As the plane banked in, the land below looked rich and green, dotted with developments and striped with roads. It reminded Connor of his time in Hawaii visiting the islands that were separated from Oahu's overdevelopment. As the vista grew closer, however, the roofs of the houses bloomed into focus and he could see the developed cityscape of Havana in the distance. Many of the houses were just corrugated metal or patched, and windows were missing glass or the glass was marred by tape in an X the size of the frame. The neglect was obvious even from a distance.
When the plane landed, the passengers broke into applause and he joined them bemusedly. He waited as the passengers slowly disembarked, and he and his co-workers worked their way down the narrow aisle to the portable steps and down onto the tarmac. They walked to the waiting bus with the rest of the crowd and as they did, the heat seeped into them. There was no air conditioning on the bus and the short ride to the terminal was sweltering.
Emma was next to him and chattering inanely, indifferent to whether anyone was actually listening, but Stephen, sitting across the aisle made an occasional murmur of reply, so perhaps he was. Jammed next to a thin, older, Cuban woman who was weighted down with a large purse and multiple plastic bags, Lauren was in the seat in front of Connor. This was her first trip to Cuba and she sat quietly, staring out the window in fascination. Connor was staring in fascination too, but his interest didn't have anything to do with anything outside the bus.
As soon as Lauren had walked into the conference room the first morning of their 3-day preparation for this trip, he'd been struck by her beauty. She had long legs and a waist that tapered from rounded hips and then swooped upward to shoulders made wide by athletic activity. She exuded a quiet confidence and when she spoke, it was with an emotional intensity that was magnetic. He was normally self-possessed, even roguish in talking to women, but something about this one left him a little stunned when she turned her full attention on him.
She had a mischief about her when she smiled and he always had the impression that she somehow knew some litany of secrets or insights about him and what he was thinking. Now they were going to be spending the next 5 weeks working and staying in the same hotel, forced to share time and space. That thought, and the thought that there was little to do in the evenings and weekends besides lounge at the hotel pool or at the beach sipping iced rum drinks, presumably with her in a bikini, brought him more excitement than he'd like to admit.
Looking forward at her, he could see sweat beading on the back of her neck and painting down wisps of her hair where it had pulled free from where she had tied it up. Idly he wondered what her reaction would be if he leaned forward and blew lightly there to send a chill through her. He was brought out of his study and his attention turned outside by a nudge from Emma asking for translation of one of the signs they were slowly rolling by.
"Commander in Chief, Your Ideas are Invincible," he answered. He was the only one among them that had been to the island before, but Stephen and Lauren at least had varying ability in Spanish. Emma was going to be a trial. Connor privately maintained that she was on the trip and employed with the firm based more on her ability to please certain partners than for any actual ability.
The fences and buildings seemed oddly cobbled together but functional, topped with razor wire and sided with mismatched colors and materials. The entrance to the terminal was made up of planks and the walls had cut outs to hold window style air conditioners that were whirring futilely against the thick, damp, stifling heat.
He and the others were pulled from the line almost immediately and moved past the people returning to visit relatives or from vacation. A uniformed woman took his passport and stared coldly from the photo to his face before telling him in English to look into a camera. He did, and then returned her stare impassively. Finally, she nodded him through the door to an open area where baggage arrived intermittently via a sluggish conveyor belt. There was no sign of organization as the passengers milled about and workers tossed the bags into their midst. When the four of them finally had all their luggage over an hour later, they approached a second checkpoint.
The special business visas in each of their passports kept them from even more scrutiny, but it didn't make the line in front of them move more quickly. Waiting was a religion in Cuba. When they finally made it outside again, it became clear that if the terminal with its overworked fans and window air conditioners had been stifling, the sun-bleached sidewalk and dirt outside the exit was a steaming furnace. He had expected the heat, but he could see that it was withering most of the others. Lauren, however, though sweating, was doing well, smiling even, as she looked around in excitement.
"No worse than Thailand, right?" he asked her, matching her grin, and she gave a quick nod.
"The heat and the humidity are about the same, but the scenery is..." she answered, nodding toward one of the many communist slogan billboards that lined the road leading to the terminal.
"Bienvenidos," he laughed. "Come one, we'll have to change some money for the taxi and the hotel deposit."
They walked down the cracked and intermittent sidewalk to another building that adjoined the terminal and inside to a bored looking woman in a booth flanked by two armed guards. After waiting for a few moments before the woman could be bothered to acknowledge them, they exchanged American dollars at a rate and fee that bordered on open extortion and then made their way back outside to find a man in a yellow and black checked tie and short sleeved, button down shirt waiting for them.
"Taxi to the Hotel Nacional, Sir?"
"How did...?" Emma began, but Connor cut her off.
