Authors: Robert W. Walker
Cuba Blue (42 page)
Qui lifted a shaking finger at their mirrored images. She whispered, “My vision.”
“It would seem so. Strange place for Alice’s looking glass.” JZ understood her reaction. Reflected in the mirror: their two
pale-as-death
faces floating in the semi-darkness. He squeezed her shoulders saying, “It’s OK Qui, we’re very much alive.”
“Check my pulse, just to make sure.”
JZ laughed and did so. “Your heart’s beating like a race horse. Take a deep breath…and calm down.”
“Easy for you to say. I won’t feel safe until we’re back topside.”
“Then let’s finish what we’ve started here. Whataya make of these little statues?”
“I haven’t the slightest, except maybe…”
“Maybe what? Ocho figures maybe?”
“Older…more African I think. Maybe this area was used to hide Haitian slaves.”
As JZ’s fingers traced the smooth curves of one figurine, his dark eyes glanced about the edges of the room. “You don’t say.”
“Cuban history books speak of this. Santiago was the original melting pot in the Americas.”
Turning his attention back to Qui, he said, “Thanks, professor. Take a look around. What is this stuff?”
Qui glanced about the room filled with an array of misplaced items out-of-time and out-of-place; things more suited to an attic than an underwater mine shaft. Curios, jewelry, furnishings, tableware, silver goods, even gold filigree framed paintings.
“No slave I’ve read of had items like this.” JZ’s voice was swallowed by the limestone.
“An odd assortment,” murmured Qui, examining the contents of a large chest. “A trousseau, unless I miss my guess. Really old too.”
“How’d it get here?”
“Same way the rest of this stuff got here, I imagine. On the backs of the men Alejandro saw that night.”
“No doubt.”
After snapping off a dozen shots, Qui called out to JZ, “Come over here and help me with this.”
“I’m having too much fun over here.”
Qui looked in his direction and saw a big man with a mall boy’s enthusiasm, sitting on the cave floor happily engaged in sorting through a stash of old weapons. “What are you doing? Playing with guns and knives?”
“Hey,
somebody’s
gotta sort ’em out!”
She watched for a few moments as he brandished a long, thin, curved blade. He obviously appreciated the workmanship invested these weapons, fancy filigree on the stocks, as she walked toward him taking a few photos.
“Man, imagine what these would bring on the open market?”
“Are you a collector?
“These beauties are way outta my reach.”
“They don’t look out of your reach from what I see!”
“And now you’re got photographic evidence of that.”
“I really need your help over here. I’ve stumbled onto something
unusual
.”
“Unusual? What’s not unusual here?”
“Hurry, JZ.”
“OK. What’ve you got?” He followed her to a curious, large, coffin-like box unlike anything they’d seen so far.
“’Spose there’s a body inside?”
“Dunno…gotta open it up to find out.”
“Could be the rest of that poor devil with the bullet through his head.”
“It won’t open.” JZ tried lifting the lid but it was nailed stuff. “You sure there’s not a body in here?”
“You smell anything?”
“After fifty years?”
“Oh…right.”
“This could take some time.” JZ commented as he tried to pry open the lid using his pick under the lid. “See if you find a file—something to wedge it up, anything.”
“What? A doorstop? A screwdriver?” Qui looked around. “Oh dear and I forgot my nail file.”
JZ laughed. “Anything for leverage.”
“Oh, how ‘bout this?” Qui picked up her own discarded pick and handed it to him.
“Perfect.”
Using one pick against the other to loosen the lid, with one final muscle-straining push—accompanied by a prolonged eerie screeching, JZ tore the lid free. Fatigued, he fell heavily against the toppled lid. Looking up at Qui for a bit of sympathy, he instead found her frozen, her features like those of a mannequin.
Now what?
“Qui?” He leapt to his feet and looked into the open container and was likewise struck dumb.
The pair stared into the eyes of the Black Madonna.
Finding themselves once again staring into the eyes of the Black Madonna, She appeared as real as her sisters in the basilica.
“This is what the Madonna was saying to me. Not that we would end in a watery grave, but that She, the Madonna herself has been trapped here all these years, surrounded by stolen treasures.”
“Herself a stolen treasure,” added JZ.
“But why? Anyone would know who She was.”
“No, no one except the priests and a few trusted church workers would know. The Black Madonna is the bejeweled one in the basilica. On the black market, religious icons bring a fortune—even fakes.”
“My God, I wonder which one the Pope blessed at the basilica,” Qui wondered aloud.
“And neither of them the real one.”
“Arias’s greatest secret.”
“The reason he killed the villagers.”
Not even the seemingly all-knowing Alejandro Valdes could have predicted this—that the Madonna would be waiting here so far below the surface for them to discover.
“Expatriated, so to speak,” muttered JZ, still in shock.
“Now it all comes clear. Arias, seeing the fall of Batista’s Cuba, had concocted a plan to plunder the basilica and steal the Madonna. But to accomplish it, he’d had to empty the village.”
JZ nodded. “No witnesses to his master plan.”
“Herded them into the church and torched it.”
“Look into that alcove, Qui.” JZ pointed behind her. “Looks like we had some permanent residents here.”
Turning she gasped at the bones of the dead positioned as if huddled together. Turning back to JZ, she added, “Arias must have started the first rumors and superstitions surrounding the lake.”
“Kept everyone at bay. The few lieutenants he may’ve trusted were likely paid off or promised positions in future schemes.”
“Little doubt.”
“Like the one Valdes sweated information from.”
“And probably killed.” She grimaced. “Well, now I’ve got photos of everything,” she said, snapping off a final shot of the human remains.
“Nothing more we can do here,” JZ agreed with a final lingering gaze at the pistols and knives.
“Mask up. We’re outta here.”
The divers made their way back down the stone steps, JZ ahead of Qui, who stopped to salvage the strange, single skull with the bullet hole. Seeing her shudder, JZ took charge of the skull, dropping it in his net.
Leaving the Madonna in the blackness below, along with the horde of her early offerings stolen so long ago, they followed their guide rope back to the anchor line. JZ unhooked the clip attached to the cage that had brought the gear and re-attached it to Qui’s waist belt, then signaled they should start. Struggled upwards through the chaotic riptide-like currents, they held onto each other to ensure they weren’t separated in the claustrophobia-inducing blackness of the water. The pool of light surrounding the boat was a welcome sight.
Surfacing, exhausted, Qui raised her arms and let Estrada and Pasqual pull her aboard. Slipping off her tanks and mask, a flood of excited words escaped Qui as she sank gratefully to a gunwale seat. When JZ stood on the deck, she leapt up and threw her arms around his neck.
“What did you find?” asked Pasqual.
“Out with it,” said Luis.
JZ held up the skull and she held up her camera. “We’ve got it documented,” Qui said.
“Evidence of enormous theft and murder,” added JZ.
“Enough to put Arias and Cavuto away?” asked Luis.
“How about forever,” replied JZ, dropping his tanks to the deck.
Still out of breath, Qui exclaimed, “My God, JZ, it’s amazing! She was telling me all along—not from the church, but from the lake—to find her!”
“The real Black Madonna lies below us.”
“What are you talking about? She’s inside the Church.”
“No, Father, we saw Her, the real Madonna,” Qui countered.
“This can’t be!” Pasqual was obviously shaken by their words.
“Trust me, that was no fake we saw,” Qui replied.
“Arias must have been planning the thief a long time, to’ve had a duplicate made,” JZ explained. “Just waiting for the right moment.”
Luis erupted in laughter. “Imagine it…all those offerings all those years to the blessed Madonna, including the Pope’s blessing—all to the wrong Madonna!”
“It can’t be true,” Pasqual said. “It would place the Church in an impossible position! I can’t accept it and neither will Father Cevalos.”
“To bring Her up would be a full-blown salvage operation,” remarked Estrada.
“Yes,” Qui said to Luis, “but not before Cuban experts have seen and documented this find.” Digging in her pouch, she pulled out one of the small figurines. “Look at this. Ever seen anything like it before? The mine shaft’s full of treasures that ought to be in museums.”
“Ok, University people first. Perhaps Esmerelda knows the right people.”
“After the police are done gathering evidence, the archeologists can document the findings. Then, the salvage can begin.”
“Qui, anything the American Interest Section can contribute or help…well, you know we will be glad to—”
“No…this must be handled by our finest experts. It’s a Cuban problem, and it requires a Cuban solution. But all of this will have to await a resolution to Arias’s mass murders.”
The conversation ended suddenly with a rain of bullets pinging off metal and shattering glass around them. Diving for cover, the four lay scattered around the deck. Qui and JZ were without their weapons, separated from them by half the length of the boat where they’d earlier left them. An amplified voice claimed to be Santiago PNR, came across the water shouting, “Stop firing!”
A second amplified voice shouted, “Give yourselves up! Secret Police!”
“One boat? Two?” shouted JZ above the sound of the gunfire.