The Cuban Affair

by Nelson DeMille

I was really feeling like an outsider now, caught in a family feud that went back to Christopher Columbus.

Villa Marista, and that the answers to what happened to seventeen missing Americans were in the DNA of those bones.

I had a vision of my Villa Marista photo on a screen at the press conference, and maybe all over the news and the Internet. The surprises on this mission never seemed to end. The biggest surprise so far had been the skulls. I could still see them staring at me . . . as though pleading, “Take me home.”

Eduardo also didn’t tell me or Sara how the skulls from Villa Marista came into his possession, though the less we knew about that the better. Bottom line, there was a lot of dark matter that held this universe together.

There was something in this for everyone. Mostly loss, unfortunately, but also maybe hope and closure.

This country was like an elaborate magic show, a grand illusion, a game of three-card monte, and a Hogwarts for con artists. And I thought the Afghanis were slippery.

I could see a jetliner making its slow approach into the island airport, and as it got lower I saw the Air Canada maple leaf logo on its tail. And this brought home the fact that for the rest of the world, Cuba was just a holiday destination. For us, it was a legacy of the Cold War, a place where Americans were loved or hated, depending on who you ran into.

“He confuses jealousy with love.”

If you ask someone for help, you need to lay out the dangers.

He asked, “You want a cigarette?” “No.” “They’re gluten-free.” “I gotta tell you, Jack, your sense of humor is annoying.”

The CIA’s motto, “The truth shall set you free,” was kind of an understood joke, while Key West’s motto, “One Human Family,” is a sad joke. Somewhere in between the cynical lies and a naïve trust in the human race was the true human condition: complex and capable of anything from heroism and self-sacrifice to betrayal and murder. That’s what I saw in Afghanistan, and what I saw in Cuba.

All good fiction is based on fact, and I am fortunate to know people who know more things than I can find on the Internet. First, I’d like to thank a man who I met in Cuba, and who gave it to me straight about contemporary Cuban politics, culture, and life. He wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons, but he’s given himself the code name “Lola.” Thank you, Lola, wherever you are, and take care. There are many nautical scenes in this