Chapter 39

After breakfast, Raúl assigned two men to fly me to the sites where I would build the farm and the ranch. When we got there, they flew so slowly and so low that I felt like we were preparing to land on one of the nearby dirt roads. The land was literally right on the coast but, aside from a narrow strip along the beach. Most of it was high enough to be safe from a storm surge or a hurricane surge. The lush green vegetation made me feel better since we wouldn’t have any compost to work into the soil the first year. Two large streams and a small river crossed the property before emptying into the ocean.

The pilot guided us to a safe, although bumpy, landing on one of the dirt roads. I climbed out of the single-engine plane and walked out into a brush and weed covered field. I was surprised at the ease with which I could dig in the soil with my hand, and inhaled the heavy, earthy scent of the dark, rich, loamy soil. That smell to a farmer was the same as a taste of Lucky J whiskey was to a whiskey connoisseur. I had a feeling that the initial yields from this farm were going to be much higher than what we were currently getting in Mississippi. The challenge would be keeping the soil so rich.

When we got back to Havana, I told Raúl that I would need to send some of my top people down to direct planning, construction, and eventually planting. I would also need to import chickens, pigs, and dairy cattle so that we didn’t further reduce the amount of meat available here. I chose to import animals from nearby island nations, as the animals would be better acclimated to the tropical weather than animals imported from Mississippi. My people would need to talk with local farmers near the site about planting seasons and specifics about the way they grew corn, rice, tomatoes, and other common crops. I also warned him about Carlos. I could do this without Carlos but hoped I wouldn’t have to.

Raúl surprised me yet again, wanting to find out where and when the incident happened. “Too many local leaders abuse their power. Nobody is willing to talk about it for fear of reprisal. If I could get facts, I could remove those abusive leaders and replace them with more moderate ones,” he explained. I also explained that I wanted my own armed guards to help prevent prisoner escapes, as well as to protect us in case someone took exception to what we were doing. He looked at me for several seconds and then agreed.

He introduced me to five men who would be my contacts for the various projects and told me to contact them, or him, any time with any issues. With everything settled for the moment, we left for home. I warned the three U.S. government contacts that I needed help getting passports for dozens, if not hundreds, of people. I needed passports for my farm leaders, their assistants, the construction crews that I used, and God only knew who else. I figured that the security and construction people the CIA had recommended would already have them.

I flew with my wives in the Gulfstream 550 while the Citation X took the three government men back to D.C. Before they left, they promised to see if the Navy would let us use NAS Key West as a staging area for our aircraft. They gave me the name of someone in Miami to contact about storing equipment and cargo to be airlifted to start the farm and ranch, as well as arranging for customs inspections.

On the flight home, I called the company that manufactured the greenhouses we used, making a hefty deposit on an order for enough to cover 3,000 acres. I told them that I needed everything in shipping containers headed for Miami ASAP. I’d call with the final destination when I knew what it was. I might have to rent a nearby warehouse or a hangar or space on the tarmac at Miami International Airport. Then I called the company that we bought windmills from and ordered a dozen for starters, also to be delivered to Miami. The company we bought chain link fencing from was my last call from the plane. When I hung up, they were already working to put my order together.

The first thing I did was meet with an expectant Carlos, along with Ramón and Dad. “You probably heard already that I was just in Cuba,” I began, getting nods of affirmation.

“What I’m about to tell you must remain between us or it will cause a civil war and thousands of deaths in Cuba,” I warned. Carlos was suddenly sitting, rapt, on the edge of his chair. I explained what Raúl intended to do, and the role he wanted me--us--to play. Dad and Ramón were intrigued; Carlos’s mouth was agape.

“I hope that we have enough people ready to step in and take over leadership roles here because I need our best people in Cuba to get us started,” I said as I showed them the hundreds of photos I had taken of the land for the farm and ranch, both from the ground and from the air. I also had maps and high-altitude aerial photos, courtesy of the Cuban government. “It’s going to be like starting over here, except that all of Cuba and the U.S. government will be watching us,” I warned.

“To make it more challenging, we literally must take everything we need with us, from seeds and livestock to equipment, fuel, and food. We’ll probably even have to import enough food for the Cubans working for us. We’ll need generators at the beginning to power everything until we get windmills installed and get some sort of rudimentary power grid in place. There is no electric grid to hook up to, and probably not enough electricity to supply our needs anyway. We’ll need wells and water towers, too.

“Here and here,” I said as I circled two ridges on the map, “are where we will put windmills to provide our power. One set will power the farm and the other set will power the ranch, although they will be interconnected. I’m sure we’ll eventually end up expanding the windmill farm to help supply electricity to the entire area around us.

“We’ll plant our initial crops in open fields as soon as possible. Last month would be perfect. I think we should start with field corn, rice, carrots, summer squash, and winter squash. As quickly as we can build them, I want the entire farm in greenhouses. As we finish greenhouses, we’ll start tomatoes, and progress from there. We’re going to be choosing crops based on what they need the worst and what we can grow to provide the most food as quickly as possible. Profit margin is not a consideration right now. I’m sure the oil will eventually provide plenty of profit.

“Speaking of oil, I have three new tracts to drill in and the U.S. government is loaning us as much money as we need to start everything. Leonard is already looking for drilling rigs and other equipment. In addition, we will be remodeling and expanding an unused refinery in Cienfuegos to handle the excess oil that we hope to find.

“We need knowledgeable people to scour the Caribbean Island nations, Central America, and maybe even south Florida to find breeds of chickens, hogs, and dairy cattle used to the tropical weather. Fortunately, we will be right on the ocean, and will get a good breeze, which should mitigate some of the heat.”

We kicked my ideas around for an hour before coming to an agreement. Once we had a plan, I called Connor Phelps. “Connor, how would your family like to live and work on a Caribbean island for a year? It’s going to be a bit primitive at first, and we’ll probably have to live in tents until we can bring in motor homes or mobile homes. They don’t even have potable water or electricity yet,” I warned.

“Haiti?” he asked.

“Nope, but it’s probably as primitive as it was there right after the big earthquake. It’s literally right on the coast, and your kids will be able to swim in the ocean every day. Other than that, I can’t tell you where it is right now. If you’re interested, I’ll tell you before you commit fully, but this has to be kept quiet for a while.”

“Let me call my wife and I’ll get back to you,” he replied. My conversation with Ryan went the same way.

My next call was to the contractor who built my “airport.” “What’s your schedule like?” I asked.

“We’re about halfway done with a big job for the government, but they called this morning and warned me that you might have a rush job for me. I’m available starting tomorrow to look at it,” he said.

“Do you have a passport?” I asked.

“Everyone who works for me has one; we work all over the world.”

“Good, because this job is out of the country,” I explained. “I want the same setup for jets and helicopters that I have here. There aren’t any tunnels to deal with. There’s also no lodging, fuel, food, potable water, or electricity, so plan to bring your own,” I warned.

“Been there, done that,” he laughed. “You haven’t mentioned where the job is,” he reminded me.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow because this has to be done on the QT for now. The involved parties aren’t ready to make the news public yet.”

“I’ll be there in the morning,” he promised.

The company that had installed the security system here was also expecting my call and promised to be here in the morning. Ryan and Connor both called back agreeing to consider it. I told them to meet me here for breakfast.

My next call was to my military employment liaison. I told her that I needed fifty Wounded Warriors or recently released veterans. Their main job would be patrol duty, although I’d need a few to man a security station similar to what I had here. A current passport was helpful, but I could help them get one if necessary.

Then I found Juwanna. “Want to learn how to cook Cuban cuisine?” I asked. “We’re starting a huge farm and ranch there and I need somebody to organize meals for hundreds of people.”

“As if you could survive without me,” she sniffed haughtily, although I could see in her eyes that she was pleased that I had asked her.

Finally, I flew to New Orleans and caught a helicopter ride out to the Lucky J #1 where Leonard was waiting anxiously. Once we were alone in his quarters, I unrolled the maps showing our lease tracts, and the exploration maps for those tracts that Cuba had available.

“Holy shit!” he gasped, looking up at me in amazement.

“Our government and Cuba reached an agreement yesterday and we’re a crucial part of that agreement. Our part is to provide oil and food for Cuba. While you’re busy populating these areas with as many drilling rigs as you can find and the necessary FSOs, I’ll be busy starting a 10,000-acre farm and ranch, as well as remodeling, expanding, and modernizing the unused refinery in Cienfuegos. When that’s operational, we can export gas to the U.S. from there.

“That’ll cost billions,” he warned.

“Like I said, I have an outside source and a promise of low interest loans in any amount necessary to accomplish this.”

“I made calls yesterday and found eleven drilling rigs and four FSOs that we can buy,” he said.

I went online and funded one of my existing offshore accounts with $600 million and gave Leonard access to it. I sent an email to Dad, Bradley, and Steve warning that I had just used the money. “That should get you started. Let me know how much more you’ll need as soon as possible,” I told him.

“Offhand, I’d suggest six billion dollars for what I know is available and a couple of others that might come available in the next month. In addition, we’ll need crews. Besides Americans, we’ll probably need to hire workers from Venezuela and Mexico to staff that many rigs,” he warned.

“How’s your Spanish?” I teased.

“Get every decent drilling rig that you can. When you’re ready for help, start with U.S. workers. It will probably be best if you keep Spanish-speaking workers together so there aren’t any language problems. You should hire newbies from Cuba and train them on our first rigs so they can work on some of the later ones, even if we have more crew than we need for a while,” I suggested, giving him the phone number for our Cuban liaison for anything related to oil drilling and exploration.

“Once we have enough new wells producing, we can have more drilling rigs built if we don’t find more available to buy before then,” I added.

With Leonard taken care of for now, I hurried home. It was late enough that the ladies were all asleep and I fell into bed, exhausted.

By 6:00 the next morning, I was surrounded by contractors. I had to laugh that they were all here early enough for one of our breakfasts. We took our food into the study where I had chairs for everyone, and a table set up with maps and aerial photos.

“Gentlemen, we have a unique and historical opportunity extended to us. With the full approval of the American government, we have been invited to start a large farm and ranch in Cuba,” I started my explanation.

I gave them a couple seconds for the shock to wear off before I continued. “We have 10,000 acres to farm, and another 10,000 for raising poultry and livestock, and an option to double that amount. That’s less than we farm here right now, but a much larger area for livestock.

“Now, let me share the bad news. First, there is no housing, no utilities of any kind, no fuel, and we need to take our own food. We need to take literally everything with us. We can’t run into town to buy things.

“The second problem is that, once we have perimeter fences and security installed, the Cuban government will begin releasing political dissidents to us for the bulk of our labor force. Technically, they will still be imprisoned, although it will be more like house arrest. Cuban guards will patrol outside of our fences, but inside our fences, the dissidents will be free to speak their minds without reprisal.”

Once everyone agreed, we headed for the Citation X that was waiting for us. While we were airborne, I called Sikorsky and ordered four more Super Stallion helicopters. We’d need them to transport supplies and equipment to Cuba, and then for the drilling rigs. While contemplating whom I should call next, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.

Everyone laughed at me when the plane landing woke me. “You must have been tired,” Dad chuckled from across the aisle as he handed me back my phone. “The Navy called, and they approved your using NAS Key West to stage any aircraft for Cuba. When we called Jose Marti Airport, they gave us permission to land at Juan Gualberto Gómez Airport near Varadero, which is only an hour away by car. They arranged for a vehicle with a driver to meet us there.”

I looked at the time on my cell phone, subtracted an hour for the time change, and saw that our flight had taken just under two hours. I exited the plane first, greeting the surprised, but friendly customs agent. “Americano?” he asked.

I nodded and showed him my passport, along with the letter from the U.S. Department of State (in English and Spanish) authorizing me to do business in Cuba, and a similar letter signed personally by Raúl. When he saw Raúl’s signature, the customs agent became even friendlier, if that was possible.

We had just finished with customs when a bus rolled up, the same bus we had used in Havana when my wives arrived. Gratefully, he knew where our property was because it would have taken me most of the day to find it.

When we drove through the town of Varadero, I noticed that it was much different from the parts of Havana that I had seen on the trips to and from the airport. Parts of downtown Varadero were well maintained, but away from the main drag, the buildings needed paint, and in many cases, plaster work.

Bicycles were by far the most numerous vehicles on the streets. Second most numerous were scooters, and then horse and mule drawn wagons and carts. The variety of those carts was amazing. Some used the iron-rimmed and wooden-spoke wheels like horse drawn buggies, covered wagons, and farm wagons of old. More numerous were wagons rolling on old car axles and car or motorcycle tires. Seeing so many animal-powered wagons made me think that my namesake would feel right at home here.

The remaining vehicles were gasoline powered. Some were motor-powered cycles, mainly tricycles. Most of those were a type of taxicab. Others were older vehicles; many looked like 1950s era cars and pickups. There were even a few new cars, which surprised me.

The road was reasonably well-maintained for the next ten miles, reminding me of some rural farm roads in Mississippi. We passed through the town of Cárdenas that used to be a busy Cuban sugar port. There was some tourism there, but not as much as in Varadero. The main drag had been recently paved but looking down the side streets showed that they needed work to fill potholes or to repair missing asphalt from the last time the concrete street had been resurfaced with asphalt.

Bicycles also made up more than half the vehicles on the streets here. Horse drawn carriages similar to the ones of Central Park fame abounded. They were probably the most common form of taxi in town. I even saw one carrying a sofa for someone. While downtown was in good repair, in the area away from downtown, several houses needed plaster repair on the exterior. All the houses looked like they had been painted in the last year or two, though. The most common paint scheme was a two-tone building with the lower two to four feet of the building being a different color that the rest. Sky blue and light brown seemed to be the most common colors.

I saw blue crab advertised in several places, although they called it “cangrejos.” I made a mental note to check on the way back to the airport to see if I could buy enough to take home.