Part 8 (1/2)

”Ah . . . muy mareado. Vomito!”

And vomito he did.

When Androsa came back into the cabin, the sound of retching up topside was unmistakable.

”Where's Captain Zapata?” she said, glaring at me, knowing full well what had happened.

”The little guy?”

”You know d.a.m.n well who I mean.”

”I think he's got the vapors or something. Left without a fare-thee-well.”

With a final glare, she whirled toward Captain Lobo, who was standing now, and poured out a rattling dialogue of apology.

She finished, ”El gringo capitn es sumamente estpido!”

Lobo didn't seem to disagree. He looked at me meanly, smiling all the while.

I smiled back.

”Well, I'm going up there to make sure he's all right!”

With a toss of her hair, the woman climbed the steps outside. It left Lobo and me alone in the cabin.

I lifted his empty gla.s.s and, in innocent sign language, asked him if he wanted another beer.

Nothing. He grinned and watched me, his wide face and mustache immobile.

”Sorry about your friend,” I said, letting my tone communicate what I meant.

But my tone was wasted.

”I sincerely doubt that, Capitn MacMorgan.”

It surprised me. It really did. Lobo had given me no hint that he could understand what I had been saying to Santarun. He had a heavy accent, but his words were confidently formed, well-spoken.

I held the snuff out to him. ”Sure you don't want some, too?”

He chuckled, looked away. Big as he was, he was quick. He slapped the can out of my hand before I had a chance to move. The lid went twirling one way and the snuff flew across the indoor-outdoor carpeting like coffee grounds.

”Is that a no?”

For the first time, the grin disappeared from his face. He stepped closer to me, hands on hips, and growled, ”You think you're quite funny, don't you, Capitn MacMorgan? Well, let me remind you that this is not the United States. I a.s.sume the woman, Miss Santarun, paid you a great deal of money to bring her here. If you want to live to spend that money, then I suggest you conduct yourself in this harbor with fitting respect. I am not your smiling neighbor, gringo. I am your superior-the moment you entered our waters, it became so.” He sneered the last words. ”We are no longer island slaves born to shuffle at the feet of Americanos. You are in Cuba now, Capitn MacMorgan. And don't forget it.”

I still smiled. It was a necessary ploy. I wanted to see how far Castro's people could be pushed before they would allow themselves to stray into the danger zone of what might be an ”international incident.”

It might prove useful later to know.

And it didn't take me long to find out.

In years past, it wouldn't have happened. No official of another country would have even considered striking an American citizen-even if that citizen had acted as churlishly as I had. But now we had a President who thought an act of courage consisted of hitting a drowning rabbit with a boat paddle. Or abdicating his control over the safety of American diplomats everywhere to anyone h.e.l.l-bent on holding our country hostage.

”Do you want to know when I was sure this was Cuba?” I said, still smiling.

”Not especially, Capitn.”

”Well, I'll tell you anyway, Captain Lobo. When we pulled past that power plant over there, that's when I knew for sure. All the civilian workers were skinny. And all the soldiers guarding the beach were fat.”

He slapped me so quickly, so unexpectedly, that I didn't think my next move through clearly. I felt my right hand join into a fist and swing overhand down toward Lobo's face.

I stopped it just in time, a fraction of an inch from his nose.

Lobo hadn't even flinched. ”Go ahead, Capitn MacMorgan. Hit me. And after you have hit me I will have my guards escort you into Havana. Before they put you in prison you will have a very fair trial. I a.s.sure you that.”

Slowly, I lowered my fist. He held all the cards. No doubt about it.

This time, anyway.

”I'm very sorry, Captain Lobo. Please accept my apology for the way I have acted.” I tried to look ashamed. ”I was very stupid.”

The malicious grin returned to his big face. ”Of course! Apology accepted! But please don't forget what I have said, Capitn MacMorgan. You might say that your life depends on remembering. . . .”

9.

Mariel Harbor was a big inland lake of a port umbilicated to the sea by a natural deepwater channel. The east side of the harbor was cliffed, and industrialized with cement and power plants. But the industry gave way to higher cliffs. Bamboo and royal palms grew on the cliffs, all tapering toward the highest peak where the Cuban Naval Academy stood. It was built of native stone, four stories high, with gables and pillars, and broad stone steps that led down to the narrow road which snaked its way through the hills. North on the sheer cliff, beside the academy, were barracks of wood with tile roofs. Beyond the fortress was tropical wilderness, curving around the base of the harbor to the south end, where there were open fields and, on a distant lift of hillside, a small village.

Androsa Santarun didn't say much to me as I motored Sniper down the channel way to the harbor. Boats were everywhere-mostly American boats. There were hundreds of sweeping white shrimp boats with names in broad print on their sterns: Lucky Cracker, Georgia; Lee Wayne, Fort Myers; Pirate's Chest, Key Largo-some of them anch.o.r.ed alone; others rafted in floating communities. There were schooners and skiffs and broad white yachts, all with their bows anch.o.r.ed into the tide-the only hint of order in the chaos of waiting vessels.

The harbor was a jumbled, polluted mess, and only the merchant seamen on the big Russian tanker tethered to the quay near the power plant seemed to move with any intensity of purpose.

”I guess I acted like a jerk back there, huh?”

She stood beside me at the cabin controls.

”There's not much doubt about that.”

”Like some immature spoiled brat, wouldn't you say?”

She eyed me for a moment, studying my face. ”I would say at least that.”

”What did Lobo say to you when he left?”

”I really see no point in discussing what has already-”

There was a rickety houseboat ahead piloted by someone who obviously had no idea what in the h.e.l.l he was doing. I swerved Sniper neatly to keep his blunt bow out of my beam. ”I was just trying to make conversation, Miss Santarun.”