Luz de Castilla - Summer of '22 Book IX - 2. Day Drinking

“María, lo que quiera el buen mozo, yo pago. ¿Bien?”

“Por supuesto, Coronel.”

“¿Coronel? ¿Tu me ves a mi en uniforme? Mi nombre es Camilo.”

CJ had been about to pull a stool from the bar when the man’s initial comment stopped him. Telling the bartender he would pay for whatever the handsome guy wanted was a sure way to be noticed. He obviously knew her since he used her name, and María addressing him by his military rank meant the man was not a stranger.

Camilo was indeed in civilian clothing, as he pointed out, and CJ wondered if she could guess why. He had seen a few gun-toting soldiers walking around that morning, assumed the populace was accustomed to seeing uniforms everywhere, and it was the colonel’s usual attire. By the time he turned to look at Camilo, the bearded man had reached the bar.

Grinning, he extended a hand. “Camilo Nieto Contreras.”

The corners of CJ’s mouth twitched upward; if Camilo wanted a game, CJ was willing to play. The colonel had spoken Spanish to the bartender but avoided using either English or Spanish during the introduction by limiting himself to a name. It was a good trick to discover which language someone was most comfortable with. A nice, innocent deception he had learned from the British ambassador in Mexico City.

“CJ Abelló.” Two could play the game; he pronounced the initials in English and the last name in Spanish.

“G’day, mate.” Owen stepped in the shower, pecked CJ, and stuck his head under the water. “I’m surprised you’re in here. Not running today?”

CJ turned his husband around and began soaping his back. “Nah… When I googlemapped the places I wanted to see today, it’s about twelve kilometers round trip. Since I didn’t plan any stops on the way back, I’m sure it’ll be longer once I discover anything interesting and decide to explore.”

“You and your adventures, I’m pretty sure Liebe’s sense of—hey! Get your finger out of there. I don’t have time.”

“Spoilsport.” CJ handed the soap over so Owen could return the favor.

“Alicia’s text about breakfast this morning wasn’t a suggestion or invitation; it was an order. I’m sure she’s hoping to defuse any lingering tension from last night so it doesn’t interfere with today’s meetings.”

“You still plan to ignore the asshole?” They took turns washing the rest of their bodies, rinsing off, then stood side by side on the tile floor, drying themselves.

“Jay’s part of the group, and I’ll be professional with him. No need for pleasantries, though. He’s not in my good graces after trying to manhandle you.”

“What if he pulls shit like last night?”

“Be ready to call that number at the American embassy they gave us in case of an emergency. I may need to be bailed out. Crap, do they even have bail in this country?”

CJ cracked up. “I’ll try to find a couple good cigars for tonight. Although I may have to sample something or other after lunch.”

"Wanker. Hey, you can probably join us for breakfast.”

“You out of your mind? I’ll grab a café con leche and a pastelito somewhere.”

“Mmmm, pastelitos. You think the pastries here are the same as the ones in Miami?”

“They might use cat instead of cow in the meat ones.”

“I hope our room’s bugged, and you just offended someone.”

It wasn’t. They had scanned it before going to bed.

María interrupted their sparring by speaking to CJ. “¿Quieres algo de tomar o vas a almorzar?”

CJ did not want to make life difficult for the woman and decided to let Camilo win the round. He replied in Spanish. “Both. I want a drink and lunch. A daiquiri, please.” Looking at the broadly smiling man beside him, CJ gave a slight head bow and addressed him in the same language. “Thank you for the drink.”

“My pleasure. Mind if I join you for lunch?” The man didn’t wait for CJ to reply. “María, we’re going to sit at the corner table. Give me the same to drink, and bring us two fried snappers with rice and beans.”

“Add an order of maduros if you have them.” CJ liked them best when the plantains were very ripe, and the sweetness was at its highest when fried.

“Good choice. I’ll send your drinks out in a minute.”

Wearing sneakers, khaki shorts, and a white polo shirt, CJ stepped outside the hotel and immediately lowered his sunglasses from atop his head; it was a bright morning. Instead of taking Calle Calzada to his first destination, he retraced the previous evening’s steps and took Avenida de los Presidentes toward the Malecón. The scenic route was longer, but he was in no hurry.

While prepping for the trip, CJ had read about the aging American embassy being an architectural landmark in Havana. If nothing else, its location next to the Malecón, overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, was spectacular. He snapped a couple of pictures from the promenade before approaching the building.

Completed in 1953, the modernist structure was the work of an architectural firm that played a major role in designing Lincoln Center and the United Nations headquarters in New York City. The Havana building formed part of a string of sleek embassies commissioned by the State Department from prominent architects in the years after World War II. Upon completion, the Havana U.S. Embassy garnered acclaim, was praised in the architectural press, and was part of an exhibition at New York's Museum of Modern Art, showcasing new U.S. diplomatic architecture.

After the mission opened, the U.S. used it for eight years until President Eisenhower broke off relations with the island nation’s government. Swiss diplomatic personnel safeguarded the structure until U.S. Foreign Service officers returned to open the U.S. Interests Section in 1977. Modest work over the years kept it in decent repair, and extensive renovations had been made or planned since President Obama resumed diplomatic relations in 2014.

“You took my usual spot.” Camilo settled for the chair next to CJ’s.

“Really? I didn’t see your name on it.” Although CJ felt the chances of an armed individual storming into the restaurant and opening fire were less than in many places in the U.S., he chose to sit with his back to the wall with a clear view of the entrance.

“I’m curious. What made you stop here for lunch?”

Opened in 1817, the bar was already popular when, nearly 100 years later, Constantino Ribalaigua Vert, an immigrant from Catalonia, started working there as a cantinero. A few years after he began as a bartender, he bought it. Constantly trying to offer his guests new rum cocktails, he eventually perfected the daiquiri.

The concoction of white rum, sugar, and lime juice can be traced to a cocktail recipe card signed by Jennings Cox, an American engineer who lived and worked in Cuba after the Spanish-American War. He supposedly invented the drink after running out of gin during a cocktail party. Cox christened it the daiquiri after the nearby port town where Americans first landed during the Spanish-American War.

An anecdote claimed that Ernest Hemingway put away fifteen of the frozen version at El Floridita in one sitting. Due to his diabetes, the famous author asked for no sugar but double the rum.

“Are you serious? Him, of course.” CJ pointed at the bronze statue of the American author sitting at the writer’s regular place. “Hemingway’s one of my favorites, and the fact the place has been voted one of the best bars in the world didn’t hurt. If I was going to day drink in Havana, I had to have a daiquiri where he preferred to drink his.”

Nodding, Camilo waved a hand to encompass the pictures and memorabilia decorating the walls, many of them signed by celebrities from all over the world. “Now that you’ve been here, maybe they’ll put your photograph up one day.”

CJ cracked up. “Yeah, right.”

Starting in the late 1860s, there were three insurrections against the Spanish in Cuba. Spain’s oppression, high taxes, and slavery—before abolition—played a significant role in all of them. The conflict known as the Cuban War of Independence began in February 1895. From the easternmost province where the rebels landed, their forces moved westward toward Havana. The fighting, along with a similar revolt in the Philippines, put a severe strain on the Spanish economy; however, Spain refused to sell Cuba to the United States when the American government made an offer.

Three years after the conflict began, the USS Maine, sent by the U.S. government to purportedly protect American interests during the war, blew up in Havana’s harbor. Although the cause of the explosion was never confirmed, the American press and public blamed Spain. The ensuing Spanish-American War resulted in Spain losing the Philippines and Puerto Rico—Cuba eventually became an independent nation.

Several years after the sinking of the Maine, the Cuban Republic erected a monument in honor of the victims. A hurricane damaged it shortly after. During the rebuilding process, an urn was sculpted from a fragment of a marble column. Given to President Coolidge on a visit to the island, the Cuban American Friendship Urn resided on Potomac Park near the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C. CJ had discovered it while exploring the area and had taken his grandparents to visit it during one of their trips.

CJ stopped at the recently refurbished monument, ran his hands over the gleaming white marble, and grinned, recalling how many times he had done something similar at places in Washington. There was a satisfying feeling to touching cool stone on a hot day.

“Señor, you want me to take your picture?”

The offer, in heavily accented English, made CJ turn around while taking off his shirt. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky to block the scorching tropical sun, and he had started sweating. He replied in Spanish. “No, gracias, I have a selfie stick.” He hated the damn things, but they were convenient at times like this.

The slender youngster with bleached hair was in shape. The bright-yellow crop top revealed tight abdominals, and the shorts left strong legs on display. “I only charge you one dollar.” Staring at CJ’s chest, he licked his lips while coming closer. “I’m Yaniel.”

A few days before flying to Havana, Jake Cruz had brought a CIA technician to their house to install scanning and jamming software in their satellite phone, similar to what had been on their regular ones in Mexico. At the time, CJ and Owen were told, although discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation was illegal in Cuba, not everyone was enlightened. The suggestion the couple not engage in public displays of affection was met with raucous laughter. They were also advised street hustlers might try to pick them up.

“Is that how you make a living?” CJ was certain the young man rented himself to tourists but suspected something else might be afoot.

“I help tourists in many ways. As a guide, or I give a great massage if you’re interested.” The bleached hair and dark eyebrows gave the guy an exotic appearance; the plump lips evoked African ancestry.

“Tell you what. I’ll give you five dollars if you let me take a picture of the two of us together.” While talking, CJ retrieved the stick from his drawstring bag and attached the camera. “I’ll take a couple of myself; then you can stand next to me.”

When the youngster did, he wrapped his arms around CJ’s midsection and rested his head on the American’s shoulder.

“Gracias.” A server had delivered their drinks, glasses of water, and a basket with slices of Cuban bread. “How come everyone else in the place gets a menu?” CJ waved toward other patrons being attended to by uniformed waiters.

Camilo shrugged. “I ordered stuff not always on it. That’s crap for the tourists. Can you imagine they go for daiquiris made with grapefruit juice and topped with a maraschino cherry?”

CJ shuddered. “Not a chance. I’m a traditionalist. Although fried fish with rice and beans for lunch means I’ll regret the heavy food this afternoon.”

“Bah! I’m certain you’ll find a way to burn the calories off. You’re in great shape. And those thighs and calves tell me you’re a runner and don’t skip leg day at the gym.” Under the table, Camilo rested a hand on CJ’s knee and rubbed upwards.

Before it could reach the hem of his shorts, CJ had clamped his own around the man’s wrist and twisted. Camilo flinched but otherwise kept his composure. CJ did not let go.

“¡Coño! What is it with all you intelligence officers wanting to get in my pants?”

The look of shock on Camilo’s face was immediately replaced by a confused expression CJ knew was not genuine. “Intelligence officers? I’m not sure I understand.”

“Please, give me a break. I may not be trained like you, but I’m not stupid, and I am observant. I spotted you soon after I left the hotel, and you’ve been trailing me all morning.”

Camilo was definitely surprised. “Can I have my hand back?”

“You may, but you try that shit again, I’ll hurt you like I did Yevgeny.” CJ was enjoying the disbelief repeatedly flashing across Camilo’s face. “Don’t look so surprised. Considering President Díaz-Canel brought him up last night, I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.”

The Cuban officer nodded while rubbing his wrist. “I do. I must say I’m impressed. I admit I wasn’t overly cautious because I never imagined you’d figure out you were being followed.”

“I’m in a country under the yoke of a totalitarian regime; I expected shit to happen.” CJ reached for his camera and found the picture of the young hustler. He showed it to Camilo. “And really? You sent that skinny thing to try to seduce me? How old is he? Like seventeen? You recruit them young, don’t you?”

“Twenty-two, and he doesn’t work for me. I knew what he does for a living, where to find him, and suggested he approach you. Wanting to see how you’d react, I may have mentioned you were American, wealthy, and gay. He was immediately interested. When you took your shirt off, I think he drooled.” Camilo chuckled, and CJ grinned. “Did the Russian in Mexico try to seduce you?”

“Yep. And it obviously backfired on him. When I didn’t respond to his initial advances, he tried to pawn off a pretty, built, and well-hung ballet dancer on me. Not sure why you guys think I’m easy and haven’t figured out my type or if I’m a top or a bottom. My type’s Owen. I haven’t had sex with anyone else since we got married, and I don’t plan to change my ways. Wait until I tell him you sent a blond twink after me, and when that didn’t work, you tried to feel me up yourself.”

“Are you really going to tell him?”

“Oh, hell, yeah. I tell him everything. If you don’t want him to hear something, don’t mention it in front of me.”

Camilo leaned back and smirked. “So, are you active or passive?”

The server interrupted their conversation when he delivered their food. CJ ordered a second cocktail.

Moving further away from the seashore, after his encounter with the blond young man, CJ randomly wandered the city’s streets. He wanted to get a feel for the place and the people. Having already drained his water bottle, he stopped a pushcart vendor and bought a granizado de piña. The dark-skinned seller was pleased to find an American tourist fluent in Spanish and chatted non-stop while shaving ice from a large block, stuffing it into a paper cone, and drizzling pineapple syrup over it. The refreshing concoction was perfect on such a hot day.

A couple of streets later, he discovered a shrine to Afro-Cuban religions. Callejón de Hamel was a narrow, two-block-long alley full of colorful murals, paintings, and found-objects art. The old bathtubs attached to building walls had been given a new life depicting rituals and deities.

He stopped to peruse crafts offered outside a rickety stall, talked to the woman staffing the table, and promised to return later. He thought he had found something to buy for Liebe but wanted Owen’s agreement first.

Moving further east, he zig-zagged his way for some thirty minutes before reaching El Capitolio Nacional. CJ grinned, thinking if the lighting was dim and he squinted the right way, he could confuse the Capitol in Havana with the one in Washington. The dome and the columns tied the two structures together. The white limestone and granite building was home to the island’s Congress until it was disbanded after Fidel Castro came to power.

He bought a ticket across the street, slipped his shirt on, and joined one of the hourly guided tours.

The building had been refurbished in time for the 500th anniversary of Havana’s founding, and the massive six-year restoration had returned it to its original grandeur; it was more ornate than its cousin in D.C.

Within the apse stood the Statue of the Republic; made in Rome, it was assembled in situ. Covered in gold leaf, it was supposedly one of the largest indoor statues in the world. Also in the main hall, embedded in the floor, was a replica of a diamond marking KM Zero for all points in Cuba.

As he exited, CJ bemoaned the two chamber rooms had been unoccupied by a deliberative body for so long. He hoped if the Cubans did want to use him as a conduit for dialogue with the United States, it might lead to a new Cuban congress.

“Dessert?” Camilo asked as the server retrieved their empty plates.

CJ shook his head. “Nope. But I’ll take an espresso.”

Camilo raised two fingers, and the waiter nodded. “What are your plans for the rest of the day? Maybe I can tag along.”

“And if I say no, you’ll either follow me or have someone else trail me. I’m, wait, I should say we are visiting the cathedral and then walking back to El Presidente. I promised to meet Owen at the hotel bar. I do have to stop somewhere and buy a couple of cigars for tonight.”

“Perfect. After the church, I’ll take you to a little tabaqueria I know; then I want to meet this Owen of yours. He must be something if you can’t be tempted.”

“He’s more than you could imagine. But I doubt you’ll have any better luck with him than you did with me. Then again, you’re almost as hot as I am—you may have a chance.”

“Come mierda.”

After a ten-minute walk, the two men stood on the Plaza de la Catedral, staring at the Havana Cathedral. The Baroque façade had asymmetrical bell towers and reminded CJ of the original Basilica de la Virgen de Guadalupe in Mexico City. Moving to the entrance, he fingered a stone block with fossilized seashells embedded in it.

“It’s built out of coral rock,” Camilo offered. “Construction began in the mid-1700s by the Jesuits, and it was completed some twenty-five years later after the religious order was expelled.”

“Wait. The Jesuits were expelled from Cuba back then? I went to a Jesuit university, and I didn’t know that.”

Camilo nodded. “I’ve heard the order provides some of the best education in the world. It’s a small historical note I learned about in my own studies. A course on imperialism and how first Spain then the United States felt it was their right to run the island to benefit them.”

“Like the Soviets did after Castro took over? Please spare me the propaganda, Camilo. I don’t need a lesson on imperialism, capitalism, socialism, or communism. I may not know everything, but I’m a capitalist through and through.”

Entering the cavernous nave, CJ immediately glanced upward. The domed ceiling was supported by columns so large it would have taken more than the two of them, with their hands touching, to wrap around their circumference. There were some beautiful carvings, but otherwise, Cj did not find anything spectacular about it. Once they had walked around the entire space, he motioned toward the exit.

The moment they walked outside, the heat struck him hard, and he again whipped off his shirt and tucked it in his shorts’ waistline. “Too damn hot. I’m ready to head back to the hotel.”

“I’m surprised.” Camilo grinned. “I figured you’d want to kneel and pray like most tourists do. You didn’t even cross yourself.”

“Not me. I may have been raised Catholic, but I left the church when I realized I was gay, and most Christians looked down on me. To each his own, but I have no interest in following an imperialistic organization hell-bent on imposing their beliefs on others.” The grin he shared with Camilo when he mentioned an imperialistic organization was absolutely evil.

Camilo cracked up. “Imperialistic? There’s hope for you, Mr. Abelló. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Come mierda.”

The two chatted as if they were old friends on the way back. CJ talked about his grandparents and their memories of Cuba, his fathers, and his daughter. He showed Camilo recent pictures of the girl still in the camera.

Camilo shared some of his background, how he had risen through military ranks, winding up in his current position, which he did not clearly describe. He claimed he was bi but leaned towards men. It was one of the reasons he had been assigned to be CJ and Owen’s handler.

CJ shoulder-bumped him at that point. “You’re still not getting in my pants.”

Apart from frequent pauses so CJ could snap pictures, their one stop was at a cigar outlet catering to locals. Camilo took him around the building and knocked on a side door. Inside, CJ stopped, closed his eyes, and inhaled; the delicious aroma of dry tobacco leaves permeated the space.

He left with two Unión Maduros and promised to return for a more significant purchase once Americans were allowed to legally carry cigars home again. Although Obama had liberalized some embargo rules, allowing visitors to the island to take home a limited supply for personal use, Trump had reversed the decision. In CJ’s opinion, just another stupid move by the fat blob.

They found Owen in the hotel bar, having a drink with Alicia and Raúl. CJ wrapped his arms around his husband from the back and leaned in to noisily kiss his cheek. “Jake was right about us being followed,” he whispered so only Owen could hear. Pulling away, he draped an arm over Camilo’s shoulders and spoke for everyone’s benefit. “I’d like you guys to meet Camilo. We bumped into each other at lunch, chatted for a bit, and hit it off. He played tour guide afterward.”

While the Cuban shook hands with the Nature Conservancy delegation, CJ ordered a rum and tonic from the bartender. When he glanced at the intelligence officer, the man nodded, signaling he wanted the same.

“Where’s Jay?” CJ asked after taking a sip from his cocktail.

“In his room. Probably sulking.” Raúl grinned when CJ shot him a questioning look. “He acted up during our last meeting, demanded the Cuban government do something or other, and was quickly reminded he was a guest of said government. He was told he was being rude, and it would be better if he sat out of tomorrow’s session.”

“Ouch!” CJ was not surprised the abrasive scientist had managed to upset the Cuban negotiators.

Alicia sighed and provided a bit more detail; since Camilo had admitted he was fluent in English, there was no need for anyone to translate. “Once again, his lack of tact got him in trouble. I convinced our hosts to let him participate tomorrow, but I suspect he won’t be invited back.”

“Quite a difference from my new friend here.” Camilo placed a hand on CJ’s shoulder. “The couple of times we veered into politics, CJ made it clear he doesn’t support many of our policies, but did so respectfully. I’m more used to Cuban-American politicians lambasting us, so it was a nice change.”

“I’m not a politician. I was a diplomat, and now I’m a college student once again.”

“Ah, yes. You’re headed back into the clutches of the Jesuits.”

CJ hip-bumped the man. “Camilo’s been giving me crap about attending a Catholic university while claiming I’m not religious.”

Once their cocktails were finished, Camilo departed, reminding CJ to be waiting outside the hotel the following morning.

“He’s bloody hot. What happened?” Owen finished removing the necktie he had previously loosened and tossed it atop the jacket he draped over a chair.

“And he’s hung!”

“Excuse me?”

“We went to the bathroom when we finished lunch, and I peeked while washing my hands. Not as long as the Russian ballet dancer, but way thicker. Bet that sucker would hurt.”

“You planning to find out?”

CJ smirked. “Nah… I’m addicted to Australian beef.”

Owen finished undressing while chuckling. “Come on. Let’s shower, and you can tell me all about your day while you finish what you tried to start this morning.”

Stepping outside the hotel, they found the ubiquitous minivan waiting for them. CJ slipped into the front seat again. “Hey, Anton.” When he glanced at the driver, the man was appraising him while nodding.

“When Colonel Contreras and I spoke earlier, we agreed you were handsome. I’ll have to tell him you dress well too,” he said in Spanish. “Although seeing you without a shirt like he did might be interesting.”

In the back, Owen cackled, making CJ turn and glare. He caught Raúl leaning close to Alicia and stage whispering, “He’s flirting with CJ.” She grinned, and Jay scowled.

CJ, running a hand over his torso to smooth the shirt’s front, returned his attention to the driver. “Thank you, Pipo.” Camilo assigned Anton as their driver, so CJ thought it fitting their driver would also be bi or gay.

Not wanting to match, Owen had worn a long-sleeved, cream-colored guayabera and blue slacks. CJ had gone for a blue silk shirt and tan linen pants. Both wore tasseled loafers without socks.

The El Tropicana nightclub occupied an old estate and had its roots in the 1930s. Opened as an outdoor venue, it had remodeled the old mansion to provide an indoor option during inclement weather. The evening’s show would be in the garden setting.

“Sit here, CJ.” The Americans were guests of Elba Rosa Pérez Montoya, the Minister of Science, Technology, and Environment; she patted the seat next to hers as Jay West made to pull the chair out.

“Thank you, Elba. And thank you for including me tonight.”

“Of course. I wasn’t sure about you being on this trip, CJ. But I understand you impressed a mutual acquaintance today. He said you were more than a pretty face; that you had intelligence too.” The woman was old enough to be CJ’s grandmother, so he assumed the flirting was innocent and not an attempt to get him in bed.

“I think the pretty one in our family’s our daughter. And she looks more like Owen than me. Did he show you pictures?” Although they had left their smartphones with all their pictures in Washington, CJ knew Owen kept a few on his tablet.

She shook her head. “We were quite busy today and didn’t have time for too many personal conversations. Do you have any with you?”

Next to him, Owen chuckled. “Both of us have more pictures of Liebe than of anyone else in our phones. I think there are a few still in the camera we brought. From when we were in Key West, Michigan, and New York earlier this summer.”

While showing the minister the pictures, CJ caught Raúl’s whispered translation for Alicia and Jay’s benefit. He and Alicia grinned while Jay appeared infuriated.

The food was mediocre, but the rum and tonics were good. The show CJ found interesting, even if not something he would feel the need to watch again. Scantily clad women with feathered headdresses and men in diaphanous gauze pants sang and danced accompanied by hypnotic percussion. The music was definitely worth listening to, but the eroticism of the moves was, at times, over the top.

At the end of the night, while shaking hands with one of their servers, CJ slipped her a ten-dollar bill as a tip. Owen did the same with her companion. The expressions of gratitude were a little too much for his taste, but CJ was generous and gracious; he profusely thanked both for their impeccable service.

The moment they climbed into their vehicle, Jay pounced. “What is it with you and monopolizing Cuban officials?” His comment was aimed at CJ. “I wanted to sit next to our host, but you butted in and took my seat.”

CJ turned and stared at the man. “We gonna do this again in front of the driver?”

“I don’t care. The way the Cubans all fawn over you, I’m pretty sure you’re working for them.”

“First, you accuse me of working for the CIA and now for the Cuban government. Which one is it, Jay?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us? I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“Further proof you’re not so smart after all. I could answer your question, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Owen, not quite drunk but probably feeling no pain, jumped in. “Come on, Ceej. You promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone else this year.”

Alicia and Raúl did not bother to hide their laughter; the driver tried to disguise his by coughing.

“I know I promised not to kill anyone else, but can I just beat the shit out of Jay? Maybe break a few bones?” CJ and Owen took turns brushing their teeth and washing their faces.

“Asshole. If you had asked anyone in our afternoon meeting today, I’m sure someone would have handed you a gun or held him down for you.” The cold water he splashed on his face apparently cleared some of Owen’s inebriation.

“That bad?”

“Ceej, I wanted to slap him myself. I wondered why the Cubans had asked for this meeting since the Conservancy’s been working on the island for the last twenty years or so. In coral reef protection. They were somewhat vague with details, but the crux of it is they expect increased tourism and related development in coming years.

“Remembering Jake tell us the CIA suspected there were changes coming? I kept quiet. Jay, instead, pestered them for more information until he was told it was none of his business and his presence would not be needed tomorrow.”

“No wonder the fucker was in such a bad mood all night.”

“What about you? Did you find out anything about bald, dark, and handsome? I mean. Apart from the fact he has a big dick?”

CJ threw a pillow at his husband. “Not really. Once he approached me, we talked about a lot of things, but not the reason for me being invited. Since I’m spending the first part of the day alone with him tomorrow, maybe he’ll mention something. Otherwise, I’ll ask him once you join us in the afternoon.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to getting out and seeing a bit of the city other than fleeting glimpses while driving around.”

“By the way, he wanted to take us out to a club tomorrow night. I told him we couldn’t stay out too late since we had booked a diving trip for Saturday morning. Long story short, I need to cancel that reservation.”

“Why? I really wanted to.”

“Oh, we’re still going diving, but with Camilo and some friend of his. Instead of the sites around Havana full of tourists, he’s picking us up on Saturday, and we’re driving a couple of hours east. He claims we’ll love the reefs and promised to take us to a wreck too. He said we could hit the club that night.”