As the skyline of Havana began to take shape, we anticipated the good times to come: blue marlin the size of Toyotas, rum drinks in the bars of Old Havana, and fat hand-rolled cigars. But as patrol vessel 535 barreled toward us, a twinge of panic shot through our boat. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? Our captain, O.B. Pettit, pulled back on the throttles and moved to the bow where he could be seen. As the gunboat approached, he turned back to us and smiled, "We can always outrun 'em." He was right. Our Donzi 35 ZF with triple 250-hp Mercury outboards had been loafing along at 40 mph and could easily do over 70. We had made it from Key West to this point in under three hours. Then he turned back again, "But I don't think we'll be able to outrun that 50 millimeter."