Which was bad news. A Cuban prison would probably be worse than an American one, and Gray’s fears were confirmed when he met with a planter he’d done business with in the past. They sat on the verandah of Marco Salazar’s plantation, ceiling fans slowly rotating overhead, while Gray accepted a thin cheroot. He’d never been much for smoking, but he knew how to mingle among different cultures, and these rituals were important. There were going to be bills to pay, favors to call in, and dicey negotiations until he could get Luke out of prison.

“Plenty of Cubans resent the American occupation,” Marco said. “After the Spanish were defeated, we thought we’d finally won our independence, but when the Spanish flag was lowered, the American flag was run up the staff. It’s creating a problem, my friend.”

How well Gray knew it, but Marco had not stopped talking.

“Some Cubans don’t see much difference between a Spanish colonial master and an American one, but I do. This island is still in ruins. Our ports, roads, and bridges were bombarded to smithereens, but the Americans promised to rebuild them. I want those roads and bridges. I want our ruined ports rebuilt and back in operation. I want this island to flourish, but if the insurgents have their way, the Americans will leave, and we’ll be left with no infrastructure to restore our way of life.”

Gray had seen evidence of rebuilding everywhere. The harbor was filled with ships offloading supplies. Roads were being repaired, and bridges were under construction, but Gray was still skeptical. The American government didn’t waste money where they couldn’t get a return, and he was doubtful the president intended to graciously leave after rebuilding the island.

“And once your roads and bridges are repaired?” he asked. “What then?”

Humor lightened Marco’s eyes. “Then we throw the Americans out. Not before.” All trace of humor vanished as he set his cigar down and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “That is why your brother is in a tight spot. If the insurgents prove difficult, the Americans will pour their money into building defenses rather than the infrastructure we need. Your brother is going to face retaliation for coming down here to stir up trouble. We’re tired of war. We want to live and work on this beautiful island, but hotheaded rebels are making it hard. Most of us want to cooperate with the Americans—at least for now. Let us get clean water and roads back in working order. Then we can work toward independence. Your brother will find few friends in a Cuban prison.”

It was what Gray feared.

The prison was a long, one-story brick building covered by a layer of crumbling stucco. The only windows were narrow slits no wider than Gray’s hand. Chickens pecked at the hardscrabble soil, and two barrels of stagnant water rested beside the open front door.