Why not? We’ve got California and Vermont.
“Cubans who escaped to Miami thought they would be back in a year.” He looked at Sara. “As did your grandfather. So he gave this trunk to his trusted priest, who hid it in a burial vault beneath his church in the Old Town, where it has remained until this morning.”
I guess there was no room in the burial vault for twelve steamer trunks filled with money. Which would have made our job a little easier. Assuming the Catholic Church had no use for the money.
In any case, we now had to haul these two trunks of paper to Camagüey, in a sixty-year-old station wagon. No big deal, but . . . I wish they had FedEx here.
Eduardo took a wad of tri-folded paper out of the trunk. The paper was yellowed, maybe brittle, and it was bound with a green ribbon, which he untied, then opened the papers and spread them carefully on the work bench. “Ah . . . yes. This is a título de propiedad . . . a property deed which shows that Se?or Alfredo Xavier Gomez is the legal owner of an apartamento . . . an apartment building on Calle San Rafael, in Vedado.”
Lucky man. Though he was probably dead by now. I hoped we weren’t going to go through all of this.
Eduardo refolded the deed, tied it, and put it back in the trunk, then stared at the mass of legal documents. “Who knows what is in here? Historical land grants. Deeds to entire factories, mansions, plantations . . . all stolen.”
Goes to show you what a piece of paper is worth. Unless it’s a U.S. Treasury note. “Okay, so—”
“You—” He pointed to me. “You and Sara will bring all this to America on your boat.”
“Right.”
“The exile organizations have kept lists of people and families who claim property in Cuba. These deeds will be returned to the rightful owners and heirs.”
This might be a bad analogy, but it was like telling people you’d found their Confederate war bonds.
But hope springs eternal and Eduardo said to us, or to himself, “There will come a day when the owners and their heirs can claim their property.” He reminded us, “It has happened when the Communists were overthrown in Eastern Europe. And with property stolen by the Nazis. It will happen in Cuba.”
Possible. But I wouldn’t buy those deeds even at a ninety percent discount with my American dollars from the cave. “Okay, so let’s load this up—”
He looked at me. “We will need you—and Sara—to publicly verify how you came into possession of these two trunks.”
I was hoping to keep a low profile with my—and Jack’s—three million dollars. “What do you mean?”
“We are planning a big press conference in Miami. We have good friends in the Miami media.”
“I’m sort of modest—”
“There will be attorneys at the press conference who represent the families whose property was stolen. Now that we have legal proof of ownership, we will file claims in Federal court.”
“Right.” Carlos would be busy for the next decade. “Sounds good. But I’ll take a pass on the press conference—”
“This is an important story—an exciting story. You and Sara traveling to Cuba—”
“Hold on, amigo. No one told me about this.”
“You will be famous.”
“I want to be rich.”
“You will be good on television. You are an attractive couple.”
No argument there. But I had this vision of being shot at the press conference by her jealous Cuban boyfriend. I glanced at her again and she looked away. I didn’t think this relationship was going to travel well.
Eduardo was caught up in his excitement. “We will tell the story of the Pescando Por la Paz, The Maine, Fishy Business—”
“I’ll bet the regime doesn’t renew that fishing license.” Or the Yale educational travel license.
“I have spoken to Jack about this, and he has agreed to interviews.”
Really? Well, Jack missed his three minutes of fame when he came ashore in Havana looking for the brass band and the TV cameras and found instead an anti-American demonstration. Also, I wondered when Eduardo had spoken to Jack about this. After I met Jack? Or before? Jack never mentioned this to me at the Nacional.
More importantly, these documents had less to do with returning the property to the owners and more to do with creating legal issues that could derail the diplomatic negotiations now taking place. I would have mentioned this, but we all understood that.
Meanwhile, I was still in Chico’s Chop Shop, along with Sara, Eduardo, two trunks of títulos, and my new Buick. And it was a long way to Camagüey and Cayo Guillermo. I said to Eduardo, “I need the contact information in Camagüey.” I looked at him. “Now, por favor.”
“I hope you will agree to be part of this story.”
“Sure, I’m in. Let’s go.”
“You have what is called credibility as an American with no ties to the anti-Castro organizations.”
“Don’t forget photogenic.”
“And a man who is a wounded combat veteran. An officer who has received many medals.”
I wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. “Look, Eduardo, with or without me at the press conference, or me appearing on the morning news, what you have here”—I motioned to the trunks—“speaks for itself. Don’t oversell it.”
He didn’t reply, and I continued, “My concern is the sixty million dollars. First, getting it, second, getting it and us out of Cuba, third, getting my cut, and fourth, we should all shut our mouths about the money or we could get it taken away by the U.S. government, who could put it in escrow while the negotiations go on for the next fifty years.”
Again, he didn’t reply, and I looked at Sara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during Eduardo’s monologues. “Do you agree?”
Apparently she didn’t. I looked at Eduardo. “What’s happening?”
He got right to the point for a change and said, “You are not going to Camagüey.”
Did I see that coming? “Why not?”
“Because it is dangerous.”
“It was dangerous yesterday. And last week.”
“It could be more dangerous today. Or tomorrow.”
“You don’t know that. That’s for me and Sara to determine.”
“It is for me to determine. And as you said yourself, the money could compromise our efforts to publicize this—” He motioned toward the trunks. “It would distract from our main objective.”
Well, I guess a dozen trunks filled with sixty million dollars would be more interesting to the American public than worthless paper. “That’s why we shouldn’t advertise the money—”
“And as you know—as you said to Mr. Colby—there is a possibility that the Cuban government will cancel the fishing tournament and send the boats away.”
Was there anything Jack forgot to tell him?
“So time is of the essence.”
I looked at Sara again. Apparently Eduardo’s arguments for scrubbing the mission were more convincing than the ones I or she had already discussed. Though they were the same arguments. But, to be fair, the situation had changed.
In fact, Eduardo said, “We cannot risk losing these documents on a dangerous journey to the cave.”
“All right . . . but I just lost three million dollars.”
“You will be compensated.”