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flying bridge, but there was only room for Rick and Jack. Theo hung back, a few rungs down. Standing another eight feet above the helm, almost thirty feet above sea level, made the sway of the boat more noticeable, and Jack had to work his sea legs to keep his balance.
    Rick focused his binoculars on Cuban waters and froze. “Ho-lee shit.”
    Jack looked in the same direction. “Is that what I think it is?”
    “You bet it is,” said Rick.
    Theo borrowed the binoculars, still on the ladder. “Looks like the whole damn Cuban navy.”
    Jack shook his head in disbelief, then happened to glance down at the water. Floating past their boat was a black, oily stain on the dark-blue sea. He hadn’t noticed from the lower level of the flying bridge, but at this height he could see a long line of big black amoebas approaching from the southwest—headed toward the Florida Keys, just as the Texan at Big Palm Island had predicted.
    “Well, isn’t that just beautiful,” said Jack.

Chapter 8
    T hey docked at noon. Oil stains at the waterline ran the length of Rick’s boat, so cleanup involved much more than simply hosing off salt water. An hour of scrubbing still didn’t remove all the sludge. Jack was starving by the time they reached Rick’s Café, but he got a surprise phone call just as lunch arrived. He stepped out onto the sidewalk on Duval Street to take it.
    “I miss you,” he told Andie.
    “I was beginning to wonder,” she said. “You and Theo seem to be having quite the honeymoon.”
    He pressed the phone more firmly to his ear, not sure he’d heard her right. “How did you even know I was with Theo?”
    “The Bureau checks the Facebook pages of virtually everybody I know when I’m on assignment.”
    “Theo posted on Facebook that we’re on a honeymoon?”
    “Uh-huh. It’s become a running joke around here.”
    “I really am going to kill him.” Jack glanced back inside the café toward their table. Theo had already finished his lunch and was starting on Jack’s, but Andie said just the right thing to make everything else irrelevant.
    “I saw a doctor,” she said.
    “How’s the baby?”
    “Everything’s good. Due May 14.”
    “Wow! And how are you?”
    “Perfect. They cleared me to stay with the assignment. Even after I’m showing.”
    “But you won’t be showing for another two months, right? You’ll be home by then, I would assume.”
    Andie didn’t respond. Jack knew she couldn’t reveal the length of her assignment any more than she could tell him where she was or what name she was using.
    “Gotta keep this short,” she said. “I’ll call again when I can. I love you.”
    “Love you, too,” he said, and the call was over.
    Jack put his phone away and went back inside to their table. Before he could lay into Theo about their honeymoon on Facebook, Rick joined them.
    “There’s someone I want you to meet,” said Rick. “You got a minute?”
    It was clear he wasn’t talking to Theo. “Sure,” said Jack.
    Rick signaled across the bar. A waitress stepped from behind the cash register and walked toward them, negotiating the crowded maze of tables and lunch patrons. Most of the servers at Rick’s Café, men and women, were young and good-looking. This waitress was especially attractive, a long-legged Latina with gorgeous dark hair and a face you might see in an Abercrombie ad. But she didn’t smile—not when Rick introduced her, not after she joined the men at the table.
    “Bianca has worked with us for over a year now,” said Rick. “She started right after coming here from Cuba.”
    “Where in Cuba?” asked Jack.
    “Habana ,” she said softly.
    “My mother was born right near there, in Bejucal,” said Jack.
    She didn’t answer, and there still was no smile.
    “So,” Jack asked, “are you one of the Cuban nationals who came here after Raúl Castro eased up the restrictions on travel from Cuba?”
    She lowered her eyes, then answered in good, but not perfect,