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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously
Any other resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Luz de Castilla - Summer of '22 Book IX - 1. Welcome
“Bienvenidos a la Habana. I look forward to our conversations this week and to working with you in the future.” Elba Rosa Pérez Montoya’s words were greeted with polite applause from five Americans and a dozen or so of her compatriots. As Cuba’s Minister of Science, Technology, and Environment, she had been the one who invited the Nature Conservancy to the island nation and was their host for the reception and dinner that evening.
Since she had spoken Spanish, CJ took pity on the man standing to his right. “She welcomed us and said she looks forward to your meetings and working together.”
“Humph. Thank you.” One of the two Nature Conservancy delegates not fluent in Spanish, he did not bother to look at CJ. “I don’t see why they can’t speak English around us.”
CJ rolled his eyes and decided he was done translating for the guy’s benefit.
The other, on Owen’s left, leaned forward a bit. “Thanks, CJ. I caught most of that, but I really need to tackle that Spanish course I bought.”
“CJ!” The approaching man pronounced it see yay. The small crowd parted, and every attendee followed his progress through the room.
Grabbing Owen’s right hand with his left, CJ squeezed hard while whispering. “You joke or laugh, I’ll hurt you.” He was already smiling when he extended his other one toward the man calling out to him. “Mr. President, I’m flattered you know who I am.”
The man laughed while pumping the proffered hand with his two. “How could I not? I’ve heard and read plenty about a young, fellow Cuban who risked his life to protect his infant daughter. Your reputation precedes you.”
The photographer taking pictures for the evening recorded the initial meeting and would later pose the president between the entire delegation and with CJ and Owen separately.
“Allow me to introduce you to my husband, Owen Liston. Oz, this is President Miguel Díaz-Canel y Bermúdez.”
“Dr. Liston, I understand you’re fluent in Spanish.” The man shook Owen’s hand as vigorously as he had CJ’s.
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. President. I muddle through. Lessons, CJ’s grandparents, and our time in Mexico have made me comfortable enough to survive frequent mistakes.” Owen placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman by him. “If I may, this is Alicia Barth; she’s in charge of our delegation.”
Owen waited while they exchanged greetings, both using the other’s language. “Dr. Jay West, the scientist in our group, is next to CJ.” Owen paused while they shook hands. “And last but not least, Raúl Medina.”
“Latino?”
Raúl smiled and replied in Spanish. “Yes, Mr. President. I was born in Perú.”
Díaz-Canel scanned the group, again welcomed them to Cuba, then returned his attention to CJ and Owen. “I was delighted to read you pulled a fast one on the Russians; impressive for someone without intelligence training. I’m sure there were a few red faces at the Kremlin.”
CJ was shocked the man had praised him for embarrassing the Russians. Maybe the chatter Jake Cruz—his friend at the CIA—had mentioned about the Cubans wanting to distance themselves from their former benefactors was accurate.
“The man insulted us by placing listening devices in our home when we invited him to a reception. He also wrongly assumed a lot about my husband and me. I was upset. So upset, he was lucky all I did was hurt his wrist.”
The President roared. “Yes, I was briefed on the fact you can defend yourself.”
Jay raised a finger, attempting to insert himself into the conversation. “Mr. President, I’d like to ask you about your goals for our conversations.” He frantically looked to his right and left when nobody immediately translated.
Raúl took pity on him. “He wants to talk about your expectations from the Nature Conservancy, Mr. President.”
“No, no, no. Not tonight. There’ll be time for work tomorrow.” While Raúl translated, Díaz-Canel spoke to CJ again. “It’s too bad your time on the island’s so short. Cienfuegos, where your paternal grandparents are from, is a beautiful city. You must come back to visit us again and go see it.”
“I’d like that, Mr. President.” CJ did not miss that his background was known to the Cuban leader. “And I hope we can bring our daughter next time and take her there too. We want Liebe to learn about and be proud of her Cuban heritage.”
Once the president and his retinue left, Minister Pérez Montoya asked everyone to take a seat; dinner was about to be served.
The reception and meal were held in an ornate room at an Old Havana colonial-era building with stately palm trees visible through the open doors. The Cubans had provided a minivan and a driver to transport the visitors during their stay. On the way back to the hotel, Jay, who did not appear happy while eating, accosted CJ.
“You didn’t have to rush to shake hands with President Díaz first and then monopolize his time. I wanted to ask about potential projects and was unable to.”
“I think it was the other way around, Jay. The president sought out CJ and spoke to him first.” Alicia had impressed CJ with how deftly she dealt with the Cubans, and her attempt to placate her associate was proof she could be diplomatic when dealing with prima donnas.
Owen had warned CJ that Jay was competent but challenging to work with. His ego interfered all too often.
“Well, he could have directed the president’s attention to me.”
CJ wanted the argument to end. “Excuse me, do we really want to have this conversation in front of a person we don’t know? Someone who works for the Cuban government? Someone who could report there’s discord within your delegation?”
Earlier in the evening, the smiling chauffeur assigned to them stood by the vehicle’s sliding door, welcoming the American contingent. CJ waited until the others were aboard before greeting the man. “CJ Abelló. I’ll sit with you.” Not waiting for a reply, he opened the front door and slid into the seat.
The bewildered Cuban rushed to the driver’s side, climbed in, and used his feet to cover the holstered firearm CJ had already seen in the foot well. “I’m Anton. You’re not supposed to sit there, Mr. Abelló.”
A short glance in the back revealed only Owen paying attention while the other three carried on an animated conversation. CJ winked at Anton and grinned. “Don’t worry about the gun. I carry one back home. I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you.” The man sounded relieved when he nudged the holster under his seat.
A white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the top buttons open covered what CJ noticed was a rock-solid body. He assumed Anton was military. Short, dark hair and a well-groomed beard framed a pleasant face punctuated by equally dark eyes. Most likely in his early thirties, the man wore a thick wedding band, a black technical watch, and no other adornments. He did not say anything else during the drive.
CJ, again in the front passenger for the return trip, glanced at Anton before staring at Jay; he decided he did not have to be polite to the belligerent scientist. “Considering you don’t even know the man’s name, maybe it was a good idea you didn’t have the opportunity to display your ignorance. The president’s last name isn’t Díaz; it’s Díaz-Canel. It’s hyphenated.”
For the time being, Alicia had the final word. “I agree with CJ. If we must have this conversation, we should wait until we’re back at the hotel. We can meet in my room.”
“I’m not happy.” The door was barely closed when Jay spoke up. “This is supposed to be a scientific expedition, not an outing for a rich, spoiled dilettante intent on upstaging us.” While speaking to Alicia, the man pointed at CJ before turning toward him. “And why did he call you by your first name? You’re not even an official member of the delegation.”
“Because he watches CNN?” CJ thought his comment was funny, and apparently, so did Owen, Alicia, and Raúl; all three grinned.
Jay did not appear amused. “Why are you even on this trip?”
CJ had had enough. “Because I can afford to pay my own way. Because my family contributes enough money to the Nature Conservancy every year to cover your salary, so the organization was happy to include a benefactor. And because the White House approved of me tagging along.” CJ turned away and walked a couple of steps toward the open window. “The moon’s not out tonight, but we have a sky full of stars, Oz. Let’s go for a walk on the Malecón.”
Being ignored did not sit well with Jay; he stomped after CJ, grasped his shoulder, and forcibly turned him around. “You will not—”
Whatever else he meant to say was lost when he went crashing into a chair. The force of the impact shattered the furniture, and pieces of wood flew everywhere, forcing Jay to shield his face with an arm.
When he lowered it, he found Owen standing above him, scowling, with fists clenched. “You touch my husband in a threatening way again, and he won’t get the chance to beat you to a pulp; I’ll bloody castrate you myself.”
“Are you threatening me?”
CJ cracked up. “I guess the report about you being smart wasn’t accurate. Of course he’s threatening you, you dolt. You attacked me, and he was defending me.” CJ winked at Owen and blew him a kiss. “Thanks, Oz.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The noise of chair parts being tossed aside and Jay brushing himself off while staring at Owen made CJ take a step in his husband’s direction. If Jay was bound for the ground again, it was his turn to put him there.
“You’re as bad as he is. Conceited farmer. You didn’t even correct the president when he called you a doctor. It’s an insult to those of us who worked years to achieve our degrees.”
“Actually, Owen is a doctor.” Raúl had remained quiet during the confrontation. “He went through as much school as you did, Jay. Do you forget he has three degrees? With one of them being a doctorate of law? Such an accomplishment’s acknowledged in most Latin-American countries by using the appropriate title when addressing an attorney.”
The explanation—which CJ thought had been stretched out on purpose—did not placate the infuriated Jay. He switched tactics and questioned Alicia again. “What did he mean when he said the White House approved of him traveling with us?”
“He’s right about that also, Jay. While the trip was being planned, the Cuban government suggested Owen should be part of the team, and extended an invitation for CJ to accompany us since his family was originally from Cuba. We discussed the matter with the State Department and were eventually told CJ’s travel would not be an issue. Even if he’s here just as a tourist, his trip was approved by State and the White House.”
Jay looked astonished. “What are you? Some kind of spy or something? Why would they want you to come? And what was that about you taking down a Russian?”
CJ cracked up. “Because I’m good-looking, and the country’s president’s a member of my fan club?”
While Alicia visibly struggled not to laugh, Owen and Raúl roared.
“And of course I’m a spy. Wanna see my CIA credentials?” CJ shook his head and rolled his eyes. “If I were you, I’d ask for a refund from whatever school you went to. What kind of idiot are you? You think Cuba would invite a CIA agent for a visit?”
Walking over to Alicia, CJ kissed her cheeks. After shaking hands with Raúl, he reached for Owen and placed an arm around his waist. “Y’all have a good night. We’re going for a cocktail and a cigar.”
CJ was glad they were staying at the iconic Presidente Hotel instead of a newer hostelry. Although the ten-story structure exhibited signs of deferred maintenance, its charm trumped the lack of amenities like room service or a gym.
The ocean view from certain rooms, including theirs, was magnificent. The rooms reflected the style from the hotel's opening in the late 1920s, and antiques filled the lobby. Marble busts, bronze figurines, historic mantle clocks, and intricately painted Chinese vases proliferated.
Wanting to sample different rums and cigars, CJ had picked up a couple of Montecristo No. 2 for their first evening in town.
“What do you think, Oz?” CJ puffed on his cigar again and exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke.
“A bit harsher than I expected. Where did you get them?” They had been warned even in Cuba, fakes were abundant.
“The hotel’s shop. I’ll get some others tomorrow when I go sightseeing, and we can sample different ones every day until we leave. I think I want to try either a Cohiba or a Romeo y Julieta next.”
Located on Avenida de los Presidentes, the hotel was a few minutes from the Malecón, Havana’s famed seaside promenade. Stretching nearly five miles between the harbor and the Almendares River, the seawall’s construction began in 1901 during the temporary United States’ military rule.
Their destination was popular with tourists and locals; CJ and Owen were not the only ones out for an evening stroll. Finding an open spot on the wall and sat to enjoy their smokes.
“Are you stopping by the American embassy tomorrow?” Owen had meetings starting early in the morning, but CJ planned on exploring the city.
“Nah… Prolly stop by it to take pictures, but that’s it. I mean, we have names and numbers in case we need help with something, but otherwise, I have no interest in dressing up to meet government wonks.”
Owen chuckled. “You mean people like you?”
“Hey! I resigned, okay? Not my fault they’re trying to pull me back in. Changing the subject, how you gonna deal with the asshole tomorrow?”
“Jay? I’ll ignore him as much as possible. If he acts up, I’ll handle it.”
“What’s his problem, anyway? Any idea why he’s so disagreeable?”
“I think it’s a martyr complex. He used to be a university professor, was denied tenure, and blamed it on his skin color. He’s pulled the race card before.”
“Any truth to it? Was it because he’s black?”
Owen shrugged. “Who knows? But as smart as he is, his communication skills are about as good as Liebe’s. I’ve read some things he’s published, and they bored me to death. Probably not much better in the classroom. You saw how abrasive he can be.”
“I hate it when people use race as an excuse for incompetence.”
The subsequent silence was not complete; music, chatter from those nearby, and waves crashing against rocks provided a soundtrack to the lulls in conversation. The couple rarely felt the need to talk constantly; there was no awkwardness to sitting quietly and enjoying their cigars while their legs touched.
The hotel’s lobby bar was open twenty-four hours a day, and they stopped in it for a nightcap upon their return. Because Owen had a breakfast meeting the following day, they made it an early night.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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