I wonder what that could be.
Antonio chain-lit another cigarette and told us, “As you know, there are those in America and in Cuba who are not in favor of normalizing relations. The regime itself is ambivalent about normalization. Perhaps frightened of what it means.”
Neither Sara nor I replied, and he went on, “You may have heard that there was an anti-American demonstration at the pier when the fishing fleet arrived.”
As a matter of fact I did hear that, but I replied, “That’s not good for improving relations.”
“No, and this was not a spontaneous demonstration. It was . . .”
“Staged?”
“Yes. Staged. By the Ministry of the Interior.” He looked at Sara. “As I’m sure Miss Ortega knows, they are a very powerful ministry in Cuba, responsible for internal security, the border guard, and the police. They are also very much opposed to normalizing relations. They are afraid of”—he pointed north—“what is over there.”
“The Conch Republic?”
He seemed confused. “America. That is the reality that is coming. But the Ministry of the Interior is looking for an incident that will refreeze the Cuban Thaw and keep the Americans away—and the incident, unfortunately, will be the arrest of Miss Ortega. And you.”
I wasn’t sure if Antonio was telling the truth, or if he was trying to frighten us into a big tip. “There is absolutely nothing in my background that has anything to do with Cuba.”
“So you say. But I know the police are investigating your background. Through the Internet. And through sources in Key West. And they are also investigating Miss Ortega’s activities in Miami.”
That sucked. Well, I had taken down my website when I sold The Maine, but the police might still be able to find something to connect me to Fishy Business. As for Sara, she’d told me she kept a low profile in Miami. I glanced at her and she seemed cool and composed.
Antonio continued, “I’m not sure when this arrest will happen. But you will probably get a late-night knock on your doors . . . or one door if you are sleeping together.” He added, “They like to do these things when you are most vulnerable—in your beds—and when everyone else is asleep.” He looked at Sara, then at me, waiting for a reaction.
I asked him, “If the police don’t tell you much, why did they tell you all this?”
I think Antonio expected a more agitated response from us, and he stayed silent, then replied, “They told me to make myself available for the police interrogation, where I will denounce both of you and write a statement.”
“Okay, if we buy all that—for five hundred dollars—what are we supposed to do with this information?”
“You need to get out of Cuba.”
“If we do that, the police will suspect that you tipped us off.”
“And if they arrest you, you will tell them that I betrayed them.”
“We wouldn’t do that to you, amigo.”
“Of course you would. I am playing a very dangerous game. So it is as important for me as it is for you that you get out of the country.”
My bullshit detector was beeping, but I said, “Okay, so how do we get out of Cuba?”
He didn’t take that as a rhetorical question, and answered, “I have made inquiries and I can get you both on a British cruise ship leaving Havana in two days. It is sailing to Bridgetown, Barbados.”
Well, that was the second boat ride out of here that I was offered this week. This one sounded too good to be true, but I asked, “How much?”
He seemed to be thinking about that, then replied, “Whatever is left of Miss Ortega’s three hundred thousand pesos, and an additional thousand American dollars—which I will need for bribes at the pier.”
Antonio was good at upselling. Five hundred for the advertised special, but for another thousand, plus all our pesos, he’ll throw in a cruise to Barbados.
Sara said, “We need to think about this.”
“There is not much to think about. And I will need your answer tomorrow, by noon. I will also need the thousand dollars tomorrow to make the travel arrangements, and then the three hundred thousand pesos when I can assure you of your passage on the ship.”
Neither Sara nor I replied, so Antonio continued his sales pitch. “Because of the American embargo, no ship of any nation that comes to Cuba may enter a U.S. port for six months after visiting Cuba, so there are not many cruise ships in Cuban ports, but fortunately, this British ship—The Braemar—never enters American waters and is now in Havana.” He continued, “Many Americans come to Cuba by flying to Bridgetown, which is the home port of The Braemar, so there should be no difficulties in getting you onboard for the return voyage to Bridgetown.”
“Then why do we need you?”
“To get you through security and passport control—where your names are now on a watch list.”
Thanks for that, asshole.
“This is your only opportunity to leave this island.”
“We understand. And you’ll have our answer tomorrow.”
Antonio also advised us, “Calling your embassy will put your State Department in a difficult position at this time of sensitive diplomatic negotiations.”
Should I tell him that Sara Ortega and the Secretary of State were practically classmates at Yale?
“And if you try to get into the embassy, the police will stop you and discover that you are on the watch list, and arrest you.”
Should I remind Antonio that Richard Neville wanted to be arrested? He’d get more out of it than me or Sara.
Antonio also told us, “If you were to be arrested—or if you were to somehow escape from Cuba—your tour group will be expelled. This has happened before. Also, as in the past, to increase tensions, the regime will cancel many goodwill exchanges, including, for instance, the Fishing for Peace tournament.”
And why did he mention that? To see if I reacted? This was not good news, but I didn’t comment and said, “You understand that Miss Ortega and I are tourists who have just met. We are here with a licensed group to experience Cuban culture, not to overthrow the regime.”
He smiled, then said patiently, “In Cuba, guilt or innocence is not important. Politics are important. Let me remind you that your compatriot Alan Gross received a fifteen-year sentence for spying and spent five years in prison, and he was innocent.”
“Apparently he didn’t have someone like you to tip him off.”
“You are fortunate to have me.”
“In America we say, with friends like you I don’t need enemies.”
He seemed uncertain if that was an insult or a compliment. He looked at us. “Despite our differences, I actually like you both, and I’m happy to be in a position to help you out of your difficulties.”
“Which you helped get us into.” I asked, “Anything else?”
“My five hundred dollars—which, you will agree, I have earned.”
“It will be in an envelope at the front desk tomorrow morning.”
“And the thousand dollars for bribes.”
“Same envelope.”