Esther’s parking lot was half full at three, with James’s truck right out front and a fire engine parked on the side. Five uniformed firefighters crowded into one booth in the front, and they were discussing a morning rescue as I walked by.
“Hey, pard.” James nodded to me as I approached his booth. “Angel’s on his way.”
“I had lunch at Chili’s. Nancy says hi.”
“Oh, yeah. Nancy. I should probably call her.”
“She says you promised to pick her up in a new Cadillac?”
He tilted his head. “I probably had too much to drink.”
“That would be so unlike you.”
“Someday, Skip. Once we get this Fuentes thing settled.” He sipped a Coke and pushed around a spoonful of potato salad on his plate. “You having anything?”
“Nah. I’ll wait and see what sumptuous dinner plans we come up with tonight.”
“I’ll have it someday, Skip. A Cadillac. They got that new convertible out. What? You don’t believe me?”
“For you or for your dad?”
“Angel’s here.” He pointed toward the door.
Angel sat down and I noticed his Jeep outside the window.
“I filled our Bahamian friend in on the meeting last night. He says he wants in on the project. Right, Angel?”
Angel nodded.
“Let’s lay out the entire scenario.”
James was in his business-planning mode. The thought crossed my mind that the last time he did this, we got into our current mess. That thought crossed my mind. How deep do you dig your hole before you realize the shovel is the problem? If you toss out the shovel, you don’t have to dig anymore.
“Rick Fuentes is helping fund a terrorist group that wants to overthrow Castro.”
There it was. Plain and simple. The enormity of that statement made me shiver. I knew everything that James knew, but for some reason the far-reaching implications of what we were involved with had never been that clear. If my child was born, he would read about this in eighth-grade history class. Our entire country’s economy could be affected. Lives would be lost, fortunes would be lost-and won. And even though the three of us-four, counting Emily, were major players, I saw absolutely no way this situation could benefit us. If the Cuban element thought we were a threat to their plan, they’d kill us. Not a benefit. If we ignored them, they could be successful or not and whatever fortunes were won or lost, James, Em, Angel, and I would never see a penny. If anything, we could lose. Our jobs, our relationships-again, not a benefit.
“Vic Maitlen may or may not be in jeopardy,” James continued. “Up to this point, we’ve avoided going to any law enforcement agency because Rick Fuentes has asked us not to. He was afraid that his son might be killed if we pursued this any further.”
“But now-” I knew what he knew.
“But now, the law enforcement agency has come to us.” He swallowed a gulp of his Coke. “So the question is, do we continue to try and find Vic Maitlin?”
“And,” I interjected, “don’t forget that Jackie Fuentes’s life has been threatened.”
“Hell,” James said. “Seems to me our lives were threatened too.”
I nodded. “So, do we tell Rick Fuentes what we’ve learned so far?”
“You know nothing.” Angel scowled. We’d been through this with him before and he’d made his point. Apparently, not strongly enough. “You saw someone who might have been Victor Maitlin. If you tell the father that his son is alive and you are wrong, he’ll be devastated. If you tell him that you followed the Cubans, he’ll be furious. Whatever you tell this man, it will do you no good and could do irreparable damage.”
Nothing stood between James and his food. He shoveled down a forkful of beans and nodded, apparently agreeing with Angel.
“Let’s assume Vic is still a victim. And that he’s alive.” I believed he was alive. I hoped that was him in the warehouse. “If he is, and we can witness it, we can still go to the authorities.” I wanted to identify the goal.
“But,” Angel crossed his arms, “you claim the authorities have already come to you. If you identify anything, it’s simply for your edification. We need to do two things.”
James chewed furiously, swallowing and choking on his food. “Wha. .. wha… what things? All we need to do,” he cleared his throat with a rumble, “is to identify Vic. This time for sure.”
“No. What you need to do is to prove that he is a victim. Prove it. Prove that your high school friend has one finger missing. Prove that he is being held so that Rick Fuentes is forced to sell shares in Cafe Cubana to save his son. Then, and only then, can you go to a higher authority. I don’t believe that the CIA, FBI, or the local police department will argue with any of us if we can prove that Vic is a victim.”
I pondered the statement. He’d said us at the end of his rant. Us . Everything else had been you.
Angel was on the team. And he was right. We needed another trip to the warehouse and a more positive report on Vic Maitlin. Why? Because our lives were in jeopardy. Because until we settled this situation once and for all, we would be involved. Because I owed Vic Maitlin my life.
And because I wanted my child to read his eighth-grade history lesson and not find that his old man screwed up.
“Angel, you still missed the most important part of this scenario.” James polished off the potato salad with one final bite. He chewed thoughtfully, washed it down with a swallow of Coke and in dramatic fashion laid his hands flat on the table and gazed at the two of us. “The CIA has told us to stay away from this. The CIA, gentlemen.”
Angel, in an equally dramatic presentation, lay his large, black hands on the table. “You may never have met with the CIA.”
“Did you not hear the story I told you earlier today?”
“I listened very carefully.”
“And what?” James turned his hands palms up. “You don’t believe me?”
Angel looked at me. “You believed you saw a police officer the night of the fire. Now, you believe that same man was one of the two Cubans who tried to kill you.”
“And your point is?”
“Our beliefs change. Depending on new information.”
“And do we have new information? I hadn’t heard of any.”
“You now have my information. The CIA, under current guidelines, does not get involved in the investigation of American citizens.”
“But-” James and I had both talked to the man.
“They don’t.”
James shook his head. “So you think the guy was phony?”
“The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms may get involved.”
That made sense. These guys had massive amounts of what I assumed were illegal firearms.
“The FBI may get involved. But not the CIA. The second thing you must do is start asking for more positive identification when you meet these imposters.”
We sat there for a minute, James and I looking at each other, both wondering the same thing. Did Jackie know the guy was a phony? Finally, I said, “Angel, how the hell do you know this?”
“It’s not important how I know. I know. I also know this. If there is a plot to overthrow Castro, the CIA would not try to stop it. They’d probably applaud the effort.”