Robert Walker - Cuba blue

“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.

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 the 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.