Robert Walker - Cuba blue

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.

Luis shouted back, “Two. Only one is shooting! Help me with the gun.”

Crawling JZ and Qui joined Luis at the rocket propelled grenade launcher. Anticipating problems, Luis had earlier prepared the RPG for firing.

“Stop shooting!” rang out across the water, but chaos ruled as the second bullhorn drowned out the first with orders of their own. Searchlights coming from two directions wildly gyrated in rapid succession.

JZ loaded the grenade launched and slapped Luis on the shoulder. “Ready! Fire!”

“Aiii!” shouted Luis hit in the left side. Fighting the searing pain, he raised the weapon and fired.

JZ grabbed the RPG as Qui grabbed Luis, cradling him, pressing a dive towel against his wound. Towel and hands awash in his blood.

Peering over the edge of the boat, Pasqual watched as the approaching boat exploded in flames. “Direct hit!” he shouted in relief as the gunfire ended.

“God, I only hope the boat you blew was not official,” added JZ, “but I’m sick of being used as target practice. A single bullet penetrating a dive tank, and it’d’ve been us gone up in smoke.”

“For God’s sake, don’t shoot me! It’s Cordova!”

By dawn’s first light, they could see the damage done, the bodies and debris washing ashore. Burned and moaning men lay in one area while bodies lay in another.

Among the dead, rested Cavuto Ruiz, features and body red and black from the gasoline explosion, his once pristine suit rainbowed with the colors of blood and death.

Qui found Alfonso Gutierrez among the living. Flash blinded, handsome face blistered, Gutierrez surely thought himself dieing as made his confession to Father Pasqual. Unannounced, she stood silently behind them, listening to his “small part” in the chain of corruption and deceit that had resulted in the murders in Havana. Alejandro had not exaggerated Alfonso’s part in the intrigue; the man took his orders from Ruiz in a conspiracy to cover up evidence of connections to the Cuban underworld. In doing so, Gutierrez had placed his own detectives at risk-one of the three marked for murder now dead.

JZ joined her. “See those binoculars handing around your colonel’s neck? He must’ve seen Luis’s weapon and leapt overboard moments before the grenade hit.”

Hissed through clenched teeth, “Bastard should’ve died; like a rat, though, he survives the sinking ship.”

She then leaned over Gutierrez and demanded, “Who was Ruiz taking his orders from?”

“This man needs treatment, an IV, transport. Not questions,” complained the medic on the other side of Father Pasqual. “Tell her Father!”

Now standing, Father Pasqual reluctantly agreed, pulling at Qui to come away. “Show some patience. Interrogation can wait.”

“You mean he’s not gonna die on us?” asked JZ.

“Not right now. But we need to move him.”

“No, he gets no medical attention. Do you hear that, Alfonso? Nothing!” she ended.

JZ put a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Easy Qui. You don’t want to be like Alejandro.”

Anger still rising, radiating in waves around her, she shook off JZ’s warning. “Alfonso, you die here, now, unless you tell me what I want to know!”

Pasqual exchanged a concerned look with JZ, and calmly said to Qui, “Maybe it would be best to question him later at the hospital.”

Ignoring Pasqual, she leaned into her boss’s face. “Why was Montoya killed?”

“No idea,” Alfonso groaned.

“Why were the three doctors killed?”

“Dunno ohhh, please…”

“Why was Tino killed?”

Alfonso grimaced in pain from his injuries. “I don’t know!”

“Just a poor lackey, heh? Then who does know?” she insisted. “Who is behind the killings?”

“Stop! I insist,” shouted the medic, nose to nose with Qui over the injured man.

“Best guess, Colonel!” she shouted. “Now!”

“Arias…Humberto Arias.”

“You’re going to say so in a court of law, Colonel. You can’t see them but there are three witnesses who’ve heard what you said, and there’re not all priests.”

Alerted by the shouting, Cordova joined them and placed a hand on Qui’s arm. “You have your confession and your witnesses to it, Lieutenant Aguilera. Now, back off and let us take care of him.”

“OK. Get him outta my sight, but you tell the doctors he’s an important witness. Make sure this weasel gets the best care the Cuban government can provide.”

She finally stepped away allowing the medics to transport Gutierrez. Shortly JZ and Cordova joined her where she stood staring out over the shimmering lake that disappeared around a bend.

“Arias somehow got wind of your interest in the lake,” said Cordova. “Obviously sent Ruiz after you.”