Chapter 15

BROOKLYN, NY MAY 1939

 

 

IT WAS ALMOST ONE O’CLOCK in the morning when Paul unlocked the door to the apartment. He was surprised to see the kitchen light was still on and proceeded to step lightly down the hall. Hearing his mother’s voice prepared him for an ensuing game of twenty questions. She was in the midst of a conversation with Jake as he appeared in the doorway.

“I was getting worried, look what time it is,” Rachel said. “I couldn’t sleep, then Jake came home and kept me company.”

“Well Romeo, how was your date this evening with Miss Sarah Greenbaum from the Bronx?” Jake asked, nursing a cup of coffee at the table. His massive forearms and chest stretched the cotton of his T-shirt.

“To answer your question big brother, my evening with Miss Greenbaum was very nice,” Paul said. “I’ll take a cup of coffee if you have any left.”

“Jake tells me you and Sarah are keeping steady company. Is this the truth or is he just being his usual trouble making self?” Rachel asked.

Jake reached for the percolator on the stove behind him, giving it a shake to feel if he could eke out a cup. “Paul, there should be just enough to keep a tough guy like you up all night. Tell Ma if I’m a trouble maker or the bearer of the truth.”

Paul held out a mug for Jake. “He’s telling the truth. I wish she didn’t live way up in the Bronx.” He yawned, dropping a hint that he didn’t want to get into any deep discourse on his date.

His mother had other ideas. “Not to get too personal, but what did you do tonight?” she asked.

There was no easy way out without telling her to mind her own business. “I intended to get to her house by five. Unfortunately, the subway was screwed up when I had to change at the Grand Concourse and didn’t get to her place until nearly six,” Paul said, sipping the coffee that had the consistency of sludge. “Her parents insisted we stay for supper. Don’t worry Ma, the brisket was tasty, but not as good as yours.”

Rachel blushed at the compliment. “I’m sure Mrs. Greenbaum is a good cook.”

“All of a sudden, her aunt burst in with some astounding news. Her niece in Hamburg secured passage on the ship St. Louis scheduled to dock in Havana in two days.”

“I didn’t think it was still possible to get out of Germany. It’s a miracle, nothing more.” Rachel put her hands together as if she were praying. “I’m a little confused by who this girl is related to. By the way, I baked a crumbcake, do you want a piece?”

Paul shook his head. “Minnah is Sarah’s cousin. They’re the same age. Sarah’s mother has two sisters, one lives in the Bronx, the other in Hamburg.”

“You can’t trust the Cubans. They’re capable of pulling a fast one at the last minute,” Jake said.

Rachel stood up and removed her apron. It didn’t matter that she was dressed in an old pink terry cloth robe. “Jake, sometimes you make me angry. With such wonderful news, you have to act like a wet blanket and suggest that something is bound to go wrong. You never were this way. I don’t know what changed you.” She stared at her older son. “Now that I know my boys are home, I can go back to bed.”

The boys said good night. Jake nibbled on a piece of cake. “I’ve dealt with some Cubans down at the pier. Those guys would take your eyeballs out and try to sell them back to you. They don’t dare to pull any shit with us, because they’d end up floating back to Havana face down.”

“Ma lives in her own world. Talking to her and Pop can wreck your mind, especially when the topic concerns what is happening in Europe. The Greenbaums have a bunch of relatives in Germany and some in Czechoslovakia. The talk centered on getting the rest over here.”

Jake brushed crumbs off the counter. “It’s not totally impossible to get someone out. The other day, I heard a ship came into port with extra cargo on board. Like everything else in this world, what is heartache to one is an opportunity to another. If a profit can be made on some desperate Jews, why not? I’m going to bed, shut off the light little brother.”

The conversation with Jake knocked the sleep out of Paul. He went to the living room and stretched out on the sofa. A sudden thump on his chest woke him with a start. He sat up to find the Sunday New York Times sitting on his chest with Jake holding a worried look on his face. “I know Ma doesn’t want us to sleep on this sofa, but come on,” Paul whined.

Jake turned the paper so it faced Paul. “Rub the sleep from your eyes and read. I’m going to put up some coffee.”

The Times article was a rehash of the ongoing saga of the German ship, the St. Louis, with one bit of new news—Cuban President Federico Laredo Bru formally declared the travelers’ immigration documents were invalid despite the fact that a Cuban in charge of immigration had sold them. The unfortunate buyers would again have to obtain valid visas approved by the Cuban government.

Paul walked into the kitchen. “What is going to happen to those people on board the ship?”

“I told you the Cubans can’t be trusted,” Jake said, sliding a coffee cup to his agitated brother. “And I’m not sure about our own government either.”

Paul took a deep breath and sat at the table, watching Jake slice a bagel and painstakingly place a slab of cream cheese on it. His brother was stalling, the taught muscles in Jake’s eighteen-inch neck were a dead give-away. “Get it out before it hurts you.”

Jake handed Paul the bagel and proceeded to repeat the ritual. “We’re preparing for what could happen in this country,” he said, knowing that if their mother found out what he was about to involve the baby of the family in, his life would be a living hell. Eventually, Paul would be placed in harm’s way, but the United States government would be responsible. “We’re developing our own intelligence and military units.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

Jake was under pressure to find and recruit people that could be trusted. The movement required muscle and brains. The former was easy to find, the latter more difficult. “I’m asking if you want to join.

Paul took a bite of the bagel. “A Jewish underground army.”

Jake crunched his legs under the table as he took a seat. “You’ll be placing yourself in danger from a number of areas: The first being our fight with the Bund. They’re desperate to find out who was responsible for hitting them. The second problem is our own government will put us in jail for the rest of our lives if we get caught.”

“Why did it take you so long to ask me?” Paul asked. “Stop treating me like I’m your baby brother.”

Jake returned to the counter and refreshed his coffee. “I’ll remember that,” he said with a wry smile. “The Greenbaums must be devastated by the Cuban double-cross. You know, it’s kind of funny how one’s perception can be changed by knowing someone on board.”

“How so?”

Jake became animated, waving his arms. “If I read the story of the St. Louis and the poor devils on board before I heard about Sarah’s cousin, I would’ve been sympathetic and outraged. Now, it is personal.”

“You don’t know the Greenbaums or Sarah’s cousin. She’s a name without a face.”

Jake looked pensively at the headline. “How much do you like Sarah? It’s hard for me to talk about this kind of stuff. Do you love this girl? Don’t give me any bullshit. This is serious business.”

“Sarah is different than the other girls I’ve dated. If missing someone is a definition of love,” Paul hesitated, “then I love her. There I said it. But Jake, how do my feelings for Sarah change what’s going to happen to her cousin?”

“Some people I work with,” Jake said between bites of his bagel, “have contacts in Miami and Havana. I’ve done my share of jobs for those guys, and I can ask a favor. That’s why I needed to know how you really feel about Sarah. I don’t have an unlimited supply of IOUs. The situation has to be a matter of life and death, and Sarah’s cousin is in it up to her neck.”

“This deal is going to hinge on money, isn’t it? How much and how soon?”

“How is Sarah’s family fixed? This could be an expensive proposition. I have to be sure the transaction can be completed before we start. My associates don’t appreciate having their chains yanked.”

Paul held his hand up and stopped talking. He pointed to the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Mr. Greenbaum works at the wholesale vegetable market in the Bronx. They have a nice apartment, but money to bribe somebody, I don’t think so.”

“This sort of thing requires a lot, close to ten grand. That doesn’t include travel expenses,” Jake said.

The footsteps reappeared. Abe Rothstein, in rapidly failing health, shuffled back to his bedroom. “Travel expenses?” Paul asked. “I thought you could swing this thing from New York.”

Jake rose from his chair, stretched, and walked to the open window facing Flatbush Avenue. “The traffic sounds different on a Sunday. It’s still crazy even this early, but instead of delivery trucks, you have family cars. People going and doing what they can’t do during the week.”

“I don’t want to sound like a philosopher,” Jake said, turning toward Paul, “but thinking about the St. Louis got to me. Nicky’s uncle Tommy can make the right connections in Cuba. The money has to be taken down there personally to ease the way.”

“Are you sure Nicky’s uncle can do what you say he is capable of? I would hate to get the Greenbaums’ hopes up and then smash them to bits. That would be worse than the situation now,” Paul cautioned.

“I’m going to go over to Nicky’s to borrow the Buick and check some details. I should be back in three-quarters of an hour. In the meantime, call Sarah and tell her we’re coming up to talk things over with her parents.”

Rachel was out of bed. Having surveyed the living room, she made her way to the kitchen. Paul looked at his brother with the knowledge that he was about to face the wrath of the keeper of the sacred sofa. “Who was the smarty that slept on the sofa?” Rachel demanded, her floral housecoat flowing behind.

Jake pointed to Paul. “I won’t lie, it was your younger son. I have to meet Nicky,” He kissed his mother on the cheek then left the apartment.

“Where is Jake going so early?” Her eye caught the paper, staring incredulously at the headline. “Doesn’t anybody care?” The conversation from the previous night came back to her. “Do you have any idea what your brother is up to? That Nicky Spagnola and his Italian gangster family have changed my boy. I know he does things that are illegal. He always has extra money when everybody is watching their pennies. You going to tell your mother, Paulie?”

Paul poured Rachel a cup of coffee, topping off his own. “Do you want a bagel? Jake brought them home fresh from the oven.”

Rachel wasn’t to be put off. She took a sip from the steaming cup. “Paulie, don’t change the subject. You’ve always been a very bad liar, so don’t even attempt to fool me.”

“Listen Ma, Jake moves in circles which we don’t have the wildest ideas about. His job has brought him into contact with people who are very powerful, who deal with people in politics and in the government.”

Rachel sat shaking her head. “You’re putting a shine on what he does. Those men down on the pier are gangsters. I read the papers, and I know Nicky Spagnola’s uncle is a big mob boss. My son is a gangster too. They say you have to call a spade a spade. Jake, sooner or later, is going to get into trouble, big trouble.”

Paul rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Jake hasn’t told me what he does on his job. What I know is, he is someone who doesn’t take lightly to what is happening to Jews in Europe. Nicky’s uncle has the clout to get Sarah’s cousin off that ship. That’s the reason he went out this morning.”

Rachel broke off a piece of bagel and took a bite. “I know that he’s upset by what we hear from Europe, but I’m surprised he’s getting involved. I go to the movies and see these pictures with George Raft and Humphrey Bogart. They talk about favors. If you ask a favor, they say you owe a favor.”

Paul laughed, but had to admit to himself that his mother was correct about the favor issues. “The movies aren’t real. It’s not like he is asking for a favor. Believe it or not, Nicky’s uncle treats Jake like a nephew. You asked why he’s involved. The reason is very simple. He’s doing it for me.”

“Because of your girlfriend?” Rachel asked.

Paul was about to reply to his mother when Jake returned. “We’ve got to get moving, I’m double parked.”

 

 

Jake navigated Nicky’s Buick toward the Brooklyn Bridge. With the mild spring weather, the bridge walkways were crowded with pedestrians on their way to the lower east side of Manhattan. They moved quickly up First Avenue in the light Sunday morning traffic, crossing the Willis Avenue Bridge into the Bronx. The Greenbaum apartment was two blocks from Yankee Stadium where the Rothstein’s beloved Dodgers had spent many a long day. Jake would forever bear the reminder of the 1937 World Series. The despised Giants had won the National League Pennant. Jake believed in the adage that he was a fan of any team playing the Yankees and accepted tickets to the fourth game of the World Series played in the Bronx. Afterwards, a fight ensued outside of the Stadium, where Jake received the present of a two-by-four on the side of the head. Besides a concussion, he had suffered a ruptured left eardrum.

Luckily the Yankees were on the road, finding a parking space was relatively easy. Sarah was waiting outside, greeted Paul with a well-placed kiss on his cheek, and gave Jake a hug. The trio climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.

Sarah opened the green door of 5B to reveal a living room smaller than their Brooklyn bedroom. Seated on a canary yellow sofa were four adults. On the hard-wood floor, two young children played with a box of blocks. The men rose as Sarah introduced her parents Heshie and Hannah and her Aunt Rima and Uncle Louis Freidman. Jake towered over Heshie and Louis at the amusement of the kids who waved hello.

Jake felt the stares of Sarah’s family, understanding their apprehension. Just days ago, they were euphoric with news of Minnah’s deliverance from hell, only to be placed on an emotional roller coaster. He gazed around the room, eyeing the framed photos of family, many of which he surmised were languishing behind Nazi borders.

It was time to get to the point. “I’m sorry that you have such tsorris,” Jake said softly. “However, as Paulie explained on the phone, there’s a chance Minnah can be gotten off the St. Louis.”

“Mr. Rothstein, how is it possible that you can make a miracle, when the papers tell a different story?” Hannah asked.

“Please call me Jake,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Greenbaum, you asked me a valid question. I’m not in the business of making miracles, but I work with people who have some influence, and it is this influence that can perform miracles.”

Unconvinced, Louis said, “Jake, we appreciate your kindness, but there has to be some more to this. Why should the Cubans give a damn about our niece?”

“Mr. Freidman, as you say, they don’t give a damn about Minnah. They only give a damn about money. If the right people can be approached, they can be persuaded to change their minds and cooperate.”

“When you say money, how much money are you talking about?” Heshie asked in a concerned tone.

Jake picked at a scab on the index finger of his left hand. He was stalling, trying to find a way to tell Sarah’s family he needed ten thousand dollars. Avoiding their faces, he looked toward his brother sitting next to Sarah. Paul waited for Jake to lower the boom.

Jake couldn’t bring himself to squash the last vestige of hope that Sarah’s family clung to. “It’s going to take a thousand dollars. I know it’s a lot of money, but that is part of the miracle.”

They were expecting a sum both unattainable and unaffordable. Sighs of relief filled the air. “Jake,” Heshie said, “are you sure?”

“I’m certain,” Jake said straight faced. “Does anyone have a passport? The money needs to be taken to Havana.” He already knew the answer was going to be no. Why would a bunch like that have need for a passport? He would get away with this thousand dollar lie.

“No one in our family has a passport. Who’s going to go to Cuba, if we can’t?” Louis asked.

Paul sat in disbelief about what had just transpired. Toscanini never conducted an orchestra better than Jake was doing in that apartment. “I have a passport, so I suppose I’ll be taking the trip. I need to be able to identify her. With the type of characters in charge of the ship, one can’t be too careful. I wouldn’t want to rescue the wrong person.”

Hannah Greenbaum went to the wall of pictures, and removed a framed eight-by-ten. She removed the photo, handing it to Jake then turned to Rima. “Do you have a more recent picture? Minnah is fifteen in this one.” Rima shook her head in the negative.

“Does Minnah speak English?” Jake asked. “I really don’t understand German.”

“In one of the letters I received, her mother wrote she was studying English, but the Nazis had closed the schools to all Jewish children. I don’t know how much she understands or speaks. Why do you ask?” Rima said.

“For a couple of reasons. It would be nice if I could let her know what was happening, and what to expect. Secondly, getting through immigration is tough enough under normal circumstances. If there are any questions concerning the validity of her papers, English would be a plus.”

Heshie became unhinged, beads of perspiration dotted his brow. “How are you going to do this? The more you talk, the more it seems impossible to get her into this country. I’m afraid this is going to end badly.”

Sarah spoke for the first time. “Papa, if Jake didn’t think he could carry out his plan, I don’t think he would have come here. We have to have faith because no one else has the means or the courage to undertake such an endeavor.”

Jake looked at his probable sister-in-law. His brother was indeed the smarter of the two Rothstein boys. While reassuring her family, she also gave Jake confidence. “I’m going to need some additional help. Mr. and Mrs. Greenbaum, I have to ask your permission to let me take Sarah with me. She will be an immense help with Minnah. Paul is also coming. What do you say?”

“This is so very sudden. You have to give me and my husband a few minutes to talk this over,” Hannah said.

“I understand completely. Paul and I are going downstairs. Decide what you think is correct,” Jake said.

They took the stairs and kept their thoughts to themselves until they arrived outside of the building. Jake straddled the railing bordering the marble steps. “Have you lost your mind?” Paul asked, pointing at his brother. “A thousand dollars! Oh, by the way, Paulie is coming with me. It’s all right to let your daughter go to Florida with two Brooklyn brothers, one of whom she’s met a total of two times! These people may be simple, but that doesn’t make them simpletons.”

Jake turned to the bright sun. “I realize I blindsided you. I arrived here with the intention of telling them the truth about the money. I sized them up real fast. There is no way in hell they could raise that amount in a year. In fact, we’ve actually got twelve hours to get it together.

“Your girlfriend is way too smart to be fooled. However, she knows Minnah’s chances of getting off the St. Louis are next to nothing without me. If I could bring her to Havana, I would, but that’s not going to happen. Somebody has to stay with her in Miami, and that job is delegated to you. If I understand correctly, the college is in a dead period before finals.”

Paul walked down to the street and looked up at the building, wondering what was taking the Greenbaums so long. “Jake, you can’t take this to heart. You can’t save the world.”

Jake hopped off the rail as Sarah came out of the door. She bounded down the steps and wrapped her arms around both of the boys’ necks. “My parents agreed to let me go. Come upstairs so we can hear the rest of your scheme, Jake.”

Jake’s second reception was vastly different from his first. “I want to apologize,” Heshie said, leading Jake to the sofa. “We appreciate you getting involved in our trouble.”

Jake checked his watch. He promised Nicky he would have the car returned by 2:00. It was already 1:15. “My sources tell me the St. Louis is going to be allowed to stay in Havana for only a day or two at the most. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. We have to get down there tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right back,” Louis excused himself to retrieve the thousand dollars.

“For some reason, this city doesn’t have any regularly scheduled commercial flights. The only planes leaving are chartered. Luckily, they use Floyd Bennett in Brooklyn. One of my associates has arranged three seats on a plane leaving tomorrow at seven in the morning. With any luck, we’ll be in Havana by four. I suggest Sarah pack a bag and come to Brooklyn this afternoon. Picking her up in the morning will be very difficult,” Jake said.

Sarah went to the hall closet to find clothing for the tropical weather of southern Florida. “What happens if Minnah has trouble with her entry papers in Miami?” Louis asked.

“Her papers aren’t going to be a factor. My plan calls for a speedboat to ferry us back to Florida to avoid the Coast Guard.”

Sarah returned with a small leather valise. She exchanged hugs and kisses with her family. Heshie and Hannah began crying. “We wish you the very best of luck,” Heshie said, wiping his eyes. “Our thoughts and prayers will be with you every minute you’re away. As an uncle, I want you to deliver my niece from hell, but as a father, I beg you to keep my daughter from danger.”

“Sarah will give you a call when we arrive in Miami. We really have to go,” Jake said, walking to the door.

 

 

Jake peeked at the lovebirds in the back seat from the Buick’s rearview mirror. The strain of the morning was on their faces. Jake tuned the radio to the Dodger game to break the silence. The boys of Ebbetts Field were hosting the St. Louis Cardinals and were taking a beating. Freddie Fitzsimmons, the Dodger starting pitcher, had given up eight runs in four innings.

“Jake, please shut it off,” Paul pleaded.

Sarah, a huge Yankee fan, laughed. “You should be used to it. Another season with the same results.”

Jake pulled up in front of their apartment building. “I have to get over to Nicky’s, give him the car, and take care of a couple of things. I’ll see you later.”

Nicky Spagnola was waiting on the steps of a non-descript house on 85th Street, combing his slicked back hair. His outfit of a blue-gray Italian knit shirt and white Egyptian cotton slacks cost four times what a longshoreman earned in a month. He loathed his day job and the lowbrows he was forced to deal. Unlike his goomba Jake, he aspired to greater things—Uncle Tommy wouldn’t be around forever. He didn’t look happy. “I told you I had to take my mother to her sister’s. Luckily, my cousin was going, and he gave her a ride.”

“Things got a little screwy, and it took more time, I’m sorry.”

Nicky opened the door on the passenger side and slid in. “Forget it. What happened?”

“Paulie’s girl understands the situation, unlike her family who are deceiving themselves. By the way, she and Paulie are going with me.” Jake pulled away.

Nicky shook his head. “My friend, you’re plain fucking nuts. With your luck, she’ll come back to New York pregnant. Where are we going?”

“Floyd Bennett, I have to pick up the tickets. Did you make the call to Miami?”

“Yeah, I did what you wanted. After the airport, we have to swing by my uncle’s house. He wants to talk.”

Floyd Bennett Field, located at the extreme eastern end of Flatbush Avenue near Jamaica Bay, was the first municipal airport in New York City. However, its use remained minimal with Newark, New Jersey attracting the majority of the commercial flights to the area for its close proximity to Manhattan and the money that lived there. Working stiffs kept their feet on the ground.

Jake pulled into a deserted parking lot next to the flight office housed in a one-story concrete block building. Nicky elected to stay in the car and listen to the radio. In less than five minutes Jake returned with three tickets in hand.

“Just heard the news,” Nicky announced. “The Cubans are going to give some Jewish agency two more days to figure out what to do with that ship. Looks like you’re cutting things close.”

Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll deal with it when I get down to Miami. Let’s hope Uncle Tommy isn’t ticked off at me.”

“He wants to go over how you should approach the greaseballs in Havana. We have pull down there, but those guys would turn you into shark chum and charge you for doing the conversion.”

Jake meandered to Sheepshead Bay. He never felt comfortable being summoned by Tommy “the Corkscrew” Bavosa. Sheepshead Bay wasn’t the Brooklyn he was from. It was more like Jersey with its manicured grass and white painted fences. The Buick pulled up to Tommy’s house. Two muscle bound men working in the front yard appeared to be gardeners. Beside rakes, they each had .38s. Tommy Bavosa, considered reckless in business deals, had his personal safety as his number one priority.

The bodyguards relaxed when they recognized the occupants of the Buick. “The boss is in the backyard tending to his roses,” one of the stooges said.

Bavosa motioned for the boys to take a seat around a table situated on an Italian marble patio. He received the moniker “Corkscrew” after plunging the device into the eye of a dining companion during a heated argument. Bavosa put down his shears and removed his heavy brown gloves. Though in his early sixties, his defined biceps were evident in a sweat-stained athletic shirt. A scar extended from the base of his left ear to his shoulder; a souvenir from a six-year New York State paid vacation in Sing Sing. His mane of nearly white hair contrasted sharply to his olive skin. “Where you two schnooks been? You’re late!” he fumed. “Jake, I already called Vinnie Sapienza down in Miami. He’ll go with you to Havana. He knows those bastards.”

Nicky looked at his uncle, miffed at the mention of Sapienza’s name. “Great choice! Jake and me had to pull his ass out of the fire when you sent us down to Florida not more than a year ago.”

“I care about this guy,” Bavosa said, pointing to Jake. “I don’t want him to end up in some sweatbox of a cell. Vinnie knows the lay of the land. I told Vinnie and I’m telling you, no gunplay. If it looks like the shit is going to hit the fan, you get on the speedboat and get the hell out of there. The broad ain’t worth getting killed over.”

Jake didn’t need to be reminded Tommy Bavosa demanded respect. “I appreciate what you have done. I wouldn’t be in a position to help this girl if it wasn’t for you.”

Bavosa rose from his chair and walked to the gate. He placed his hands on Jake’s shoulders. “Take seriously what I said. I wouldn’t have gotten involved in this bullshit if I didn’t care for you. You’re family. Come back safely and quickly.”

Jake and Nicky walked back to the car. Nicky took the wheel. “What’s wrong with you?” Jake asked. “Why do you go out of your way to antagonize him? Don’t think because you’re his sister’s son your blood is worth more than the other guy’s. It’s worth nothing.”

Nicky laughed. “What are you pissing about? He’s my uncle. Don’t believe him when he says that you’re like a nephew to him. You’re still the biggest Goddamn Jew he ever saw and don’t forget it. Mark my words, someday he is going to call in the IOU that you signed for him by doing you this favor.”

Jake didn’t answer, he knew Nicky was correct.

In silence, they made the trip from Sheepshead Bay to Flatbush Avenue in record time. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning at six-fifteen to get you to the airport,” Nicky said.

Laughter seeped under the door of the Rothstein apartment. Jake found his parents doting on their visitor in the kitchen. Rachel was at the stove. “We’ve had the most enjoyable afternoon. Paulie filled us in on the plans for the trip.”

Paul motioned Jake to follow him to the living room. “I don’t mind telling you I’m having major league doubts. You’re going to place yourself into a great deal of danger for someone you don’t even know.”

Jake wrapped an arm around Paul’s neck. “The reason we have to go to Cuba is because people haven’t put their noses into other people’s businesses. If the world gave a damn, that girl wouldn’t be stuck on some piece of shit boat with a bunch of poor slobs and no hope. I’ve been involved in crazier things, and this won’t be the last. We better move one of the mattresses from our room so Sarah can stay in it. One of us will sleep on the floor and the other will sleep on Ma’s wonderful couch. I doubt she’ll have any objections.”

 

 

Jake reached over to the clock on the floor beside his head. It was a small miracle that he’d been able to get a few hours of sleep. Paul was still dead to the world. Jake picked up one of Paul’s dirty socks, rolled it into a ball, and threw a perfect strike hitting Paul squarely in his gasping mouth. “Five o’clock my boy. We only have one bathroom, and Sarah will need more time than both of us combined. You get washed up first, and I’ll get the coffee going.”

As promised, Rachel was up early. She made her way to the kitchen and kissed Jake good morning. “Ma. You look like hell. Did Pop have another one of his spells?”

She nodded. “Some nights are worse than others.”

“When I get back from Florida, we’re going to have to talk about what we’re going to do about Pop. You can’t go on like this. Do me a favor, go in and wake up Sarah.”

Rachel returned to the kitchen to find Chef Jacob at work. Eggs were frying and he already made a stack of toast. “Maybe a few sandwiches for the trip?” she asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Paulie, with his appetite, will probably eat the seats after five hours in the air.”

Sarah came into the kitchen and pulled up a chair. She turned down Jake’s offer of a plate of eggs. “I don’t normally eat at such an early hour,” she nervously explained.

Jake recognized the symptoms. “Last night, I didn’t ask if you’ve ever been on a plane.” She shook her head no. “Paul’s in the same situation, but he’s following my suggestion to get something into his stomach. Flying is no big deal. You’re going to love it.” He handed her a piece of toast.

Sarah forced half a slice and a sip of water. A horn blew. Jake pushed the curtains aside, seeing Nicky’s Buick. “Paulie, grab the bags.” He turned to his mother. “If you get into a bind with Pop, call Nicky. I’ll fill him in on what’s going on.”

Nicky rested against the fender, calmly manicuring his fingernails. The trunk was open. “Vinnie got a couple of Cubans to fuck things up on the dock. It should buy an extra twelve hours.”

“My father is giving my mother fits and I told her to call you if she gets into a pickle. The only option is to put him in Kings County Hospital. I don’t think we will be able to keep him home much longer.”

“Just get down to Havana, do your thing, and get home. Don’t worry about Abe. If necessary, I’ll take him over to Pleasant View, a rest home owned by Tommy.”

The trip to the airport was rapid. A silver DC-3 capable of seating 21 passengers, three flight crewmembers, and two cabin stewards sat one hundred yards from the gate. Jake became antsy. They were behind schedule and every minute counted for his four o’clock meeting in Havana.

Finally, at 7:30, an announcement was made to begin boarding. Jake led the way turning to see that Sarah was lagging behind. Allowing Paul to proceed ahead, he waited for the girl who talked a good game but her body language showed her true feelings. “Come on, it’s like going to Coney Island, just a different kind of ride,” he said, trying to build up her confidence.

“That’s the problem. I can’t stand those Coney Island rides. The roller coaster makes me sick. I get ill just thinking about going on the plane.”

She stood frozen at the bottom of the roll-a-way steps. Not hesitating, Jake lifted Sarah over his shoulder, fighting to control the kicking one hundred fifteen pounds. The DC-3 was configured with two seats on either side of an aisle. Jake deposited her next to Paul in the forward section. For Jake, the trip was going to be one for the books. He sat across the aisle.

Sarah looked out the window as the plane accelerated down the runway. The sight of the city seemed to ease her anxiety as the plane banked over the Statue of Liberty and began climbing. Paul propped a pillow under Sarah’s head and after a few minutes she fell asleep. “If she gets up, try to give her some of this,” Jake said, handing Paul a hip flask.

The flight plan consisted of three segments: Washington, D.C.; Atlanta; and Miami. With the DC-3 cruising at 170 mph, flying time to Washington D.C. was 1 hour and 15 minutes. The descent into Washington caused Sarah to complain about her ears. Jake passed her some chewing gum and told her to make believe she was a Golden Guernsey. They had twenty minutes to stretch their legs in the terminal.

Jake placed a collect call to Vinnie in Miami who was surprised to hear Jake’s voice. “Goomba, where are you? It ain’t possible that you’re here already.” Vinnie had a way with words.

“I just landed in D.C. Anything change?”

“The people on the ship are beginning to go crazy. This morning, one of my people in Havana told me a guy slit his wrists and jumped overboard. They fished him out of the harbor and patched him up in the local hospital. I guess the guy would rather die in Cuba than be sent back to Germany. The Cubans are getting real itchy. They don’t want any more Jews getting off. Jake, I don’t know how much longer we can stall them.”

“I’ll call from Atlanta. Make sure that the boat is ready to go as soon as I arrive.” Jake hung up. He did what he normally wouldn’t have done, bum a cigarette from a sailor waiting to use the phone. For whatever reason, the smoke helped settle his nerves. Jake picked up the Sunday edition of The Washington Post from a newsstand.

The lead article was President Roosevelt’s message to the National Meeting of Moral Rearmament. Roosevelt said, “The underlying strength of the world must consist in the moral fiber of her citizens.” Nowhere was there a mention of any arrangements being considered for passengers of the St. Louis to enter the United States. A State Department spokesman insisted that immigration quotas were to be upheld.

The article exposed an ugly blood money scheme: the president of Cuba demanded $500 per passenger to allow disembarkation. New York attorney Lawrence Berenson, representing the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, pleaded for time to raise the required half million dollars.

Jake tossed the paper into a trashcan. Paul and Sarah had already reboarded the plane and didn’t need additional bad news. He climbed the steps, paused to look at the outline of the Capitol building, and questioned how the members of the august body could disregard the plight of the passengers on the St. Louis.

 

 

The white sand of Miami’s famed beaches came into view as the plane followed the coastline. Finally, they were on the ground. A pudgy, balding, five-foot-five gnome rested against a chain-link fence near the terminal entrance. “That can’t be the famous Vinnie,” Sarah said incredulously. “He’s the most important guy down here?”

Jake didn’t laugh at her remarks. Vinnie was more important than she would ever know. Vinnie Sapienza, cousin to the boss, looked like an accountant. However, the only accounts that he kept were how many heads he smashed.

“It’s been a long time no see,” Vinnie said, placing Jake in a bear hug. “Must be your brother and the cousin of the dame who’s causing all this business.”

“The party responsible for this mess is in Berlin,” Jake corrected. “Sarah’s cousin is caught in a business deal.”

Paul picked their bags from the luggage cart. Vinnie led the way to his car left in a no-parking zone and opened the trunk of the black Cadillac. “I got my place fixed up. You two should be real comfortable,” Vinnie said in a distinctive Brooklyn accent despite living in Florida for almost twenty years.

Vinnie gunned the big engine and peeled away from the airport. The five mile trip brought the sights of majestic estates built prior to the stock market crash of 1929. Many were abandoned and had fallen into disrepair. Those with cash were able to purchase properties at bargain prices. Vinnie had the resources and a knack for buying low and selling high as the real estate market rebounded. “I just had a pool put in,” he said as he drove through a twelve foot high security gate that led to a circular drive way. It appeared nothing had been withheld when Vinnie constructed the house.

Vinnie’s household help was waiting to receive his guests. “We don’t have time for any mushy goodbyes. Jake, get your ass back in the car, we have a half an hour drive to the plane.”

Jake incredulously looked at his host. “What are you talking about? You were supposed to get us a speedboat.”

“Get in the car, and I’ll fill you in,” Vinnie ordered.

Jake leaned out of the window. “Paulie, call home and take care of Sarah.”

“Since when have you become a mother hen? If those two had any brains, they would use the time to study anatomy.” Vinnie wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief retrieved from a back pocket. “I’ve been down here a long time, you’d think I’d be used to the stinking humidity.”

“Never mind the weather report. When did the plans change? You could have told me before we were ready to go,” Jake protested.

“I didn’t see the point in scaring the shit out of the kids. The fucking Cubans are turning the screws. We don’t have the time to take a boat. If we get the broad off the ship, I have a feeling we’re going to need to get away from the island in a hurry.”

“Where’s the plane?” Jake asked. “There isn’t a private airstrip around.”

A breeze whipped into the speeding car evaporating sweat from their shirts. “You gone mush in the brain or something? The Feds are always watching us, just waiting to make a bust. Hoover’s morons couldn’t find the planes I use to bring in goods if they stood next to them. We’ll be at the strip in a few minutes.”

Jake didn’t have to ask what goods meant. Dope was a new addition to Vinnie’s menu of prostitution, loan sharking, and gambling.

Vinnie pulled off the highway onto a narrow unpaved road. Between clouds of dust, Jake could see they were headed toward a dilapidated house that was straight out of the newly released movie Gone With The Wind. Vinnie slowed the Cadillac, inching across a wooden bridge spanning a creek almost dry from the sweltering sun. An alligator rested in the shade of a Palmetto tree. Vinnie drove behind a ramshackle barn onto a perfectly level grass field and stopped at a hay pile. Jake didn’t see a plane anywhere.

“Come on and give me a hand clearing this stuff out of the way.” Vinnie said. The hay was glued onto plywood, which they quickly removed revealing a blue Cessna. The usual identifying markings were missing from the fuselage.

Jake was no math whiz—there were only four seats. If they had to fly Minnah out of Havana, they would require a fifth seat. “Where’s the pilot, if I’m not too pushy,” he said, wiping his brow. The sun was like fire.

“I’ll give you three guesses who the pilot is, and the first twenty don’t count.”

Jake suddenly had a gnawing knot in his stomach. The ex-Brooklynite was the person he was about to trust his life to. “How long have you had a pilot’s license?”

“Who said I have a license. Relax, I’ve been flying for almost eighteen years. I’ll start the engine and taxi away from this pile of crap. You drive the car into its place and replace the hay,” Vinnie said, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “I have to go over the plane before we get going. I may look like a schlep, but I want to get back here in one piece like you.”

Jake climbed in and buckled up. Vinnie finished checking the gauges and released the brake. He increased the throttle. The plane turned into the sultry breeze. Moving along the grass at 50 mph, Vinnie pulled back on the stick and they were airborne, beginning a slow bank toward the southwest.

Under other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful day for sightseeing. Jake tried to relax. “Isn’t it customary for a plane to have ID numbers, like plates on a car?”

Vinnie laughed. “The Cubans don’t give two shits about who or what flies onto the island. The good old Yankee dollar is all the ID you need. I fly down almost twice a week. A little business, a little pleasure. We’re going to land at the main airport where my man Cesar will be waiting. He’ll take us to President Laredo Bru. I assume General Flogenico Batista will also be present. If I had to pick the guy to take out Bru, Batista would be the one. He’ll be the power broker some day.”

Jake, surprised by the turbulence on a clear day, became sick to his stomach. “How much longer? I’ve been flying too many hours, it’s starting to get to me.”

“If you have to puke, get it into the bag,” Vinnie said, handing Jake an air-sickness bag. “To answer your question, we’ll be on the ground in about five minutes. Look to your right, that’s Cuba.”

Vinnie was on the radio communicating with the control tower. Jake didn’t understand a word of Spanish. Vinnie cut back the throttle, proceeded to make a slow bank to the left, and then squared to the runway. He cut the throttle completely, gliding the Cessna onto the runway with a gentle thud. Vinnie taxied to an area of the field separated from the main terminal by a row of ramshackle huts.

Two men were waiting on the tarmac, one in a tan suit, the other wearing grease-stained overalls. Jake assumed the suit was Cesar. As soon as Vinnie killed the engine, the wheels were choked, and the overalls walked quickly away.

The tan suit advanced toward the Cessna. Vinnie didn’t introduce Jake. “You got everything set like we discussed this morning?”

“Señor Vinnie, please be assured we are expected at Batista’s office by 4:00,” Cesar responded in a subservient manner.

A Chevrolet sedan waited behind the building. The salty sea air wasn’t kind to metal; the car had more rust on it than a fourteen day old Brillo pad. Vinnie scowled, “What do you mean we’re going to Batista? You told me that we were set for Bru. What’s going on?”

Cesar knew he was treading on very thin tropical ice. “Batista is the guy running the show with this ship. Bru, I don’t know what he’s up to. You can be sure they will share any money extorted from your associate. There was nothing I could do.”

Vinnie put his arm on Cesar’s shoulder and gave him a pat. “Take it easy. I know how these bastards work.”

Cesar took the wheel advising his boss to use the right rear door, as the passenger door up front and the rear left couldn’t be opened. Jake hadn’t uttered a word since landing. He was out of his element and knew it. Vinnie was running the show. “You couldn’t find a bigger piece of shit on the island if you tried,” Vinnie fumed. “I’m embarrassed to be seen in this, no less go to the presidential building.”

Cesar maneuvered out of the airport. The road to Havana was lined with thick tropical vegetation. Palm trees gently swayed in the sea breeze. Jake thought he would pass out from the heat. Cesar opened a cooler filled with ice and bottles of Coca-Cola. He handed two bottles to his passengers. “Thanks for saving my life,” Jake said.

”Why are you thanking him? I pay him to take care of the details,” Vinnie pointed out. “Down here, a cold drink is one of the details. You’re my man, ain’t that right Cesar?” Cesar nodded his head in agreement.

Havana was a prime tourist attraction with beautiful beaches and bountiful nightlife. Cesar had the map of the city in his head, changing directions constantly to avoid traffic jams that seemingly were on every street. He pulled up in front of the central government building. The structure was a mini replica of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.

“Wait for us to come out. If we can make a deal, we’ll be going to the ship in Batista’s car. Follow us. We’ll need to get away from the ship as fast as we can,” Vinnie said.

Vinnie spoke Spanish to a sentry who checked a clipboard. “This shithead is going to make us wait. He wants us to get good and hot, then put the muscle to us. He speaks English very well, but may use Spanish to intimidate you. He gets a kick out of busting balls, let me deal with him. They never get it through their ears that haggling is a New York tradition and that we never lose.”

Vinnie took out a pack of Pall Malls offering one to Jake. “You act like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. If this piece of shit senses you’re in a desperate way, he’s going to squeeze you dry.” Vinnie struck a match. “We’ll use your moniker Ted Steele, sounds better than Jacob Rothstein. Here comes the messenger boy.”

This time the guard spoke English telling them to follow him to the general’s office. The building was deceiving; one expected an immense structure from its outside appearance. However, the inside was a maze of narrow corridors. For the seat of power, it was deathly quiet. Their footsteps echoed off the tiled floor. A sergeant stood guard at Batista’s office. Seated behind an immense hand carved mahogany desk sat the general, resplendent in a white uniform with gold brocade and a wall of medals adorning his chest. Batista stood, motioning them to two chairs in front of the desk.

“General, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. On behalf of my uncle, I want to thank you for giving us your valuable time. I know that my associate Mr. Steele shares my sentiments,” Vinnie said.

“I’m fully aware of the purpose of your visit,” Batista said in impeccable English. “Time is of the essence since the St. Louis has been ordered out of port by five o’clock. It is now nearly four, so let’s get down to business.”

Vinnie started to speak, but was waved off by Batista. “The girl on the ship is a concern of Mr. Steele am I not right? How much are you prepared to donate to the Cuban treasury?”

Jake looked over to Vinnie, who turned to the window. “The New York Times said your government was demanding five hundred per head. As a show of appreciation, I am prepared to donate one thousand.”

Batista laughed as he swiveled in his high-backed chair. “I think four thousand would be greatly appreciated for this delicate situation.”

“General, the best that I can do is three thousand.” Jake paused. “My people in New York would also appreciate your help.”

Batista’s mulled over the offer. It was six times what a Jew was worth. Besides, he really couldn’t afford to get the North Americans angry. “My government will graciously accept your donation.” He put on his army dress hat. “We go over to the harbor.”

Jake and Vinnie followed a few feet behind. They exited the building through a side door where a new Cadillac was waiting. The driver stood at attention and opened the opened right rear door for Batista.

The Cadillac moved away from the presidential building and proceeded to pick up speed. Vinnie turned around to look out the rear window to see if Cesar was in step. Batista laughed at the sight of the pile of rust on wheels. “Do you fellows plan to spend any time with us after we pick up our guest at the ship? It would be a pity if you didn’t take in the wonderful evening delights.”

“We would like it very much, but I have pressing business back in Miami. You understand how difficult it is to leave things to underlings,” Vinnie said.

Batista grunted in agreement. The Cadillac approached the waterfront where troops out numbered the passengers on the ship. The scene was surreal. Jake tried to imagine what it was like at night with searchlights bathing the water, daring the desperate to swim to freedom. Added to the mix were relatives of the passengers and representatives from various Jewish agencies who had traveled from the United States to escort the immigrants to freedom. The discourse between those on the ship and the pier produced a buzz from a giant beehive.

The attention of the crowd was drawn toward the approaching Cadillac, causing the troops to spring into action. The Cuban militia not needing an excuse to pummel anyone near the ship quickly cleared a path.

A lieutenant snapped to attention as the car came to a stop. He opened the rear door allowing Batista to make a grand entrance onto the dock. Jake and Vinnie watched the general address his troops. “This is some kind of zoo our friend has made out of this. He craves the attention. Nobody ever heard of him outside the island. His appearance makes a lot of people shit their pants on board this ship, keeping them dancing like a puppeteer. Says one minute he is going to kick them out of the country, then lets them stay,” Vinnie said.

“They call it psychological warfare,” Jake replied. “Take a look at the faces along the rails. They’re at their wits end. Here he comes.”

Batista sauntered back toward the Cadillac. “Mr. Steele, let’s go onto the ship and see Captain Schroeder. Vincent, you are welcome to accompany us if you wish. I forget what this girl’s name is.”

“Minnah Goldstein, General,” Jake said.

Vinnie didn’t move. Jake followed Batista up the gangway to the main deck, as a squad of troops kept the passengers at bay. Captain Joachim Schroeder, seeing the Cadillac on the pier, had made his way to the deck. Schroeder, wearing his expertly tailored and pressed white dress uniform, cast an image of professionalism. “To what do I owe this visit, General? I expected to see you, but not this soon.”

“My dear Captain, let me introduce you to Señor Steele of New York,” Batista said in an uncommonly relaxed way. “He’s here to retrieve a girl named Minnah Goldstein. Would you be so kind to locate her?”

Schroeder looked at Jake for a moment then excused himself. Returning to the bridge, he could be seen talking to a sailor. Jake became uncomfortable as passengers pointed in his direction.

Schroeder returned. “I have sent for the girl. Please be patient, this is a large vessel. My passengers have been cooped up on board for almost two weeks. It’s inhuman to continue keeping them prisoner. I implore you to let them off the ship for even a short walk.”

Batista lost his charm. “It is beyond my control to allow your passengers off the ship. The time is rapidly approaching where a decision is going to be made by the government of Cuba if you will be allowed to continue mooring in our waters.”

Jake was glad he wasn’t in Schroeder’s shoes when it became clear to the inmates that the ship was going back out to sea. Two sailors led a girl carrying a suitcase to the main deck. Jake reached into his pocket and produced the photo given him by the Greenbaums. She definitely was the girl in the picture.

Minnah needed to be supported. Without explanation, she had been told to gather her belongings and follow. She found herself barely able to stand before Schroeder and the Cuban who she recognized as the man who held the fate of the passengers in his hands.

Schroeder placed his hands on Minnah’s shoulders and explained to her in German that she was about to be set free. Why he didn’t know, but the man with Batista was from New York, and she was to go with Herr Steele. Schroeder kissed her on the cheek and turned her over to Jake. “Mr. Steele, I present to you Miss Goldstein. She’s a fine young woman, please take care of her. General, I suppose we have concluded our business. I’ll await your further instructions.” He saluted and turned away.

Jake picked up Minnah’s suitcase, placed a hand under her elbow, and helped her down the gangway. The crowd on the pier surged forward, demanding an explanation for Minnah’s removal from the ship. A series of machine gun bursts over their heads stopped a riot in the making. Batista wasn’t smiling as he climbed into the front seat allowing his visitors to take the large rear seat. Salutes were given, which Batista didn’t bother to return. Minnah, still shaking, began sobbing as the car drove away.

Cesar was waiting at the end of the dock. Batista instructed his driver to pull over. “Gentlemen, your limousine awaits. We have completed our business, and I must say, in a most efficient manner. In the future, I hope we may do further transactions. Give my regards to your associates in the States.”

The threesome got out of the car and walked toward Cesar’s rusting heap. Batista sat in his car shaking his head. He couldn’t understand what the fuss was over a ship of Jews. He should’ve sold the lot, ignoring the outside pressure being placed on his government from both the United States and Germany.

Vinnie took his place up front. “Get us to the airport as fast as this rolling shitpile can go. I don’t like the look on Batista’s face.”

Minnah, oblivious to what was happening, looked out the window. Jake laughed to himself about Sarah saying the girl had studied English. She didn’t understand a word.

As they approached the airport, Minnah tried to ask if they were going on a plane. When words failed Jake, gestures took their place. He formed a plane with his hand, causing her eyes to widen. He couldn’t tell if she was excited or scared stiff.

Cesar followed his boss’ orders with reckless abandon, turning into a narrow driveway behind the huts on two wheels. Jake braced Minnah for a crash that would end with the jalopy on its side. With metal crunching in his brakes, Cesar ended the joyride forty feet from the Cessna.

Vinnie had his door open before the Chevy came to a stop. He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted off the island as soon as possible. “Torres!” he shouted for the mechanic who wasn’t in his shed. “Where in the hell is that son of a bitch. I told him to be waiting for us, not to move from here. These greaseballs are all alike, lazy and irresponsible. If I get my hands on him… Cesar, unchock the wheels while I get the plane ready. Jake, get the girl inside and buckled up.”

Jake put his shoulder against the car door to get it opened. As he reached for the suitcase, Minnah jerked it away. “It’s going to be okay, we have to go,” Jake said, trying to coax from the car.

“Nein!” she shouted back.

Vinnie finished his pre-flight procedures. He opened the window in the cockpit and screamed across the tarmac over the noise of the engine, “Get her out of the car now! Cesar, give him a hand. Pull her out by the hair if you have to.”

Cesar ran over. Jake didn’t want to forcibly remove the girl who had been manhandled since leaving Germany. “Minnah, let’s go!” She sunk further into the seat. Jake grabbed her by the arms, dragging her kicking and screaming from the Chevy. Minnah found herself hoisted over Jake’s shoulder.

Cesar opened the passenger door of the plane. Vinnie reached out for the girl. Empathy didn’t exist in Vinnie’s vocabulary. He took hold of Minnah and threw her into the rear of the plane. “God damn it Jake! Whack her if you have to. Make sure she is tied in. Cesar, button things up around here, and I’ll be in touch in a couple of days. Adios.”

Jake buckled himself in, as Vinnie revved the engine. The Cessna sped through the taxiway, following the painted yellow arrows to the main runway. “What is your rush? You’ve been like a mad man since we left the dock,” Jake yelled over the engine noise.

Vinnie monitored the gauges on the instrument panel as he maneuvered the plane to the flight line. “Stop acting like a rabbi. While you were on the ship, I talked to the lieutenant. I’ve dealt with him in some deals. He purposely didn’t acknowledge me in front of his boss. Gomez told me that Batista might try to double-cross us, maybe even shoot us down. He doesn’t want it known that he let the girl off the boat. He’s crazy enough to do it. He would say that we left in one piece, sometimes things happen over the ocean.” Vinnie pushed the throttle to maximum, not waiting for clearance to take off. “Reach under the seat and remove the package.”

Jake pulled off the brown wrapping paper to reveal a Thompson submachine gun. Minnah took one look at the weapon, and began to wail like an air raid siren. “Nein! Nein!” Jake said. Minnah took the hint, sat still and whimpered. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, pointing the weapon toward the window.

“You’re going to shoot anything or anyone who tries to stop us. Make believe that this is a stagecoach in the old West. Hold on!” The Cessna quickly picked up speed.

Just as the Cessna began to liftoff the runway, a black Ford raced toward them. “Get ready!” Vinnie yelled. “Give them a reason to turn away. This is Batista’s way of saying thank you.”

Jake stuck the barrel of the Thompson out through a firing port in the window. He waited for the target to get into range. The Ford was close enough that Jake could make out the faces of the four occupants. Two rifles popped out of the Ford. Jake could see them fire, but like most things on the island, their aim was off. He fired three quick bursts, shattering the windshield of the Ford. The car veered crazily to the right, running off of the tarmac into the muddy grass.

After what seemed like eternity, they were airborne. The run of four-hundred feet could have been a hundred miles. Vinnie had the plane in a power left bank maneuver. Minnah screamed as air pressure built in their ears.

Jake looked around the perimeter of the plane, keeping his eyes alert for trouble. “I don’t think Batista is going to be happy about me taking out his men. I’m pretty sure I hit the two up front.”

Vinnie continued looking fore and aft. “Keep your eyes open. We won’t be able to relax for another couple of minutes. Batista could’ve sent a plane up when he found out we got off the ground. I’m not afraid of that greaseball. I’ll be back down here in a couple of days. He understands business like we do.”

Jake checked his watch—5:30. They wouldn’t be in Florida until almost 7:00. He eased back into his seat and closed his eyes. The roar of the engine was like a lullaby.

Jake woke with a startling punch to his left arm. “Time to wake up Rip Van Winkle. Thank God she also fell asleep,” Vinnie said, thumbing to the rear. “We’re approaching the Florida coast. Throw the Tommy gun into the ocean. If the Feds are waiting for us, I don’t want to be caught with the gun.” He adjusted the fuel mixture. “Do you have a plan for getting her back to New York?”

Jake opened the door a crack, slipping the weapon out. “First of all, I think we’re going to have to let Minnah rest for a day or so. The best thing I can come up with is to put her on the train. Flying back is going to be too risky. They have too many immigration guys at the airport.

The light quickly faded. “How are we going to land in the dark?” Jake nervously asked.

“No problem tough guy.” Vinnie began a slow turn to the east, while losing altitude. The Cessna was under 1,200 feet. The large Florida swamp pines seemed to reach out for the bottom of the plane. Suddenly a lit runway appeared. Vinnie cut the throttle—600 feet, with just a few seconds remaining in the flight. Jake saw the runway lined by cars with their headlamps on. With the slightest bump, they were on the ground. The Cessna rolled to a stop next to the movable barn.

Jake gently touched Minnah on her knee. She slowly opened her eyes. Realizing the plane had landed, Minnah unlatched her seatbelt. Jake picked up her suitcase and helped her out of the plane. Vinnie’s crew quickly surrounded the plane with the plywood camouflage as they climbed into the Cadillac. The plane was hidden before they were out of sight.

“I’m impressed with your flying. If it weren’t for you, we would never been able to get her out. I won’t forget it.”

Vinnie motioned Jake to stop. “I do what my uncle tells me.” He turned into his driveway, blowing the horn as he pulled in front of the house.

The double entrance doors flew open with Sarah and Paul bounding down the steps. Unlike Havana, Jake didn’t have to pull Minnah from the car. The two girls ran to each other, tears streaming down their cheeks.