Ghosts of Havana

by Todd Moss

  “I know all about her, sir,” she said.

  “Why are you smiling? How do you know about Brenda? Do you have someone planted at the Willard?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you following me?”

  “Sir . . .” Jessica paused and pursed her lips. “I don’t know . . . anything about that hotel. I . . . don’t think I want to know. I’m talking about illegal campaign finance. I’m talking about her congressional campaign . . . accepting donations from secret sources. Her campaign has been secretly receiving money seized from drug traffickers during Operation Everglades.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I witnessed it with my own eyes.”

  The Deputy Director looked Jessica up and down. “What are you going to do with that information?”

  “Me?” Jessica feigned horror. “I’m not going to do anything. But if Adelman-Zamora tries to make trouble for you—I mean, trouble for us—about how Triggerfish went down, you could remind her that we know about it”—Jessica shrugged—“and that the Justice Department doesn’t.”

  “You’re just telling me this? As leverage? To blackmail a member of the United States Congress?”

  “Sir, I’m simply sharing this information with you. I don’t need to know what you do with it. Consider it a present . . . In gratitude for everything you’ve done for me . . . And for what happened to your boat.”

  The Deputy Director rubbed his head and paced the foyer. Then he stopped short. “You are calculating, Jessica Ryker.”

  “You just said it yourself, sir. I’m your best operative.”

  “So, now what? You expect me to just forget everything that’s happened? You want a Presidential Medal or something?”

  Jessica shrugged again.

  “You want me to reinstate Purple Cell? Is that it?”

  “Right now, sir, the only thing I want is to take my family to the beach.”

  “That’s all?”

  “And fifteen million dollars. In untraceable cash.”

  “What?”

  “To complete our deal with Guerrero. And I know exactly where to get it.”

  84.

  U.S. CAPITOL BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.

  This is a glorious day!” Brenda Adelman-Zamora tapped the microphone on the lectern twice to quiet the crowd. “We have much to celebrate today!” she crowed, bursting with excitement. The stage was tightly packed with exhausted-looking wives and children standing behind four men in golf shirts and khakis. Alejandro Cabrera, Brinkley Barrymore, Crawford Jackson, and Dennis Dobson stood awkwardly under the lights.

  “Let’s take a moment to applaud these brave men who have come home to their families,” Adelman-Zamora said, leading the crowd in a standing ovation, punctuated with hoots and howls from the floor. Alejandro winked at the cameras while Crawford gave the crowd an embarrassed nod. Brinkley stared straight ahead, stone-faced, like a zombie.

  “Their release early this morning is a victory for justice and a reminder to the world that America will not waver in the face of aggression. We held firm to our policy of never giving in to blackmail, never paying ransom for innocent civilians. We stared the Devil in the eye and we did not blink!”

  Adelman-Zamora stepped in between the men, grabbed Dennis Dobson’s good hand, and raised it in triumph, igniting more applause and flashbulbs. Dennis squinted and recoiled.

  The congresswoman returned to the podium. “Now these courageous American heroes want to get home with their beautiful families as soon as possible. And we are so honored to have all of them with us today. I especially want to thank Pippa, Mariposa, Vanessa, and Beth for your sacrifice and your bravery. You have shown the world that strong families can help to defeat oppression. That strong women can keep us all on the path toward freedom. That love is stronger than tyranny.”

  The four wives nodded to the press. Pippa Barrymore took a step forward, pressed her hands together in a praying gesture of thanks to the congresswoman and then stepped back in line. Adelman-Zamora accepted the gratitude with a solemn nod and a tapping fist over her heart.

  “These men have chosen not to speak to the press today. After all they have been through, we must respect that. But they have asked me, on their behalf, to thank the American people for their prayers and for their support through Twitter and Facebook. They are ecstatic to be home safe. They look forward to putting this episode behind them and to returning to their normal lives.”

  The congresswoman rubbed her hands together for her big finish. “Before we close, we have something else to celebrate this morning. A few minutes ago, Cuban state television confirmed that the leader of that nation has passed away. The era of the aging tyrants who have run Cuba since 1959 has finally come to an end. We are also seeing on social media that the Cuban people are now coming out onto the streets of Havana, Santiago, and every city and town across that country, to pay their respects and to call for democratic elections within ninety days. The people’s yearning to be free is unwavering. The force of democracy is unstoppable.

  “This is a pivotal moment for Cuba and for the United States. I have spoken this morning with the State Department and they stand ready to deliver a package of support for the elections to ensure the people’s will is expressed and the transition is smooth. We expect an announcement later today from Assistant Secretary Melanie Eisenberg with more details.

  “I want to stress that the United States supports the democratic process in Cuba rather than any one candidate. We should expect patriotic Cubans from within the country and those living abroad to step forward and help lead their country into a new era. We welcome their bravery and we wish them Godspeed. The days of Cuba’s leaders being chosen by fraternal blood or in the back rooms of the Communist Party are over.

  “If Cuba’s elections are indeed free and fair and the results reflect the desire of the Cuban people, our two great nations will finally be on a path to true friendship. If the rule of law is respected and the rights of private property owners are restored, then Cuba will truly be on a path to rejoining the international community.

  “Upon completion of open and democratic elections, I will introduce the Zamora Amendment in the U.S. Congress. This legislation will provide for the immediate lifting of all remaining sanctions and a generous recovery program. This is a window of opportunity that Cuba and America must seize.”

  Adelman-Zamora raised her fist. “Viva Cuba Libre!”

  85.

  SANTIAGO, CUBA

  SATURDAY, 10.55 A.M.

  What do you mean they aren’t coming?” Ernesto Sandoval was almost in tears, nearly crying into the phone. “I’ve been so patient. All these years waiting, waiting. Building a life, a simple life in Africa, but it was mine. And I left it all behind to come back. I gave it all up for a promise. Your promise. And now that I’m here, you’re telling me . . . no crowds?”

  “Mi hermano, please. I didn’t say no crowds. Just not yet.”

  “When, Ruben? How am I launching a campaign to become the next president of Cuba without the people? I don’t understand. What happened to the crowds? What happened to the money?”

  “The people are in the streets now.”

  “They aren’t on the streets for me. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You promised me, hermano, that you’d take care of everything.”

  “I will find a way, Che. We will have a campaign. I will get the money. I will get the crowds for you. For us.”

  “I don’t know, Ruben.”

  “The Americans have already announced an election package. The rest I will get myself. I promise, Che. We will do it. We will fight. And we will win. Viva Cuba Libre!”

  86.

  FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA

  SATURDAY, 11.03 A.M.

  Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Are you just talking to Mommy
all morning? I wanna swim!”

  “In a minute, Toby,” Judd said. “Give me a minute and then I’ll take you in the ocean. I promise.” Judd’s older son hung his head and walked back over to Noah, who was digging a hole in the sand.

  “Maybe we should do this later?” Jessica offered. “Take your son swimming. Play in the waves. We can deal with everything later. It’s not going anywhere. I’ll finish Treasure Island. I’m almost at the end, where we learn Long John Silver is the secret ringleader.”

  Judd considered his wife’s suggestion. These conversations were always better when Judd could focus, no interruptions from his kids, no being pulled away, no distractions. And he knew he was in a position of extreme weakness. How could he possibly be mad at Jessica while she was lying next to him on a towel, a halo of understated beauty in a red bikini and a Washington Nationals baseball cap?

  But after so many days of scheming, of overthinking every detail, and then nothing had gone according to plan, he felt anxious.

  “Let’s do it now,” he said.

  Jessica set the book facedown on her lap and removed her sunglasses. “Where do you want to start, sweets?”

  Judd looked up the beach. Clusters of people had claimed their little patches of sand. He noticed a density pattern among the sunbathers, weighted higher near the public entrances. There must be an implicit mathematical formula for choosing your spot on the beach, he thought. Distance from the parking lot multiplied by the weight you’re carrying divided by the average distance from other people . . .”

  “Judd?”

  He snapped out of it. “Yes, Jessica?”

  “I said where do you want to start?”

  Judd blinked and regathered his thoughts. “That . . . was a close call with Oswaldo Guerrero, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Who knew a redial button could be so dangerous?” Judd offered to cut the tension.

  Jessica nodded.

  “I didn’t know,” he said. “And . . . I didn’t know you were a helicopter pilot.”

  “A little,” she shrugged.

  “What else can you fly? An airplane? Can you . . . drive a tank?”

  Jessica winced. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”

  “I didn’t want to call you,” Judd said.

  “I know, baby.”

  “Uncertainty, backchannel, cash, candidate,” he said, counting out the four on his fingers, “that was my formula for Cuba. Landon Parker was on board. He just couldn’t say so.”

  “Could be,” she nodded.

  “That’s why the hostage negotiations were the spark. The cover he needed. The excuse to get me into the country, face-to-face with O.”

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “I nearly finished it myself.”

  “I know you did, sweets. I know you did.”

  “I didn’t want to call you,” Judd said. “I didn’t need your help.”

  “I know,” she said. “I get it.”

  “But I did,” he said. “I needed you to find millions of dollars. To come get me.”

  “That’s my job. You’d do it for me.”

  “I mean, I had no idea when I called you, how you’d get the money, much less how you’d deliver it all the way out there in the middle of the ocean. On a Cuban naval ship. But I called you and had faith. So I asked. And you did it.”

  Jessica blinked and wet her lips with her tongue.

  “But I should have done it on my own. For Landon Parker. For S/CRU. For me. For us.”

  “I understand, Judd.”

  “Assist, avoid, admit,” Judd said, “the Ryker rules of engagement. I know we agreed that we could assist each other, but—”

  “Aunt Lulu isn’t my aunt!” Jessica blurted out.

  “What?”

  “She’s not my aunt.”

  “I figured,” he said.

  “And the man who burst into the house this morning and woke us up—”

  “He’s got nothing to do with your college friend, does he?”

  “No. Sharon was a lie, too. That was my boss this morning. We’re staying in his place,” she said.

  “Okay . . .”

  “I didn’t want to lie to you, Judd, but I couldn’t help it. That’s why I’m telling you now. Neither of us are perfect.”

  Judd shook his head in agreement. “What else? Any more lies you need to get off your chest?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight lies? You counted them?”

  “Since Tuesday. Eight. How about you?”

  Judd started to run through everything that had happened over the past four days and all the people in the web—the Soccer Dad Four, Landon Parker, Melanie Eisenberg, Brenda Adelman-Zamora, Oswaldo Guerrero, Jessica Ryker—his head hurt. “None.”

  “So you win.”

  “That’s not the point, Jess. We aren’t in a competition. We’re supposed to be a team.”

  “We are a team, Judd. We just got those four Americans free. We just helped give Cuba a chance at a better future. We succeeded, Judd. Again. And we did it together.”

  “We did.” He nodded. “But what about . . . us? What about our rules to keep it all together? To keep our family together?”

  “We have to keep trying. I’ll keep trying. You too.”

  “So . . . who were those guys on The Big Pig? What were they doing?”

  Jessica kissed him.

  “What about Ruben Sandoval?” he asked. “And Ricardo Cabrera? Who was he working for? I still don’t understand how it’s all connected.”

  She kissed him again.

  “And what about you? If you were here in Florida for your boss, what were you really doing down here, Jess?”

  One more kiss, this time long and deep and soft, both eyes shut.

  When she finally pulled away, he cleared his throat. “So . . . now what?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow”—she shrugged—“we go home. Back to work. Back to life.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Right now,” Jessica said, picking up her book, “you’re going swimming.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many friends contributed in big and small ways to this book: Mike Burk, Domingo Campuzano, Francesca Contiguglia, Mvemba Dizolele, Jim Fanjoy, Amanda Glassman, Markus Goldstein, Sara Kass, Jeffrey Krilla, and BJ Pittman. Special thanks to Aida Campuzano, a real-life Peter Pan who generously shared her private memoirs with me. I also benefitted greatly from Michael Grunwald’s The Swamp, Wayne Smith’s The Closest of Enemies, Peter Kornbluh’s Bay of Pigs Declassified, and the extremely timely Back Channel to Cuba by William LeoGrande and Peter Kornbluh. Huge appreciation to my always wise editor Neil Nyren and the whole team at Putnam, especially Ashley Hewlett, Elena Hershey, Anna Romig, and Alexis Sattler. Hat tip and a hug to my agent, Josh Getzler. Most of all, I’m eternally grateful for the love, support, and sensible editing from Donna Moss. Viva!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Todd Moss is Chief Operating Officer and Senior Fellow at the Center for Global Development, a Washington, D.C., think tank, and an adjunct professor at Georgetown University. From 2007 to 2008, he served as Deputy Assistant Secretary of State, where he was responsible for diplomatic relations with sixteen West African countries.

  Previously, Moss worked at the World Bank and the Economist Intelligence Unit and taught at the London School of Economics. The author of the novels The Golden Hour and Minute Zero, as well as four nonfiction books on international economic affairs, he lives in Maryland.

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  Todd Moss, Ghosts of Havana