Cuba blue

28

Somewhere along the leeward coast of Cuba, aboard the Sanabela

Still standing beside Estrada, Qui quietly asked, “Other than the lock, did you find anything else this morning? Anything unusual, out of place?”

When Estrada failed to answer, appearing lost in thought, some drama playing out in his head, Qui immediately knew there was more he hadn’t told them. “You know every inch of this trawler, every nook, every cranny.” She tore her eyes from Estrada and exchanged a knowing look with JZ, who’d joined them on the deck.

“This might best be discussed in private,” JZ suggested. The three returned to the pilothouse. Inside, out of the wind, JZ continued. “Luis, maybe it’s a good idea for us to search your vessel for anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” he asked.

“We don’t want the Sanabela going up in flames like my rented classic, do we?”

“A bomb? On board my boat? But it was in PNR impound the entire time. No one allowed on or off without proper-“

“Tino got aboard with proper authority to do an improper thing,” Qui corrected him. “He mayn’t’ve been the only one to come aboard.”

“But why rig my boat for destruction?” Estrada remained doubtful.

“They drove us onto your boat with their gunfire, Uncle. They wanted us here. Either an incendiary device or they plan to attack us at sea.”

“In that case, we should search the boat.” Estrada stroked his beard thoughtfully, “But we do not tell the crew, I think.”

“Understood,” replied Qui.

“The five of us-Giraldo, Adondo, you, Qui, myself-must do the search without attracting attention.”

“No easy task on a small boat,” commented Qui.

“Not so small, Qui. She’s seventy-two feet long with an eighteen and a half foot beam.” Luis went to his charts and pulled out the ship’s plans. As he spread the yellowing blue-pencil sheets across the chart table, he said, “In case you need to know, I keep these handy. Every corner of my boat at a glance.” The Sanabela was a typical wooden trawler, her hull planking, partitions, and pilothouse made of cypress, her bow stem and ribs of white oak. Some 27,000 board feet of timber went into her construction. Carrying 8,000 gallons of fuel and 900 gallons of fresh water, her 220 horsepower diesel engine enabled cruising at twelve knots and trawling at three. Typically, trawlers were iceboats carrying nearly a ton of ice for each day of cruise, which could last up to fifty days. Built to last some thirteen years, Estrada and his men had stretched out her diesel soul to more than 40 years. A good operator could pay for his boat in a free country in four to five years of hard work. But this was Cuba. While Estrada considered the Sanabela his, the hard truth of the matter was that it would always belong to the government.

JZ said, “We must search from bow to stern, top to bottom. These plans will help.”

Qui added, “We’ve gotta find it- if it exists — before it detonates.”

Estrada called to Giraldo and Adondo, informing them of the circumstances. The two crewmen remained stoic, calm trying to outdo calm.

“Giraldo, take the wheel. Adondo join us at the chart table. Less experienced in piloting, Adondo, being smaller and more agile, was the obvious choice to ferret around in the hull.

Going about the trawler now, the four splitting into pairs, they began to surreptitiously canvass the Sanabela, knowing at any moment a bomb might go off.

Alejandro felt the tension in his shoulders and his neck from a pounding headache. It’d been a bitch from the beginning. First the excitement on the marina, overhearing Cavuto and Humberto’s conversation, then learning Cavuto had made a fatal error in, one that could cause Humberto’s world to collapse, the whole empire-from the antiques to the underworld hotel casino to their dabbling in medical espionage and their interference in the workings of the SP.

If he couldn’t find Cavuto and keep him from blowing up the Sanabela, the American official would die. The ripple effect from this could tumble Humberto but also anyone associated with him-including Alejandro himself. Not to mention what repercussions might come out of Washington and threaten his beloved Cuba. They could not afford to have yet another American turn up dead in Cuban waters. As it was, no one readily believed the story the SP had put out about the dead doctors’s involvement with the Cuban underworld in drug trafficking. A prestigious Canadian researcher and two squeaky-clean, respected directors of an HIV-AIDS treatment clinic would scarcely sacrifice their careers to become drug traffickers.

After leaving the debacle at the marina where it was a miracle that no innocents were killed, Alejandro had gone back to Humberto. There he laid out his case before the older man, and Humberto finally realized the danger that Cavuto posed. Another American death due to Cavuto’s overconfidence spelled disaster.

Unable to reach Cavuto by phone because he was well out of cell phone range, Humberto now fumed when Ruiz did not answer his marine radio. Unknown to either man, the radio antenna had been broken sometime earlier by vandals, in such a way that it could not be detected until put in use. Humberto immediately ordered Alejandro to stop Cavuto; it was then that Alejandro’s headache had first begun.

Humberto insisted, “Take the helicopter and put a stop to it. Whatever it takes.”

Alejandro knew he had checkmated Cavuto, but only if he could catch him in time. However, Alejandro had made his own error in judgment, in telling the pilot to turn northeast. The Sanabela with Cavuto following were hours away in the other direction. Things only worsened when the pilot indicated the chopper needed refueling. More precious time lost.

Following the repeated broadcast of the news indicting the foreign doctors as having brought on their own deaths, thanks to their chosen lifestyle, Tomaso became increasingly agitated and fearful for his daughter’s safety. He called Arturo Benilo to set up a meeting, feeling he must do something.

A few hours later, they strolled the pathways within the confines of the Necropolis Colon-one of Havana’s oldest cemeteries with over two million inhabitants, famed for its funerary and statuary art. Here among the dead, Tomaso confronted Benilo, wanting to know why he had informed the public that the doctors were dealing in drugs.

“I had nothing to do with these lies!”

“I know what I heard.”

“When did you start trusting what you hear on a government-run radio station? Especially when the SP is involved?”

“Hmmm…I should’ve guessed. OK, accept my apologies. But when I heard this news, I worried for Quiana.”

“She’s strong and smart, and so’s JZ. She’ll be all right.”

“I hope you’re right, but still, I worry. Look here, what’ve your tests told you? Have you any answers?”

“They died brutally. Tortured, then overdosed. We’re dealing with ruthless people. People who’ve turned to killing our own citizens, Montoya and now Hilito. Who’s next?”

“Who do suspect is behind it?”

“The man who owned the lock-that antique.”

“Yes, the one that haunts our nights.”

“We had nothing to do with that atrocity.”

“It all goes back to Santiago, and that is where my girl is going.”

“She is a detective now, my friend. It’s her job.”

“But there must be something we can do. I am at the point of picking up a gun myself.”

“Before you do that, perhaps we should have a talk with our oldest friend. He is, after all, a man of some influence.”

“Perhaps. But it must be immediately.”

“Let’s go to him together.”

“Look.” Tomaso pointed at the black marble tomb with its beautiful white pieta before them.

Benilo said, “The Aguilera family tomb.”

“Arturo, they would never forgive me if anything happened to her.”

“All the more reason for us to present the facts, my friend. What has been done is anti-Cuban.”

At a back table in the Excalibre’s darkened casino bar

“We couldn’t locate them, the boat or Cavuto. It’s like they disappeared.”

The helicopter pilot said, “Lotta ocean out there.”

Humberto Arias dismissed the pilot, “Leave us.”

The man visibly wilted, his eyes downcast as he walked away.

Humberto stared at Alejandro, his unblinking eyes cold and hard, waiting until he no longer heard the sound of the pilot’s footsteps.

It was a look Alejandro had seen before-a lizard’s obsessive gaze before pouncing on its prey. Staring back, he kept his face expressionless as if holding the winning hand in a high-stakes poker game.

“I send you to stop Ruiz, and you fail me Alejandro.” Humberto’s fingers drummed slowly against the glossy hardwood tabletop. “You’re beginning to remind me of how Cavuto compromised my operation in the first place.”

Recognizing Humberto’s body language as threatening, Alejandro swallowed, wishing he had a drink. “Perhaps this time, he’ll screw up in your favor.”

Humberto suddenly laughed, the sound loud and raucous, “I respect you Alejandro. Even under the gun, you keep your wits.” While the words seemed friendly, his tone remained glacial.

Reading the changes in Humberto-subtle softening of features, the drumming fingers stilled-Alejandro relaxed a bit.

“But, this time, you best pray Cavuto fails. If he blows the Sanabela, the SP’s story will not cover us.”

“Agreed. No one will believe the coincidence.”

“Exactly. An American cop killed aboard the boat where the three doctors were found?” He shook his head. “No one’s that stupid.”

Alejandro snickered. “However, it would prove the boat’s reputation is well founded.”

Again Humberto laughed. “You always make me smile Alejandro, even at the worst times.” He motioned the bartender to bring them drinks. “Listen, my boy, I want you to join me in Santiago next week at the mountain Forteleza.”

“La Montana Forteleza?” Never previously invited, Alejandro felt suspicion at being asked to the storied, whispered about conclave of the rich and powerful. An invitation could go either way-a beneficent reward or a quick and quiet ‘exit.’ Some likened it to a playground for heroes, a Mount Olympus in the mountains outside Santiago. Alejandro sipped his drink. His pounding headache and little food all day combined to make him feel woozy.

Arias conspiratorially said, “Say nothing of this to Cavuto. I do not wish him to know about the American having boarded the boat. Let him continue with his foolish assumptions. Understood?”

Alejandro nodded knowing Arias plotted someone’s downfall. He felt confident this meant Cavuto’s end and not his own. Yes, Ruiz’s future was as dark as a Havana night.