The Cuban Affair

by Nelson DeMille

He asked, “Have you read Islands in the Stream?” “Have you?” “Yes, of course. It is a very good book. It speaks of Cayo Guillermo—where the tournament will be held after they leave Havana.” I sipped my beer. “There is a very prophetic line in the book . . . written before the revolution.” He quoted without notes, “ ‘The Cubans double-cross each other. They sell each other out. They got what they deserve. The hell with their revolutions.’ ” He said, “I will see you at dinner,” and left. What the hell was that all about?

If you fell into the hands of the Taliban, you’d wish you were dead.

The Taliban are tough and sometimes fearless, but rarely smart, and never very good marksmen. They fire their AK-47s on full automatic like kids playing with toy guns. Their hits are lucky, but hits are hits, and a few of my men went down, but the medic reported light wounds.

My heart said that Sara and I should just get a flight out of here and go live happily ever after. But my head said I’d regret it if I let three million dollars slip through my fingers. I’d rather regret the things I did than the things I didn’t do. Also, I’d made a commitment to do this.

She took my hand and we bowed our heads. We didn’t have many missing men in the Afghan war, but I thought of the nearly two thousand men who were still missing in Vietnam, and I thought of Jack, and my father, and the other men I knew who’d served in that war. And I prayed for all of them. Which I had never done before.

I’d obviously fallen hard, but the reality was that we had not a single thing going for us outside of Cuba. Holiday romances can be intense, but as the old song said, too many moonlight kisses seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.