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.
29
Taking up most of the day, the search for an explosive had turned up nothing. Yet Adondo, like a tenacious rat terrier, continued rummaging in the bowels of the engine room. A room with spaces so small even a slight man had little room to maneuver.
The Sanabela raced with surprising speed over the dark glassy like surface of the Caribbean waters, her recently greased and pampered motor roaring. They had cruised southward, around and past the curved fat finger of Pinar del Rio. At their stern, Giraldo’s cousin, Domingo, stood with binoculars raised, having been ordered to sound an alarm if any vessels pursued them.
With day turning to twilight, Qui and JZ watched sunset and clouds conspire to paint the sky brilliant colors. In the west, a rainbow of intense colors that overhead began to thin and fade into the indigo horizon in the east, where sea and sky proved indistinguishable. Enraptured by Cuba’s beauty from this perspective and feeling enveloped within its arms, Qui leaned into JZ for warmth, comfort, and respite from what’d been a horrendous day. JZ reached around her waist and held her close, deeply inhaling her scent. For Qui, this felt right.
“Rough day at the office?” His rich resonant voice sounded as if it could reach all the way back to Havana.
Qui laughed and replied, “Right about that, JZ. But this freedom? It’s delightful.”
“Agreed.”
Feeling her slight shiver, he tightened his hold on her.
“We left in such a hurry, I left no word with my colonel.”
“Probably a good thing. Qui, he was furious you’d left Tino’s death scene. Besides, we don’t know to what extent he’s involved in all this, and even if he isn’t involved, he’d only complicate matters.”
“But nobody knows where we are or-”
“Or, where we’re going, I hope.”
“Perhaps Santiago will provide some answers.”
“A pilgrimage for clues,” he replied taking her hand and squeezing. “Stop worrying. We’re gonna be OK.”
“What about you? You could get into serious trouble over this.”