“Wake up señor. Es no good you sleep in the playa. Es ver’ cold? Please.”
The dazed former American Secretary of State opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and without his glasses his focus was poor. My God he wondered; what has happened? Where am I? His $2500 Armani suit was thoroughly drenched, ruined. Some sonofabitch was going to pay for this. How in the hell had he got onto this, this beach? Where was his flunky, that asshole Martinez?
“From the sea, señor, perhaps you fall into the sea.? This man bring you here in his boat.”
The two solicitous old men, the fisherman and the taxi driver, leaned over offering their hands. Standing was difficult but the old men kindly supported the woozy old diplomat. Where was his aide? His glasses? His partial plate? Where was that shit Martinez? He better have packed an extra suit.
“This man señor, he bring you from the sea. He want to know you can give him one dollar, yes? You can please to give him one dollar; he wan’ to know?”
“Where am I? Is this Colombia? You must take me to the American Embassy. I am a diplomat. Do you understand ‘diplomat?’ The American Embassy will pay you and this man. Is that your taxi? Please get me to the embassy. Now, I have an important speech to deliver in Bogota.”
“Señor, we don’ got no embassy here. You are no in Colombia, señor. This place Isla de la Juventud. We help you get in my taxi. You can give this man one dollar, please?”
Into the back seat of the 1953 Chevy Bel Air the old men gently guided the dizzy man who had fallen from the sky. Still woozy, Dr. Kissinger stretched out minus his $800 pair of Gucci shoes which the old fisherman now had in lieu of the dollar requested for having fished out of the sea this fat gringo who had no courtesy. “Driver, do you have a mayor? Take me to your mayor. Let’s go, I need to contact our embassy.”
“El Mayor? Por supuesto, si señor I know where is the mayor, el commandante. I take you. Is you American, señor? My son he live in Miami. You know Miami, señor?” However this passenger had fallen asleep.
Before arriving at the gate of the cuartel at the military prison the taxi driver gently removed the Rolex from the sleeping fat man in lieu of his fare. His jacket and the pants contained neither wallet nor passport as Dr. Kissinger’s aide, Roberto Martinez had stolen both before dropping his drugged boss from the private plane shortly after takeoff from Miami International. Martinez’s contacts at Occupy Wall Street would pay extra for the bad man’s documents.
After the taxista had signed his statement the tienente had him sign a receipt for the customary twenty Pesos reward with a sincere “Gracias, comrade”.
Capture of a yanqui spy happened only infrequently nowadays. However spies from the north still attempted to infiltrate the country by many clever and devious means. El Lider often closed his speeches with warnings of just such occurances. The slogans “Death to Spies!” and “Be Vigilant!” appeared on walls and billboards all over the island.” He was proud to serve his country and The Revolution. “Viva la Revolucion! Viva El Lider! Viva Cuba!”
At the military prison Commandante Ramirez addressed his newest prisoner. “Welcome to Cuba, Comrade Kissinger. We’ve been expecting you.”