think I’d have become inured to press skepticism after thirty years in the United States Senate, but it never fails to amaze me,” he said, the smile not leaving his square, tanned face. “No, there is absolutely no political motive behind this trip. We are going for precisely the purpose stated in the press handout y’all have. Cuba is a Communist nation ruled by a Communist dictator, and I’m sure there’ll be no softening of this administration’s posture toward Castro and his government. But as y’all know, Congress has been moving in the direction of possibly expanding trade with Cuba in the areas you mentioned. This benefits not only the average Cuban citizen, it opens up a potentially lucrative market for our pharmaceutical companies and our farmers. It seems to me that—”
“It will benefit your own company, too, won’t it, Senator?” asked a reporter.
The smile disappeared. “If you’re suggestin’ that I would put personal gain over the needs of the American people, sir,
I
would suggest that you don’t know me very well. Other questions? Time for us to get on board.”
“President Walden’s attempts to end the forty-year embargo against Cuba are becoming more evident every day. Are you saying his agenda isn’t part of your agenda?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” McCullough replied.
“What about Cuba’s dismal record on human rights, Senator?” a young woman reporter asked. “Doesn’t increased trade simply give Castro a stronger economy in which to mistreat his own citizens?”
The smile was back, more expansive this time. “How we deal with Mr. Castro and his failings in the human rights arena is up to the politicians, and I remind you I am no longer one of those. The distinguished ladies and gentlemen of this delegation represent the best of American thinking and success. They’ll be meeting with their Cuban counterparts to discuss how things might open up a little with Cuba. Thank you for coming, and have yourselves a nice day.”
They walked from the lounge to a chartered 727, boarded, and settled in their seats.
“First time to Havana?” Smith’s seatmate asked. He was the president of a large midwestern heavy farm equipment manufacturing company.
“Yes. You?”
A hearty laugh preceded, “No. I’m older than I look. I went there in my early twenties. It was incredible, a paradise, the shows, the gambling, the women. Batista might have been a curse but at least he was no Commie. Castroand his damn revolution ruined everything, sent the island over to the Soviets, put the people in chains. Hell, all you have to do is look at how many Cubans have risked their lives on little rubber rafts to get away from that murderous bastard.”
True or not, it promised to be a longer flight for Smith than estimated.
Max Pauling was not flying. He had been made to cool his heels in Miami. Gosling called him from London the day he arrived: “Sorry, old boy,” he’d said, “but an emergency has come up with one of our clients that will keep me here an extra day.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Pauling asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Relax. Enjoy glamorous Miami Beach. Spend my money. Accommodations are to your liking?”
“They’re swell, if you get off on pink concrete, neon, and plastic. Oh, and let’s not forget chrome.” He hadn’t been to Miami in years and was surprised at the city’s transformation from a purely low-lying, warm-weather tourist attraction to an international center of commerce. Skyscrapers now dominated the skyline, and ethnic neighborhoods defined the city. “When are you getting in?”
“Tomorrow. Chill, Max, as you Americans are fond of saying. I’ll keep in touch.”
Downtime was always the worst. Pauling occupied himself for the next twenty-four hours by walking the beach and admiring the hundreds of bronzed young women in bikinis—
Could they possibly cover less and still be considered clothed?
he
“It will benefit your own company, too, won’t it, Senator?” asked a reporter.
The smile disappeared. “If you’re suggestin’ that I would put personal gain over the needs of the American people, sir,
I
would suggest that you don’t know me very well. Other questions? Time for us to get on board.”
“President Walden’s attempts to end the forty-year embargo against Cuba are becoming more evident every day. Are you saying his agenda isn’t part of your agenda?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” McCullough replied.
“What about Cuba’s dismal record on human rights, Senator?” a young woman reporter asked. “Doesn’t increased trade simply give Castro a stronger economy in which to mistreat his own citizens?”
The smile was back, more expansive this time. “How we deal with Mr. Castro and his failings in the human rights arena is up to the politicians, and I remind you I am no longer one of those. The distinguished ladies and gentlemen of this delegation represent the best of American thinking and success. They’ll be meeting with their Cuban counterparts to discuss how things might open up a little with Cuba. Thank you for coming, and have yourselves a nice day.”
They walked from the lounge to a chartered 727, boarded, and settled in their seats.
“First time to Havana?” Smith’s seatmate asked. He was the president of a large midwestern heavy farm equipment manufacturing company.
“Yes. You?”
A hearty laugh preceded, “No. I’m older than I look. I went there in my early twenties. It was incredible, a paradise, the shows, the gambling, the women. Batista might have been a curse but at least he was no Commie. Castroand his damn revolution ruined everything, sent the island over to the Soviets, put the people in chains. Hell, all you have to do is look at how many Cubans have risked their lives on little rubber rafts to get away from that murderous bastard.”
True or not, it promised to be a longer flight for Smith than estimated.
Max Pauling was not flying. He had been made to cool his heels in Miami. Gosling called him from London the day he arrived: “Sorry, old boy,” he’d said, “but an emergency has come up with one of our clients that will keep me here an extra day.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Pauling asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Relax. Enjoy glamorous Miami Beach. Spend my money. Accommodations are to your liking?”
“They’re swell, if you get off on pink concrete, neon, and plastic. Oh, and let’s not forget chrome.” He hadn’t been to Miami in years and was surprised at the city’s transformation from a purely low-lying, warm-weather tourist attraction to an international center of commerce. Skyscrapers now dominated the skyline, and ethnic neighborhoods defined the city. “When are you getting in?”
“Tomorrow. Chill, Max, as you Americans are fond of saying. I’ll keep in touch.”
Downtime was always the worst. Pauling occupied himself for the next twenty-four hours by walking the beach and admiring the hundreds of bronzed young women in bikinis—
Could they possibly cover less and still be considered clothed?
he
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