Havana

The lazy spinning of the ceiling fan barely stirred the air above the bed when CJ peeled himself away from Owen’s back. As usual, he was awake before the sun rose. The light ocean breeze blowing through the open glass doors scarcely moved the gossamer-thin curtains, unlike the previous mornings when a stronger zephyr helped cool the room. It did as little as the whirring blades to dissipate the heat and humidity that promised a scorching day.

At some point, they had kicked off the sheet covering them, and CJ admired his husband’s nakedness before standing and moving to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face helped him cool off a little. He wiped the sweaty sheen on his body with a towel while grinning at the sex smell oozing from his body; he would eventually wash it off, but at the moment, he enjoyed his musk.

He stood at the Juliette balcony naked, staring at the sleeping city. Street lights cast weak pools of brightness on street corners, and a few windows shone from within in buildings across the Vedado neighborhood. The lack of vehicular traffic meant he could hear the crashing of waves against the seawall a few blocks away.

Slipping on running shorts, he padded to the door and quietly stepped out. Since the hotel’s restaurant was open twenty-four hours, he stopped to get a cafè con leche and headed outside to the pool. He had forgone shirt and shoes but carried his journal.

The previous day had been nothing if not momentous. Diving the majestic coral reef had been exhilarating enough; discovering what they suspected was a treasure-laden Spanish galleon was an experience he doubted would be replicated any time soon. Since he had not written about it, he sat to chronicle the events.

“I’d like both of you to read this.” Their host handed over a sheaf of papers. The one on official stationery was in Spanish, and the other one in English.

CJ placed the small cup he had been sipping expresso from on the coffee table, kept the Spanish version, and handed the other one to Owen. The letter was addressed to President Joseph R. Biden, Jr. and was signed by Presidente Miguel Mario Díaz-Canel y Bermúdez.

“Are you certain you want us to read this, Mr. President?”

“Mr. Abelló, you and Dr. Liston are an integral first step to what we hope to accomplish in Cuba over the next few years.” The man answering CJ’s question was Juan Carlos García Granda, the island’s Minister of Tourism. His presence at the meeting had been justified because so much of what the Cubans hoped to accomplish was tied to improving infrastructure and enticing additional international visitors.

Camilo had picked them up in front of their hotel, placed their luggage in the back of the Santa Fe, and driven them to the Museo de la Revolución. The institution housed exhibits about the Fidel Castro-led insurrection and his years in power, with some space allocated to Cuba’s war of independence against Spain.

The Neo-Classical structure, decorated by the defunct Tiffany Studios out of New York City, had been inaugurated in 1920 as the Palacio Presidencial—the official residence of the island’s head of state. It had served in that capacity until Castro’s takeover.

CJ was simultaneously shocked and encouraged by what he read. Díaz-Canel proposed amnesty for political prisoners, the gradual legalization of political parties leading to internationally supervised elections, a pledge to cut ties with terrorist organizations, and a promise to reduce military expenditures with some savings redirected to social programs. It asked Biden to provide assistance in all areas.

Once done reading, CJ and Owen returned the papers to Díaz-Canel, who handed them to Camilo. The agent was the other individual in the room. He folded the letters, placed them in an envelope, and applied a wax seal. He returned it to CJ. “Do you need something to carry it in?”

“Thanks, Camilo. My drawstring bag will double as a diplomatic pouch. We have a lock for it.”

“I don’t think it needs to be said, but I will anyway.” Díaz-Canel glanced between CJ and Owen. “Secrecy is paramount until we’re ready to implement changes. I trust we can count on your discretion.”

CJ and Owen nodded.

“Thank you for agreeing to serve as couriers for us and for agreeing to hold off on sharing yesterday’s discovery.” The president grinned and slowly shook his head. “My little infatuation with you seems to have paid off, CJ. The two of you are welcome back as our guests whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. If the project with the Nature Conservancy moves forward, I’m certain Owen will be back a few times. I’ll try to tag along when I can.”

“Good. Once we figure out what to do about the treasure, I hope the two of you will be part of whatever happens. Aside from following your suggestion about partnering with someone to document our efforts, we’ll reach out to the archeologist you recommended. In conjunction with our desire to improve relations with the United States, I’d like to involve Americans instead of Europeans as much as possible. Any other ideas you’d like to share with us?”

CJ grinned and nodded while pointing at Camilo. “Put him in charge of everything.”

Díaz-Canel laughed. “I guess it’s a mutual admiration society; his reports the past couple of days have praised you as intelligent and willing to listen. However, he did mention one glaring omission in your education.” He held a hand out, and Minister García Granda placed a small, red, leather-bound book on it.

“This is from my personal collection. I hope you enjoy it.”

Poemas – Josè Martí was stamped in gold on the cover. CJ paged through the slim tome and discovered it had been published in 1930, and each poem was preceded by an illustration on vellum. “Thank you, Mr. President. It’ll be a treasured addition to our library at home.”

Miami

“Please have your passports out.”

Uniformed officers stood at the end of the jetway at Miami International Airport. The American Airlines flight had departed Havana on time and arrived in South Florida a few minutes early. When CJ and Owen held theirs out simultaneously, the man they offered them to glanced at each in turn. “You’re traveling together?”

CJ nodded. “He’s my husband.” Maybe he was still hyper-alert as he had been since arriving in Cuba, but CJ noticed a flash of disapproval on the man’s face. “Is there an issue?” He wasn’t in the mood to deal with a homophobic asshole.

“No, sir. Could the two of you step aside for a moment? I’ll escort you to retrieve your luggage so it can be inspected.”

“That’s new. Never had my bags looked at when returning from overseas.”

“You’re flying in from Cuba, sir; we get quite a few individuals trying to smuggle cigars.”

Owen chuckled and reached into his blazer’s pocket. “Not us, mate. We smoked all the ones we bought.” He opened his hand to reveal the cigar bands he had kept. “We did bring back these for our daughter. She likes to wear them as rings.”

Another officer took the man’s position, and the one speaking to CJ and Owen signaled for them to follow him. “Are you carrying anything else from Cuba with you?”

“A pair of maracas for our girl and a poetry book I was given as a present.” Having retrieved their luggage, CJ placed his suitcase next to Owen’s on the aluminum table the officer pointed at.

“A relative gave you a book?”

“No, sir. I’m sure I have some distant ones on the island, but I don’t know them. It was a present from a new friend.” CJ decided it was not the time to drop names.

“Very well. If you could place your carry-ons,” he pointed at Owen’s backpack dangling from a shoulder strap and CJ’s drawstring bag, “next to your luggage, we’ll run them through the X-Ray machine, and you should be on your way momentarily.”

Owen complied with the request while CJ shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you can’t inspect my bag. It’s a diplomatic pouch.” CJ held it aloft so the man could see the embroidered patch on it. While in Cuba, everyone would have seen the American Flag with United States of America above it. Prior to boarding their flight, CJ had turned it inside out and placed President Díaz-Canel’s letter, his journal, and the memory card for their camera inside. The lock required a key he and Owen had left at home on purpose. A different patch was sawn on the same spot as the flag, with United States of America above the Department of State seal, and Diplomatic Pouch below it. It had been provided by the White House.

The confused-looking man glanced at the bag and at the passports in his hand before raising his gaze to stare CJ in the eyes. “Why would you be carrying one of those? You don’t have diplomatic passports, and you indicated you were traveling as a tourist.”

“Actually, if you run our passports through your computer, you’ll see we both have diplomatic ones too. This trip was not an official State Department mission, so we traveled with our regular ones.”

“If you weren’t traveling at the behest of the government, you shouldn’t be carrying that bag. For all I know, you could have had the patch made and attached it yourself. What’s in it anyway?”

CJ chuckled. “Nah… That’s not gonna work. The purpose of the bag is to keep whatever’s inside private.”

“I’m sorry, but I must insist on inspecting the contents.”

Before the agent could react, CJ retrieved his phone and tapped the keyboard a couple of times. The call was immediately answered.

“Thank you for calling the White House. How may I direct your call?”

With the speaker on, the greeting was audible to all three of them. Owen’s smirk revealed his amusement at the agent’s shocked expression.

“Good afternoon,” CJ replied while staring at the man confronting them. “Beta Omega 069965.”

The response came within a couple of seconds. “Please hold, Mr. Abelló. I’ll transfer you.” The phone number was not the White House’s main one. It and the activation code he had memorized had been provided during their briefing.

“Allison Cregg here.” The voice was friendly and the speaker sounded happy to hear from CJ. “Hey, CJ. How are you? Are you and Owen back from Cuba? Are you calling to make an appointment with President Biden?”

“We’re back, Allison. I have you on speaker. Anyway, we’re at Miami International Airport, and a Customs and Border Patrol agent insists on inspecting the contents of the bag you gave me.”

“What’s his name?

“His nametag reads Gonzaga.”

“Officer Gonzaga, this is Allison Cregg. I’m a special assistant to President Biden. Under no circumstances are you to violate the sanctity of the diplomatic pouch Mr. Abelló and Mr. Liston are carrying. Give me a couple of minutes, and someone will provide you with guidance. CJ, can you and Owen be here at ten tomorrow morning? I think I can squeeze you guys into the Oval Office between what’s already on the president’s calendar.”

CJ chuckled. “As long as we’re not arrested and we make it back to Washington.”

“Trust me, that’s not going to happen. Give me two minutes.”

It took five for a phone to ring in Officer Gonzaga’s pocket. “This is Hoop.”

CJ had no idea who Allison siced on the agent, but he appeared crestfallen while listening to whoever had called. His only words were, “Yes, sir. I understand,” before replacing the phone in his pocket. He immediately returned CJ and Owen’s passports. “I guess you know some powerful people. My boss says you’re free to go.” Hoop Gonzaga did not look happy and did not bother to run any of their bags through X-rays.

Georgetown

“Ozzie!” Liebe ran past Brett and latched onto Owen’s legs while her dog barked and tried to topple CJ.

“Down, Wingnut. No jumping.” CJ glanced at his smirking father, still holding the door open. “Hey! What gives?”

He raised a finger to delay replying and spoke to his granddaughter instead. “See, Liebe? We told you your dads were fine and would be back today. There was no need for all the crying.”

The shocked expression on Owen’s face when he bent to pick up his daughter matched CJ’s. Dragging their luggage inside, he glanced at his father. “She cried?”

Brett nodded. “A couple of times. A lot this morning.”

“Why?”

“PTSD? She was scared the bad man from Mexico had come back to hurt you.”

CJ’s emotions ran the gauntlet from confusion to concern for the girl. “But why? She was fine when we went to Newport for the wedding, and she stayed with you.”

“But that weekend, you called daily and sent pictures. We explained you guys had left your phones here, but that only worked temporarily. She’s been with at least one of you twenty-four seven except for that trip and an occasional sleepover. We think she’s suffering from separation anxiety.”

“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Davenport.” CJ’s quip earned him a middle finger from his father. “Hey, Munchkin, do I get a kiss and a hug too?”

The girl unwrapped her arms from around Owen’s neck, nodded, and reached for CJ.

“I’m sorry you got scared, Munchkin. But Ozzie was working, and I had meetings to go to.” CJ shook his head when Brett raised a questioning eyebrow. “Later,” he said before returning his attention to the girl. “Bribes always work with you. Wanna see what we brought you?”

Liebe nodded, and her consternation visibly eased; she wiggled until CJ placed her on the ground. At the same time, he reached for Owen’s shoulder bag and retrieved the pint-sized musical instrument they had bought in Havana. “You get your own maracas.”

Her eyes lit up when CJ handed them over, and everything appeared to be well in her world. Wingnut chased her as she ran around making a racket.

“Where’s Grandpa A?” Owen asked at the same time CJ inquired about their phones and the key they had left behind.

“César went to run an errand, and your phones are on the bar. What was that key for anyway?”

CJ lifted his drawstring bag off his shoulders and dropped it on the dining room table. “For that.” He continued to the bar and returned with the phones and the key.

“Diplomatic Pouch?” Brett read the embroidered patch on the bag. “What the hell? Didn’t you quit the State Department? What were you guys doing down there?”

CJ cracked up. “Playing secret agent man.”

Brett did not appear amused.

“It’s a long story, Grandpa Cap.” Owen took the device CJ handed over and turned it on. “Let me text Australia to tell them we’re back in the U.S.”

“Oz, beer?” CJ stood at the open refrigerator door with a bottle of Stella Artois in hand. When Owen and Brett both nodded, he retrieved two more. “It’s a long story, Papa. When’s Dad gonna be back? It might be better if we wait for him.”

Brett glanced at his wristwatch. “I’d say within a half hour. Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“As long as it’s not Cuban food. I told CJ I’ve eaten enough fried everything for a while. By the way, Cap, I wasn’t down there for spy shit; we were discussing a project for the Nature Conservancy for real.”

“And you?” Brett stared at CJ.

“I was a tourist, but I was aware the trip might entail more. We’ll tell you and Dad what we’re allowed to about it, but most of it you can’t share with anyone.”

The White House

“Gentlemen, welcome back to the White House.” Allison Cregg President Biden’s assistant CJ and Owen had met during their visit in early June.

“Thank you for understanding our issue with Liebe and allowing us to bring her today.” Owen held the girl in his arms while shaking hands with the woman.

“Not a problem. A little separation anxiety’s not surprising after what she went through.”

CJ had messaged her early, explaining what had transpired with their daughter while he and Owen were in Cuba. Allison had invited them to bring her along.

“The president’s in a meeting, and we’re going to sneak you in for five minutes after it ends and before his next one begins.” Allison motioned for them to sit; they were in the office of the President’s secretary next to the Oval Office. “You said you’re carrying a letter for President Biden.”

CJ patted his suit jacket to indicate he had it in his pocket. “Thanks for the assistance yesterday too.”

“Some of our law enforcement personnel can be overzealous at times. I’m glad I could help. You two should be aware you won’t be alone in there with President Biden. Since what you carry could have national security implications, the president has asked a White House photographer to document its delivery. Is there anything you might want to tell President Biden about the trip that may be confidential?”

Owen and CJ both nodded. “We went scuba diving with some military officers on Saturday and may have stumbled onto something significant. The Cubans have asked us to keep it quiet until they’re ready to make an announcement.”

“I sure as hell hope it wasn’t a nuclear device the Russians dropped in the ocean by accident.” The woman grinned before switching to a more serious tone. “You can tell him the same way you just phrased it. But I’d like you to write a summary of whatever happened and get it to me. I’ll brief the president privately later.”

At that moment, the door to the Oval Office opened, and half a dozen people streamed out. Allison stood and motioned for CJ and Owen to follow her. As they entered, through a different door so did the photographer they had met during their previous visit.

Biden, sitting on one of the couches in the middle of the room, stood and motioned for his visitors to take a spot on the facing one. “Welcome back, gentlemen. Allison explained your daughter would be with you due to some behavioral issues. I hope she recovers quickly.” He glanced at the girl and smiled. “What’s your name again, cutie?”

“Liebe.”

“That’s short for Elizabeth, Mr. President,” Owen explained. “She’s named after my late sister.”

“This will be quick, Liebe. Once we’re done, you can go back home with your fathers. Gentlemen? You have something for me?”

CJ retrieved the envelope he had carried from Havana and handed it over.

Biden glanced at it and placed it on the sofa cushion beside him. “Do you know the contents?”

CJ nodded. “Yes, sir. President Díaz-Canel asked us to read it before placing both copies in the envelope. The original’s in Spanish, and there’s an English translation included.”

“So, you met with Díaz-Canel in person?”

“Twice,” Owen said. “He stopped by the welcoming reception for the Nature Conservancy delegation the day we arrived, and CJ and I had coffee with him yesterday.”

Biden toyed with the envelope at his side while nodding. “Your impressions? Of the man and of his letter.”

It was CJ who offered his appraisal. “Affable, bordering on gregarious during our first meeting; restrained yesterday when he handed the letter over. As for the contents of the letter, if the Cubans are serious about what they propose, I think it could be groundbreaking. It might be beneficial to the United States, Cuba as a nation, and most of all its people.”

“How was the trip overall? Anything significant aside from the letter?”

Owen and CJ grinned. “You could say that, Mr. President. Owen and I went scuba diving on Saturday and may have stumbled onto something significant. Allison asked me to write a summary so she could brief you later.”

Biden stood again, grabbed the envelope with one hand, and offered the other one for shaking. “Gentlemen, my apologies for the brief meeting. My schedule’s full, but I wanted to see you anyway. Thank you for agreeing to courier the letter, and I hope this isn’t the last time we see each other. Depending on what’s in this envelope and what you write for Allison, we may want to meet with you again.”

The remainder of the day they spent with Liebe, either at home or at the nearby park. With her riding in the Radio Flyer Brett and César had bought her over the weekend, trying to cheer her up, Wingnut circled her when his leash was removed. In the evening, Owen made spaghetti for dinner, and, as usual, she wound up covered in tomato sauce. The girl did not insist on sleeping with her fathers as she had the previous night.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation

“Hello, this is—Liebe! Stop that!” Two days after meeting with President Biden, CJ was home with his daughter while Owen had gone to the Nature Conservancy’s headquarters in Arlington. “Sorry about that. My daughter was pulling on the dog’s tail.”

“That’s all right. Is this César Abelló?”

CJ belatedly glanced at the phone’s screen and noticed it read Private Number. Had he seen that before, he might not have answered the call. “Who’s calling?”

“Are you César Abelló?” The woman sounded patient and was polite, but CJ did not feel like playing games.

“Who are you?”

“Sir, I must insist you identify yourself before—”

CJ hung up. When he used a finger to call Liebe to his side, the girl would not look straight at him. “You can’t pull Wingnut’s tail like that, Munchkin. You could hurt him. You’re getting bigger and stronger—”

The ringing phone interrupted him. Glancing at it before answering, it was once again a Private Number; he rejected the call and sighed in frustration. He had been trying to clear editorial notes sent over by his publisher but realized between the girl, the dog, and the phone, it would be better to try and do it at night after she went to bed.

The third call made him grin. Caller ID identified it as coming from the FBI. “Hello?”

“Please don’t hang up, sir. This is Special Agent Nimarate Rhaziel with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“What can I do for you, Agent Rhaziel?”

“Is this Mr. Abelló?”

“It is.”

“Very well. I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’m at FBI headquarters here in Washington. Could we make an appointment for you to stop by in the next day or two?”

“Talk about what?” Their interaction had begun wrongly, and CJ was not in the mood for more secrets at the moment.

“I can explain once we meet. Are you available tomorrow morning?”

“No. And I’m not for the rest of the week either.”

“Mr. Abelló, I must insist you schedule a time to talk to me in person. It’s a matter that could involve national security.”

“Then, Ms. Rhaziel, I suggest you go see a judge and get a subpoena. I’m not talking to you or anyone else at the FBI without my lawyer present.”

“Mr. Abelló, there is no need to be antagonistic. I have a few questions, and I’m sure we’ll be able to put this matter to rest.”

“What matter?”

“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. If you come in, I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Yeah, well, as I said, unless you have a subpoena or a warrant for my arrest, I’m not interested.” CJ hung up.

When he left the Nature Conservancy offices, Owen texted CJ letting him know he was headed to the gym. He did it again once finished with his workout. At Everhope, Liebe’s post-lunch nap provided her father uninterrupted time CJ used to wade through many of his editor’s notes. He had to balance her repeated requests for additional information with what he knew or suspected would clear government censors. Almost as annoying were her requests to simplify where CJ had gotten somewhat verbose.

CJ omitted mention of the assistance he and Owen had in ferreting out the listening devices planted by the Russian intelligence officer in their Mexico City apartment. He admitted using a scanner to discover the bugs but had not felt it necessary to mention Jimmy Chen, a CIA agent at the U.S. embassy, had wielded the device

“How was it being back in the office?” CJ kissed Owen while trading him Liebe for his bags. The girl remained clingy, and the fathers tried to provide her as much comfort as possible. The child psychologist they had spoken with suggested they wait a couple of weeks before they started weaning her off their constant presence.

“Interesting… Let me go shower, and I’ll tell you all about it when I’m done. What are we doing for dinner?”

“Liebe wants fish, so I thought we’d walk over to Union Jack.” The English pub at Navy Yard had opened while they were in Mexico and immediately became a favorite upon their return.

“That works. I can wear shorts, and we can sit outside so Wingnut can go too.”

In the weeks since their return to Washington, CJ and Owen had reestablished relationships with residents and merchants in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. The two men and their young daughter were prone to patronize local businesses and walk almost everywhere. On their way to dinner, they waved at a few people and chatted with a couple of others; Liebe and Wingnut always attracted attention.

CJ wiped foam off his mustache after sipping the black and tan their server had delivered. “Okay, Oz, what happened at work that was so interesting? Let’s see if it can top what I had to deal with.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“You first. I’ll tell you my story after.”

“Cuba’s foreign debt’s really crushing. After doing a post-mortem on the trip, Alicia, Raúl, and I looked at some numbers, trying to brainstorm our next move.”

“No Jay?”

“Nope, he wasn’t invited. And based on what Raúl mentioned, I’m glad he wasn’t there. You may have had to bail me out for real.”

CJ cracked up. “Violence again? What’s happened to my mild-mannered husband?”

“Your mild-mannered husband has no patience for idiots. Raúl mentioned that, during the flight to Miami, Jay incessantly complained about you and me. He supposedly has a friend, Jay plans to file a complaint about us with. He said the Cubans asking him not to return was due to something we did or said, that you spent all your time with Cuban intelligence officers, and that you and Camilo threatened his life. We may get a call from an FBI agent.”

“Ha! Old news.” CJ had immediately connected his earlier interaction with the FBI and Owen’s revelation. “They already did.”

Owen looked astonished. “Jay reported us? What happened? Is that your news?”

CJ nodded and recounted his interactions with Special Agent Rhaziel. “I had no idea what the hell she wanted to talk about, but it makes sense now.”

“What are we gonna do about it?” Knowing Liebe rarely finished a restaurant meal by herself, her fathers often helped themselves to items on her plate. Owen reached for a couple of fries and stuck them in his mouth. “I love they give us a shaker with malted salt instead of a bottle of malt vinegar. I hate it when the chips get soggy.”

“I’m with ya on that one.” CJ paused to cut Liebe’s fish into bite-sized chunks before continuing. “I think Rhaziel acted on her friend’s complaint before delving into our background. Hopefully, she went and read up on the two of us after I shut her down. The FBI has to have us on file by now.”

“What if she pursues it?”

“Let me think about it, but we may have to ask the White House for help one more time. Maybe I can decline to answer her question using executive privilege as an excuse.”

That evening, Owen convinced CJ not to try to tough it out with the FBI agent and to ask for help instead. “We don’t have to bother the White House again, Ceej. You wanted to meet with State anyway, so call the one person we’re aware knows what you were doing in Cuba.”

The State Department

The individual aware of their mission was Undersecretary Victoria McCallister, the woman CJ had met with when they returned from Mexico. He contacted her on Thursday, and she agreed to meet with him Friday morning.

“Are you sure about this, CJ?” Victoria tapped the two diplomatic passports CJ had placed on her desk.

He had tried to return them before, during what he had thought was his exit interview with the State Department, but she had convinced him at the time to keep them and to remain on an extended, unpaid leave instead of accepting his resignation.

“I am. Although Owen and I agreed to attend that conference in Tokyo as part of the American delegation, we’d prefer to do it as private citizens. I really want out. I’ll be in school for the next two years and plan to be a student without worrying you guys will call me back in for something or other.”

“You know we could help pay for your degree, right?”

“Nope. Not a chance, Victoria.” CJ’s vigorous headshake made the woman grin. “I’d be required to work for State after, And to be honest, I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.”

McCallister’s smirk became a soft chuckle. “Fine, I’ll process your resignation as final. Now, let’s talk about the FBI. How certain are you this Dr. West was the one to contact the FBI?”

CJ recounted his interactions with Jay West in Cuba in detail, provided additional information based on what Owen had been told, and expanded on his conversation with Agent Rhaziel.

“There’s nothing I can do about Dr. West reporting you to the FBI. It’s something every American’s encouraged to do. The ‘see something, say something’ approach.” McCallister glanced at her computer screen while tapping at her keyboard. “I just placed a flag on his name. The Cubans may or may not say anything, but they’ll probably deny him a visa if he wants to return to the island. If anything like that happens, we’ll have a record in case he complains.

“As for Agent Rhaziel, I think she may have jumped the gun. If she knows Dr. West, and he did give her a tip about you, she may have moved too quickly. After you gave me her name, I tracked down her supervisor and had a chat with him. Without going into too many details, I suspect Nimarate Rhaziel will be ordered to back off. If you hear from her again, it might be to apologize. But if she pursues the matter, call me. She might find herself transferred to a significantly less desirable location than Washington.”

The United Nations

Walking outside into the sunshine, CJ was glad he had listened to Owen. His husband had advised against missing classes as frequently as CJ had during his undergraduate years. Owen warned him the pace and volume of learning in graduate school were multiples above what CJ had experienced. The amount of material the professor had covered during his first lecture proved Owen right.

They had declined the Cuban government’s invitation to be at the United Nations in New York City for the announcement and press conference concerning the ship they had discovered. It was around noon; CJ had been in class since nine and had a meeting at two. Since he had a couple of hours free, Owen and Liebe were meeting him for lunch.

“Can you imagine when she’s a freshman at GU, comes here with classmates, and the entire staff says ‘Hi, Liebe?’”

Owen cracked up. “She might decide to go to school somewhere else, mate. But if she stays home, she would have eaten here more than anyone else in history.” The chances of the prophecy coming true were good; The Tombs was their go-to spot for lunch, and Liebe seemed to enjoy herself whenever they took her to the pub.

“Hey! Take a look at this.” CJ picked up his phone and scrolled through recent messages. Once he found what he was looking for, he turned the device around and handed it to Owen.

After briefly glancing at the screen, Owen shifted his gaze to CJ. “This came in while you were in class?”

CJ nodded. “I had my phone off and only saw it walking over here. I’ll read the others later. What do you think?”

Ten days after returning from Havana, the Cuban government was ready to reveal the discovery of a sunken Spanish galleon to the world. Their plan was to credit Owen and CJ with the discovery, announce the appointment of Colonel Camilo Nieto Contreras as head of the archeological recovery effort, and request assistance from all nations.

“I think that if Carson wants us to make a statement, we should listen to him.” Owen referred to Carson Sawyer, CJ’s college classmate who was part of the current Washington mayor’s reelection campaign. He was one of the few who knew CJ wanted to run for that office in four years.

CJ reclaimed his phone, tapped the screen several times until finding the picture he was looking for, and returned it to Owen. “How about posting that?”

“Ask Carson if the Cubans mentioned the ship’s name. If they did, use it as a hashtag. It would be the obvious one to trend.”

CJ chuckled. “Listen to you. A few people think I should work on increasing my name recognition, and you go all influencer on me.”

The call from Camilo to invite them to New York had not come as a surprise; President Díaz-Canel had mentioned Owen and CJ being present whenever the initial announcement was made. Having already discussed the educational demands on CJ’s time, they declined the invitation.

While waiting for a reply from Carson, CJ concentrated on his lunch. “You know something, Oz? Your advice was solid; I have no business running off anywhere while school’s in session. But it rankles this is the second United Nations event I’m invited to and wind up missing.”

“Well, the last one was pre-me, but since the two guys who invited you tried to rape you in the apartment in New York, it makes sense you missed that breakfast.” The attack occurred while CJ was in high school, after meeting Owen, but before the Australian moved to the United States. CJ had been saved by the timely arrival of a family friend.

“Yeah, I know. But I tell you, one way or the other, sooner or later, I’ll get to the United Nations.”

Camilo had shared what days of around-the-clock research had revealed. According to ship manifests in Havana, the ship was in all likelihood the Luz de Castilla. They would seek confirmation with the colonial records kept in Seville, Spain. The Cuban intelligence officer also mentioned he had contacted Cody White, who put him in touch with the head of the Archeology Department at Penn State.

The phone’s chime made CJ glance at it. “Carson says they called it Luz de Castilla, and he’s pissed we didn’t tell him about it before.”

“He’ll get over it.” Owen waved a hand in dismissal.

CJ nodded. “Yeah… I’ll post the picture of you holding the pendant and me the coin, and I’ll tease we’ll share more later.” They had uploaded the pictures from their GoPro to the web so they could have easy access to them.

The matter settled, Owen addressed a related item. “I have a message from Jim Fairfax I’ve so far ignored.” The reporter had interviewed them for a feature in DNA magazine, an Australian gay publication. “I bet he wants a quote to plug into his article. You have any messages from reporters?”

CJ nodded. “A think I saw a couple of them while scrolling through. How about we deal with all those and any comments on my post once I’m home.” CJ wiggled his eyebrows. “If Liebe’s still napping, and we’re fast enough, we could get a post-noon nooner in.”

The Cuban government’s decision to announce the discovery at the United Nations was a good marketing ploy. Offers of assistance from governments, non-governmental organizations, and individuals poured in. If the island rulers wanted to rehabilitate their country’s image, they were going about it correctly.

In the months following the announcement, Camilo shared updates on the expedition. In addition to treasure, cannons, and everyday items, divers recovered human remains which were repatriated to Spain for proper burial. In subsequent years, two documentaries were released about the galleon; one about the retrieval operation and one about the rehab of the Old Havana colonial-era building that would become the Luz de Castilla Museum. CJ and Owen served as narrators for both films: CJ in Spanish and Owen in English.

Those restoration efforts were partially funded by a generous grant from the Davenport Family Foundation. At the opening, a bronze plaque acknowledging CJ, Owen, and the charitable organization was unveiled. Some time later, a grateful Cuban government gifted them the original gold coin Owen had discovered. He wore it around his neck on and off for the rest of his life.