“I am calling on our own government to denounce in no uncertain terms this illegal action by Cuba. I am calling for the White House and the State Department to spare no effort to gain their release.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked down at her notes. “Even as we seek the freedom of these innocent husbands and fathers, we must also remember that the United States can never reward such acts of aggression. We cannot engage in direct talks with a regime that behaves in this manner. We cannot appease tyranny. We can never negotiate with terrorists.”
She looked directly into the camera. “I am therefore calling on the White House and State Department to immediately suspend any diplomatic negotiations until further notice. If necessary, we will reimpose sanctions on Cuba. If necessary, we will place them back on the list of state sponsors of terrorism. As the record shows, I strongly opposed the administration’s lifting of sanctions and the reestablishment of diplomatic relations. I take no pleasure in seeing my warnings come to pass. Our olive branches have only been interpreted by Havana as a sign of surrender. It can be no coincidence that just as the Cuban government believes we are weak, they undertake this latest escalation by kidnapping these innocent Americans. They are testing our resolve.
“But make no mistake, America is stronger than ever before. We will show Havana that we are unwavering in our pursuit of liberty. That there can be no compromise with democracy. No compromise with freedom. We will show the dictator in Cuba that his aggression will result in serious consequences.”
The chairwoman banged her fist on the podium. “There will be no direct talks with the Cuban government until these innocent men are released unconditionally and full democracy is restored. We will give the communists nothing in return for their safe release.”
Adelman-Zamora softened her scowl. “I am calling on all Americans to let our own government know that they stand with the Soccer Dad Four. That they stand with their families. And that they stand with the Cuban people who seek nothing less than their own freedom.”
An aide off camera handed her a white poster board. “The Free Cuba Congressional Caucus is calling on Americans to stand with us today by contacting your representatives, calling the State Department, and by expressing yourself on social media.” Adelman-Zamora flipped the sign and held it up to the camera: #freesoccerdad4.
20.
LONG KEY, FLORIDA
THURSDAY, 11:19 A.M.
Jessica Ryker drove the rented white convertible Ford Mustang over the bridge, departing Long Key. The waters of the Florida Keys reminded her of Jamaica, the lonely palm trees hanging precariously over the clear blue seas and sugar-white sand. It was a warm, cloudless day. She should have been enjoying this drive through paradise. Instead, she was pissed off.
Jessica had been in the car for the past two and a half hours, driving south from Fort Lauderdale, then taking Route 1, a series of two-lane bridges connecting the archipelago of the Florida Keys. The bridges began just south of Homestead on the mainland and then ran for more than a hundred miles. Route 1 eventually reached a dead end at Key West, the southernmost point on the continental United States. Just ninety miles from Cuba. But Jessica wasn’t going all the way to Key West today.
She had been yanked off the Fort Lauderdale beach that morning by the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. She was ordered to drive to Marathon, about halfway along the Keys, to find out what she could about what had happened to a fishing boat seized by the Cubans. Her first thought had been Cuba?
—
A few minutes after she had hung up the phone with the Deputy Director, an elderly lady in a white housecoat and a long leopard-print sun visor had arrived at the beach.
“Hello, Jessica my dear,” she had said warmly.
“Aunt Lulu? Is that you?” Jessica replied to a face she had never seen before.
“Yes, dear. How lovely to see you and the boys. Noah and Toby have gotten so big.”
Jessica had coughed as her two sons had stared with quizzical looks at the strange old woman who had suddenly invaded their space. “Toby, Noah,” she said slowly, “this is your Auntie Lulu. You haven’t seen her for a very long time.”
Both boys had stared up emotionlessly at the old woman.
“She’s going to help you make a sand castle while mommy runs an errand. Auntie Lulu will then take you to lunch and I’ll meet you all back at the house later today. Okay?”
Toby shrugged and returned to digging holes in the sand. Noah’s eyes watered.
“Oh, baby, be brave. Auntie Lulu will take good care of you. And I’ll be back before you know it. She’ll take you for pizza.”
“That’s right, dear,” Lulu had said with a broad smile.
“Pizza,” Noah had said, choking back tears.
—