“She wasn’t throwing herself at anybody. And you should be nicer to her—she’s got a brother back in Cuba who’s a pitcher. Maybe you could get a package deal with you-know-who …”
Cam was convinced that was what the fiery phone calls were about, and the trip to Florida. It worried Cam, as did his brother’s choice in beverages. “What are you doing? You know you can’t drink.”
“I shouldn’t drink. I can’t do cocaine.”
Cam knew it was a waste of time to push it, and searched for common ground, which he found in the form of hockey.
It was the one sport Geoff enjoyed, and despite the fake leg, he’d even played as a youth. He was the goalie, and while he might not have been the greatest to ever play the position, he was the most determined.
When two goons in the Rangers game dropped the gloves and began fighting, the brothers had a rare laugh at themselves, reliving the events of earlier in the day.
“Did it feel good?” Geoff asked.
“What?”
“Knocking me out.”
Cam thought for a second, and then admitted, “Yeah, it did.”
“For the record, it felt good to put my foot in your ass … and knock you down for once.”
“I wish that’s where you put it—it would have hurt a lot less.”
For the first time in a long time they were enjoying each other’s company … or at least not attempting to kill each other.
Cam’s attention left the hockey game. He scanned the bar—the waitress still on his mind. He noticed her running from table to table, skillfully balancing trays of food and drinks. His eyes then roamed to a place on the wall where they hung autographed photos of famous athletes; typical sports bar stuff.
Geoff followed Cam’s gaze, and they both saw it at the same time. It was a framed, autographed photo of their father—the Jack Hammer. They just could never escape him.
Chapter 19
The final customer left Tomás’ Bodega at just past midnight. Teo Stepania locked the front door, and began mopping the floors. He liked the late shift. With the store empty, he could play loud salsa music and daydream about pitching in Las Grandes Liges in the United States.
When he was convinced the floor was so clean you could safely eat off it, Teo retreated to the storeroom and changed into his workout gear, consisting of T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. He packed his work uniform into his duffel bag, as he always did. But tonight he added a bag of Doritos, a jar of peanut butter, and six bananas to the stash. Tomás had encouraged him to do so; the trip to Miami would be at least eighteen hours.
If he made it.
Teo strapped the bag to his shoulder. It also contained a picture of his mother, Gloria, and a copy of the Havana newspaper Granma from the day after then nineteen-year-old Teo Stepania had pitched the Havana Industriales over Villa Clara to win Serie Nacional, the Cuban version of the World Series.
He gripped a large silver crucifix his sister Anna had given him. He kissed it for the luck he’d need, and hung it around his neck. Baseball players were a superstitious group by nature, but baseball players who are about to attempt a daring defection were really superstitious.
He’d witnessed some of his Equipo Cuba teammates attempt … and fail. Orlandis Morales the star slugger, and national hero, made a run for it during an international tournament in the US last year. He even contacted people in the US embassy and a meeting place had been set up where they were guaranteed visas. But he had been double-crossed, and now spent his days doing hard labor for the government, banished from baseball for life. After that, none of the other star players were allowed to travel to any tournaments outside the country. Teo was convinced he’d never leave the island again.
Teo knew he needed to be suspicious of everyone, including Tomás and Rafael. He could handle any type of prison time, but for him, taking baseball away would be a death sentence.
He shut the lights and secured the padlock on the door. He checked his watch—12:51. For a fleeting moment, he stared at the dilapidated store. He would miss Tomás, who was like the father he never really had. But now was no time to be looking back. He needed to move fast.
He began a slow jog down the main strip of Varadero. The run was consistent with his normal routine, which he did each night after closing the store, preparing for the upcoming season. His breathing felt heavier than normal—he was petrified to the point he felt his lungs might crumble into a million tiny pieces.
As usual, the strip buzzed with energy and light. Varadero was the undisputed tourism capital of Cuba—a section of the city Mantanzas on the west side of the island. Built on the Punta Hicacos Peninsula, it was about a two-hour drive from Havana, and was often referred to as the Blue Beach of Cuba. Europeans and Canadians flocked to the white sandy beaches and five-star hotels.
The ten thousand or so who made up the year-round community were not rich or famous. They were like his mother, who scratched and clawed to put food on the table each night. The American agent had informed Rafael that big money awaited him in the US. He didn’t care about it for himself, but looked forward to providing for his mother, to give back for the sacrifices she’d made for Anna and him.
Teo picked up the pace, his eyes darting everywhere. He knew the Policía Nacional Revolucionaria were stationed on most corners. The PNR’s main priority was to ensure the safety of tourists in Varadero, but he couldn’t let his guard down.
Throbbing music blared from a disco. Loud voices, speaking in a numerous languages—English, Spanish, and French—roared from Habana Café. He could visualize the wealthy Canadians and Europeans eating first-class seafood and sipping on exotic cocktails in La Bamba Celso.
His speed methodically increased until he was running full throttle. His thick, dark hair was soaked in sweat, as was his chest and back. But this was no time to slow down.
It was a typical night in Varadero—seventy degrees and clear. Traffic was light in this part of town. He was now on a dirt road, away from the restaurants and clubs. For Teo, it was too quiet.
Just when it seemed as if he would never get to the harbor, it came into view. He’d scouted Yanqui, so he knew what the vessel looked like. He struggled with shaky hands to open the cabin with the key Tomás left for him. Once inside, he knew he was past the point of no return.
Teo took one last look at Cuba through the porthole. He would especially miss his mother, and feared for her. With Anna gone, she would be alone now. Would the government go after her for revenge? He visited her at the resort two days earlier. He couldn’t divulge his plan, but by the way she hugged him goodbye, she knew. He promised himself he’d provide her a better life, or die trying. And tomorrow he would get to test that promise in the rough Atlantic.
As he stared out at the only place he’d ever called home, he saw nothing but darkness. But a true home always resides in the mind. All he had to do was shut his eyes and he could breathe in the smell of the ocean, and visualize the white flocks of pelicans as they skimmed over the stunning blue sea.
But tonight was not the time for sentiment. Teo moved beneath the cabin and closed the door behind him. It smelled like fish and he assumed the aroma wouldn’t improve after being baked in the sun all day tomorrow. Tomás had instructed him about the hidden room that was built into the floor. He twisted the lock until he’d completed the combination he’d memorized, and it released.
What he stared down at was horrifying—for all intents and purposes, it was a coffin. Beyond the obvious symbol of death, it also wouldn’t allow much movement for his lanky, six-foot-two inch frame. He pulled the cross up from under his sweat soaked T-shirt. He gave it one more kiss and entered the claustrophobic room. He thought of Anna and his mother. He thought of the father he never knew. He thought of leaving the only home he’d ever known. He thought of the consequences if he was caught.
He decided it was worth it, and shut the door of the coffin.
Chapter 20
Cam’s lungs burned, filled with cold morning air as he
finished his run along the beach.
If he was going to attempt a return to baseball, he knew he had to be in the best physical shape of his life. He’d been getting up at four in the morning since January, running through the dark streets of DC before work. He was willing to make the sacrifice for the sport that he loved, even though he was no fan of the frigid temperatures, and never was an early riser.
He removed the headphones from his old-school Walkman and made his way up the wooden steps. He punched the code to unlock the gate and entered the property of the beach house where he’d grown up, and where his mother still lived. He briefly stopped to make small-talk with the contractor who was working on the back deck of the house at this early hour. The man was actually a member of the security staff in disguise. Sometimes it was a lawn care guy, sometimes a painter. King Arthur had been gone for decades, but he’d made a lot of enemies in his day. And as well-intentioned as most of Jack Myles’ followers were when they would make a pilgrimage to the house, Katie Barrett took no chances with the safety of her children.
Cam removed his sand-filled running shoes, and stepped into the house through the back porch. He made his way to the living room, and took a moment to peer out the big bay window at the beach. Most people associate the beach with sunny days and sandcastles, but Cam always connected with days like today—gray morning skies with a rainy mist, and the waves from the Long Island Sound pounding the coastline.
His mother had moved them back here after the deaths of their father and grandfather, and raised them away from the spotlight. She didn’t return to her career until Cam and Geoff were far into their teens, when she accepted a position as an international correspondent for GNZ.
Cam glanced out the window again at what was the best sandbox any kid could ever have wished for. If he looked hard enough, he could almost see himself and Geoff playing as kids, with Mom nearby, looking like she was reading a book, but really with both eyes on her children. It was an idyllic childhood … until Geoff got sick.
The house itself was modest compared to the other King Arthur estates that his mother, the Senator’s only child, had sold off after his death. They could have spent their time in grand mansions living off the inheritance, with servants to satisfy their every whim, but it wasn’t in the Barrett blood to remain idle.
Cam usually found comfort being here, but not this morning. He heard her in the kitchen, causing him to hesitate. They’d had numerous conversations in recent years—mostly one-sided—the topic being, to use her words, his nomadic, aimless career pursuit. And don’t get her going on his love life.
For most people, being a baseball star that led teams to both the Little League and college championships, and being the top pick in the draft, would have met the achievement quota. Cam also graduated from an Ivy League school, received his law degree, and worked his way up to an important position under a US senator … all before he was thirty! But he’d learned at a young age that expectations were a lot different when the names on your family tree included Barrett and Myles.
He found her with her head under the faucet of the kitchen sink, applying some type of hair-coloring product. Cam quietly stepped into the kitchen, trying not to scare her. She always got a little jumpy after spending time in the Middle East.
She had arrived sometime during the night, and he didn’t want to wake her when he got up for his early morning run—she hardly slept as it was, and was constantly on the move, so he thought any rest would do her good.
He picked up the empty package sitting on the stove. “Blonde? If you want my opinion, I think you should keep it gray.”
“I am not, and never have been, gray,” she replied with predictable defiance.
“I think you’re just trying to keep up with that young hotshot reporter. What’s her name … Lauren Bowden?”
She pulled her head out from the sink, her hair slicked back as if she’d just been swimming. “And what I have done to earn the indignity of being compared to Ms. Bowden? Or as Don Henley once said—the bubble-headed bleach blonde that can tell you about the plane crash with a gleam in her eye.”
Katie Barrett never lacked for a quick comeback, or a classic rock reference.
She tied a towel around her head. Without makeup you could see the many lines of a woman of fifty-five, who’d seen more tragedy than most. But she was still very much the international news babe she always had been, and had the provocative fan mail to prove it—another reason for the diligent security. She just needed a little more work under the hood these days to get the engine going before the camera came on.
“Your punishment for using that name in this house, will be either to have your mouth washed out with soap, or to give your mom a big hug.”
Cam smiled, acting as if he was pondering his options, and then they embraced. She pulled away and looked him up and down. “You look fantastic. Have you been working out? Maybe training like you’re planning another attempt at baseball?”
“How did you …?”
“Sometimes you seem to forget that I’m an investigative reporter … would you like me to show you my awards? And besides, the Camelot Myles I know would never be up this early, doing of all things, running.”
“So Sal told you?”
“I’ll go to jail before revealing my sources,” she said with a smile, always enjoying being a step ahead.
“So is this where the lecture begins?”
“The one about how you are exhibit-A of how I failed completely as a mother?”
“A little harsher than I expected, but that’s the one.”
“Any mother worth her salt pushes her children to pursue what’s in their hearts. Yet, I have one son who despises sports and the athletes who participate in them, but has chosen to become a sports agent. And my other son has had a lifelong love affair with baseball, yet he ended in a field, politics, that he shares the same enthusiasm for as a trip to the dentist. I don’t know how I could be described as anything but an epic fail.”
“Is that a convoluted way of saying that you’re not upset?”
“Upset? My many mentions of your aimlessness are not a rebuke of the quantity of your career alterations, but of your stubbornness in not seeking out what’s truly in your heart.”
“Couldn’t you just have said that in the first place?”
“When you have children one day, Camelot, you’ll learn that they have to figure things out for themselves, no matter how tedious that can be. I just wish you’d came to this conclusion before I had to pay to put you through law school, only to see you then take a job in a profession that, ironically, and with all due respect to my late father, makes a mockery of the laws of this country.”
“I guess with time comes wisdom.”
“No, well spent time, and being pushed by a great mother will,” she said, grinning. “But in seriousness, I’m glad your light-bulb is starting to flicker. And I see it might actually be carrying over to your personal life.”
There was always a purpose to her words. Often chosen specifically to set up her interviewee. So Cam treaded cautiously, “Because I purchased those tickets to see The Who at Toad’s Place?”
“A very wise choice indeed, but I was referring to your decision to jettison Ms. Hayden.”
“You’re just mad because GNZ was going to team her up with Lauren Bowden, and get rid of the old lady. Your jealousy aside, I think you admired her.”
“My admiration is reserved for your resolve, when it comes to your attempts to get under my skin. And how could I possibly admire someone who thought the Victoria’s Secret Catalog was great literature?”
“If you saw that number she wore on page sixty-three last month, I think you might change your mind on that.”
She smiled like she was up to something. “I just hope you put this newly found wisdom toward finding a woman worthy of my first born. Speaking of which, did you and Geoff meet any nice girls at Nellie’s last night?”
Chapter 21
Before Cam
could once again question his mother’s mystical powers, she was on the move. She stopped at the refrigerator and pulled out eggs, milk, and orange juice. Cam had picked up the essentials last night, since the house hadn’t been occupied in weeks.
“What do you say I make you some breakfast? And if you were out with Geoffrey last night, you’ll need a hearty meal. Don’t get me wrong, I love that he has become so health-conscious, but my boys can’t live on rabbit food alone.”
Cam knew it wasn’t a request. He took a seat at the breakfast table as his mother whipped up some scrambled eggs and bacon like a short-order cook, and brewed a pot of coffee. She bounced around the kitchen in constant motion, which was her norm. He admired her stamina, but wondered if she had always been like that, or if something changed in her the night his father died. Sometimes it seemed like she believed if she kept moving she would be able to outrun the fates that always seemed to nipping at their heels.
When she finished the masterpiece, they ate together for the first time in as long as Cam could remember. Cam dug in hungrily, but his mother just played with her eggs—never a good sign for him. Her face turned serious. “Did Geoffrey drink last night when you were out?”
Cam shrugged as if it were no big deal. “He had a beer or two.”
“Cam!” Her eyes turned fierce. “You know he can’t drink. After everything we went through …”
“He doesn’t have a drinking problem, he has an ‘I-hate-myself’ problem. Getting him off that stuff might have saved his life, but it didn’t fix the problem.”
His mother sighed. “You do know that almost every drug counselor on the planet would disagree with you.”
“But they don’t know him like I do. And they don’t get what it’s like to be held responsible for the death of someone you never even met.”
She nodded, but didn’t seem to want to go down that path. “You never answered me—did you meet a girl last night?”
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