After an hour of frustration and having to stop to change tanks, Qui realized the detector had finally picked up something substantial. It appeared they hovered over a wide debris field. She pulled on JZ’s arm to alert him.
Switching to hand axes, the two of them began digging out whatever lay below the stone strewn surface below. Qui’s ax slammed into something that did not give way, but splintered, waterlogged wood spiked up locking her ax in place. It took all JZ’s strength to free it. As he did so, large wooden shards floated up and off like so many animated pickup sticks. It took a great deal of time and both divers to excavate around the edges of what appeared to be a strange old door, a portal but a portal to where? JZ reached out and pulled the door open, only to be greeted with carved stone steps, a few curious fish, and a human skull with what appeared a bullet hole behind the ear…executed.
39
The stone steps descended away from the main shaft of the mine into a large open area, left abandoned when the copper vein played out. The cathedral room became a refuge for runaway French slaves escaped from Haiti. When it was safe for them to begin new lives in Cuba, they left behind small, carved stone figures, like offerings.
These small tokens caught Qui’s attention as she climbed the stairs carrying her fins. Emerging from the water-blanketed stairs and into the mineshaft, Qui removed her respirator to test the air. It proved damp and earthy but breathable. She struggled out of her harness, dropping her tanks.
Seeing this, JZ gratefully removed his respirator. “Musty beats canned any day,” he said removing his gear.
“Yeah and speech beats chalk!” Then she added, “Whataya make of the skull?”
“Creepy.”
“Think there’re more?”
“Could be if Valdes is right.”
“Let’s light this place up.”
JZ joined her in activating and tossing six-inch Cyalume lightsticks as far as possible when suddenly, Qui gasped and froze, once again seeing the vision given her by the Madonna. With a start, she realized it was an undamaged mirror across the room, which reflected her image alongside JZ’s.
“What is it Qui?”
Qui lifted a shaking finger at their mirrored images. She whispered, “My vision.”
“It would seem so. Strange place for Alice’s looking glass.” JZ understood her reaction. Reflected in the mirror: their two pale-as-death faces floating in the semi-darkness. He squeezed her shoulders saying, “It’s OK Qui, we’re very much alive.”
“Check my pulse, just to make sure.”
JZ laughed and did so. “Your heart’s beating like a race horse. Take a deep breath…and calm down.”
“Easy for you to say. I won’t feel safe until we’re back topside.”
“Then let’s finish what we’ve started here. Whataya make of these little statues?”
“I haven’t the slightest, except maybe…”
“Maybe what? Ocho figures maybe?”
“Older…more African I think. Maybe this area was used to hide Haitian slaves.”
As JZ’s fingers traced the smooth curves of one figurine, his dark eyes glanced about the edges of the room. “You don’t say.”
“Cuban history books speak of this. Santiago was the original melting pot in the Americas.”
Turning his attention back to Qui, he said, “Thanks, professor. Take a look around. What is this stuff?”
Qui glanced about the room filled with an array of misplaced items out-of-time and out-of-place; things more suited to an attic than an underwater mine shaft. Curios, jewelry, furnishings, tableware, silver goods, even gold filigree framed paintings.
“No slave I’ve read of had items like this.” JZ’s voice was swallowed by the limestone.
“An odd assortment,” murmured Qui, examining the contents of a large chest. “A trousseau, unless I miss my guess. Really old too.”
“How’d it get here?”
“Same way the rest of this stuff got here, I imagine. On the backs of the men Alejandro saw that night.”
“No doubt.”
After snapping off a dozen shots, Qui called out to JZ, “Come over here and help me with this.”
“I’m having too much fun over here.”
Qui looked in his direction and saw a big man with a mall boy’s enthusiasm, sitting on the cave floor happily engaged in sorting through a stash of old weapons. “What are you doing? Playing with guns and knives?”
“Hey, somebody’s gotta sort ’em out!”
She watched for a few moments as he brandished a long, thin, curved blade. He obviously appreciated the workmanship invested these weapons, fancy filigree on the stocks, as she walked toward him taking a few photos.
“Man, imagine what these would bring on the open market?”
“Are you a collector?
“These beauties are way outta my reach.”
“They don’t look out of your reach from what I see!”
“And now you’re got photographic evidence of that.”
“I really need your help over here. I’ve stumbled onto something unusual.”
“Unusual? What’s not unusual here?”
“Hurry, JZ.”
“OK. What’ve you got?” He followed her to a curious, large, coffin-like box unlike anything they’d seen so far.
“’Spose there’s a body inside?”
“Dunno…gotta open it up to find out.”
“Could be the rest of that poor devil with the bullet through his head.”
“It won’t open.” JZ tried lifting the lid but it was nailed stuff. “You sure there’s not a body in here?”
“You smell anything?”
“After fifty years?”
“Oh…right.”
“This could take some time.” JZ commented as he tried to pry open the lid using his pick under the lid. “See if you find a file-something to wedge it up, anything.”
“What? A doorstop? A screwdriver?” Qui looked around. “Oh dear and I forgot my nail file.”
JZ laughed. “Anything for leverage.”
“Oh, how ‘bout this?” Qui picked up her own discarded pick and handed it to him.
“Perfect.”
Using one pick against the other to loosen the lid, with one final muscle-straining push-accompanied by a prolonged eerie screeching, JZ tore the lid free. Fatigued, he fell heavily against the toppled lid. Looking up at Qui for a bit of sympathy, he instead found her frozen, her features like those of a mannequin. Now what? “Qui?” He leapt to his feet and looked into the open container and was likewise struck dumb.
The pair stared into the eyes of the Black Madonna.
Finding themselves once again staring into the eyes of the Black Madonna, She appeared as real as her sisters in the basilica.
“This is what the Madonna was saying to me. Not that we would end in a watery grave, but that She, the Madonna herself has been trapped here all these years, surrounded by stolen treasures.”
“Herself a stolen treasure,” added JZ.
“But why? Anyone would know who She was.”
“No, no one except the priests and a few trusted church workers would know. The Black Madonna is the bejeweled one in the basilica. On the black market, religious icons bring a fortune-even fakes.”
“My God, I wonder which one the Pope blessed at the basilica,” Qui wondered aloud.
“And neither of them the real one.”
“Arias’s greatest secret.”
“The reason he killed the villagers.”
Not even the seemingly all-knowing Alejandro Valdes could have predicted this-that the Madonna would be waiting here so far below the surface for them to discover.
“Expatriated, so to speak,” muttered JZ, still in shock.
“Now it all comes clear. Arias, seeing the fall of Batista’s Cuba, had concocted a plan to plunder the basilica and steal the Madonna. But to accomplish it, he’d had to empty the village.”
JZ nodded. “No witnesses to his ma
ster plan.”
“Herded them into the church and torched it.”
“Look into that alcove, Qui.” JZ pointed behind her. “Looks like we had some permanent residents here.”
Turning she gasped at the bones of the dead positioned as if huddled together. Turning back to JZ, she added, “Arias must have started the first rumors and superstitions surrounding the lake.”
“Kept everyone at bay. The few lieutenants he may’ve trusted were likely paid off or promised positions in future schemes.”
“Little doubt.”
“Like the one Valdes sweated information from.”
“And probably killed.” She grimaced. “Well, now I’ve got photos of everything,” she said, snapping off a final shot of the human remains.
“Nothing more we can do here,” JZ agreed with a final lingering gaze at the pistols and knives.
“Mask up. We’re outta here.”
The divers made their way back down the stone steps, JZ ahead of Qui, who stopped to salvage the strange, single skull with the bullet hole. Seeing her shudder, JZ took charge of the skull, dropping it in his net.
Leaving the Madonna in the blackness below, along with the horde of her early offerings stolen so long ago, they followed their guide rope back to the anchor line. JZ unhooked the clip attached to the cage that had brought the gear and re-attached it to Qui’s waist belt, then signaled they should start. Struggled upwards through the chaotic riptide-like currents, they held onto each other to ensure they weren’t separated in the claustrophobia-inducing blackness of the water. The pool of light surrounding the boat was a welcome sight.
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!”
40
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 hospit
al.”
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.”
“You don’t suspect Alejandro?” asked JZ.
“No…it wouldn’t serve his ends.”
“People talk,” muttered Cordova. “Secrets are impossible to keep for long in this place.”
“Worse than in Havana?” Qui asked. “Colonel Cordova, I assume you be in charge of Gutierrez.”
“Yes.”
“Then see to it that he has round the clock guards placed on him.”
“In his condition, he’s not going anywhere.”
“He may not be a flight risk, but he is at high risk of being assassinated…and he may consider suicide.”
“Yeah, and some people don’t need to know he survived the explosion,” added JZ.
Cuba blue Page 27
