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  “Tell me how it all fits together.”

  Alejandro began to muse aloud, pacing as he said, “As a boy, standing on that cliff…seeing the flames consume my mother…I couldn’t watch. I turned away and saw lights down at the lake. Like toy soldiers, men marched along the lake, their arms loaded, tossing whatever it was onto a boat. God meant that I see it and remember it. I was being shown the two events were connected, and I’ve never forgotten.”

  “Connected how?”

  “The village and church killings were not political as claimed at the time. Mass murder was a cover up for a common thief at work.”

  “So the boat was loaded with valuables?”

  “Safe to assume, they were never found back then. But I’ve seen items-”

  “Like the lock.”

  “-in Arias’s Havana warehouses, along with knockoffs he’s been manufacturing using Chinese artisans.”

  “Ahh…recent relics from some faraway ruin, eh?”

  “The bastard's grown fat and rich over the years.”

  “Over the screams of the dead.”

  “By the way, My Zayas, you were mistaken for Sergio Latoya, who was marked for death. When Arias learned that you and not Latoya were aboard he was quite upset.”

  “Upset? Really?”

  “Arias didn’t want another American death on his hands. The irony is…at this point, Cavuto is looking at the dungeon and not me-but only so long as you remain alive, and I can prove it.”

  “But the Sanabela’s been in dock here for several days now,” said JZ reaching for another cup of coffee.

  “Exactly…they’ll know the truth soon.”

  “If not already.”

  “I find myself in a quandary. If I fail to inform Arias of your still being among the living before Cavuto has that opportunity, things could go badly for me, and if I inform him, it could go badly for you.”

  JZ put his empty cup down with a loud report. “So, it appears all of us are still in peril, until we get to the bottom of things.”

  “Right. The bottom of the lake.”

  “Where the evidence lies.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Without evidence, Arias could never be toppled.”

  “Are you sure the evidence is there?”

  “I know that Arias often vacations on the lake and curiously only fishes in one spot.” Alejandro shook his head before continuing, “Look, do I have to spell it out for you? Arias keeps a pleasure craft out there. I’ve been on it; it’s outfitted with sonar, nets, cages, diving equipment.”

  “He’s interested in more than sightseeing?”

  “Flora and fauna have never been high on his list of interests,” replied Valdes. “Most certainly you and Lieutenant Aguilera will find all you need to convict that snake bastard on multiple murders.”

  “But how does a fifty-year-old of cache of relics indict him for the murders of my two doctors?”

  “Nothing in the lake solves that crime. But you will have the guilty man, I assure you.” He paused to light a cigarillo. “And, at that time, they’ll fall like dominos. Then, the men who should’ve been in power will take their rightful places.”

  Just then, Quiana burst into the room, “Enough! I’m done with this pacing. This is my case, and I demand to know what’s going on? What’s to keep me from arresting you right this moment, for…for whatever!”

  Alejandro burst into laughter, saying, “The Falcon thinks she can dig her talons into me!”

  “Slow down, Qui,” JZ took her arm and headed for the still quivering door she’d charged through. “Mr. Valdes has been quite cooperative. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  “On the way to where?” She refused to budge.

  “The lake. For a dive.”

  “A dive?”

  Chuckling at the confused look of on her face, JZ escorted her out. “Come on. I’ll explain.”

  Alone again in his room, Alejandro flipped on soft music and returned to the balcony windows throwing them open to the ocean breeze. He breathed in its clean scent, a sharp contrast to the murky dealings that entangled him like some trapped fly in a web of deceit that as his brother had pointed out now extended to include Reyna, the last person he wanted to harm. He could not now imagine life without her. He wondered about their future, if it would extend past today’s return to the Forteleza. If so, he tried to envision a normal life with the possibility of children. What sort of yet-to-come cosmic forces would their children face? Could they be any more traumatic than those faced by a five-year-old witness to mass murder?

  The balcony he stood on briefly became a stone ledge overlooking a burning chapel.

  The phone range. Arias’s call. Right on time.

  38

  After a quick lunch at a sidewalk cafe, Father Pasqual guided JZ and Qui to the Santiago PNR Headquarters, even knowing a police station was a hotbed of rouges and snitches and outlawry-a serious risk at this point in time. But they must move fast before Cavuto learned they were still alive. A real possibility existed that someone might get curious about them and start asking questions. Questions that could reveal them to Arias and Cavuto.

  Father Pasqual’s Lada attracted little attention, but once inside the PNR stationhouse Qui insisted on seeing Colonel Emanuel Cordova. Made to wait in an open area where people were being booked and thrown into holding cells, the party attracted precisely what Qui feared: increased attention. A large, congested city, similar to Havana in both size and chaos, Santiago’s police headquarters reflected this similarity. In fact, the old dust-dropping stone interior with its rusted overhead fans made Qui feel as if she’d stepped back into Alfonso Gutierrez’s purview. She half expected to see the toad step through any given door, and when she heard a commode flush, she jumped.

  “You OK?” asked JZ.

  “I feel like we’re in a fish bowl here!”

  “Agreed, and before it becomes general knowledge that we’re pursuing one of the wealthiest men in all of Cuba on charges of multiple murder- and are not ourselves among his victims — I’d really like to check out that lake below the Basilica del Cobre.”

  “Absolutely, yes, but I’m afraid by the time we get all the equipment together and get out to El Cobre, it’ll be nightfall.”

  On hearing this, Father Pasqual said, “I’m of little use here. Let me arrange for the equipment and a sonar-equipped boat. I have friends, here’s the address.”

  “Good idea. We’ll meet you as soon as we can.”

  With Pasqual gone, JZ leaned into her and said, “Still a night dive on a strange lake even with the best equipment is both a gamble and dangerous business.” Shaking his head, he added, “I don’t know, Qui. How good a diver are you?”

  “I can hold my own. I’ve been a certified diver since age fifteen. How good are you?” she countered.

  “Good enough to teach.”

  “Good. It’s settled; we both dive. Thought I’d have to get Giraldo as my dive partner.”

  “A good choice, but he’s not here and I am, which makes me the better choice.” He chuckled softly. “Pasqual’s right about the sonar-without it, we’d be dead in the water.”

  “Poor choice of words, JZ,” she smiled grimly at him.

  Just then a tall, stern-looking man in a colonel’s uniform stepped up to them, offering his hand and introducing himself. “I had a call from an old friend who said you’d be coming,” said Cordova. “He tells me you’re Havana PNR, detective, and your American associate is with the Interest Section in Miramar?”

  “Correct on all counts,” said JZ following Qui and the colonel to his office.

  “Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” added Qui.

  “Never too busy to help a friend. In fact, I have these for you. He said you’d be round for them.” Cordova handed her a brown clasped envelope stuffed with papers.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “The deal that I’ve put together. You’ll find everything in order.” He stared at th
e two surprised visitors to his station house.

  “I’ve never known paperwork in the PNR to go so…so-”

  “Efficiently done,” said JZ.

  “That’s the word,” Qui said. She wondered how long the relationship between the Santiago PNR colonel and Alejandro had existed. She guessed his age at about the same as Valdes. Earlier, on their way to PNR headquarters, Pasqual had made a cryptic remark about the colonel. “My brother and I, ironically, share common ground with the colonel. Alejandro is correct. Cordova can be trusted.” She now wondered if Cordova, like Rita, might be among the eight children orphaned at El Cobre that fateful night.

  “I hear your target’s Humberto Arias, Detective.” Cordova continued, “Dangerous quarry, connections everywhere.”

  “Including Santiago PNR?”

  “Likely. But he hasn’t the power here he has in Havana. Still take all precautions.”

  JZ commented, “So we’ve been told by everyone with any connection to this case.”

  Qui sensed she could trust this man. “We’re going to take a close look at the Lake of Blood, Colonel, and you’re welcome to join us.”

  “We want to keep it as quiet as possible,” added JZ.

  “A good plan. Keep me posted. When do you plan to dive?”

  “Tonight. We’re making arrangements now.”

  “I’ll try to be on hand.” Cordova showed not the least surprise. “We keep a small patrol boat out there.”

  Outside the stationhouse, Qui hailed a cab to take them to the local scuba diving outfitter whose address Father Pasqual had left them.

  When they arrived, they saw Father Pasqual’s Lada parked outside. Once inside, JZ and Qui found that the persuasive priest had convinced his friends who operated the shop to outfit two visiting ‘American tourists’ for the dive.

  On entering, the two visiting ‘touristas’ from Havana were greeted with a series of cheers. Father Pasqual rushed to them, whispering, “You are world champion divers, you two, from America. You’re going to take the shop’s T-shirts back to the States and tell everyone through your media how wonderful the diving in Cuba is, do you understand?”

  “Got it. World class divers,” replied JZ. “Qui, keep your mouth shut, they’ll know you’re native.”

  “I’ll have to make an extra trip to confessional this week,” ruminated Pasqual.

  Qui assured Pasqual that the government would pick up the tab at some future date. “No, no! They can’t know. God…I mean, if they think a priest a liar…”

  “Your secret is safe with us,” JZ assured him, and then JZ fell into the role of an arrogant, famous American undersea diver.

  Luis, who’d been alerted by Pasqual to their whereabouts, joined them at the shop. He proudly said, “I’ve found decent transportation to the lake. It’s parked outside.”

  With everyone carrying oxygen tanks and equipment, they went in search of Luis’s recent acquisition. What passed for decent was a beat up, wooden-paneled station wagon that’d had its entire back end custom cut to create an open cargo hold, the whole looking like some grotesque metal sculpture of mismatched car parts.

  “So much for decent,” muttered JZ as he began loading the equipment into the back of the thing.

  “Sorry no shocks or springs, going to be a bumpy ride.”

  In the back of the truck, Qui noticed a long, slender unmarked wooden box-she asked no questions. As soon as all the diving gear had been stowed, with Pasqual leading in his Lada, they drove for the lake.

  After a long and uncomfortable ride, during which they'd watched as day become twilight, Father Pasqual led them to the sandy shore of the lake. As they’d approached along a winding road so thick with trees on either side they couldn’t see the chapel and only snatches of the cathedral.

  JZ and Qui began moving the equipment from the station wagon to the boat Luis had arranged for, appropriately named Madonna — a tourist craft that had long plied the lake for its scenic beauty. During the back and forth between the station wagon and the boat at the end of the dock, Pasqual and Luis began a whispered exchange. Instead of being discreet, the whispering only called attention to the pair as they carried the odd shaped box aboard.

  Qui caught snatches of the dialogue and nudged JZ, pointing in the direction of the priest and the fisherman. “Something to do with that strange box.”

  Sometime later, JZ said to Qui, “I suspect what’s in the box, but I hope I’m wrong.”

  “What do you suspect?”

  “It’s no longer a suspicion. Take a look. You won’t believe what he’s setting up.”

  Qui turned to see Luis bending over a frightful weapon, a rifle on steroids, its muzzle aimed out the back of the boat. “Where the hell did he find that?”

  “An RPG in Luis’s hands is just plain scary. Think he’ll sink the boat?”

  Qui shook her head in reply. Dropping the last load of equipment on the deck, Qui went to Luis and demanded, “What’s all this?”

  “He’s gone mad,” said Pasqual. “More paranoid than my brother. Thinks we may need this monstrous thing.”

  “That right Luis?”

  “It could get dangerous out here; we don’t know who might show up.”

  “Actually Luis has a point,” said JZ. “We don’t know who to trust.”

  Pasqual shrugged and added, “Can’t be sure of anyone. Too many people know you’re in Santiago.”

  Luis nodded. “Yeah…Carnival and rum means gossip…loose tongues.”

  “Dangerous situation all around,” replied JZ.

  “And Giraldo tells me Lago de Sangre is the most dangerous place in all of Santiago to dive,” added Luis.

  “It looks as peaceful as glass,” Qui challenged him.

  “I’m not talking about the water. Countless outlaws in these hills, renegade guerilla bands, you name it.”

  “The best offense is a good defense,” suggested JZ. “It can’t hurt if Luis watches over us while we’re below, and Father Pasqual offers a prayer and a second pair of eyes.”

  “Which will be more effective, Luis’s cannon or the prayer?” asked Qui. “And, how do you that old thing won’t blow up in your face?”

  “As far as danger goes, I think Giraldo meant the lake itself, Luis,” explained Pasqual. “Old mine shafts and limestone caves below creating treacherous currents.”

  “We’re both experienced divers,” Qui assured Pasqual.

  “Even experienced divers have never surfaced…alive.”

  “It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” said Qui.

  Handing her a wetsuit, JZ added, “Time to suit up. Who’s gonna manage the sonar?”

  Pasqual replied, “Luis, you monitor the sonar, and I’ll take us out.”

  “Fine with me.”

  While JZ and Qui helped one another gear up for the dive, Pasqual directed the Madonna toward the area he’d seen Arias’s pleasure craft anchored. “Luis, I’m ready.”

  “OK, go north.”

  Within a matter of fifteen minutes, Luis called out, “I’m picking up something unusual. Stop here.”

  Pasqual killed the engine saying, “You two still want go through with this? JZ? Qui?”

  Perched on the gunwale of the boat, Qui rinsed her mask, looked up, and replied, “No going back now.”

  JZ gave a thumbs up asking, “A blessing, Father, for success?”

  “Success, yes…and safety.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, pausing to listen his words before going over the side with JZ.

  Beneath the surface, they found one another’s flashlight beam, as they’d planned never to lose sight of each other. As predicted, the lake water was turgid. Using the anchor line to descend hand over hand, Qui felt strangely like a traveler on some astral plane, only tenuously connected to the corporeal world. Inky blackness surrounding her, Qui realized that without her flash she’d be unable to see her own hand not so much as a ghostly outline. This fact, along with an increasing current, created a panicky cl
austrophobia that threatened to send her back to the surface. Repeatedly she reminded herself relax…be calm…breathe slow…conserve air.

  Connected to her dive belt, Qui wore an underwater camera. The churning waters now banged it against her hip, tapping like a constant reminder from her father to get the shot…to document her steps as he would do: create a photographic indictment against one of the most powerful men in Cuba.

  Buffeted badly on all sides, JZ wildly signaled they should return to the surface and safety. Qui vehemently shook her head and pointed downward, her actions clearly telegraphing that she meant to go on with or without him. He reached out and latched onto her but she pulled from his grasp and continued downward. JZ followed her lead, wishing they had microphones so she could hear his curses.

  After five more minutes of strenuous work, they finally came in sight of the bottom. Qui realized the strong currents had ceased. Shining their flashlights and pirouetting 360 degrees, they saw enormous pocked and cracked sheaths of stone. JZ pulled on her arm, holding out his chalkboard. She read his message. “Collapsed mine shaft?”

  She took the chalk and wrote, “Could go on for miles.” She then indicated, “Check air supply.”

  Finding no problem, they hooked onto the anchor line to ensure they could find their way back in this black water. Qui now scribbled, “Signal for gear?”

  In reply, JZ drew a happy face.

  She then tugged the signal line they’d earlier attached to the anchor. A return series of tugs assured her all was fine topside and that Luis had gotten the message. Shortly a pair of metal detectors and miscellaneous gear arrived along with fresh tanks in a metal cage. Unhooking the cage lock, Qui tugged the signal line to let Luis know the package had arrived.

  Anxious to explore, JZ started out ahead of her. Using one of the metal detectors, he began to search in earnest for anything unusual. It proved a balancing act to focus the flashlight beam on the dial on the detector. Quiana came alongside, instantly realizing that they must work in tandem, one flash, one detector. This would take more time but they had little choice in such a challenging environment.