Luz de Castilla - Summer of '22 Book IX - 4. Scuba Diving

Owen turned his back to the window to look at the vehicle’s driver. “Did you know that the other day, when Dr. West complained about President Díaz-Canel knowing who CJ was, my dear husband joked maybe the man was a fan? Imagine my surprise last night when CJ recounted his conversation with you, and I found out that was actually the case.”

CJ shrugged when a smiling Camilo glanced at him in the rearview mirror. The Cuban officer had been punctual, picking them up at five in front of their hotel. All three were dressed for comfort since they had a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Cárdenas.

“Your husband’s an interesting man, Owen. As much as I had read about him, I was unsure what to expect. I’ve truly enjoyed spending time with him. He seems intelligent, is articulate, and I don’t think he scares easily. Do you know he talks about you and your daughter all the time?”

“Of course I talk about him. I mean, he’s the total package, smart and hot. And a great dad to Liebe.”

Owen blew him a silent kiss and returned his attention to Camilo. “Now that we know how much we all love each other, I have some questions for you.”

The weather was beautiful, and the windows were down; the breeze carried a tinge of brine mixed with earth from agricultural fields flanking the road. With the highway devoid of traffic in the pre-dawn hours, Camilo barreled eastward on Via Blanca. CJ moved up in his seat to ensure he heard above the whistling wind.

“I know this Nature Conservancy meeting was on the drawing board for months before I was asked to join the delegation. And I realize I was invited so you guys could get your hands on my husband. Why did you wait until after we left Mexico to bring us in?”

“Get our hands on your husband?” Camilo chuckled. “Give yourself a little bit more credit, Owen. If you weren’t qualified, you wouldn’t have been invited. Anyway, you can blame the timing on me. You have to realize I hear things before they’re public. Thanks to Mexican contacts, I knew about your daughter’s rescue the day after it happened. When CJ posted a picture of the three of you in a pool, saying he was unemployed and was taking a few days off, I saw an opportunity.”

CJ was interested; he and Camilo had not discussed the subject. “What kind of opportunity?”

“A chance to combine two separate but related operations. We want to make changes that will hopefully impact the lives of my compatriots in a positive way. One goal’s improved relations with the United States, and we wanted to use back channels to start a dialogue. CJ not being a State Department employee any longer made him appealing as a courier. The fact President Díaz-Canel was already infatuated with him meant my suggestion was well received.”

Owen grinned and nodded. “I can see that. If you dug into CJ’s background, you had to know a little about me. My experience with the debt reduction in exchange for environmental protections program in Belize fits in. I told CJ you guys want to plan for increased development and tourism, but you have to do it in a way it doesn’t damage those areas you would promise to protect.”

“CJ was right; you’re smart.”

Camilo described CJ as a new breed of Cuban-American, not beholden to those exiles who harbored nothing but ill will towards the Cuban government. He claimed CJ was able to take a more global look. What ensued was a lively discussion of Miami's conservative politics, Cuban human rights abuses, and American meddling in other countries..

“Ooof!” Owen, obviously not expecting CJ to stop in the middle of the dock, had run into him.

“Oz, what are the chances?” Pointing at the vessel tied at the end, CJ turned to Camilo. “Is that what we’re going out on? That’s a Lagoon 42, right?”

“It is.” Camilo appeared surprised. “You’re familiar with it?”

“We both are.” CJ moved closer to the catamaran. “My dads’ neighbors own one, an older model, I’m pretty sure. We’ve taken it out a bunch of times.”

“You know how to sail?” The shirtless, hairy-chested man standing with a foot on the catamaran’s gunwale and the other on the pier’s wooden planks grinned and extended a hand in CJ’s direction. “I’m Manny. Welcome aboard the Libertad.”

“Hey. I’m CJ, and this is Owen, my husband. You’re our captain for the day?”

Camilo was the last one to climb aboard. “Manny, that’s CJ Abelló and the blond’s Dr. Owen Liston. Gentlemen, Capitán Manuel Puente Soler of the Cuban Revolutionary Navy. Everyone calls him Manny. He made the arrangements for us to borrow Libertad.”

“Camilo, you call me doctor again, and I’ll have CJ hurt you before I throw you overboard.” A grinning Owen turned his attention to the navy man. “Great to meet you, mate. How does the Cuban Navy come to own a luxury cat?”

“Definitely not our typical kind of vessel. This one was used by drug smugglers; we intercepted them on their way to the Bahamas and confiscated the boat. It’s reserved for government officials or to entertain foreign dignitaries. When Camilo called me, he said he had two Americans our president wanted to show a good time.”

Seeing the easy camaraderie between Camilo and Manny, CJ assumed their captain was the man mentioned before as a special friend. “Just to be clear, a good time means going diving, right? Camilo already tried to get in my pants, and it almost cost him a hand.” The eyebrow wiggle CJ added to show he was being playful and was not really complaining.

“I want to hear that story. Hang on one minute.” Manny stuck his head in the main salon and shouted. “Maceo! Get out here and meet our passengers.”

Maceo appeared to be in his early twenties, had the prevalent dark, tan skin, but in contrast to Camilo and Manny, the younger man was smooth. “Hola…” Shirtless and wearing frayed cutoffs, a thin strip of lighter skin was visible above the waistline. He seemed apprehensive. “Sorry, no speak English.”

CJ grinned and offered a fist bump. “Not a problem. We both speak Spanish. I’m CJ.”

“I’m Owen. My Spanish’s not perfect, but we’ll be fine.” Owen’s friendliness seemed to clinch Maceo’s approval; the guy immediately smiled.

They would discover he was part of Manny’s staff and had been chosen to be first mate due to his familiarity with sailing vessels.

“CJ, since you know your way around the boat, wanna take her off the dock?” While the Americans greeted the young sailor, Camilo had stripped to swim trunks. The man was in even better shape than was discernible while wearing shirts and long pants.

When CJ turned, he whistled. “Damn! You look good, Camilo. And no, I don’t think either one of us wants to risk crashing. I’ll let the professionals guide us out. But I’ll help with the lines.” Since the Cubans were all shirtless and wearing only shorts, CJ decided to join them; he kicked off his flip-flops and pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Where can we drop off our stuff?”

“I’ll take it inside for you, señor.” Maceo had already collected Camilo’s discarded garments.

“Oz, wanna take the camera out of the bag? We need to take pictures as we pull off the dock.”

Maceo took Owen’s t-shirt and held a hand out for the bag. “I’ll put it where it won’t get wet, señor.”

“Don’t call us señor, Maceo. I’m Owen, and he’s CJ. And don’t worry too much about the bag; we brought this one because it’s waterproof.”

Designed by a former Green Beret, the GoRuck backpack was their preferred one when on or near water. Constructed from military-grade material, with leather trimmed duck canvas, the retro-looking rucksack was scuffed and scratched due to frequent use.

Leaving port, Manny rounded Cayo Cupey and headed northeast in the Bay of Cárdenas. Reaching Cayo Macho, he turned east into the channel separating the mainland on their right and the Sabana-Camagüey archipelago to their left. The string of over 2,500 barrier islands ran past several provinces on Cuba’s north-central Atlantic coast, with large areas of mangroves and coral reefs surrounding them.

“Do you want to take the wheel?” Manny stood at the helm with CJ at his side; Owen, down to his Aussie Bum square-cut swimmers and slathered in sunscreen, sat on a pontoon aiming the camera at the passing coastline.

“Sure. Due east?” CJ caressed the wheel, and his smile grew; he felt at home on the catamaran thanks to countless outings aboard the older model back in Washington.

“Yes. The spot I have in mind’s about a half-hour away.”

The sun was higher in the sky when they killed the engines and dropped anchor. Libertad bobbing on the calm waters reminded CJ of one of Liebe’s floating boats in the bathtub before his daughter created a maelstrom by kicking, usually splashing whichever father was bathing her. Luckily, the forecast was for bright sunshine and no precipitation.

“How deep is it below us?” Owen, leaning over the side, pointed at a dark patch a few feet away visible through the turquoise waters.

“Around ten meters. Try this one on.” Camilo handed him a mask and snorkel from one of the lockers in the stern.

While cruising, Maceo had lined air tanks on the port side and attached hoses and buoyancy compensators to them. “I’ll take this one.” CJ turned the knob on the one nearest him and tested the regulator. Satisfied he could breathe, he repeated the process with the one next to it. “Oz, want to get the computers and air transmitters?”

“You have your own dive computers?” Maceo sounded surprised, and CJ assumed most divers he came in contact with did not.

“We do. Want to look at one?” Owen handed the young Cuban a rectangular device with a wristband, and CJ two small black cylinders.

“Nice…” Maceo returned it while nodding. “I’ve heard about these but never seen one. How does it connect to the tank?”

“See this?” Cj held up one of the black canisters and replaced the pressure gauge attached to a tank with it. “It communicates with our wrists. The computer keeps track of depth and position, and tells us how much air and dive time we have left. If we were deep enough to need a decompression stop during ascent, it would alert us while there was enough air left to reach the surface after any needed stops.”

The guy appeared impressed. “Does everyone in America use these?”

“Nope. These are actually new for us. We bought them when we were in Key West early in the summer, and this is only the second time we use them. Our old ones weren’t this fancy.”

“Is Suunto an American brand?”

“They’re made in Finland,” Owen said. “Our old ones were Japanese, but the Finns manufacture quality equipment, and we had our eyes on these for a couple of years. We decided to splurge when we left Mexico. CJ called it shopping therapy.”

Camilo, fiddling with the other tanks, chuckled. “So, CJ, is that what you do right after you kill someone? You go shopping?”

CJ shoulder-bumped their new friend. “Come mierda.”

Buoyancy compensators on and tanks strapped to their backs, CJ and Camilo sat on the stern platform and slipped their fins on. When Camilo attached a thin metal rod to his BC, CJ asked what it was for.

“We’re hoping to catch lunch.” Baton in hand, Camilo snapped his wrist, and the foot-long doodad telescoped out a couple of more feet. “There should be lobsters around, and this will help coax them from under rocks and out of crevices.”

Unlike the ones found in cold waters off Maine and Canada, spiny lobsters populated tropical waters around Florida and the Caribbean. Instead of their carapace being a greenish-brown, the tropical crustacean’s tan and rust colors provided perfect camouflage among the coral reefs. Aside from the different coloration, spiny lobsters lacked large claws; the meat was primarily in their tails. The device Camilo carried would be used to tickle them out of hiding so the diver could catch them.

“Oh, okay, a tickle stick. Why’s Manny carrying a spear gun?”

“Lionfish.”

The one word was a sufficient answer. The invasive, Indian Ocean species were beautiful and popular with aquarium hobbyists. However, they had infected Atlantic waters along the southeastern United States, around the Bahamas, and large segments of the Caribbean. With no natural predators, the easiest way to reduce the damage they could cause native fauna and flora was to catch and eat them. The flaky, white meat was delicious.

Pristine was the word that came to CJ’s mind. The colorful formations and multihued life swimming around the coral formations were nearly overwhelming. One of the few things CJ was thankful for from Colonel Dickhead, his stepfather, was the man’s insistence he become a certified diver. Since then, most of his underwater adventures had taken place in the waters around the Florida Keys. Those areas often showed the stress of being a popular tourist destination.

Here, there were no discarded cans of Coke or Budweiser anywhere in sight, and fish did not scatter when he swam nearer. It was the type of environment Owen and the Nature Conservancy worked to protect, and the current dive steeled CJ’s resolve to support his husband’s efforts. As soon as Liebe was old enough, he planned to get her certified, hoping she would one day enjoy the experience as much as he was at the moment.

When Owen pointed the camera at him, CJ dragged Camilo into the picture. They repeated the process until all four had posed for a shot. The time they spent under the surface was beautiful, it was enjoyable, and it was fruitful. When they returned to Libertad, the mesh bag attached to Camilo’s weight belt had four huge lobsters, and Manny’s spear had neatly pierced half a dozen lionfish.

As soon as they shed their equipment, Maceo used a machete to slice off the top of coconuts and handed each of the divers one. “I just took them out of the ice chest; they should be nice and cool.”

“Damn, that hits the spot. Thanks, Maceo.”

“My pleasure.” The young man reached for the lobsters and the fish. “Let me take these inside, and I’ll bring something for you to snack on.” He returned a moment later, carrying a plate stacked with papaya spears, pineapple chunks, mango slices, and orange segments.

Owen appeared unable to stop eating the fresh fruit. “This is way better than a bottle of water and a frozen Milky Way.”

“What’s that?” Maceo asked.

“A chocolate concoction. When we’ve gone diving in Florida, most captains offer water and frozen candy bars. This is healthier and just as satisfying.” Smiling, he turned to Manny. “What’s next, Cap?”

“How long have you and Owen been married?” Manny pointed at the compass needle.

CJ turned the wheel enough to adjust for a slight drift. “Four years. Why do you ask?”

“The way you stare at him, one would think you’re newlyweds.”

Their post-dive break over, Manny had invited the American couple to take control of Libertad. Owen insisted on handling the sails while CJ stood beside Manny, following his directions to their next destination. Camilo was helping Maceo store the used tanks and set up fresh ones for the next dive.

CJ grinned. The reason for the course deviation was his distraction when Owen began raising the main sail. The muscles on the Aussie’s back and arms rolled when he wound the line around the capstan and pulled. It was a silent symphony to CJ, and he could not tear his eyes away from his husband.

“Yeah… I’m just as crazy about him as the day we married. Maybe a bit more. Look at him. He’s perfect.”

Manny’s guffaw and back slap made CJ’s grin grow.

“He is definitely hot. If I hadn’t been warned off by Camilo, I might have made a play to get either one of you in bed. Maybe both at the same time.”

“You would have been disappointed. We would have turned you down. I know a sexy man when I see one and can appreciate good looks and a hot body, but I have no interest in anyone but him.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“More like lust at first sight. I don’t believe you fall in love with someone when you see them for the first time. We spent months getting to know each other before I was ready to admit I liked him that way. Thankfully, he was patient with me and didn’t give up.”

“What are you two talking about?” Camilo had gone unnoticed when he joined them.

Both turned and answered simultaneously. “Owen.”

Camilo looked at the blond tying the lines off and grinned. “He does look good out there.”

“Pig. Stop drooling. That’s my husband.”

“I know I can’t touch, but I can still enjoy the view. Did Manny explain where we’re going?”

CJ shook his head. “Not really. All he said was we would round Cayo Falcones and then head west once we hit the Atlantic. What kind of wreck are we diving, anyway?”

“It’s a coastal patrol boat that sank about five years ago in a storm.” Camilo leaned against the side and crossed his arms. “It was manufactured in the Soviet era, and the Russians were paranoid about anyone diving on it. Even after sensitive equipment was removed. It was old and not worth the cost or effort to raise it, so we left it alone after salvaging what we could. The area’s off-limit to tourists, so there’s not a lot of diving on it.”

“Have you guys gone down on it?”

Camilo nodded. “I did when it first sank but haven’t been back since.”

“I have,” Manny said. “But it’s been a while. In 2020, Hurricane Eta rampaged through this area, and I haven’t dived it since before then. Friends have mentioned the boat had tilted further on its side, but that it was still pretty much intact. Reef rocks portside and sand on the starboard.”

“Where’s Maceo?” Owen asked when he joined the three men at the helm.

“Once we finished setting up the tanks for our next dive, he went to the galley to prep for lunch,” Camilo replied. “Last I saw him, he was snipping spines off the lionfish.”

“Those remain poisonous even after removed, right?”

Camilo nodded. “For about an hour at ambient temperature. Once he thinks they’re safe, we’ll dump them over the side.”

Owen turned to Manny. “How much further?”

“About thirty minutes. Don’t worry about lowering the sails. After watching CJ handle the wheel, and you the lines, I trust you guys with Libertad. Camilo and I will handle the lines when we get there.”

“I don’t mind. After three days with little physical activity, it felt good to move around. How deep’s the next dive?” Owen scooted behind CJ, placed his arms around him, and took hold of the wheel. “Move, Ceej. I wanna drive.”

“Sure… By the way, Camilo, thanks for arranging this. We were booked on one of those tourist dives, and I know it would have been crowded, and we wouldn’t have been able to take over the boat.”

“My pleasure. I’m glad you guys are enjoying yourselves. The wreck’s about twenty meters below the surface, Owen.”

“Ceej, we’re gonna need to wrap the camera. Wanna handle it?”

Manny looked confused. “Wrap it? Isn’t the camera waterproof?”

CJ was already on his way to get the aforementioned enclosure from their backpack. “It is up to one atmosphere. In deeper water, we need to put it inside a protective casing.”

Manny had some final word before they jumped in the water. “We have a small chop compared to our earlier dive spot, guys. The islands protected us before, but there’s nothing but ocean between here and the Bahamas to the north.” He stopped for a moment and slipped his mask on. “The current will be stronger, so you’ll work harder and use more air. Pay attention to your gages, and do not swim off alone. Got it?” He got three raised thumbs in response.

They followed the anchor’s chain down to the bottom, then swam northwest in the direction Manny pointed. The water was warm and clear, and CJ enjoyed the feeling of solitude he always experienced when diving. He blew his nose a couple of times to equalize the pressure.

A moment after he turned the GoPro on, a giant grouper surprised him when it swam at him before veering off at the last moment. With the large fish out of the way, CJ focused on the gray ship clearly visible ahead. Owen had taken the lead, and CJ followed.

Approaching from the stern, they followed the keel to the bow. The boat lay tilted, stuck on sand and rocks. There was a large gash on the side where it had initially run aground, leading it to sink. There was another hole with smooth edges CJ assumed had been cut with an underwater torch when the Cubans dove to retrieve whatever equipment the Russians did not want anyone to get their hands on.

Camilo swam next to him and pointed first at Manny, then at the other side of the wreck. CJ nodded and moved closer to Owen. They had dived on a couple of wrecks in the Florida Keys—larger ships sunk as part of artificial reefs—so the smaller vessel in front of them was nothing special. Manny had warned them not to enter it since he had no idea how stable it was.

They had been gliding above the ship for a bit, when Owen motioned for CJ to follow him and headed towards a sandy spot near the bow. CJ kept the camera focused on his husband until Owen pointed at something shiny; CJ figured it was a piece of the boat that had broken off.

The color was off, though. It wasn’t gray like the patrol boat or brown like a rusted piece of metal. It appeared to be small and yellow. Owen fanned the sand around it with a hand, reached for it, and turned to show CJ what was unmistakably a gold coin.

His “What the fuck?” went unheard, but his eyes opened wide when Owen reached down again and plucked a thick, golden chain from the sand; at the end hung a trident, both appearing to be gold too, with a green stone embedded on top. When Owen made to dig again, CJ stopped him and pointed toward their two diving companions. Owen nodded, and both swam toward Camilo and Manny.

The masks could not hide their surprise when they saw the items Owen held. CJ was amused at how everyone tried to talk simultaneously; the wild hand and arm movements were funny. Owen motioned for everyone to follow and guided their hosts to the proper spot. He handed Camilo the coin and pendant to hold and resumed his previous fanning; his effort was immediately rewarded when a dark clump peeked out from beneath the surface.

When he made to grab it, CJ tapped him on the arm while shaking his head. Raising a finger, he circled his arm to encompass the four of them, then pointed to the surface. Everyone nodded their agreement.

Maceo was waiting to help them climb aboard. CJ grabbed Owen’s hand and guided him to hide to coin and pendant in his BC. He tilted his head in Maceo’s direction and raised a finger to his lips. Moments later, when Camilo and Manny bobbed beside him, he spoke in English before either man could say a word. “Can we talk in front of him?” He tilted his head at the deckhand.

Camillo grinned and nodded while tossing his mask and fins aboard. “Quick thinking, Mr. Abelló. You continue to impress me. He doesn’t know it yet, but that sailor just got promoted and will be assigned to my personal staff the moment we set foot on land.”

CJ thought that was a smart move. Camilo would keep an eye on Maceo in case the man was tempted to talk or lead scavengers to the site. “Okay, you guys realize what’s down there?”

“It has to be a sunken galleon.” Owen retrieved the golden items from his pocket and glanced at them. “That’s a doubloon. Solid gold. And the trident and chain are gold too. No corrosion. Ceej, why did you stop me from pulling up that other thing?”

“Because it looked like a mass of silver coins fused together. That’s when it hit me; a ship carrying treasure sank in the same spot the patrol vessel did. When the most recent storm moved the new boat, it pierced or scraped the old one and scattered some of the contents.”

CJ glanced at Camilo and Manny and lost his smile. “I hope you guys end up doing this the right way, and if you do, whatever archeologist winds up in charge’s already gonna be pissed at us for moving shit. At least I got it all on video, and the GPS stamp will show where we were.”

“How do you know all this?” Manny glanced back and forth between CJ and Owen.

“We’ve watched documentaries on Nuestra Señora de Atocha and Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes.” Both ships had sunk, carrying treasure looted by the Spanish from their American possessions. Atocha off the coast of Florida, and Mercedes south of Portugal.

“Forget the archeologists for now, CJ.” Camilo used a towel to dry his face and head. “They’ll figure it out, but I need physical proof of what we found.”

The conversation had been carried on in English with constant stops to remove equipment. Maceo looked a little lost, and Camilo must have felt sorry for him. “Maceo, what you’re about to hear and see are national secrets. If you mention it to anyone, you’ll get in serious trouble.” When the sailor nodded, Camilo turned to Owen. “Go ahead and show him.”

While Maceo again provided refreshments and stowed the equipment, Camilo and Manny went inside, and CJ showed Owen the video he had shot while sipping coconut water. When Manny returned, his grin was impossibly large, and he carried four sweating beer cans. He handed Maceo, CJ, and Owen one each and raised his own in a toast. “To the best dive I’ll ever be a part of.”

“No way will we ever top that.” CJ glanced at the can and took a large swig. “Not bad, we hadn’t tried Cacique. Is Camilo joining us?”

Manny nodded. “He’s finishing a conversation with someone on the president’s staff. And the reason you haven’t tried Cacique’s because most tourist spots only serve Cristal or Bucanero. Years ago—”

“Gentlemen,” a smiling Camilo interrupted him. “I’m sorry, but we have a slight change in plans. We thought we’d beach the boat somewhere and broil the lobsters over an open fire, but we’ve been ordered to maintain our position until a navy vessel arrives to relieve us. Starting now, the entire area is not only restricted but will be secured twenty-four hours a day.”

Owen laughed. “You move fast, don’t you?”

“I can. When I have to. One other change, I’m picking you up a little earlier than I planned on tomorrow.”

“How come? All we have to do is collect that letter CJ’s supposed to carry back before heading to the airport.”

“President Díaz-Canel has invited us for coffee. He wants to talk to both of you.”

The lionfish ceviche, served in half a coconut shell, smelled of rum and pineapple. The bits of fresh fruit complemented the lime juice and the tender morsels of fish. The broiled lobster tails were presented with a side of the ever-present white rice sprinkled with coconut shavings and cilantro. CJ remembered cooking aboard the catamaran in Washington and was impressed with how much more efficient the newer model was. It even had an automatic rice maker.

“Are you a Marine?” Maceo pointed at the t-shirt CJ wore. “Is that why you have all those tattoos?”

Camilo had seen CJ without a shirt the day they met and inquired about the tattoos on his chest and left shoulder. The young American had explained the Southern Cross constellation above his heart was for Owen because he was from Australia, and the military-looking one on his shoulder was the same one Owen and close to a dozen friends shared. A membership badge for the group everyone referred to as CJ’s Squad.

When CJ dropped his shorts prior to their initial dive, the large design stretching along his right hip drew surprised expressions. Owen mentioned the spiral of arrows and sticks had been part of CJ’s twenty-first birthday celebration. CJ raised the side of the swim trunks he wore underneath the shorts so they could see the entire tattoo.

After their second dive, everyone had toweled off and put on dry clothes. With his shoulders feeling warm, CJ had slipped his t-shirt back on. He shook his head when Maceo asked the question. “Nope. I’ve never served. My father’s a retired Marine, and my brother’s in the Air Force, but I never joined.”

“Oh, so you know military people. That’s good.”

Owen cracked up. “Mate, we know a lot of military people. CJ’s brother’s still in school at the Air Force Academy; last spring, we spent time with him and a bunch of cadets in Cancún. And a friend who lives with us was in the army until he lost both legs in Afghanistan. Why were you asking if CJ was a Marine? His shirt?”

‘Yes. I like it. And although I know the Marines are a tool of an imperialistic power, I admire their dedication and strength.”

“I’ll let the tool of an imperialistic power slide. Just remember that using that logic, as a sailor in the Cuban Navy, you’re a tool of a totalitarian, communist regime.” CJ glanced at Camilo and winked; the man grinned and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Will he get in trouble wearing it?” CJ asked in English before stripping the shirt off.

Camilo shook his head. “Not if it’s on his own time. More so because of what I mentioned about him before.”

CJ handed Maceo the red t-shirt with the EGA logo on the left breast and US Embassy Mexico City on the back. “When we lived in Mexico, I worked out with the Marines providing embassy security. One of them became a good friend and gave me the shirt as a present. Sergeant Austin MacKenzie’s gonna love hearing a sailor in Cuba’s navy now owns it.”

Maceo’s face lit up. “Really? I can have it? Thank you!”

The sun, physical activity, and subsequent excitement tired the men; Owen claimed the back seat and napped most of the way back to Havana. Camilo had gone aboard the Navy ship dispatched at his request and returned saying he was satisfied with the instructions its captain had received. Shortly after, Manny pulled up anchor, and Libertad motored back to Cárdenas.

“I think it’s going to rain.” CJ looked out the open car window at clouds rolling in from the ocean. He inhaled deeply, and the moisture-laden, salt-tinged air brought memories of Florida summers when many claimed you could set a watch by the thunderstorms that would drench the area many an afternoon.

“We might get a sprinkle, but the forecast calls for another clear evening.” Camilo drummed the steering wheel with his fingers and appeared lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” CJ thought something was bothering the man. “You haven’t said much since we got on the road.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask the two of you a favor.”

“Just ask. The worst that can happen’s we say no.”

Camilo mirrored the young American’s grin and shook his head. “You’re too much. Anyway, we may have stumbled onto something quite significant, and I don’t mean the monetary value, but the history behind a colonial-era ship. When I made those phone calls earlier, I was asked to convince you guys not to say anything about it to anyone. Did you share the pictures or video you shot online?”

CJ shook his head. “Nope. We left our smartphones at home and only brought the satellite one. You may have noticed I used the GoPro to take pictures. We haven’t shared anything with anyone since we landed.”

“What are the chances you guys would hold off on posting anything for a week or so.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment the world finds out, we’ll be flooded with offers of assistance in exchange for a piece of the action. Because Spain may want to lay claim to the ship and its contents. And because we want to secure the area sufficiently to avoid treasure hunters trying to steal some of the riches that trident pendant suggests are buried underneath the sand.”

CJ turned to look at his sleeping husband and shrugged. “I think we can keep that portion of our trip quiet for a bit. I’ll talk to Owen when he wakes up, but he’ll probably go along with it.” He returned his attention to Camilo. “But if I’m carrying a letter back for our president, I’m supposed to be at the White House Monday morning, and I’ll bring it up then.”

“Would that be because it’s part of your job?”

“None of this is part of my job, Camilo. Whether you guys believe it or not, I’m no longer with State, and I’ve never been with the CIA or any other agency. I’m a private citizen. But the last thing I—we—need is accusations of conspiring with a foreign government or a foreign government’s intelligence service. Owen and I have plans such accusations might interfere with.”

Camilo chuckled. “Let me guess. You want a high-level government position.”

“You’re wrong. Not that it’s any of your business, but I do plan on spending the next two years in college. I may get involved in politics next year, but once again, it’ll be as a private citizen. You said a week?”

“That’s what I was told. Once we have adequate protection in place, and maybe a better idea of what we’re dealing with, our government will make an announcement. I was told you and Owen would be invited to attend and credited with the discovery.”

“That’s nice, even if not necessary. If I may offer a suggestion, contact National Geographic or Discovery. They have expertise in underwater archeology and could offer support. Offer them the right to film your operations in exchange. Not only will that help you finance the salvage, but the result could provide positive publicity. Something you guys desperately need.”

Conversation was sparse and light during the remainder of the drive. When Owen awoke, CJ explained Camilo’s request, and the Aussie agreed to keep things quiet until the Cubans made an announcement.

Camilo dropped them off at their hotel, confirming he would return around nine that evening.

“¡Coño! That just gave me a hardon.”

“Which one, mate? The car or the driver?”

“Haven’t figured that one out yet.”

“Pig!” Owen might have agreed with CJ; reaching down, he adjusted his crotch.

Camilo was waiting for them outside the hotel as promised. His biceps threatened to rip the sleeves of the white shirt he wore entirely unbuttoned. CJ and Owen were not the only ones benefiting from their day out on the waters; Camilo’s darker skin glowed underneath the extensive dusting of hair covering his muscles. White linen slacks and glimmering black boots complemented the outfit.

As good as the man looked, the car he leaned against was even more appealing. The 1950s teal and white convertible Buick had been lovingly restored and looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line in Flint.

“It’s magnificent, Camilo! Thank you for remembering I wanted to ride in one. How did you swing it?”

“Bah, after what you guys found today, I could have asked for anything and probably gotten it.”

CJ’s response was automatic. “Good. When are you guys holding real elections?”

Camilo cracked up. “That’s what you want? Most people would have asked for a finder’s fee.”

“We’re not most people, Camilo. CJ and I have enough we’ll never go hungry, but you can’t put a price on freedom and the ability to speak your mind.” Owen teetered on the edge of falling when CJ wrapped him in his arms and noisily kissed his cheek.

“Fuckin’ A, Oz! I couldn’t have said it better myself.” CJ returned his attention to the Cuban officer. “What year?”

“Fifty-six or fifty-seven, I wasn’t paying attention. Here.” Camilo tossed CJ the keys. “You said you wanted to drive one.”

A grinning CJ glanced at Owen, who raised an eyebrow questioningly. CJ shook his head. “Nah… maybe another time. I’d be scared of hurting it. I do want to crank it over, though. Oz? You got the camera?”

After taking pictures of the two visitors standing next to and sitting in the classic behemoth, Camilo drove to a nearby pizzeria. Located on the first floor of an old house in the same Vedado neighborhood their hotel was in, the owners lived on the second floor. It was one of the small businesses Cubans were allowed to operate after minor economic liberalizations years before.

“I passed along your suggestion to contact one of those organizations to discuss chronicling the entire operation for a documentary. The higher-ups are interested.” As Camilo had predicted, the afternoon clouds had dissipated as the sun set, making the ride under a starry night enjoyable. “I was asked to find out if you guys know any archeologists who might be interested in working on the project.”

“Cody.” Owen glanced at CJ sitting in the back seat to find his husband nodding.

“He’s a young doctoral candidate we met in Mexico, Camilo.” CJ slid forward in his seat; the cavernous inside of the Buick made conversation somewhat difficult. “He’s an American working at Chichèn Itzá, and although most of their efforts are on dry land, Cody’s been diving in area cenotes, including the one under the main pyramid. He has some experience in underwater archeology.”

“You think he’d be interested in talking to us?”

“I don’t see why not. How about Ozzie and I get in touch with him in the next couple of days, and we get back to you?”

“That works. Okay, we’re here.”

The circuitous route Camilo had taken returned them to a spot within walking distance of their hotel. La Zorra y El Cuervo was a jazz club in the middle of a block with multiple establishments catering primarily to tourists. It was dark and warm, but the cocktails were cold, and the music was hot.

The quartet of pianist, two brass players, and a drummer was excellent. Eventually joined by a female vocalist, CJ and Owen agreed the show was entertaining and worth the price of admission and expensive cocktails.

Back in their hotel room around midnight, they stripped to cool off but wound up getting hot again after they got in bed. A long day, a few cocktails, and the strenuous sexual bout led to them falling asleep soon after.