Cuba blue Page 23

  “Yeah, JZ, you’re right. We may be walking through my vision right now. But I have a nagging feeling there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “I saw the two of us in that watery grave.”

  34

  Hotel Casa Grande, Santiago

  Alejandro had decided to take the Golden Suite for Reyna as their getaway-a single night before he must meet her father at the Forteleza. He didn’t want Reyna anywhere near that place; she was innocent after all…like a child. One of her most endearing qualities, and what had attracted him to her in the first place. She knew nothing of her father’s dealings or his lurid past. And she remained innocent of all the intrigue and backstabbing politics that characterized Humberto Arias’s normal day, and Alejandro wanted to keep it so. And while he felt confidant that her father would in the end select him over Cavuto, Alejandro did not wish to become a permanent guest in the infamous Forteleza dungeons. Should things go wrong for Alejandro this late in the game, he did not want Reyna on hand to see his downfall, so he intended to send her home the next day.

  At his side, Reyna’s breathing proved hypnotically rhythmic like soft jazz, lulling him to sleep after their lovemaking, sweet and tender. If things were to go badly for him, he wanted her last memory of him to be perfect. But now he found himself guiding Reyna through a labyrinth-a nightmarish juxtaposition of today and yesterday; the tangle of current intrigue and haunted past. Holding her hand, he walked along an uneven surface in darkness, pursued by and enveloped in overwhelming fear. The smell of smoke burned his eyes and filled his nostrils, and he heard her cough. The cough became a coughing, and the coughing became explosive, uncontrollable, until it turned into the sound of rifle fire. He pleaded with her to follow him, but she wouldn’t move, no longer coughing…no longer breathing, as if turned to stone. He pushed and pushed, but she didn’t move, and he couldn’t move, as if the two had become fused together. He screamed.

  Suddenly, he felt hands on him, tearing at him, pulling and shaking. A voice penetrated his screams. He saw the priest’s eyes, saw his hand extended. Then he heard Reyna’s voice.

  The priest’s features turned into Reyna’s as the smoke cleared, and he found himself sitting up in bed with her arms wrapped about him, shouting, “It’s just a dream, Alejandro! Wake up, wake up! Just a dream. Hush, you’re safe with me.”

  For just a few moments longer, Reyna’s voice sounded like the priest’s and then it morphed into three-year-old Gabriel’s.

  Gasping for breath, Alejandro grabbed Reyna as if touching her could dispel his terror-the nightmares that had plagued him since that night when he’d followed Father Cevalos, leading his younger brother with him from the sight of their murdered mother.

  Cavuto Ruiz wondered if he should have left the country instead of coming to the Forteleza, especially now that the American security guard at the Swiss Embassy had died at his hand. But even more worrisome than this additional dead American, he feared Humberto remained unhappy with his recent ‘mistake’-the night his men botched the interrogation of the Canadian doctor and her friends. As soon as he’d returned to Havana, scarcely stepping off the marina after docking his toy, the Norwegian speedboat, Estavio, one of Arias’s gophers, met him with a sealed envelope. Inside, the cryptically worded order read: Forteleza tomorrow-debriefing.

  Cavuto understood Arias’s desire to have this meeting away from prying eyes; however, he still felt anxious at the mention of the notorious Forteleza. In a desperate attempt to find his own scapegoat…someone to throw to Arias, Cavuto insisted that Alfonso Gutierrez accompany him to Santiago. They’d shared a governmental flight from Havana, traversing the long Marlin-shaped island from one end to its opposite. When they’d touched down, Cavuto-realizing Alfonso’s sweat glands were working overtime-assured him that they were here for rest, relaxation, and reward for a job well done. Gutierrez seemed to accept this, but he kept after Ruiz for details. He especially wanted to know what’d become of his detective, Quiana Aguilera.

  The limousine that picked them up for the Forteleza turned onto one of Santiago’s major thoroughfares, Aguilera Avenida. Alfonso gasped at seeing the street sign as Ruiz confidently replied, “Let us say that the fish have taken a liking to the eagle, not the other way round.”

  “My-my God, when did they change Marina Avenida to Aguilera?”

  “Don’t be foolish. It’s nothing,” countered Cavuto, ignoring Alfonso’s last question.

  “My God, Ruiz, I’m so distracted, I just got it! The Eagle. Aguilera means Eagle. I tell you, this warms my heart.” For the first time since Cavuto had contacted him today, Alfonso laughed and showed a bit of calm. “And think of it, Ruiz, being her colonel, I’ll have to personally carry the news to her father.” Alfonso smiled with the thought.

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the look on his face when he learns his precious darling is dead.”

  “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to hurt Tomaso Aguilera.”

  “What is it about Tomaso that so bothers you, Alfonso?”

  “Everything. His success, his money, his special position as a good citizen in standing with Fidel…and then he pushes his daughter on me!”

  “My friend, her father had nothing to do with her being assigned to the Old Havana force.”

  “What?”

  “That was purely the fall of the dominos, based on manpower considerations. Nothing more.” Ruiz inwardly smiled. He could always count on Alfonso’s self-absorbed orientation to blind him to what was going on around him-exactly what his plan called for now. All he needed to do was keep the man distracted.

  “Uncle, you’ve returned to us,” said Qui as they came from the chapel and into afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. “Good to see you. Is all well? Were you successful this morning in your so-secret dealings?” She teasingly laughed.

  But Qui and the others were met with a grim Luis Estrada, who shot Qui a look, as if her words had embarrassed him before the priests. “It’s been an instructive day so far. I need to talk to you and JZ privately.”

  Cevalos said to Pasqual, “Come, let’s find a cup of tea and let these three have the chapel to themselves. But Luis, I warn you, keep the sacraments.”

  Luis grimaced. “Yes, Father, of course.” He shrugged as though surprised at the priest’s remark.

  With the two priests gone, Luis turned to Qui and JZ, saying, “Follow me inside.”

  They reentered the chapel and watched Luis chew on an unlit pipe until Qui finally said, “What is it, Luis?”

  “I have it on good authority who murdered your doctors; in fact, the El Cobre lock indicts the man for what you Americans, JZ, call war crimes.”

  “Then the butcher is still alive?” asked Qui, shocked.

  “Alive and doing extremely well. In fact, you may know him. Most of Cuba knows his name.”

  “Then the lock was a clue after all,” JZ said.

  “I knew it,” replied Qui. “It goes as deep into the past as it goes up to the top-levels of government, doesn’t it?”

  “Not government so much as business.”

  “So who is this mystery man?” asked JZ.

  “Humberto Arias,” said Luis Estrada, leaning into the chapel doorway, staring out at the day. He turned to see Qui’s shocked eyes, and JZ’s questioning gaze.

  “Who’s Arias?” asked JZ.

  “Arias?” muttered Qui, still stunned. “An international antiques dealer…well-respected. How can this be?”

  “Feared as well,” replied Luis. “Not a man to cross, Qui. It might be time to cut our loses.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “He has tentacles into the Cuban underworld and government. The lowest forms of life work for this man.”

  “I think I met a couple of them at the Excalibre Hotel,” replied JZ.

  “He has part ownership with the government.”

  “How close is he to Fidel?” Qui asked.

  “He fought for Fidel the moment he saw whi
ch way the wind was blowing. The man has no scruples, pays no tithes to the human race. You know, no matter how bad Father Cevalos thinks I am…Arias is worse. Like the sirens who seduced seaman to their deaths on the rocks just to pick their bones, he seduces men to their damnation with money.”

  Qui realized a truth about Luis as he said these words. “You’ve done work for him in the past, haven’t you?”

  “No…not him. Not directly. Through Gutierrez, yes. And I suspect through him, Cavuto Ruiz.” It came out as a confession here in the chapel. “But it is how I know what they know, to wallow in the snake pit and be paid for it. It’s how I’ve protected Rita all these years, and how I’ve kept my boat and my skin.”

  “Protected Rita? Does she need protecting?”

  “She is Sangre.”

  “Blood? Really your relative?”

  “Her husband, among the disappeareds for six years now, was my youngest brother. His eyes and heart full of dreams for a free Cuba. Rita’s now my blood, and still my contact with Edwardo’s group.” His eyes held Qui’s in a duel. “I tell you all this in confidence, knowing your prey is also Arias, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  JZ took a deep breath and said, “We will keep your confidence, won’t we, Qui?”

  She slowly nodded, realizing that they were asking her to go against all her training as a PNR officer. However, if it meant cornering the man who’d arranged for Montoya to die so ignobly with a prostitute, Hilito to blow his head off, and her three doctors to be buried at sea, this was a secret worth keeping. “For Arias, I will keep your confidence, but never put me in a position like this again, Uncle. I won’t lie for you or anyone else.”

  “I can only hope it never comes to that for any of us,” JZ commented. “Least of all me. Our mutual governments don’t need another brouhaha over freedom fighters in Cuba.”

  “Arias’s killing American doctors. How is that for a brouhaha?” asked Qui.

  “Luis, can we prove it?” asked JZ. “Where’ve you gotten this information?”

  “That I cannot tell you.”

  “Damn it, Luis…you’re sounding like Benilo now!” She erupted at him. “What are you all afraid of? If the truth comes out, it can only put Arias away!”

  “It’s not that simple, and I have made promises.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “Promises to whom?”

  “I know what he means, Qui. Sometimes you have to make deals to get anything out of a witness or informant.”

  Luis nodded vigorously at this like a man drawing at straws. “Precisely true. With Arias’s international contacts, I have to be extremely careful, or else. I could be found out to be something more than a simple fisherman who dabbles in the black market, loves women, and drinks to excess.”

  JZ added, “Arias might well be selling anything…anything Cuban, from cigars to…to exotic animals or birds found only here.”

  Luis suggested an even more ominous conclusion, adding, “Or Cuban medical research secrets. You know, from that nephew of his.”

  “What nephew?” asked JZ.

  “Our illustrious Minister of Health.”

  They did a round of confused looks that went from denial to ‘aha’ as Qui continued to think aloud. “This Denise, she worked for a pharmaceutical firm. No one has more vested interest in medical intrigue than a pharmaceutical company.”

  “What’re you saying?” asked JZ. “That the Canadian was being fed information through Montoya from Arias from his nephew?”

  “Perhaps…Montoya and she double-crossed Arias?” suggested Luis.

  “Something along those lines, yes,” said JZ, nodding. “Then…if it is true…then Montoya brought this down around his own head, so perhaps it’s time, Qui, to stop feeling like you had anything whatsoever to do with his death.”

  “JZ is right, Qui,” agreed Luis. “If it’s true, then your investigation had less to do with his death than you’d thought.”

  Still, she resisted the notion. “How could Estaban be involved in such a scheme to export medical research secrets out of Cuba?”

  “Montoya always had money to spread around,” said Luis. “Too much money for a government doctor and a back-door pharmacist for his patients and friends.”

  JZ ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Luis, are you saying Montoya sold drugs?”

  Luis looked again into Qui’s eyes. “You are not PNR now; you’re blood, my niece.” Turning to JZ, he continued. “Aspirin…antibiotics, all hard to come by. Montoya always had it…that and other drugs. Whatever I needed, whatever my crew needed.”

  JZ whistled, taking it all in.

  Luis added, “Come on, Quiana, you always suspected something wasn‘t quite right with the man. It’s why you wouldn’t marry him.”

  She reluctantly nodded. “This explains a lot…the money…his thumbing his nose at what was expected. What else did I miss? Some detective.”

  “No one suspects their family,” countered JZ, “and he was almost family, right?”

  “Montoya and others I cannot name danced with the devil every day, only Montoya made a misstep somewhere along the line,” added Luis. “It’s like a flirtation. Lose rhythm, step on the wrong toe, you die.”

  “This doesn’t explain Hilito. Why was he killed?”

  “Hilito was forced off the dance floor. None of it his choosing.”

  “You’re saying he knew too much?” asked JZ.

  “They used his kid against him, didn’t they?” asked Qui.

  “Luis,” shouted Father Pasqual as he entered the chapel. “I see Rita gave you the keys to my car. Are you all ready to return to Santiago before nightfall? These mountain roads’re dangerous by night.”

  Luis replied, “Yes, I think we’re done here.” He rushed out ahead of the others and back into the light, Pasqual following him.

  Qui leaned into JZ and whispered, “I hope whoever’s driving is better than Ramon.”

  JZ laughed, agreeing. “My head can’t take another wild ride like this morning’s.”

  35

  That evening at the Forteleza

  Alfonso Gutierrez sat with his rum in hand, angry that Cavuto had called his room and demanded he meet him in the Forteleza lounge and here he was, but no Ruiz. “My time is worth nothing to this man,” he muttered.

  “Sir?” asked the bartender.

  “Nothing…mind your own business.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Surrounded by fools and likely spies, Gutierrez bitterly thought, his mood as sour as his stomach. His presence here made him wonder if his life were in danger amongst the high-level powerful men who frequented this place. His ulcer worsening with each sip, he felt a gnawing, growing fear. It was a truly horrific feeling to be alone and friendless amid these Cubanos, all with beautiful women on their arms, laughing and joking, speaking of bright futures ripe with opportunity and promise.

  His thoughts turned to his liaison with Humberto Arias’s daughter, Angelica, a relationship that’d become increasingly untenable. Lately, his wife had taken to talking more frequently to Arias about her growing litany of what troubled her most about Alfonso, aside from their inability to conceive for which she completely-and without medical evidence-blamed him.

  He called for a second drink while pondering whether Cavuto had been ordered by Arias to bring him here to the infamous fort. But he’d seen nothing of Arias, and he had no reason to believe his father-in-law was anywhere near Santiago. “Where the hell is Cavuto?” he muttered, looking about for the hotel phone, thinking he’d ring the other man’s room.

  Looking up, he saw Angelica coming down the stairs on her father’s arm. Still stunning at her age, she was dressed in a clinging scarlet-red gown, cut deeply in front, revealing generous curves. His eyes narrowed in resentment. Cold bitch, no child’s find succor at those icicles she called tits. Behind them trailed both her sister, Reyna, and that mysterious fiancee of hers, another shadowy SP figure, Alejandro Valdes. Eyeing Reyna, he o
nce again thought, I should’ve married the younger one instead of the gorgeous one. Alfonso consoled himself with the thought that he was not the first and wouldn’t be the last man to’ve made a choice of marriage partner based on looks. Always overshadowed by her sister, Reyna had been the baby of the family, indulged and protected, unlike the overbearing, demanding Angelica. In stark contrast, Reyna’d grown up into a warm, sensual woman, more to Alfonso’s taste-tantalizing and completely out of reach.

  Covering his surprise at finding his wife here, Alfonso stood and greeted the family with a pained smile. As they neared, he awkwardly leaned in to kiss Angelica, but she turned her face aside. His kiss landed on her cheek; her gesture, he felt, portended worse to come. Extending a hand to Arias, Alfonso said, “What a delightful surprise, Angelica! Humberto!”

  “So nice of you to come, Colonel.” Arias quickly filled his right hand with a champagne glass to avoid shaking hands. Instead, he nodded and flashed a feral smile.

  Arias’s chilly reception added to Alfonso’s anticipation that something was in the offing, something like a crouched tiger in deep shadow, just off stage, waiting to pounce. It was likely no accident that Cavuto Ruiz had made himself scarce after ordering drinks. The deep-seated, long-held fear he’d harbored toward Arias had begun to rage like an undetected cancer eating away at his resolve to maintain the pretense of a satisfying marriage. God how he hated Angelica and her father, and what their relationship had made of him. At the moment, he felt cornered by them…a mouse brandished above a hungry serpent, his flailing and kicking only adding to their delight. The dungeons were, after all, just below his feet.

  Alejandro stepped between the two men, taking Gutierrez’s hand and shaking it firmly, saying, “It’s been a long time, Colonel Gutierrez. So good to see you again.” Turning to Humberto, Alejandro expertly guided him and the ladies toward the banquet hall where a band played Cole Porter tunes. “I suggest, sir, that you show off your lovely daughters on the dance floor.”