“CNN’s chief medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta has examined the video and told our producers that the bandages visible on the fourth man are consistent with a gunshot wound. Do we know if there were shots fired, Christina?”
“We don’t have any information about that, Wolf. The U.S. Coast Guard spokesman at Miami Beach Station did not release any details to me beyond confirming that an SOS message was received by the Coast Guard in Key West from a private fishing boat in the Florida Straits at approximately five-thirty p.m. last night. The Cuban government has not responded to CNN’s requests for further information about the incident or the detainees. We are also waiting for a statement from the State Department.”
“Fuck!” Parker hissed to himself.
“Do we know why the Cuban government would do this now, just as relations with the United States seem to be going so well? Why would they capture Americans and parade them on TV? What would they have to gain?”
“We don’t know what the Cuban government is thinking, Wolf . . .”
Parker snatched the remote control off his desk and flipped the channel to Fox News.
SOCCER DADS DETAINED IN COMMUNIST CUBA scrolled across the bottom of the screen, with a shot of the same four men.
“Fuck!” he shouted again, and threw the remote control across the room. “Where is the goddamn mission chief?”
His secretary opened the office door. “Ops is still tracking him down. Is there anyone else you want me to call? Assistant Secretary Eisenberg, perhaps?”
Parker glanced back at the screen. The announcer was urging viewers to follow events via #soccerdad4 on Twitter.
“What the fuck is bonefishing?”
“I have no idea, sir. Do you want me to call someone to find out?”
Parker sat down heavily into his chair and swiveled in a circle. After two spins, he stopped abruptly. “Get me Judd Ryker.”
17.
FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA
THURSDAY, 8:25 A.M.
The beach along the Fort Lauderdale strip was still quiet. The boardwalk was slowly filling up with runners in tight exercise clothes and neon-colored running shoes, darting between steady streams of elderly walkers in all whites and nursing-home shoes.
The sand was mostly abandoned. Jessica established camp as far from other beachgoers as she could, laid out two large white towels, a small red plastic cooler of drinks and bagel sandwiches, and set up a low-slung chair for herself. A few feet away, Toby and Noah, generously slathered in sunscreen, played noisily with buckets and shovels in the wet sand on the water’s edge. They dug a moat and built a high wall to try to protect their sand castle from the incoming waves.
Jessica watched her sons for a moment, then adjusted her peach-colored bikini top and settled into her chair. She dug her toes deep into the sugarlike warm white sand and stared up into the cloudless blue sky. She felt the light breeze through her hair.
This was just what she needed. A relaxing day on the beach with her sons. She tried to push any thoughts of the past few days, the past years, from her mind. No stress, no work. Just relax.
Jessica pulled Treasure Island out of her bag and opened to chapter one.
Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted . . .
Her phone buzzed. She groaned but decided she had to check it. On the screen flashed DANIEL DOLLAR, her code name for the Deputy Director. What could he want? Against her better judgment, she pushed ANSWER.