Jessica idled the engine and threw him a line, which he quickly attached to a cleat, and then he stood to take her hand to help her off the vessel. A young woman, also dressed in an all-white uniform, suddenly appeared, holding a tray of champagne flutes. “Welcome to Casa Libre,” she said. Energetic but soothing rhumba rhythms emanated from a band playing on the pool deck.
Jessica accepted the drink and followed the girl toward the house. Inside the parlor, voluptuous bronze women in bright pink cocktail dresses handed out drinks, while the crowd was a mix of trendy Latinos and elderly couples of all races. Along one side of the room, a long table was covered with pyramids of stone crab claws, rings of enormous shrimp, and giant wooden bowls of papaya, mango, and pineapple. Jessica stood in a strategic position by the back door, sipping her champagne, while she scanned the room. No one matched the photo of Ruben Sandoval.
She mingled among the crowd, making small talk about the hurricane season and real estate prices. She hated it. After nearly an hour, someone, mercifully, clink-clink-clinked his champagne glass, the band stopped playing, and the room hushed.
An older man stepped forward and smiled confidently at the room. His gray hair was combed over his scalp and he wore a black tailored suit over a bright red open-neck shirt, exposing a thick gold chain around his neck. The man raised his glass triumphantly.
“My friends, you are all welcome to Casa Libre! I hope you all enjoy yourselves this evening. But I must interrupt the fun for a moment to remind you why we are here tonight,” he said with a slight accent that hinted at a mix of both Latin America and the outer boroughs of New York City. “Our guest of honor has just arrived and she does not have much time with us tonight. We are so very honored to have her with us this evening. I am humbled to introduce one of America’s great leaders. She is the backbone of our people, a champion of freedom, and a friend of all of ours. She is just the person that we all need at this crucial time. And we are all here tonight because she also needs us. I am honored to welcome”—he paused, allowing the band a few beats for dramatic effect—“Congresswoman Brenda Adelman-Zamora!”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically as the congresswoman entered from a side hallway. Wearing a cream-colored pantsuit, she stopped and shook hands with each guest as she moved deliberately around the room, trailed by a young aide. When she arrived in front of Jessica, she warmly shook her hand as if they were old friends, “So lovely to see you again. That’s a stunning Von Furstenberg dress. And thank you for your support,” Adelman-Zamora said, then quickly moved to the next guest. Once she had greeted everyone, the room quieted and the congresswoman moved toward the center of the room.
“None of you are here tonight to hear a political speech, so I will be very brief, my friends. You are all here because you know of our fight. You are all here because you already know that the battle for freedom and democracy has not yet been won,” she said, shaking her head. Heads around the room all shook with hers.
“You are all here because you know that the forces of tyranny and evil still exist. You all know that in the face of oppression that the United States of America must stand strong. You are all here tonight because you know that we must remain firm, even as those around us waver in the battle.
“We all are here because we seek redemption for the families who have been ripped apart by those who deny human rights and human dignity. You are all here tonight to help bring brothers and sisters together who have been torn apart by those who are threatened by freedom. You are all here tonight because we cannot allow the weak in Washington, D.C. to abandon the brave freedom fighters who live every day in fear . . .”
Jessica nodded and clapped along with the others, scanning the room for any clues she could bring back to Judd.
“. . . We cannot allow the spineless bureaucrats back in Washington to forget about the courageous people who live every day with the hope that democracy will one day return to their shores. We cannot betray those brave souls who still hold freedom deep in their hearts. We cannot turn away from those who look to America for inspiration and comfort . . .”
Jessica’s line of vision suddenly focused on a face hidden among the crowd that triggered something familiar. Was it him?
“. . . You are all here today because you already know that, until I fight my very last campaign, until I breathe my very last breath, I will not rest until we have a free Cuba!”
Yes, it’s him.
The crowd erupted in ovation and shouts of “Viva Cuba Libre!”
He cleaned up.