Jack sat on the fiercely guarded deck and looked out at the misty mountain range, mulling over for the thousandth time the irony in the Russians being his savior whereas the Cubans were his downfall.
However indiscreet his affairs, this subterfuge was a hundred times more scandalous – if anyone ever found him.
The two countries’ partnership, long ago abandoned, was just a ruse meant to end here, with him in captivity at their beck and call.
Jack calculated the strength of the guard closest to him and realized he was too old to attempt another escape with a simple elbow to the guy’s nose.
Instead, he closed his eyes and called up the memory of kissing Marilyn, who was also secretly there with him until she died –truly died - three years ago of an aneurysm.
Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the presidential pin, the last reminder he had of who he used to be: the much loved, revered, elegant, powerful JFK.
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