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  “Ahhh…of course…understood. We’ll keep him under constant watch and arrest.”

  “Do you have the facilities for that?” asked JZ.

  “We’re not exactly a backwater force here, Mr. Zayas. We have a prison wing at the hospital where he’ll be kept as soon as the doctors okay a move. Still,” he shrugged, “if the SP comes for him, there is little we can do.”

  “Just like in Havana,” Qui muttered in frustration. “Where even three dead bodies disappear overnight.”

  “Then, admit him under an assumed name,” suggested JZ. “That’ll give us time to seal our case.”

  “As you wish. Do you have a suggestion for the assumed name?”

  “Ass,” leapt from Qui’s tongue. “Mr. Ass.”

  The two men laughed at this. JZ suggested, “Jacques de le Bontemps.”

  Qui now laughed at the play on words, “Good times are gone for this jackass.”

  This time all three laughed.

  Qui added in a serious tone, “And by the way Cordova…”

  “Yes?”

  “Be sure Jacques has no access to a phone and no contact with anyone-remember, the other guy’s dead.”

  “Of course! We haven’t the power to bring back the dead.”

  “When the time comes, this dead man will walk and talk.”

  “You may count on it, Detective Aguilera.” Then he added, “I cannot imagine how I would feel to learn that my own superior plotted murder against me.”

  JZ asked, “What’ll happen to Gutierrez when it’s all over?” He imagined the man tortured behind stone walls for the rest of his life.

  “Disgraced and on permanent ‘probation’ if he cooperates,” replied Cordova. “Unlikely he’ll be executed. I suspect his actions will make of him a social pariah.”

  Several hours later at the Santiago Hospital

  Qui and JZ joined Rita around Luis’s hospital bed. Other than being pale, the big man looked good.

  “Uncle, how are you doing?” asked Qui.

  “The nurses have petitioned to throw him out, Qui,” Rita joked.

  “Ahhh, then he’ll live!”

  JZ shook Luis’s hand saying, “Your single shot is gonna bring down an empire.”

  “That’s funny, I don’t even remember firing!”

  “Interesting weapon you fired, Luis,” Cordova calmly said, appearing suddenly in the doorway. “Created a hell of a fireball.”

  Luis visibly stiffened. “Ahh…a loaner,” he weakly joked.

  Cordova gave a nod, knowing it’d likely come from the local chapter of the growing anti-government faction. “Well, you’re not gonna get it back.”

  “Get what back?” asked Pasqual entering the room.

  “The weapon that saved out collectives lives,” replied JZ. “Seems the good colonel here doesn’t think Luis should be toying with such toys.”

  “Some toy,” said Cordova suppressing a smile and garnering a smirk from Rita. “Now that we all know the terrible secret of the lake, what are we gonna do about it?”

  Rita, with a hasty glance toward the door, walked over and firmly closed it. “This is better discussed in private.”

  “I agree. This should be kept quiet,” said Qui. “It would serve little purpose to reveal the enormity of this fraud outside police circles right now.”

  JZ promptly agreed, “In the meantime, the ‘Treasure of Santiago,’ must be handled with care and sensitivity by the most expert archeologists and antiquarians in Cuba.”

  “Perhaps at some future date, once the second statue is authenticated, we can tell the world.”

  Cordova added, “Most, if not all, of the treasures belong in Cuba’s museums and at the Basilica del Cobre.”

  “But,” countered Qui, “such determinations must be left to the museum curators and specialists.”

  “Like my Esmerelda,” piped in Luis.

  “I promise on the spirit of our fathers that this remains secret,” Cordova added. “But such knowledge is a curse to carry.”

  From his bed, Luis added, “A close look at Alejandro will tell you that.”

  “But, if it hadn’t been for him,” Cordova said defensively, “Arias would still be dipping into his private bank from time to time whenever the need arose.”

  “Such prizes as we saw down there would sell for a fortune on the international black market,” JZ assured Cordova.

  “We’ll likely never know the extent of Arias’s dealings in Cuban treasures,” commented Qui. “Think of it, the most respected and successful man in antiques in Cuba-retired Majordomo Humberto Arias-a thief and murderer.”

  “With a trail of crimes going back to the revolution,” declared Rita, “and who knows how many before that?”

  Pasqual muttered, “Brought down by the hand of my brother.”

  “A clean hand so far as we can tell,” Qui replied. “He clearly dangled the lock of El Cobre to lead us here.”

  “This business of a third Madonna,” said JZ, “does anyone here think Alejandro knew?”

  “Third Madonna?”

  Qui drew in a quick breath glaring at JZ’s typical American habit of speaking before thinking.

  “Oh, I meant second…second, the second Madonna. There’s too many Madonnas!” JZ grinned to cover his slip of the tongue.

  “No, it’s likely the one secret Arias withheld,” observed Luis, “even from his soon-to-be son.”

  “Bones of our fathers,” Father Pasqual muttered dispiritedly, “in eternal sleep at the bottom of the lake. Unhallowed graves.”

  “Your father’s, my father’s too,” asked Cordova.

  “As Alejandro vowed,” JZ noted, “we’ve found clear evidence that will be Arias’s ruin. He might not pay for the deaths of the three doctors, but he’ll have to pay for this.”

  “Never once did Ali share this with me,” said Pasqual. “Arias’s crimes must be punished! I’ll go to Fidel myself…insist on it as a representative of the church.”

  “This is the discovery of the century, Father,” Qui countered. “It could rock the whole country. It could shake the faith of thousands.”

  “I doubt anyone suspects Arias,” replied Qui, “including Fidel.”

  “Does Fidel know Arias had a shadow life?” asked JZ.

  “None of us here knows what Fidel knows,” said Cordova.

  “That is the normal state of affairs in Cuba,” explained Qui. “No one knows what he knows or when he knew it.”

  JZ, frustrated by this answer and the complacency it implied, took a deep breath and asked, “Qui, all I want to know is: will Fidel punish the man or fail us by sweeping it all under a carpet?” JZ looked about the room at the collection of El Cobre orphans, only Alejandro missing. “Does anyone in Cuba know what happened here fifty-odd years ago?”

  “Before I got this case, I’d never heard of the Butcher of Santiago or any hint of it,” answered Qui. “I grew up knowing only what the government wanted us to know, and this wasn’t on the curriculum.”

  “Sure,” noted JZ, “it’s a national tragedy, and no leader wants it known such things happened on his watch.”

  Qui quietly added, “If Castro fails us, then he fails Cuba.”

  41

  Three days later

  With help from Fathers Pasqual and Cevalos, Qui Aguilera turned over the information on the treasures found in the deep waters of El Cobre’s Lago de Sangre to Professor Esmerelda Estrada at the University de Santiago. She, in turn, called in the curator of Santiago’s largest cultural museum, Ramon Ponce de Cabrera. Between these trusted experts, Qui felt certain that the treasures would be properly preserved and placed. These experts were both astounded and pleased at the bounty described to them, and also equally saddened and dismayed over the news of the Madonna-news too sensitive to make public.

  Knowing they remained in danger from Arias, Colonel Cordova hired a private driver and car to take Qui and JZ back to Havana-someone he trusted. While they preferred to return with Luis, speed wa
s essential to Arias downfall.

  Luis, although released from the hospital and claiming complete recovery, refused to leave Santiago without his beloved Sanabela. “Besides,” he had muttered, “my crew’s abandoned me, only Adondo and Giraldo remained loyal.

  Rita had secretly told Qui that Luis needed more time to heal and urged them to go. “Don’t worry about us. My group will protect us. He’ll moan about leaving that damned boat, but the mountain air will be good for him. We leave for safety as soon as I see you leave for Havana.”

  On the trip back to Havana

  “Tell me, Quiana,” JZ asked, “do you believe the photos you took are enough to convict Arias?”

  “I have to believe so, yes, but once they’re turned over to the authorities…well, you’ve seen how things disappear here.”

  “Yeah and this is about Cuba’s international image.”

  “Image, image! I’m tired of concerning myself with Cuba’s damned international image. I’ve got murders to resolve!” She stared out the window.

  “Still, these murders affect Cuba’s image, we can’t ignore that,” countered JZ. “A Canadian, two Americans, a-”

  “A Cuban doctor and cop are no less important!”

  “-mass murder during the revolution… Qui, I would never minimize the murder of Montoya or Hilito-I just hadn’t gotten there yet!”

  As if in answer, a shot rang out and both Qui and JZ raised weapons to the windows, expecting more shots. Feeling trapped, vulnerable, they were tossed about the back sear as the car spun wildly out of control, sending up a huge cloud of dust. The car came to a shuddering stop along the shoulder of the road.

  “Everyone okay?” asked Ricardo, the driver.

  A string of curses erupted from JZ who’d slammed into the car door immediately followed by Qui landing atop him.

  “OK? Are you both nuts? They’re shooting at us!” Qui screamed, searching a target in the dust cloud.

  “No, no. It’s just a blown tire, Lieutenant,” replied Ricardo.

  Qui, sagging against JZ, commented, “That scared hell outta me.”

  JZ held her as they sat underneath a canopy of trees and settling dust, murmuring into her hair, “Me too, Qui, me too.”

  “Sorry, I’m all nerves today.”

  “Understandable, we’ve been target practice all week.” Releasing her to exit the car, JZ continued, “Face it…if anyone should be paranoid, we do!”

  Qui laughed lightly and stretched against the side of the car. Looking at her now dusty hands, Qui continued, “We were talking about Fidel. For all we know, he wants this kept quiet…you know, the past in the past.”

  “This is too large to be buried. Too many people know something of what’s going on.”

  Brushing her hands, Qui sighed. “It comes back to Cuba’s image.”

  “Exactly what I was saying before the tire blew.”

  “I know…I know, JZ, so we take this into consideration and go lightly.”

  “How lightly? Do we really have to dance around this?”

  “You’ve seen me dance,” she said distractedly. “What do you think?” The question recalled conversations she’d had with Dr. Arturo Benilo. The old ME’d been right all along about Cuban politics; it really did permeate everything.

  After the delay of the blown tire and the excitement of thinking themselves under attack, they continued on their way to Miramar. Choosing to avoid Havana, Qui asked the driver to take an indirect route to the bed and breakfast. As they neared the city, Quiana realized just how much she loved and missed her father and the trappings of home. Wanting to feel her father’s protective arms in a hug and to sleep in her own bed, she hoped to feel safe and untouchable once again.

  When the B amp; B came into view, she squeezed JZ’s hand and said, “I pray that all is well here. And, nothing bad has happened.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” JZ answered as the car pulled up to the family homestead.

  Not waiting for JZ to alight, Qui dashed from the car to seek out her father where he’d normally be by mid-afternoon, but he was not in his garden. She found Sergio’s wife and children instead, playing with Maria Elena’s children.

  Maria Elena and Carmela rushed to Qui and hugged her.

  “Where’s Papa? Why isn’t he here?” Her tone clearly revealing her fear.

  “He’s with Dr. Benilo,” Maria Elena assured Qui.

  JZ’d joined the two asking, “Where exactly are they?”

  Carmela replied, “They’ve gone to Fidel, along with my husband.”

  “Pena’s with them too,” said Yuri, who’d come to investigate.

  “Pena?” asked Qui accepting a hug from him.

  Yuri filled them in on what they’d learned from Estaban Montoya’s nurse, along with the secret cache of papers found in Qui’s room.

  Confused and angry at this revelation, Qui demanded, “He used my rooms to hide illegal doings?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “When’re they meeting with Castro?” asked JZ.

  “Now…” Yuri checked his watch. “An hour, hour and ten.”

  “We’ve gotta get to Havana.” She snatched the underwater camera from her purse. “We have additional information. Proof in here!”

  “The car and driver already left,” JZ lamented.

  “I’ll drive,” replied Yuri. “I’ll get you there in time.”

  As they rushed for the parking lot, Qui warned JZ, “You’re in for another bumpy ride.”

  Piled into Yuri’s prized 1955 Jeep with an oversized motor and four-barrel carburetor, they raced for Havana. Qui shouted over the noise of wind and motor, “Damn! I’d wanted to develop the film and to talk to Papa and Benilo before going to Castro.”

  “If you want to help, it’s now or never,” replied Yuri. “Castro’s not feeling well; rumors again he could pass away.”

  “There’s always rumors,” JZ replied.

  “National pastime is betting on when and where,” shouted Qui. This made the men laugh. “Stop laughing and help me decide how to tell Fidel about Humberto Arias’s crimes and treason without sounding like a lunatic.”

  The Jeep continued at breakneck speed toward Havana while they wrestled with strategies. How best to approach Fidel with the truth? How best to ‘handle’ Fidel, when everyone knew there was no ‘handling’ Fidel.

  Castro’s presidential office

  Having granted Tomaso and Benilo an audience, and with them two PNR detectives-the well-known Jorge Pena and a younger detective named Latoya-Fidel smiled at his old compatriots. He’d kept tabs on these two ex revolutionaries, watching their careers unfold. Lately, Fidel had been hearing countless accusations and rumors directed at Benilo as being too old, too feeble, and too out of touch to continue on as Cuba’s premier Medical Examiner-the same arguments leveled daily at him, and for this reason Fidel did not believe a man’s age necessarily interfered with his ability to do his job.

  Fidel felt it good politics to grant an audience to veteran soldiers-particularly men who’d fought alongside him, loyal, disloyal, or indifferent. While both Aguilera and Benilo had done little to support his rule, neither had they become involved in any insidious plots against him. Besides, he held a soft spot for old Arturo and Tomaso. Still, he had kept them waiting an appropriate length of time.

  But, this story they told…an outlandish tale that linked the murder of three foreigners and two Cubans to the well-respected arts and antiques dealer, businessman Humberto Arias, another old compatriot. “This is too much to accept on such flimsy evidence. He’s never given me reason to question his loyalty before.”

  Benilo began, “Sir, Arias was never loyal to you-”

  Castro, irritated at the accusation, insisted, “Arias defected from Batista! Brought his troops to our side, in Santiago.”

  Tomaso countered, “However, he only did that when the tide of the revolution was shifting to your favor. And, that only after the hushed-up slaughter at El Cobre.”

  C
astro grew silent, eyes narrowed. “Ravages of war…things none of us had time to investigate. We were fighting for freedom, for our Cuba gentlemen.” He stood and strode to the window and stared out, hands crossed behind his back.

  Tomaso held up a hand to Benilo silencing him where they sat before he could say another word. Leaning in, he whispered, “Let him think it over.”

  Castro turned and announced, “This is not sufficient evidence to take action against this man.” He stared a hole through Pena demanding, “Do you have anything further to add…Colonel Pena?”

  “ Colonel Pena?” spluttered Latoya, his eyes wide, every word, every slight he’d ever perpetrated in Pena’s presence replaying in his mind.

  Benilo and Tomaso gaped at one another in silence, but knew enough to remain silent.

  Pena stood and said, “Presidente, it is entirely true-all that’s been said in this room is true. But, we have no hard proof yet, but when Detective Aguilera returns from Santiago, I’m sure what we have will be irrefutable.” After delivering these words, he relaxed but only slightly.

  “This is not the news I wanted to hear from you. Are you certain Colonel?”

  “There is no doubt.”

  “It will ruin the image of Cuba. The bastard.”

  “It’s treason against the state, Presidente.”

  Benilo chimed in. “That’s an understatement.”

  Tomaso added, “Crimes against foreigners. Crimes against Cubanos.”

  “Three bodies stolen from my care!”

  Latoya declared, “Secret Police corrupted. Murder and attempted murder of PNR officers.”

  “Worst of all,” said Tomaso, “more people are at risk until Arias is locked up.”

  “And his operation dissolved,” Pena added.

  Benilo picked it up here. “Imagine when the world community learns that Cuban insiders have been selling medical secrets to a Canadian pharmaceutical company. Secrets only the Minister of Health controls.”

  “Not to mention the cover-up that began with the disappearing Canadian woman and Americans,” added Tomaso.

  The more they said, the darker Castro’s features became. His face a pinched mask of anger, he looked ready to explode. He paced, his legs stiff, wooden, his mind sharp and cunning as always. Even after all these years, Tomaso and Benilo recognized the unmistakable body language; it meant someone must pay.