“What?” the other two men gasped in unison.
“They’re gonna do it again. No air cover. No backup. No admission. It’s all happening again. Just like mi abuelo.”
“What the fuck’re you talking about, Al?” Crawford growled.
“Look, we’re all under stress,” Brinkley said, showing his palms. “Let’s all calm down.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen again,” Alejandro said. “That was the whole goddamn point.”
“Shut up, Al!” Brinkley hissed.
“They’re going to abandon us,” Alejandro said. “Just like our grandfathers.”
“No they’re not!” Brinkley insisted.
“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Crawford narrowed his eyes in a mix of confusion and anger.
“Nobody’s leaving anyone,” Brinkley said. “This isn’t 1961.”
31.
U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY, 5:04 P.M.
I’m missing something, Judd thought to himself. He took a step back to examine his puzzle. He had tacked photos of the four Americans up on a whiteboard: Dennis Dobson, Brinkley Barrymore III, Crawford Jackson, Alejandro Cabrera. Who are these guys? What are they up to?
Landon Parker had asked Judd to help find a way to get them back without appearing to talk directly to the Cuban government. Judd was supposed to initiate a backchannel while Assistant Secretary Melanie Eisenberg was the public face of the U.S. government. So far, Eisenberg hadn’t been saying much. She was playing diplomatic chess, waiting out the Cubans to see their next move. Hoping it would all go away so she could resume with her plans for diplomatic normalization. But what was Parker’s angle? “I need creative thinking, Ryker!” Parker had insisted. But it didn’t quite add up.
What am I missing? Judd wondered. He scrawled the name RICHARD GREEN in a box next to ALEJANDRO CABRERA and drew a solid line connecting the two men. Next, he printed a photo of Ruben Sandoval that he had found on the Internet, wrote his name underneath the picture, and attached it to the board with another solid line to Green. Above all the pictures, he wrote CUBA in a large red circle and drew dotted lines connecting the circle to Cabrera and Sandoval. He still had one more clue. In the upper corner he scribbled his best drawing of the White House and then connected dotted lines to Sandoval.
Judd stood back again and visualized the web he had just created. Maybe this was nothing? Maybe he was imagining some grander network that didn’t really exist? A lost fisherman and his beer buddies, a Florida drifter, a yoga and juice bar tycoon, a connection to the White House. This all sounded crazy. He certainly couldn’t mention any of this to Landon Parker. Judd considered wiping the whiteboard clean and starting over. He grabbed the eraser and was about to swipe when the White House gave him pause. If there was anything meaningful here, anything really treacherous, it would be the link to someone powerful. If these men were really all linked, then who was this Ruben Sandoval? Was he a power broker or a pawn? Who would know?
Judd smacked himself on the forehead. Of course. He dialed a number.
A few seconds later, his phone erupted. “Judd, darling!”
“Hello, Mariana. I’m sorry to call out of the blue.”
“Not at all, my darling,” responded Mariana Leibowitz, the Washington lobbyist who had worked closely with Judd on his missions to Mali and Zimbabwe. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“Where are you?” Judd asked.
“I’m still in Zimbabwe. I’m here with Gugu.”
“You mean President Mutonga? Are you celebrating her victory?”
Mariana laughed. “Yes, President Gugu Mutonga. Of course! I don’t think I’ve slept at all since Monday, my dear! What a ride!”
“I’m sorry I missed the party,” Judd said.
“Party? Oh, Judd, you’re sweet. We’ve been up for days because we’ve been working! The president doesn’t want to waste any time. It’s almost midnight here and we’re still in the president’s office. We’re going to roll out her plan for the first one hundred days in the morning. A national television and radio address. Gugu’s gonna bring it!”
“That’s great. I’m doubly sorry to call, then.”
“What is it?”
“I need your help, Mariana.”
“Of course you do, darling. I’m impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“We just finished Zimbabwe and you’re already onto another crisis,” she said.
“Well, not really. I have to navigate a problem in Washington and—”
“Of course, darling,” she said, “after all we’ve been through.”
“Do you know Ruben Sandoval?”
“Not personally,” she said.
“But you do know of him?”
“Of course, Judd! What kind of lobbyist would I be without keeping a pulse on the heavy hitters?”
“Who is he? Who’s he backing?”
“A better question is, who isn’t he backing?”
“So one of them’s the President?” Judd asked.
“Of course.”