“Sure, why not. It's a beautiful name.”

“Yeah, it is” he said. “Better than Dexter.”

“Or Kyle” I said.

“Kyle who?” He held up his new passport. “It's Calvin” he said.

“Calvin Brinker. But you can call me Cal.” He started taking things out of his jacket pockets and transferring them to his pants. “We need to lose the jackets now, too. And I wish we had time for a whole new outfit. But this will change our profile a little. Put this on” he said, handing me one of the T-shirts and a cap. I slipped out of my awful green jacket, quite gratefully, really, and the shirt I had on as well, quickly pulling on my brand new wardrobe. Chutsky did the same, and we stepped out of the alley and stuffed the Baptist missionary outfits into the trash.

“Okay” he said, and we headed back to the far end, where a couple of taxis were waiting. We hopped into the first one, Chutsky told the driver, “Aeropuerto Jose Marti” and we were off.

The ride back to the airport was pretty much the same as the ride in. There were very few cars, except for taxis and a couple of military vehicles, and the driver treated it like an obstacle course between pot holes. It was a little tricky at night, since the road was not lit, and he didn't always make it, and several times we were bounced severely, but we got to the airport eventually without any life-threatening injuries. This time the cab dropped us at the beautiful new terminal, instead of the Gulag building where we had come in.

Chutsky went straight to the screen showing departures.

“Cancun, leaving in thirty-five minutes” he said. “Perfect.”

“And what about your James Bond briefcase?” I asked, thinking it might be a slight inconvenience at security, since it was loaded with guns and grenade launchers and who knew what.

“Not to worry” he said. “Over here.” He led the way to a bank of lockers, shoved in a few coins, and stuffed the briefcase inside. “All right” he said. He slammed the locker shut, took the key, and led the way to the AeroMexico ticket counter, pausing on the way to drop the locker's key into a trash bin.

There was a very short line, and in no time at all we were buying two tickets to Cancun. Sadly, there were no vacancies outside of First Class, but since we were fleeing from the repression of a communist state I thought the extra expense was justified, even poetically fitting.

The nice young woman told us they were boarding now and we must hurry, and we did, pausing only to show our passports and pay an exit tax, which was not as bad as it sounds, since I had expected a little more difficulty with the passports, frankly, and when there was none, I didn't mind paying the tax, no matter how ridiculous the idea seemed.