Cuba blue

37

Qui Aguilera and JZ pushed past the unlocked door to Alejandro’s room. They found him standing on the balcony overlooking Santiago bay. Without turning to face them, he said, “Have you two ever heard of the Lago de Sangre?”

JZ murmured his translation, “The Lake of Blood?”

Alejandro turned where he stood in the doorway, the wind lifting the curtains about him, creating a red cloak around him. “It’s where my father’s body lies,” came the admission. “Along with the other men who were murdered at El Cobre.”

“Where the lock guided us,” JZ said.

“Actually, I suspect, where Mr. Valdes guided us,” corrected Qui cocking her head to one side and quizzically studying him. “The unseen helping hand?”

“Very good, Lieutenant Detective.” Alejandro bowed slightly. “A belated welcome to my Santiago, Quiana Magdalena Aguilera, Mr. Julio Roberto Zayas.”

“Ahhh…Mr. Alejandro Carlos Pasqual y Valdes does his homework,” Qui fired back.

“Touche!”

“What is this about the Lake of Blood?” asked JZ.

“Are you referring to the lake below the chapel?” asked Qui. “Near the basilica?”

“Yes…that night many years ago, I saw lights in the distance, far from the fire. I was a child…not knowing then that I was watching my father’s burial on the heels of my mother’s murder.”

“And you never told Pasqual?” she asked.

“To what purpose? Besides, I didn’t learn the truth of it until recently myself-and this from a dying man who had no reason to lie.”

“This dying man?” asked Qui. “Was he one of the soldiers?”

“Yes, Arias’s second-in-command as he told me over drinks. Poor devil felt abandoned in his old age. Blamed the cancer on his guilty conscience…said it ate him up over the years.”

“The cancer or his conscience?” asked JZ, not expecting an answer.

“He said he’d once been a good man, an honorable fellow, but that was before he was sent here to Santiago under the command of a man whose own troops called him El Diablo.”

“Just following orders?” commented JZ. “The Nazi excuse for carnage.”

“History repeats itself, Mr. Zayas. Who better than an American knows this?”

“That old soldier, why should we believe you didn’t kill him?” asked Qui, skeptical.

“I heard you were direct, Lieutenant. Luis speaks highly of you.” The handsome Alejandro strode deeper into the room, lifted a glass from the table, then pulled a wine bottle from ice that’d melted the night before. He drained what was left of the Cabernet into his glass. Toasting the air, he replied, “How the man died? Unimportant really. Whether he died naturally or with a little help, he was close to dying anyway and in great pain.”

Qui felt the cold cunning of this man chill the room, despite the heat and humidity pouring in from the open balcony. The curtains continued to play in and out of the entryway, ghostly, red streamers reaching out to snatch at the living.

“No, Pasqual doesn’t know about our father,” continued Alejandro as Qui studied the features so like Pasqual’s. “No one does, not even Father Cevalos who thinks the rumors of Blood Lake are just that…rumors and superstitions.”

“Pasqual has no memory of his father, does he?” she asked.

“None but what I’ve told him. In many ways, Pasqual is innocent. As for my father, he was a lot like Pasqual. A kind man, deeply committed to his beliefs, or so say those few who remember him.”

“Perhaps you are not so different,” suggested Qui. “From where I stand, I’d say you’re just as committed to your beliefs.”

He ignored her implication, sipping at his Cabernet. “As I said, facts spilling from the lips in a deathbed confession. Better than words from the living, whispered in one of Cevalos’s confessionals, I think.”

“Qui,” began JZ, “we’ve found a much needed ally here, one who can drop the last pieces in place.”

“You think so, Mr. Zayas? Perhaps you’re more astute than we give you Americans credit for.” His dark eyes stared at JZ. “Then, again, perhaps you presume too much.”

“Is JZ right, Mr. Valdes?” she asked. “Can you answer our questions?”

“More than you may wish to know, but I have stipulations before I answer any question.”

“And your demands?”

“I require absolute anonymity and immunity, Lieutenant Detective,” he announced. “No one, here in Cuba,” he paused to look at JZ, “or in your respective institutions in America, are to know I have talked to you about these matters. No one.”

“I can grant you both so far as the American Interest Section is concerned, and I’m certain there’ll be no problems with the other ‘institutions’ as you put it. I have full authority to get answers, and I can assure you, if you help us, we’ll help you.”

“I want it in writing,” countered Alejandro, “with your signature affixed, Mr. Zayas.”

“Done,” JZ said firmly. “Do you have pen and paper?”

“On the desk.”

“Not so fast,” said Qui as JZ sat at the desk and began scribbling. “I don’t have such authority; I’m only a PNR detective, and I don’t trust my colonel as far as I can throw him. In fact, I don’t know who I can trust.”

“You can trust Colonel Emanuel Cordova of the Santiago PNR. He’s a rare man, incorruptible.”

“And the SP?” Qui asked.

“Leave the SP to eat itself alive within the next day, maybe two.”

“You know something we don’t know?”

Alejandro looked at her, nodded, and smiled, “I have many secrets. Not all of them can be shared.” He tipped his wine glass at her, “Your father is right to call you ‘little bird,’ Lieutenant Detective. It suits.” Downing the last of the wine, he continued, "Do you know the American bird, the Peregrine?”

“No. And what has it to do with this case?”

“The Peregrine falcon, although small, is quite ferocious. At hunt, it can dive at extreme speeds, 200 miles per hour, headfirst, catching its prey completely unaware.”

JZ, signed paper in hand, smiled at the apt comparison. “So if Qui is the falcon, who is the prey?”

“Our little bird is not sure she can trust me yet, Mr. Zayas. She thinks I want her tethered, that I feed her morsels and not the whole kill. So we will not trade facts at this time.”

Qui glared at the man and repeated, “I do not have authority to make such an offer of silence, of anonymity to you. There is no one I can get such assurances from.”

“No one to trust, you mean. Then, you must make such assurances to me personally, Lieutenant Detective. You are an honorable woman.”

“You know nothing of me. You and I are strangers.”

“But I do know enough about you, Ms. Aguilera, to trust your word.”

“The SP has a file on me? Is that what you’re saying?” Qui retorted, tired of the man’s insolence.

“ I have a file on you, as I do on Sergio Latoya, on your father, even on Dr. Arturo Benilo. My private files.” He looked at JZ and continued, “and yes, one on you too, Mr. Zayas. Interesting history you have.”

Qui felt a cold dread seep from her gut through her veins. “Are you threatening me…us, Mr. Valdes?”

Alejandro turned to JZ and smiled. “You like this one? Her feathers ruffle easily.”

JZ replied somewhat testily, “Like the lieutenant, I’m not one for cat and mouse games, Mr. Valdes.” He held out the signed note. “Do we have a deal?”

With a sudden turn of mood, Alejandro accepted the paper. “Of course, you’re right. No time for games, we must be about our business. This affair at the Forteleza is dangerous, and I might already be caught in a spider’s web.” Scanning the paper, he occasionally nodded. He then wrapped the note with his knuckles, saying, “Thank you Mr. Zayas.”

Qui asked “What sort of danger?”

“Without your written assurance,” he said, talking her arm and walking her to the door, “that’s not something I will discuss with you.” He opened the door and urged her out.

When Qui objected, JZ said, “Let me handle this, Quiana. Like I said, I have authority to seal this bargain, and as you’ve admitted, you don’t.”

Pushing her across the threshold, Alejandro added, “Here’s a parting gift for you, Lieutenant. Your boss bas been under scrutiny for time, and I predict that you won’t have to suffer him much longer.”

A reluctant, frustrated, and now puzzled Qui glared at both men as the door closed in her face.

Moments later, Alejandro closed the balcony doors and turned the bedside radio on. “Casa Grande has had the most extensive renovation…if you count the electronics.”

“So the walls have ears.”

“Our mutual circumstances dictate caution.” Alejandro waved in salutation to indicate the coffee setup on the nearby table.

Helping himself to slices of fresh fruit, JZ settled in at the table.

“Mr. Zayas, you must tell me how you managed to get Cavuto to blow the wrong boat. He spoke of a spectacular explosion. Even laughed about it in private last night.”

“Ruiz blew a rowboat which we set adrift with the bomb and Luis’s Christmas tree lights,” explained JZ, finding that he liked this man, despite all the shades of gray about him.

Chuckling, Alejandro joined JZ at the table. “So Cavuto made yet another mistake…a rowboat, he blew up a fucking rowboat!”

Once the laughter faded, Alejandro said, “Now, I will tell you this, the man at the center of these murderers is Humberto Arias as I’m sure Father Cevalos or Pasqual has already told you.” Alejandro paused, his face now tight with anger. “Arias is the lowest form of life…scum.”

JZ felt the depth of hatred for Arias that this man had carried all his life; it radiated outwards in palpable waves. “Yes, so we’ve been told. And I know how deadly this game is. You’re in danger too I assume.”

“It’s an unstable playing field to say the least. Changes with the vagaries of Arias’s mood swings. And a warning, Zayas. Cavuto Ruiz is also here in Santiago.”

“Ruiz? Does he know we’re alive and in Santiago?”

“I don’t think so, but he has spies everywhere, and he’s here with Colonel Gutierrez-my soon to be brother-in-law. Should those two jackals learn you’re still breathing…you’ll both be hounded to an early grave.”

“So is it Ruiz or the colonel we have to worry about?”

“Both are Arias’s attack dogs carrying out orders neither really understands.”

“I’ve had some dealings with Gutierrez. Seemed a useless bureaucrat.”

“The man’s a poison toad who just looks harmless, but it’s Ruiz who’s as deadly as he looks. Still, the real monster here is Arias.”

“Tell me how it all fits together.”

Alejandro began to muse aloud, pacing as he said, “As a boy, standing on that cliff…seeing the flames consume my mother…I couldn’t watch. I turned away and saw lights down at the lake. Like toy soldiers, men marched along the lake, their arms loaded, tossing whatever it was onto a boat. God meant that I see it and remember it. I was being shown the two events were connected, and I’ve never forgotten.”

“Connected how?”

“The village and church killings were not political as claimed at the time. Mass murder was a cover up for a common thief at work.”

“So the boat was loaded with valuables?”

“Safe to assume, they were never found back then. But I’ve seen items-”

“Like the lock.”

“-in Arias’s Havana warehouses, along with knockoffs he’s been manufacturing using Chinese artisans.”

“Ahh…recent relics from some faraway ruin, eh?”

“The bastard's grown fat and rich over the years.”

“Over the screams of the dead.”

“By the way, My Zayas, you were mistaken for Sergio Latoya, who was marked for death. When Arias learned that you and not Latoya were aboard he was quite upset.”

“Upset? Really?”

“Arias didn’t want another American death on his hands. The irony is…at this point, Cavuto is looking at the dungeon and not me-but only so long as you remain alive, and I can prove it.”

“But the Sanabela’s been in dock here for several days now,” said JZ reaching for another cup of coffee.

“Exactly…they’ll know the truth soon.”

“If not already.”

“I find myself in a quandary. If I fail to inform Arias of your still being among the living before Cavuto has that opportunity, things could go badly for me, and if I inform him, it could go badly for you.”

JZ put his empty cup down with a loud report. “So, it appears all of us are still in peril, until we get to the bottom of things.”

“Right. The bottom of the lake.”

“Where the evidence lies.”

“Exactly.”

“Without evidence, Arias could never be toppled.”

“Are you sure the evidence is there?”

“I know that Arias often vacations on the lake and curiously only fishes in one spot.” Alejandro shook his head before continuing, “Look, do I have to spell it out for you? Arias keeps a pleasure craft out there. I’ve been on it; it’s outfitted with sonar, nets, cages, diving equipment.”

“He’s interested in more than sightseeing?”

“Flora and fauna have never been high on his list of interests,” replied Valdes. “Most certainly you and Lieutenant Aguilera will find all you need to convict that snake bastard on multiple murders.”

“But how does a fifty-year-old of cache of relics indict him for the murders of my two doctors?”

“Nothing in the lake solves that crime. But you will have the guilty man, I assure you.” He paused to light a cigarillo. “And, at that time, they’ll fall like dominos. Then, the men who should’ve been in power will take their rightful places.”

Just then, Quiana burst into the room, “Enough! I’m done with this pacing. This is my case, and I demand to know what’s going on? What’s to keep me from arresting you right this moment, for…for whatever!”

Alejandro burst into laughter, saying, “The Falcon thinks she can dig her talons into me!”

“Slow down, Qui,” JZ took her arm and headed for the still quivering door she’d charged through. “Mr. Valdes has been quite cooperative. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“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.