MiamiA
flashing sign above the breezeway at Miami International said departure of his American Airlines flight to Key West would be delayed by an hour. Shake checked his watch, stashed the thick dossier on Carlos Ruiz-Romero he’d been reading, and headed for the bar across from the gate area. Seated on a stool with his bulging backpack on his lap, he held up a finger for the bartender and pointed at the stand of taps.
Waving away a menu, he focused on the tall pilsner in front of him and then dug for his phone. There was a text from Chan asking him to be sure and call when he got into Guantanamo. Neither of them was sure about cellular service in Cuba, and she said she would feel better if she could talk to him regularly while he dug around down there. Shake glanced up at his image refle
