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Sea-tossed Cuban refugees reach land at Longboat Key

Smugglers drop off 26 people after a journey of three days and 300 miles in a 30-foot boat. It's the northernmost landing in recent history.

By ALEXANDRA ZAYAS and CARRIE WEIMAR
Published December 19, 2006

ADVERTISEMENT [Times photo: Justin Cook] Estaban Torres, 59, huddles outside the Homeland Security office in Tampa on Monday, after a landing at Longboat Key.

TAMPA - The 30-foot boat tossed through three days of storms, and Emilia Zenaida Vasquez Sevilla felt the bruises on her body deepen. The 53-year-old didn't say much to the 25 strangers from different parts of Cuba who each paid $2,000 to pack into the smuggler's boat. Some vomited. Others shivered in wet, sandy clothes. All she did was pray, and focus on the last words her two sons left her: "You'll survive."

The smugglers dropped the 26 refugees off Longboat Key early Monday morning. They waded in chest-deep water to shore, then found a highway and flagged down cars. They hadn't had food or water for three days.

For Vasquez, it was a bittersweet ending to her difficult journey. She has no idea when she'll see her sons again.

"I'm really sad my kids are not here with me," Vasquez said in Spanish, wiping her tears. "I'm devastated."

By Monday evening, Vasquez and the other 25 refugees were starting a new life in the United States, just 72 hours after leaving Cuba. Federal agents say it was the northernmost "dry-foot" landing of Cuban refugees in recent history and could be the start of a trend toward more landings in southwest Florida.

Under the United States' "wet-foot-dry-foot" policy, most Cubans who reach U.S. soil are allowed to remain and seek American residency, while those intercepted at sea are generally sent home.

Longboat Key police officers were alerted to the refugees by a shrimp delivery man who spotted them about 5 a.m. Monday.

An officer commandeered a county bus to take them to the Longboat Key Police Department. Officers were sent to Publix to buy bottled water, fruit and lunch meat for the group.

But gathering information about the smugglers was difficult.

"The size and color of the boat varied from person to person," said Deputy Chief Martin Sharkey.

Longboat Key police alerted federal authorities, and the U.S. Coast Guard dispatched two ships to try to locate the smugglers. But the boat hadn't been located as of Monday evening.

Next, the refugees were driven from Longboat Key to the Tampa Border Patrol Station, where they were interviewed.

The refugees thought they would be landing in Miami, which meant many had to wait hours for relatives to find them.

The boat may have been blown off course by storms. But Steve McDonald, Border Patrol agent in charge of the Tampa station, said federal agents stepped up patrol of South Florida in January and the smugglers may have been responding to the crackdown.

Many human smugglers live in southwest Florida, and it's possible there will be more landings in the area in the future, McDonald said.

"We are obviously concerned," he said. "We'll have to assess whether this was an isolated incident or if it's the beginning of a trend."

Andres Sanchez is all too familiar with the risky method the refugees used to come to the United States. Several of his friends have died on rafts, or on smuggling trips, including a boat of 30 he never heard from again.

"I'm completely against human trafficking," said Sanchez, who was waiting with his wife to claim her cousin at the U.S. Border Patrol office.

Sanchez said he wouldn't have risked his life, or the life of his 17-year-old daughter, to leave Cuba, even though he sat in a Cuban jail for two years after publishing anti-Castro propaganda.

By 5 p.m., family members began trickling into the parking lot of the Border Patrol station. Leodan Nodarse was detailing a truck when someone came to his door and told him his high school buddy, Yoniel Estevez, was one of the refugees. So he washed off the grease, hopped in his Mercedes and was the first to arrive at the station.

Nodarse grinned when the guard opened the door.

"Yoniel, brother," he said as they embraced. They hadn't seen each other since Nodarse came to Tampa last year. The friends walked toward his car, arms around each other's shoulders, and Estevez turned around with a message.

"Everything Castro says is a lie," he said.

As other refugees celebrated, Vasquez wept. Monday was her 21-year-old's birthday, and she wasn't able to tell him she landed. She couldn't say much about the smuggling, except that she took the opportunity as soon as it presented itself.

Said Vasquez: "It's the price you have to pay."

Times staff writer Alisa Ulferts contributed to this report.

[Last modified December 19, 2006, 00:10:13]