A few minutes later Claussen grew concerned about storm clouds gathering strength to the north and west. Miguel skillfully kept the boat to plane. Claussen knew this was an ocean-going craft, capable of high speed. It was the building waves, converging on the forward starboard quarter, that worried him. Despite the challenge, the boat was like a racehorse, leaping forward, Miguel in command.
The sixty-six-mile run to Cuba didn’t take long. Miguel pointed to a ridge of hills as they approached the shore. “Parque Nacional Alejandro de Humboldt,” he said. “I stop Paso de Tao. You walk two hours. Find the airport at Baracoa. Only a fool would take off into that weather,” Miguel said. Massive dark clouds seemed to gather energy with each minute passing.
“Jump when I get close. Take everything with you,” Miguel said. “You will soon meet the fool crazy enough to take off in such weather. You’re going with him back to the Bahamas.”
Claussen heard Miguel laughing above the sound of the motors and roar of the wind.
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