Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) (9 page)

“Marlin.” Brinkley nodded. “Maybe some bonefish.”

14.

U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

WEDNESDAY, 9:03 A.M.

J
udd had arrived in the office early that morning to continue working on his memo for Landon Parker. He was trying to anticipate scenarios that might go wrong in Cuba and outline responses for the State Department. It was precisely why his Crisis Reaction Unit had been created.

This morning, however, Judd was stuck.
What causes revolts?
It was a question that politicians had been mulling for centuries.
What final straw causes people finally to rise up and overthrow their own government?
Analysts had been trying to unlock that puzzle for decades. It had been an academic interest of Judd’s when he was a graduate student and then a professor at Amherst College. Databases had been compiled with every variable possible: population, demographics, ethnic composition, corruption, and financial data. Complex statistics attempted to tease out the factors that were associated either with a rebellion or with prolonged periods of stability.

Judd had used this exact approach of building large databases and quantitative analysis to come up with his Golden Hour
theory about the need for speed when responding to an international crisis. He had discovered that slow reaction time was statistically correlated with failure. He then made a slight—and he thought defensible—leap to claim, therefore, that waiting too long to react to a coup or outbreak of civil war meant a steep decline in the chance of U.S. policy success. It was the kind of conclusion that would be scorned in the academic community. But they gobbled it up in Washington. The Golden Hour was the basis for S/CRU. His job was built on a data model. And on Landon Parker’s enthusiastic support.

Quick response by the United States government made intuitive sense to Judd, even if he didn’t quite fully believe the numbers himself.
Correlation does not equal causation.
That was the very first lesson he taught his students. But inside the American government, quantitative evidence was seen as
proof
, and thus was a powerful weapon in the policy trenches. Whether the numbers were right or not was entirely beside the point. That was the very first lesson he had learned from Landon Parker.

Now he was tasked with helping Parker foresee problems in Cuba. However, this morning Judd wasn’t finding much. He looked at his two computer screens. The one on the left was unclassified, connected to the Internet. The monitor on the right was connected to SIPRNet, the government’s computer system cleared up to level Secret.

—

O
n his unclassified computer, he opened an online window to access the Amherst College library and searched the political science journals for determinants of popular mass revolts. One study from Stanford pointed to ratios of ethnic composition of
cabinet ministers. Another from the University of Texas suggested that the concentration of land and livestock ownership was a factor. A third study from Tufts University found correlations between political unrest and changes in the prices of an index of rice, cooking oil, and fuel. Nothing particularly helpful.

“Dr. Ryker?” Judd looked up from his computer to see the familiar face of his assistant, Serena. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought this might be useful,” she said, brandishing a bright red folder. “I compiled all the cables from Havana and highlighted the most critical sections.”

“Thank you, Serena. I don’t pay you enough.”

“No comment, Dr. Ryker. I’ve also forwarded to you the latest intel assessments on SIPRNet. Will you be needing a SCIF today?” she asked. For really squirrely information, anything classified as Top Secret, Judd would have to go down the hall to a special room called a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—a SCIF, in government shorthand.

“No, thank you, Serena.”

“I also printed you a copy of Assistant Secretary Eisenberg’s speech that she gave last month at the Miami Chamber of Commerce. I think you’ll find it useful.”

“Melanie Eisenberg . . .” Judd muttered to himself. “Have you found out anything that . . . I should know?”

“The Assistant Secretary is a shark.”

“A shark?” Judd eyed his assistant. “I heard that she’s close with Bill Rogerson over in African Affairs. Is that what you mean?”

“She’s bigger than Rogerson. Eisenberg has the ear of the Secretary. A direct line.”

“What’s her relationship with Landon Parker?”

“She knows to give him his due respect,” Serena said. “I heard she rolled him on Cuba.”

“Eisenberg did an end run around Landon Parker on Cuba policy?”

“Yes. And that’s not all. Word on the seventh floor says the Deputies Committee is considering her for P.”

“P? Melanie Eisenberg is going to be the next Undersecretary? Number three in the building?”

“I told you she’s a shark.”

15.

STRAITS OF FLORIDA

WEDNESDAY, 5:21 P.M.

T
en hours later, the fishermen were getting cranky.

After a whole morning of fishing and no sign of any marlin, Brinkley had suggested they head farther offshore to the Seminole Flats to try their luck catching bonefish. “Per pound, bonefish are the strongest fish in the world,” Brink had told them proudly. “And the Seminole Flats in the Florida Straits is the best place in the whole world to catch them.” Alejandro had navigated
The Big Pig
due south.

But it was now early evening and they still had no sign of any fish.

“I think we’re over the line,” Dennis muttered. He glared down at the GPS unit in his hand. “Brink, you gotta take a look at this.”

Brinkley set down his fishing rod and walked over.

“Right here, this looks like we are over the line,” Dennis said, pointing to the little screen. “I think we are . . . in Cuban waters.”

“No way. I don’t think that’s accurate. We may be close,
but we’re still in international waters, don’t worry. Where’s your gear?”

“Close? I don’t want to be
close
to Cuba.”

Brinkley took the GPS unit from Dennis and examined the map again. “Alejandro, what time is sunset?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” he called from the cockpit.

Brinkley checked his watch. “Ninety minutes . . .” he mumbled, scanning the horizon with a pair of high-tech binoculars.

“What are you doing, Brink?” Dennis fidgeted with his fingers.

“I think we could make it.” Brinkley nodded to himself.

“What’re you talking about?”

Alejandro put the engine in neutral and joined the conversation.

“That firehouse, where your family used to live, it’s in what town again?” Brinkley asked.

“Outside Santa Cruz del Norte. East of Havana,” Alejandro said.

“You know where it is?”

“Of course.” He tapped his skull with a forefinger.

“We aren’t far.” Brinkley pointed at the GPS unit. “We could wait for a few hours, kill the lights, go in dark. We’ve got the gear. We could be in and out before sunrise.”

“Sunrise?” Crawford threw down his fishing rod. “What the fuck are you talking about, Brink?”

“Alejandro’s diamonds. We’re nearly there already. Maybe we could go get it. Tonight.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Crawford said. Dennis’s fidgeting accelerated.

“It’s not
that
crazy,” Alejandro said. “We’ve got all the gear
we need. I’ve got wet suits, shovels, even night vision goggles, down in the hold.”

“You are seriously suggesting that we land
in
Cuba?” Crawford’s eyes were wide.

“We’d need one of us to set a fire,” Brink said. “To draw the firemen away from the station. Then—”

“Set a fire? Are you fucking crazy? No way.”

“Yesterday, you both said you were in,” Alejandro said. “You were up for it, Deuce. You said, ‘I’m up for a treasure hunt.’”

“That’s true,” Brinkley nodded. “Those were your exact words.”

“I was drunk. I thought you were kidding!” Dennis said, his eyes fluttering.

“Well, I’m not kidding,” Alejandro said. “We can go get my family treasure right now.”

“Is this why you fucking brought us down here?” Crawford growled. “For fucking diamonds?”

“You were joking!” Dennis squealed. “I thought you were joking!”

“Let’s do it,” Brinkley said, making a fist. “Dennis, you’re our communications expert. You stay on the boat and monitor the radios. Crawford, we need our Navy SEAL to land on the beach undetected and then set the diversion fire. Once they are all clear, Al and I will go to the firehouse to get the diamonds.”

“Treasure hunting. Just like pirates.” Alejandro grinned.

“Pirates hunting for treasure? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Crawford put both hands on his head in frustration. “You think we’re pirates?”

“We’re so close,” Brinkley said, tapping the GPS.

“We’ll all be rich. We can do it,” Alejandro agreed.

“No we can’t!” Crawford’s eyes were wide. “We aren’t fucking pirates. We live in the suburbs. I’m retired. Brink’s retired. You’re a goddamn real estate agent, Al. Deuce isn’t a comms officer. He writes software code!”

“Take it easy, Craw,” Brinkley said, holding his palms up.

“We can go in and out,” Alejandro said. “We can do it. Just like pirates.”

“Pirates don’t drive minivans, dammit!”

Alejandro was about to reply when he heard the first shot.

Booosh!

PART TWO

THURSDAY

16.

U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THURSDAY, 7:11 A.M.

I
don’t think we’ve had a crisis like this since the 1980 Mariel boatlift!” The commentator sitting next to the studio anchor adjusted his round tortoiseshell glasses and made a face of feigned exasperation.

“Well, I think it’s worse than that, Wolf,” interrupted a voice from a box in the corner of the screen. “I think we’ve got to go back to the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 and the Bay of Pigs in 1961. I mean, to have innocent American citizens captured in international waters—kidnapped, really—and then to have them paraded on television like that, it’s really shocking. It’s an act of unprecedented hostility from the regime in Havana.”

“Is this unprecedented?” asked the anchor.

“We have to remember that, despite the diplomatic thaw and the reopening of embassies, Cuba is still a one-party communist state,” said the commentator in the studio. “I just don’t see how our negotiations with Cuba can continue now. The State Department is in a real bind. The Secretary had staked a lot on
continuing to negotiate with Cuba. But that’s all coming to a screeching halt.”

Landon Parker paced around his office as the television blared.

“The Secretary of State really looks weak,” said another voice on the screen. “Melanie Eisenberg has been leading the negotiations. Critics have attacked her for making too many concessions to the Cubans. And now this. I just don’t know what the administration is thinking.”

“If you are just joining us now, we are covering the unfolding crisis in Cuba,” the anchor announced. At the bottom of the screen
CAPTURED IN CUBA!
was flashing in bold red letters behind black bars. “We’ll be covering this unfolding drama out of Havana as it happens. This is a special early-morning edition of
The Situation Room
. Only on CNN.”

Parker pushed the intercom button on his desk. “Call the Ops Center and get me the Chief of Mission in Havana.”

“If you’re just joining us now,” Wolf Blitzer continued. “Here’s what we know. Around five-thirty last night, a distress signal was sent out to the U.S. Coast Guard by a private American fishing boat reporting they were under attack by a Cuban naval vessel. Contact was lost with the fishing boat several minutes later. This morning, four men who appear to be American citizens were shown on Cuban state television. We have this brief clip.”

On the screen, four middle-aged men, in handcuffs and orange jumpsuits, were shown being led by a uniformed soldier from a gray concrete-block building and hustled into a van with blacked-out windows. They marched in order: a tall Caucasian with wispy blond hair, a muscular black man with a shaved head, and a pudgy Hispanic with a goatee. The fourth man, pale white,
was shorter and skinnier than the others, his arm in a sling and his shoulder heavily bandaged.

“The missing vessel is
The Big Pig
, a fishing boat registered in the state of Florida to one Alejandro Cabrera of Rockville, Maryland. CNN is still confirming if Cabrera is one of the detained men. We are also seeking confirmation of the identities of the other men shown in the video, but we believe they are all from the suburbs of Washington, D.C. and were on a fishing trip. Their last-known location in the Florida Straits is an area popular for bonefishing. I’m turning now to our correspondent in Miami. Christina, what else do we know?”

“Thank you, Wolf. At this time, we don’t have much more on the exact timeline of events or the identities of the men. We don’t have any information about their condition either. However, from the clip broadcast this morning on Cuban state television, it is clear that one of the men has been injured.”

“CNN’s chief medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta has examined the video and told our producers that the bandages visible on the fourth man are consistent with a gunshot wound. Do we know if there were shots fired, Christina?”

“We don’t have any information about that, Wolf. The U.S. Coast Guard spokesman at Miami Beach Station did not release any details to me beyond confirming that an SOS message was received by the Coast Guard in Key West from a private fishing boat in the Florida Straits at approximately five-thirty p.m. last night. The Cuban government has not responded to CNN’s requests for further information about the incident or the detainees. We are also waiting for a statement from the State Department.”