Dennis was a defense attorney, but he’d always wanted a career in politics. When he was younger, he went to Vietnam even though he was morally opposed to the war because he knew that the question of his service might become an issue in political races down the road.

One day, the Democratic Party in Miami came to him and asked him if he’d like to run for city council. It was a dangerous move because the Cuban population is one of the largest voting blocs in the city and they usually vote Republican. But when you are asked to run, you run. That’s just the way it is sometimes.

Dennis ran and he lost hard. He knew that he was a sacrificial victim to the partisan politics of the city council, but that didn’t make the loss any easier to take. He didn’t resent the Cubans for voting Republican any more than he resented the Democrats for asking him to run. The way he figured it, everyone has to make ideological sacrifices.

When two Cubans were detained by the Federal government and accused of spying, the question of who would defend them came up. The case was to be tried in Miami, so it was felt that a local defender would be the most effective. One thing led to another and the case was offered to Dennis.

The way Dennis saw it, defending two Cuban spies was the perfect opportunity to thumb his nose at the Cuban community of Miami who had blocked his political ambitions (modest though they were). Of course, he knew very well that accepting the case was the end of those ambitions, but he really didn’t care any more. A good defense attorney is always encouraged by an interesting case and this was very interesting.

The Cuban government offered to fly Dennis down to Havana for a meeting about the trial and Dennis jumped at the opportunity. He was expecting to be picked up by a twenty year old car and taken to one of the hotels left from before the revolution. Instead, he was met by a Mercedes and driven to a very modern hotel. (He was later told that this was the best hotel in the country.)

He was smoking a cigar on the balcony of his suite when he heard a knock on his door. His guest introduced himself as the head of the Cuban intelligence service and handed Dennis a file folder. Dennis put down his cigar and flipped through the folder, which proved to be a dossier of Dennis’ father, who had been an analyst for the CIA during the fifties and early sixties.

Dennis saw the Cyrillic writing on the outside of the folder and understood that this was merely a professional courtesy.

“So,” his guest said. “How did you like Cairo? I’ve never been there myself, but I understand that it has changed a lot in twenty years.”