Gray could no longer see the Pelican once it had traveled a couple of miles, but international waters began at twelve nautical miles from shore. He headed to the nearest telegraph station. Otis had promised to wire him the moment they entered international water.

It felt like there was grit beneath his eyelids as he staggered into the telegraph station. A slack-jawed boy slept behind the counter, and Gray envied him. Every joint ached as he lowered himself into a chair to wait for the message.

It wasn’t long coming. The wire buzzed with an incoming communication, and the boy jerked awake. Gray stood at the counter, wishing he could make sense of the cascade of rattling clicks. The boy scribbled the message on a card.

“Are you Gray Delacroix?” the boy asked.

Gray nodded, and the boy handed over the card.

20 nautical miles east. Next stop Bermuda.

Gray sagged in relief, feeling every one of the last thirty-six hours. Too many emotions swirled inside for him to make sense of them. Fatigue, relief, exhilaration. He wished he had someone to share this moment with.

Once home, he drew the curtains in his bedroom, collapsed onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling. The house was so quiet. Lonely. He wanted to sleep for a solid week but didn’t have that luxury.

He needed to go to Cuba and get the truth out of Luke.

It took three days to reach Cuba. Gray went well-armed with cash and two pistols. Rebuilding projects were underway all over the island, but years of warfare couldn’t be patched over in a few months. Agricultural fields had been devastated, bridges destroyed, and people were hungry.

It was part of the reason Gray didn’t mind paying bribes, for the money would go to feed the guards’ families. He would have preferred to meet Luke out in the prison yard like the last time he was here, but shortly after Gray arrived, the sky opened, releasing sheets of rain. Holding his coat over his head, he darted around rapidly forming puddles in the prison yard as he made his way through the gates.

Once in the foyer, he shook water from his coat and dried off as best he could with his handkerchief, but everything still felt damp. It smelled like wet brick in here. The officer in charge of the jail remembered him from his last visit, and after accepting the perfunctory bribe, the officer noticed a bag of food Gray intended to give to Luke. It required yet another bribe, but soon the guard led him down the hallway to Luke’s cell. While the guard rattled through the keys, Gray braced himself for what he would see on the other side of this door. It had been four months since Luke’s arrest. The heat and deprivation were bound to be getting to him.