Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  “What would that be?”

  “That we shouldn’t see each other again.”

  “We hardly see each other now. That’s what bothers me.”

  When she didn’t say anything, I reached over and took her hand.

  “It bothers me, because I don’t see how I can offer you any kind of normal life as long as I work for the Agency. I’m gone for long periods of time, and even when I’m back in the States for a while, I’m usually thinking about leaving again.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve talked about this before, and we both agreed it would be hard, but we said we should at least give it a try. I haven’t changed my mind about that, have you?”

  For a moment, I was tempted to lie to her and tell her I didn’t see our relationship going anywhere, and I wanted to move on. I was absolutely convinced I had the ability to make that lie seem like the unvarnished truth. But then, something inside of me rebelled against deceiving her, and I decided I had to tell her the truth.

  I put her hand up to my lips and kissed it.

  “No, Nikki, I haven’t changed my mind. If anything, my feelings for you are stronger than they were a few months ago.”

  She looked puzzled. “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I can’t picture you ever being satisfied with my lifestyle. It’s not a nine-to-five kind of job. Stuff happens; unplanned stuff. There’s danger involved. There’s secrecy involved. The bottom line is I want you to be happy, and I’m not sure you’ll be happy if our relationship goes any further.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you think I should be the judge of whether or not I’m happy?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “When we were at McGuire’s the other night, I was happy I was able to spend the evening with you, even though I knew you wouldn’t be around very long.”

  “What about tonight?

  “Titus,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my arm, “I’m happy to be with you right now. I know things didn’t work out the way you wanted tonight, and it wasn’t what I wanted either, but believe me when I say I’m fine with that.”

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t frustrated this evening when I couldn’t talk about my assignment, especially since Frank and Juliana knew all about it.”

  She looked away for a moment. “You’re right. I was frustrated.”

  “Then what—”

  “But,” she added, “that’s not the same thing as being unhappy. To be honest, I think I was more jealous of Juliana tonight than anything else. I admit I’ve never given much thought to the people you work with every day, and if I did, I never imagined your partner might be a woman, especially someone as beautiful as Juliana. For some reason, I always imagined you working alone.”

  “That’s true most of the time, but this operation has some unusual aspects to it.”

  “Aspects that require your partner to be a beautiful woman?”

  “No, not really, but how Juliana looks doesn’t matter to me. I’m not attracted to Juliana. I don’t feel about her the way I feel about you.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t mean to imply there was anything going on between the two of you. I’m just jealous of the experiences you’ve shared, and the time you’ve spent together. I want us to have that.”

  “I’d love to have all kinds of experiences with you.”

  “Is that right?” she asked with a mischievous grin. “What kind of experiences? Bowling? Water skiing? Roller skating?”

  “I admit none of those activities has ever crossed my mind when I’ve thought about spending time with you.”

  “What then? Reviewing national security threats? Sharing counter-intelligence methods?”

  “That sounds more like it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I said, moving closer to her, “and also this.”

  I kissed her neck.

  “And this,” I said, kissing her lips.

  “And this.”

  * * * *

  It was after eleven o’clock when I walked Nikki out to her car. When I told her I’d be leaving the States on Thursday, she asked me if I had any idea how long I’d be gone this time.

  “I’m thinking this may be a quick trip.”

  “On a scale of one to ten, how dangerous is it?”

  “I’d put it at a four, maybe even a three. It’s no more dangerous than you and I taking a vacation down to The Bahamas.”

  “The Bahamas?”

  I smiled and didn’t say anything.

  The look on her face led me to believe she’d picked up on the hint I was giving her. “In that case,” she said, “maybe I can stop worrying about you and start sleeping again.”

  I opened the car door for her. “Why can’t you sleep?”

  She shrugged. “I think it’s because of a dream I’ve had about you.”

  When she saw me smiling, she said, “Yes, I’ve been dreaming about you, but it’s not the kind of dream you’d like.”

  I laughed. “So you’re having nightmares about me?”

  She thought for a moment. “No, this dream is not exactly a nightmare either. I’m not sure what to call it.”

  I put my arm in front of the car door and said, “You know I can’t let you leave until you’ve told me about this dream.”

  “Okay,” she said, leaning against the car door, “but I’m warning you the details are pretty sketchy.”

  “Don’t worry about the details. Just tell me the dream as you remember it, and then I’ll interpret it for you.”

  She looked surprised. “Are you saying you can interpret dreams like Joseph did in the Old Testament?”

  “I haven’t gotten around to reading the Old Testament yet, so I’m not all that knowledgeable about Joseph, but if you’ll tell me your dream, I believe I can tell you what it means. I might even be persuaded to tell you the secret of interpreting a person’s dream.”

  “Okay,” she said, staring up at the night sky for a few seconds. “In my dream, you’re sitting all alone in a dark room staring at a sliver of light coming from underneath the door. I can’t see your face very well, and I want you to open a window and let in more light so you’ll know I’m in the room with you.”

  “The two of us in a dark room together doesn’t sound so bad.”

  She shook her head at me and continued, “I have the distinct feeling something’s happened to you that’s made you lose hope, and I keep thinking if you only knew I was there with you, then maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad. I’m a little frightened, but at the same time, I know everything’s going to be okay because eventually you’ll understand something important about the light coming from underneath the door.”

  When she paused for a moment, I asked, “Is that it?”

  She looked away for a second. “No, I also remember feeling disappointed, and I think it was because I wasn’t able to talk to you.”

  I waited to see if she would add anything else.

  She said, “I believe that’s it. Now tell me your interpretation, and please don’t tell me it was the pizza I ate before I went to bed.”

  “No, it wasn’t the pizza,” I said, “I believe your dream is a manifestation of your desire to know more about me and what I do. You’re frightened because everything’s obscured right now, but you believe things will eventually be okay because you have confidence in me.”

  She nodded her head as she thought about what I’d said. “I suppose that’s a possibility, but why did I feel disappointed?”

  “Your disappointment is also understandable. Let’s face it; our relationship would be a whole lot easier if we could just pick up the phone and talk to each other whenever we wanted to.”

  “So you think the dream is all about my psyche? You don’t believe it has anything to do with you? It’s not some prophecy of your future?”

  “No, and I’ll tell you why. The secret of interpreting a person’s dream is to listen to the way they explain the dream. You need to notice what the person
remembered about the dream, what their feelings were about the dream, and how they related to the dream. If you know anything about that person and what their circumstances might be at the moment, then you can figure out why they had the dream in the first place.”

  “Is dream interpretation something the Agency taught you?”

  “I will neither confirm nor deny that question, Detective. But now that we’ve discussed it, I don’t believe you’ll have that dream again.”

  “So you’re saying I should be able to sleep tonight?”

  “That’s right.”

  She looked skeptical, like she wasn’t buying my explanation.

  I remembered seeing the same expression on her face when I’d told her I was an employee of the CIA. She thought I was scamming her then, and I had the feeling she thought I was scamming her now.

  “You’re not trying to plant a suggestion in my mind, are you?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To help me sleep tonight.”

  “I think you’re paranoid from spending too much time with the feds. Contrary to what you may have been told, all spooks aren’t mind control freaks. I assure you that dream is history.”

  “I hope you’re right. And just to set the record straight, not all feds think badly of you spooks. Some of them appreciate what you do.”

  “Who’s practicing mind control now?”

  I leaned down and kissed her goodbye. Before she drove off, she said, “You’ll be in my prayers, if not in my dreams.”

  A few weeks later, I found myself holding onto those words for dear life.

  Chapter 36

  Wednesday, August 12

  Although the final briefing for Phase II wasn’t supposed to begin until one o’clock, I arrived at Langley a couple of hours early so I could speak to Andrew Edwards.

  I didn’t know Edwards, but according to Sally Jo, if I wanted to stay out of hot water with the DDO, I had to speak to him about my unauthorized delivery of the Spanish Bibles.

  Edwards worked in Financial Services, a division of the CIA which took up the whole second floor of the New Headquarters Building.

  When I arrived in the reception area and gave the receptionist my name, she picked up the phone and gave Andrew Edwards the same information. After she hung up, she directed me to Room 207A.

  All the offices in Corridor A had nameplates on the doors with fancy titles like, Administrative Services Manager and Financial Analyst Manager.

  I’d never been a numbers guy myself, and I sometimes found it difficult to relate to someone who was. If that wasn’t reason enough for me to dread spending time with Edwards, then trying to justify why I’d used CIA resources to bring two dozen Bibles into Cuba definitely was.

  Those concerns were only heightened when I arrived at Room 207A and read the nameplate on the door: Andrew Edwards, Director, Financial Services.

  For some reason, I’d just assumed I’d be meeting with a low-level Financial Services employee, someone who was willing to do Sally Jo a favor in exchange for demanding payback from a covert operative.

  When she’d given me the slip of paper with Andrew Edwards’ name on it, I’d pictured a guy sitting in a cubicle somewhere entering numbers on a spreadsheet, not some executive in a corner office trying to further his career.

  As soon as I realized I’d be speaking to Director Edwards instead of Cubicle Edwards, I asked myself if the decision I’d made to provide the Cabana Church with Bibles was worth the agony of trying to explain my actions to a financial administrator.

  The moment I asked the question, I had a flashback of Phene and her friends inside the cabana holding their Scripture cards, and I knew I would still order up the Bibles if I was given the chance to do it again.

  Holding on to that resolve, I knocked on the door of Director Edwards’ office.

  * * * *

  When Edwards opened the door, he immediately gestured toward the guest chairs in front of his desk and asked me to be seated.

  Once I sat down, he surprised me by moving the other guest chair away from his desk and sitting down across from me, rather than occupying the executive chair behind his desk.

  “Titus,” he said, offering me his hand, “I’m Andrew Edwards. Thanks for dropping by.”

  I shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Director.”

  “No. No,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Please call me Andrew.”

  My first impression of Edwards was that he was a good-natured, congenial kind of guy. However, I was careful not to let my guard down because I figured he could be like the Columbo character on the TV series and be using his winsome personality to mask his true intentions.

  Edwards didn’t look anything like Columbo. For one thing, he was much older, and, for another, his thinning hair was completely white. He also had an angular face with a narrow chin, and the metal-framed half-glasses perched on the bridge of his nose made him look more like a professor than an accountant.

  “Sally Jo mentioned you wanted to see me,” I said.

  He smiled. “I noticed you didn’t call her Mrs. Hartford. I believe that might get you in trouble with Director Carlton. He always reprimands me when I call her Sally Jo.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “Oh, no, don’t apologize. I always call her Sally Jo. I’m sure she prefers it.”

  “How long have the two of you known each other?”

  “We’re old friends. We’ve both been here since before Moses sent the spies into the Promised Land to get intel on the Canaanites. I’m sure you’re familiar with that story.”

  “Yes, vaguely.”

  He looked surprised. “Vaguely? After the risk you took to get a box of Bibles into Cuba, you mean you don’t read the Bible for yourself?”

  “I’ve only been reading the Bible for the past four months, and I haven’t gotten any further than the gospel of John yet.”

  “I see,” he said, peering at me over his glasses, “and what have you discovered since you’ve been reading the gospel of John?”

  While that wasn’t the type of question I was expecting from Director Edwards, I figured it was one of those make-the-person-feel-at-ease type of questions that would eventually lead to a tougher line of interrogation and end with a stern warning not to use Agency’s resources for personal projects.

  After spending a few minutes giving Edwards the highlights of what I’d learned in John’s gospel, I ended by telling him what I thought the book was about.

  “I believe the apostle John is trying to convince his readers that Jesus is who he claimed to be, the Son of God.”

  “Are you convinced?”

  “Uhhhh . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Has that made any difference in your life?”

  “Well, I’ve only been a believer for a few months, but I can truthfully say I’ve never been happier than I am right now, and I’ve never felt more at peace with myself.”

  “So becoming a believer is all about feeling good about yourself?”

  Although Edwards was smiling, he sounded serious, and I thought I detected a note of criticism in his question as well.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. There’s much more to being a follower of Christ than feeling good about yourself.”

  “What then?”

  “Following Christ also involves a relationship. I really wish I knew how to explain this better, but here’s what I can tell you. When I made my commitment of faith, I began to have a relationship with Jesus. I know this may sound strange to you, but now, whenever I pray, not only do I sense his presence, I feel like I’m talking to him exactly the way I’m talking to you right now.”

  Edwards leaned in toward me and shook his head. “No, Titus,” he said, “that doesn’t sound strange to me at all. I’m also a believer.”

  When I didn’t immediately respond, he said, “I’m sorry if you thought I was giving you a hard time. When I put my neck out for someone, I want to know wh
ere they’re coming from.”

  “I didn’t think you were giving me a hard time. To be truthful, I just expected a different line of questioning.”

  “I imagine you thought I was going to grill you about the Spanish Bibles.”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “We still need to talk about the Bibles, but first, I’d like to hear more about how you became a believer.”

  * * * *

  Although I didn’t reveal any classified details of the operation I’d been running inside of Iran, I told Edwards about the Iranian Christians I’d met in Tehran, and how my encounter with them had led to my conversion experience.

  When I finished, I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “That’s an incredible story. I’m always amazed to hear how God works in people’s lives.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  He told me his parents had taken him to church at a young age, and he’d become a believer as a teenager. “In college, I went through a rebellious phase when I thought I didn’t really need God, but then he got my attention when I nearly died in a skiing accident. That’s when I really started reading my Bible for the first time. Now, I teach a Bible class at the church my wife and I attend.”

  “I doubt if I’ll ever know the Bible well enough to teach it.”

  “I’ve had years of reading the Bible and hearing it preached every Sunday, and I still don’t feel qualified to teach it.”

  After I asked him some questions about the church he attended, he gestured at me and asked, “Have you been able to make any connections since you’ve been back in the States?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean by connections.”

  “I’m asking you if you’ve joined a church or been attending a Bible study or meeting with someone who could help you understand the Bible a little better.”

  “I was able to attend a church in Oklahoma for a few weeks when I was on medical leave, but since then I’ve been—”

  “That’s right,” he said, nodding his head. “You’ve been out of the country.”

  “Several times.”

  Edwards reached over and picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “According to this requisition request, you were recently in Santiago de Cuba running Operation Peaceful Retrieval for Douglas Carlton.”