Authors: Robert W. Walker
Cuba Blue (29 page)
A few hours later, they strolled the pathways within the confines of the Necrópolis Colón—one of Havana’s oldest cemeteries with over two million inhabitants, famed for its funerary and statuary art. Here among the dead, Tomaso confronted Benilo, wanting to know why he had informed the public that the doctors were dealing in drugs.
“I had nothing to do with these lies!”
“I know what I heard.”
“When did you start trusting what you hear on a government-run radio station? Especially when the SP is involved?”
“Hmmm…I should’ve guessed. OK, accept my apologies. But when I heard this news, I worried for Quiana.”
“She’s strong and smart, and so’s JZ. She’ll be all right.”
“I hope you’re right, but still, I worry. Look here, what’ve your tests told you? Have you any answers?”
“They died brutally. Tortured, then overdosed. We’re dealing with ruthless people. People who’ve turned to killing our own citizens, Montoya and now Hilito. Who’s next?”
“Who do suspect is behind it?”
“The man who owned the lock—that antique.”
“Yes, the one that haunts our nights.”
“We had nothing to do with that atrocity.”
“It all goes back to Santiago, and that is where my girl is going.”
“She is a detective now, my friend. It’s her job.”
“But there must be something we can do. I am at the point of picking up a gun myself.”
“Before you do that, perhaps we should have a talk with our oldest friend. He is, after all, a man of some influence.”
“Perhaps. But it must be immediately.”
“Let’s go to him together.”
“Look.” Tomaso pointed at the black marble tomb with its beautiful white pieta before them.
Benilo said, “The Aguilera family tomb.”
“Arturo, they would never forgive me if anything happened to her.”
“All the more reason for us to present the facts, my friend. What has been done is anti-Cuban.”
At a back table in the Excalibre’s darkened casino bar
“We couldn’t locate them, the boat or Cavuto. It’s like they disappeared.”
The helicopter pilot said, “Lotta ocean out there.”
Humberto Arias dismissed the pilot, “Leave us.”
The man visibly wilted, his eyes downcast as he walked away.
Humberto stared at Alejandro, his unblinking eyes cold and hard, waiting until he no longer heard the sound of the pilot’s footsteps.
It was a look Alejandro had seen before—a lizard’s obsessive gaze before pouncing on its prey. Staring back, he kept his face expressionless as if holding the winning hand in a high-stakes poker game.
“I send you to stop Ruiz, and you fail me Alejandro.” Humberto’s fingers drummed slowly against the glossy hardwood tabletop. “You’re beginning to remind me of how Cavuto compromised my operation in the first place.”
Recognizing Humberto’s body language as threatening, Alejandro swallowed, wishing he had a drink. “Perhaps this time, he’ll screw up in your favor.”
Humberto suddenly laughed, the sound loud and raucous, “I respect you Alejandro. Even under the gun, you keep your wits.” While the words seemed friendly, his tone remained glacial.
Reading the changes in Humberto—subtle softening of features, the drumming fingers stilled—Alejandro relaxed a bit.
“But, this time, you best pray Cavuto fails. If he blows the Sanabela, the SP’s story will not cover us.”
“Agreed. No one will believe the coincidence.”
“Exactly. An American cop killed aboard the boat where the three doctors were found?” He shook his head. “No one’s that stupid.”
Alejandro snickered. “However, it would prove the boat’s reputation is well founded.”
Again Humberto laughed. “You always make me smile Alejandro, even at the worst times.” He motioned the bartender to bring them drinks. “Listen, my boy, I want you to join me in Santiago next week at the mountain Forteleza.”
“La Montana Forteleza?” Never previously invited, Alejandro felt suspicion at being asked to the storied, whispered about conclave of the rich and powerful. An invitation could go either way—a beneficent reward or a quick and quiet ‘exit.’ Some likened it to a playground for heroes, a Mount Olympus in the mountains outside Santiago. Alejandro sipped his drink. His pounding headache and little food all day combined to make him feel woozy.
Arias conspiratorially said, “Say nothing of this to Cavuto. I do not wish him to know about the American having boarded the boat. Let him continue with his foolish assumptions. Understood?”
Alejandro nodded knowing Arias plotted someone’s downfall. He felt confident this meant Cavuto’s end and not his own. Yes, Ruiz’s future was as dark as a Havana night.
29
Taking up most of the day, the search for an explosive had turned up nothing. Yet Adondo, like a tenacious rat terrier, continued rummaging in the bowels of the engine room. A room with spaces so small even a slight man had little room to maneuver.
The Sanabela raced with surprising speed over the dark glassy like surface of the Caribbean waters, her recently greased and pampered motor roaring. They had cruised southward, around and
past the curved fat finger of Pinar del Rio. At their stern, Giraldo’s cousin, Domingo, stood with binoculars raised, having been ordered to sound an alarm if any vessels pursued them.
With day turning to twilight, Qui and JZ watched sunset and clouds conspire to paint the sky brilliant colors. In the west, a rainbow of intense colors that overhead began to thin and fade into the indigo horizon in the east, where sea and sky proved indistinguishable. Enraptured by Cuba’s beauty from this perspective and feeling enveloped within its arms, Qui leaned into JZ for warmth, comfort, and respite from what’d been a horrendous day. JZ reached around her waist and held her close, deeply inhaling her scent. For Qui, this felt right.
“Rough day at the office?” His rich resonant voice sounded as if it could reach all the way back to Havana.
Qui laughed and replied, “Right about that, JZ. But this freedom? It’s delightful.”
“Agreed.”
Feeling her slight shiver, he tightened his hold on her.
“We left in such a hurry, I left no word with my colonel.”
“Probably a good thing. Qui, he was furious you’d left Tino’s death scene. Besides, we don’t know to what extent he’s involved in all this, and even if he isn’t involved, he’d only complicate matters.”
“But nobody knows where we are or—”
“Or, where we’re going, I hope.”
“Perhaps Santiago will provide some answers.”
“A pilgrimage for clues,” he replied taking her hand and squeezing. “Stop worrying. We’re gonna be OK.”
“What about you? You could get into serious trouble over this.”
“Not if we get results.”
Qui arched her back, looking overhead once more. At mid-heaven, red, orange, and yellow-tinted clouds streaked with ribbons of silver and blue faded into lavenders and purples, ribbons that the sea’s surface could not possibly reflect or duplicate. The growing darkness, interrupted by the occasional onshore lights and winking stars, marked their passage.
JZ followed her gaze into the striking overhead display, and in a moment of passion, he looked back into her gaze. He touched a finger below her chin, moved it lightly across her cheek, and delicately traced her lips. He then bent to touch her lips with his own. His kiss took her breath away and lingered as bold as the sunset.
Interrupted by the sound of shouting, they were plummeted back into their dangerous reality. They broke apart, all passion extinguished.
Had Domingo spotted a ship on their wake, or worse, had Adondo shouted an alarm?
With all sense of relief and calm shattered, Qui searched for the source of alarm.
JZ pointed to Adondo, emerging from below deck.
“I found it! I found it!”
Adondo held up a battered light-colored toolbox, as Estrada rushed toward him calling out. “Don’t alarm everyone! It’s only Giraldo’s tools.”
But Giraldo, overhearing, shouted from the pilothouse window, “No Captain! My toolbox is black!”
“Put it down! Carefully, don’t drop it!” shouted JZ, going immediately to examine the unclaimed item.
The entire crew gathered round. “Domingo!” shouted Qui. “Any sign of trouble over the waters?”
“A light far in the distance is all!” he shouted back.
Qui joined him at the stern. Using his binoculars, she examined the approaching distant light but could see no details, except that it was coming on fast. Its light brightening, the vessel continued straight toward them.
“Domingo, keep a close watch. When you can see some details, call me. We need to know what it is.”
“Is it the SP?”
“’Til they’re closer, anyone’s guess. Keep me informed.”
From the deck, JZ shouted, “Someone get me a pair of pliers, and the rest of you, back off!” To himself, he muttered, “Now, let’s have a look at what we’ve got.”
“No!” balked Captain Estrada. “Just throw it overboard, now!”
“And risk blowing out our hull to become shark bait?” JZ replied. “Now, please, Captain, get me those pliers.”
The full discovery of what they faced came when JZ opened the toolbox and flashed a light on its contents. Qui had joined the others to stare down into death-in-a-box: a web of wires and electronics connected to a blob of what looked like gray Playdoh. “Plastique,” JZ calmly said as if ordering coffee.
Unshaken, JZ knelt over the device while Estrada and Qui shivered beside him. “Listen, everyone!” shouted JZ. “Ready the lifeboats. We may have to abandon ship.”
“Leave my boat?” Estrada sounded incensed. “Not me.”
“This is a fishing trawler, Luis, not the Titanic,” JZ replied.
“To a man who has nothing else, it is important!”
“Think of your life.”
“She is my life.”
“JZ, do you know how to disengage it?” Qui asked, ignoring their remarks.
“I’ve had some training in detonation.”
“So what’s the next step, JZ?” Qui persisted.
“Meaning which wire should I pull?”
Luis erupted, “Bastards mean to destroy my boat, kill me, all my men!”