The night before they left, Luisito’s family loaded the car with all their suitcases. They were ready to leave for Miami. Miguel’s boss had given him some time off. Luisito and Rosie had their plan all worked out. Once they arrived, Rosie would find an excuse to take Luisito to La Ermita de la Caridad in Miami. There he would quickly deliver his message. It’s a good thing he had decided to tell Rosie—this was turning out to be easier than he’d expected.
Early the next morning, the whole family crammed into the car. José, Rosie, and Sonia took the spacious vinyl front seat. Miguel, Elena, Luisito, and Tommy sat in the back.
“I brought coffee and my favorite crackers!” Rosie said.
“Well, then we are all set,” José laughed.
Luisito rested his head back and slept as his parents and the Galletis spoke softly.
After several hours, they stopped at a rest area.
“Finally, we get to stretch our legs,” Tommy said.
“No importa,” Luisito said. “Try a raft for about four days.”
“Well, now that you put it that way . . .” Tommy said, smiling.
They bought a quick breakfast and brought it back to the car to eat. Between the food and the moving vehicle, Luisito slowly drifted in and out of sleep. He would soon be in Miami. But instead of a sense of accomplishment, he felt uneasy about the whole thing.
It just couldn’t be this easy. Something wasn’t right.
Agent Stewart drank his cup of coffee as he drove on the highway en route to Miami. He picked up his portable radio.
“Yes?” Stewart said. “What do you have?”
“Agent Stewart, the wiretaps indicate that the two Cuban suspects are after an image of Our Lady of Charity, and they believe the boy has something to do with it. Apparently his family has connections with the Catholic Church in Cuba, and, as we know, the Cuban government is very afraid that the Catholic Church, always against injustice, will try to bring the government down,” his assistant said.
“But according to inside information the boy’s parents didn’t go to church. They weren’t affiliated with the Church at all,” Stewart replied.
“Correct, but the boy also lived with his grandmother, and she went to church daily. That’s all the information we have so far,” she said.
“The grandmother is still in Cuba, isn’t she?” Stewart asked.
“Yes, she is seventy-two years old and lives in Havana.”
“There is nothing suspicious about an old lady going to church in Cuba. The older people have nothing to lose,” he said. “Keep digging and keep me posted.”
This whole thing didn’t make sense to Stewart. Why would anyone be so concerned about a holy image? Were they afraid the teenage boy was going to smuggle this image to the United States? How could he if he came in a raft with no personal belongings? His parents had no involvement with anticommunist movements, the Church, or any communist groups, according to his information. Then there was the grandmother, but all she did was stand in line for food, visit old friends, and go to church. He had checked out the people she visited and they were just ordinary folks.
He heard Agent Loynaz on the radio again. He tried to set down his coffee. It spilled on his lap.
“Y-e-s?” he said, a little irritated.
“Just wanted to let you know that the family is forty miles ahead of you and still being closely followed,” said Carmen Loynaz, an agent assigned to FCI.
“Do you have someone on them?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Good,” Stewart reported. “I will soon be entering South Carolina. Where are they now?”
“Approaching Georgia,” Agent Loynaz said.
“Okay, I’d better pick up the pace,” Stewart said. “Thanks.”
Stewart turned up the radio and sped up a bit. This was a lonely job at times. Everything was top secret. He remembered how his father, who had also worked for the bureau, would leave for days on account of his work. Stewart’s father was an FBI legend. He was known for his highly intuitive sharp mind, his amazing high-speed car chases, and his many successfully closed cases. His father was in more fragile health since his hip replacement surgery, but he had once been a very agile man.
“Wait a minute,” Stewart said to himself. His father might be fragile now, but he was really something in his day . . . “That’s it!” He radioed Agent Loynaz again.
“The reports you have of Maria Elena Jemot, are they all recent?” he asked.
“From the last ten years,” she said.
“Check further back,” Stewart said, “during the years right after the revolution. Check her husband as well. I believe he was an attorney who was arrested and died in prison.”
“Will do,” Loynaz said. “Keep your eyes open.”
“I will, thanks,” he said, signing off.
This is the part of his job he enjoyed the most. It could be boring for days, but then one clue and—bingo!— the information started to pour in. He was glad he had such a good team working for him. He hoped this hunch panned out because he had a feeling this was no routine assignment.