Don't Start the Revolution Without Me! - Jesse Ventura [54]
We get up on stage and find out that it’s a salsa dance contest. Well, I barely know what the salsa is, I just know it’s Latino. But this is my last night in Havana, Cuba, what do I care if I get laughed off the stage? I went ahead and salsa’d. In the contest, I made it to the final three. All of a sudden they were talking in Spanish and holding their hands over the other two people, and my interpreter came up saying, “Oh, don’t worry, that’s for second and third, you’ve already won.”
I was trying to determine, did Castro’s people ensure that I won? Or did they just let me win because I was so bad and yet having fun doing it? They actually gave me prizes—a CD and a towel. How honorable the Cubans were, to pick someone from the United States as a winner at salsa dancing! That had to be a rarity in Havana. In light of what President Bush’s people had done to me before I went to Cuba, I contemplated sending a communication to Mr. Bush when I got back, asking if he’d okay my passport to return and defend my title a year from now. Wouldn’t that bring great honor to the United States?
The night wore on. As I said, Castro apparently has informants everywhere. One of them came up and whispered something to one of my Cuban bodyguards, who then whispered to my bodyguard, who then told me. It seems that some CIA operatives were tailing me. I thought to myself—is that for my benefit, or for theirs? Am I in some type of danger that they need to be following me around? I don’t think so. I doubt that Fidel Castro would want an American governor coming to harm on his island, when I’m there on a mission of good will. So, I ruled out that somehow the CIA were hanging around to protect me, especially considering I had my own armed bodyguards, plus Fidel’s three.
The Cubans had only one question: Did I want to lose them? If this made me uncomfortable, they would help me get rid of these guys and we could go on about our business.
I said, “No, we’re not going to even acknowledge that they’re here. Who cares? We’re not doing anything wrong. There’s nothing they’ll be able to blackmail me with, or take back to the U.S. about any misbehavior on my part. Let’s ignore them. They’re not going to ruin our night.”
So we ended up going to another club, and I don’t know if we were followed there or not. The subject was never brought up again. It could be the Cuban security team decided a means to lose them on the way, I never inquired. What I did do was put this incident on file in the back of my mind.
When I came back to the States, a week or so later I had a two o’clock meeting penciled in on my schedule—but who I was supposed to meet with was blank. That’s very unusual for a governor’s public schedule. So I asked my chief of staff, “What’s the deal with the two o’clock meeting?” He rolled his eyes and said, “CIA.”
I expected it, because they have their jobs to do. I had been with Castro and why wouldn’t they want to debrief me? And that’s precisely what it was. The two agents from the CIA came into my office—one of them I’d already met, shortly after I became governor—and they very respectfully gave me the old Twenty Questions routine. They went through their litany, and I answered them as honestly as I could. Typical intelligence questions: What did Castro’s health appear to be like? Was he in control of all his faculties? Did he seem bright for his age?
I said I felt that he was very much in control. His mental capacity seemed to be right-on. I even opinioned a little bit. I told them, “I know his mom lived to be a hundred, so it’s in his genes, and looks to me like he just might make it. Do I think this guy is gonna die within the next couple of years? I’d have to tell you no, he looks fit as a fiddle for his age.”
Their faces were expressionless. They said they were finished, and thanked me. I looked coldly at them and said, “You’re done. You’re all done?”
They said yes.
I said, “You’re sure? There’s no other question