Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) Read Online Free

special urgency we should know about, sir?”
    “Cuba is going to blow up. It could be any day. It could be any minute. Things are heating up in Havana. They are ready to explode in Santiago.”
    “Explode, sir?”
    “I can feel it. Everything looks calm, but underneath the surface Cuba is a tinderbox. The only thing missing is the spark.”

3.
    BETHESDA, MARYLAND
    TUESDAY, 6:05 A.M.
    F ull boat. Jacks over sixes.” Brinkley Barrymore III gently laid down his fan of cards. The total lack of satisfaction on his face aggravated the other three men even more.
    “Hijo de puta!” hissed Alejandro Cabrera as he threw down his cards and took a healthy swig of his rum and Coke.
    “Captain Barrymore, you are one lucky motherfucker,” Crawford Jackson said. “Was your ass born in butter?”
    “Yes, it was!” Al said. “His mother gave birth to him right into a big silver bowl of mantequilla . He’s been swimming in that shit ever since.”
    “Jealousy is an ugly sentiment, gentlemen,” Brinkley said, sweeping up the poker chips. “Thou shalt not covet.” He plucked a Cheez Doodle from a bowl in front of Al and popped it into his mouth. “That’s God’s word.”
    “The Bible says you’re not supposed to covet your neighbor’s house,” Dennis Dobson said. He scanned his friend Brinkley’s newly renovated basement, outfitted with a sixty-five-inch high-definition television, stainless steel fridge, full bar, billiards,and the centerpiece: a bright-green-felt-topped professional poker table. “But I sure as heck would rather live here in your man cave than my place.”
    “Thank you, Deuce,” Brink said, holding up his cocktail. “I can always give you my contractor’s phone number.”
    “Fuck you, Brink,” Al snorted.
    “I can’t believe we played poker all night again. Beth is gonna kill me. I’ve gotta go home,” Dennis whined, looking at his watch. “Heck, I’ve gotta go to work.”
    “Too late,” Alejandro said. “You can sleep tomorrow. We’re playing another hand. Deuce, go get Craw one more beer.”
    Dennis dropped his shoulders. “I’m too old for this.”
    “Michelob Ultra,” Crawford said, flashing a thumbs-up.
    “How do you drink that piss?” Al sneered. “Deuce, make me another Bacardi and Coke. And none of that diet shit. Give me the real thing.”
    “Got to watch my weight. I’m running the Marine Corps marathon at the end of this month,” Crawford said, standing up and flexing both biceps. “Navy SEALs got to represent.” He kissed each of his muscles and sat back down.
    “Cheers to that, Commander.” Brinkley raised an empty tumbler.
    “Brink, what are you having?” Dennis asked.
    “Gin and tonic, please. With a slice of lime. Thank you, Deuce. So kind.”
    Dennis Dobson disappeared behind the bar.
    “Well, I don’t covet your house, Brink,” Al said.
    “Good for you, Alejandro.”
    “I do covet your wife, though.” A wide grin was smeared across Al’s face. “She’s one fine piece of ass.”
    “I’ll be sure to tell Pippa you said that, Alejandro. I’m sure she’ll be honored that her daughter’s soccer coach is dreaming about her.”
    “Oh, Brink, I’m not asleep when I’m thinking about her,” Al said. “I’m usually wide awake and I’m—”
    “All right, Al, enough,” Crawford interrupted. “I don’t want to hear any more about your jerking off.”
    “Are you saying you’ve never rubbed one out while thinking about the honorable Mrs. Pippa Barrymore?” Alejandro flopped an arm around Brinkley’s shoulder. “Come on, Commander Jackson. Haven’t you seen Pippa in that yellow sundress?”
    “I’ll be sure the dress is ritually burned in the morning,” Brinkley said, deadpan.
    “Can we get back to playing poker?” Crawford said, shuffling the deck. “Deuce! Where are those drinks?”
    Al kissed Brink on the cheek. “I’ll burn her dress for you.”
    “Yes, I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”
    “U8 championship coach,”