Castro's Daughter

EPILOGUE

It was five of a bright, sunny afternoon in Havana, when María, dressed in starched and crisply pressed olive drab fatigues and bloused highly polished boots, entered Raúl Castro’s office. She marched across the room, came to attention in front of his desk, and saluted.

“Señor Presidente, Colonel León reporting as ordered, sir.”

Castro returned her salute, then picked up the telephone to his secretary. “I am not to be disturbed for the next hour.”

Exciting new things were happening in Cuba because of her uncle. Private businesses were beginning to thrive, the formerly government-controlled private property market had been newly opened — apartments and houses could be legally bought and sold, which meant a lot of money was starting to flow into the country and the strict restriction on tourism from the States that had been in place for fifty years was finally beginning to relax with the promise of even more foreign capital.

But in María’s estimation, it was not nearly enough. They — the island — needed much more.

Castro motioned for her to have a seat. “Your mission was not a success,” he said, but his tone was not harsh.

“But not a failure, either,” María said.

“Tell me.”

“I spoke with my friend in Seville, Dr. Adriana Vergílio, who has come up with fresh evidence. Something new. On the second Spanish expedition to New Mexico, one of the enlisted men who survived was actually a spy for the Vatican. His name was Jacob Parella, and he kept a diary.”

“Your friend has this diary?”

“No, but she thinks she knows where it might be found. Parella made it back to Rome, but he never reached safety in the Vatican. Instead he was murdered and robbed, supposedly by a street gang. But Dr. Vergílio thinks it was the Voltaire Society.”

“What’s next?”Castro asked.

“I’m going to find it, of course,” María said. “Jacob’s diary is the key to the treasure.”

“You’ll need help.”

“Yes. Kirk McGarvey.”