James peers out the back window of the cab he’s riding in. It’s a sunny day, unsurprisingly, and hot. Outside, the exodus from José Martí International Airport clogs up the road, much like the road from any airport is clogged. The difference is in the setting, in the cluster of houses and the spattering of palm trees outside of it, and the density of buses that surround the cab.

All of this bustle reflects off of Bond’s sunglasses as he stares out the window.

“I’m in Havana.”