33
Miramar, the Aguilera Bed and Breakfast
Over a late lunch, Tomaso, Yuri, and Sergio were joined by Benilo to share what details each had learned.
Yuri calmly announced to those at the table, “I took the liberty of inviting Detective Pena to join us. I sense time is running out, and there’s no room for error. We need answers.”
Tomaso and Benilo looked at Yuri as if he’d lost his mind.
Defending Yuri, Sergio said. “This is a good decision. Pena is in a position to help us, and we can trust him as long as Gutierrez is kept out of it.”
Carrying a fresh pot of steaming coffee and flan, Maria Elena approached, followed by Pena who’d just arrived.
Pena called out, “I heard that. Not to worry.” He paused, awaiting Maria Elena’s departure. “Alfonso’s left Havana. Ordered to the Forteleza with his buddy, Cavuto.” Pena sat at the table and helped himself to the food he’d so often mocked Qui about. “The old fool still confides in me.”
“When the time comes, Jorge,” began Benilo. “You’ll make a great witness at his trial.”
“What makes you think he’ll get a trial?” Tomaso asked. “More likely he’ll simply disappear.”
Sergio shook his head, “We can’t let that happen. We need Gutierrez to rat out the others.”
Yuri frowned, “Exactly why we must pool our resources and work together.”
“In a perfect world, maybe…” Benilo piped in, “but, in Cuba, without Fidel on our side, we become the disappeareds.”
Tomaso cleared his throat and said, “Benilo and I have already made a grave decision to take the entire jigsaw puzzle to Fidel, so you men can stand back… That way you needn’t draw the attention of the SP or Fidel.”
Sergio immediately shouted, “No! I’m already in this to my neck. My family’s been threatened same as yours, Mr. Aguilera. And Tino killed. And now Pena tells me that they think they’ve killed me! Gutierrez told him so.”
Pena added, “The Sanabela was reportedly blown up, sir, but we’ve found no indication of an oil slick or remnants of a vessel that size.”
Tomaso announced, “I have it on good authority that Qui and the others are very much alive.”
Benilo added, “They arrived safely in Santiago and are now posing as tourists at Carnival just as they planned.”
“A priest there, an old friend, made the call,” finished Tomaso.
Unable to contain his joy at this news, Sergio shouted, “I knew she’d make it!” He turned to Yuri and pummeled the big Russian’s shoulder.
Yuri smiled in response, “All the more reason for us to stand united before Fidel against the SP.”
Pena, looking pensive, muttered, “Hmmm, Qui, Luis Estrada, that damned American, Cavuto Ruiz, Alfonso, and whoever sent them there… All in Santiago at once. Can’t be good. Something’s up. Time to chat with Colonel Emanuel Cordova.”
“You know someone there you trust?” asked Benilo.
“Cordova’s a good man, an honest man, hard to find these days. Besides, he owes me favors.” Pena smiled one of his rare smiles, and raising his fork, he vigorously nodded at Tomaso, saying, “Damn, the food’s as good as Qui claimed.”
Basilica del Cobre, same time
“What message did the Madonna give you?” asked JZ.
“A vision…two Madonnas…a watery grave, someplace dark and cold.”
“Whose grave?” Father Cevalos asked.
“I’m not sure… But it left me with a cold feeling.”
“A warning?” asked Pasqual.
“Yeah, maybe, something like that.”
“Perhaps symbolic?”
“Maybe that too.”
Cevalos added, “This is not the first time our Lady has inspired a vision.” Rubbing his hands briskly for warmth, he wrapped them around Qui’s hands and gently smiled at her, his eyes telegraphing that they’d shared something special. “The Lady has blessed us with something unique, Detective, something that cannot be ignored.” Turning to Gabriel, he added, “I think the truth is in order. What do you think?”
“I believe these two can be trusted.” Pasqual’s tone conveyed his conviction.
Hearing these words, Father Cevalos turned and beckoned them to follow him. Using another key, he unlocked a door which protested their intrusion by refusing to open. Silently, JZ lent his strength to the effort. They climbed another set of steps emerging into a dusty, spider web strewn, obviously unfrequented corridor that led to small padlocked door.
“The unadorned Virgin,” Qui said clearly. The others stared at her.
Cevalos opened the door, turned, and said, “She indeed speaks to you.”
Solemnly they entered the small room, barely able to squeeze around the pedestal holding a locked box. Removing this final lock, Cevalos lifted the top revealing a carved wooden statue of a black woman holding a child. They lay on a velvet bed the color of the blue Santiago bay.
Looking through tearful eyes, Qui’s whisper filled the room. “The watery grave I saw…the real Madonna.”
The two priests nodded.
Quietly JZ said, “Too valuable for Her own good. From a security standpoint, this makes sense.”
“She works her miracles in mysterious ways,” said Father Cevalos. “I’ve seen it many, many times.”
Again they followed the tall priest through labyrinthine passageways. Stopping at the kitchen long enough to order sandwiches for everyone, Cevalos led them to the rectory where he brewed a pot of coffee. The rich aroma of coffee filled his personal quarters packed with mementos of a lifetime. On a nearby table sat a chessboard, the game unfinished.
Over small talk and coffee, Father Cevalos displayed a wide range of interests. His shelves filled with books on every imaginable topic, but especially cooking. Claiming it as a relaxing hobby, he conspiratorially added, “I’ve taught the church volunteers how to prepare meals.” The Father regaled his guests with tales of kitchen disasters. “Presentation is everything,” he finished just as the sandwiches arrived on colorful plates with linens. Accompanying the sandwiches was a tray of fresh-cut fruits, salads, chips, and salsa. The trays were festooned with fragrant herbs and colorful flowers.
“All fresh from our gardens,” said the church volunteer.
The visitors replied with a litany of ‘thank yous’ and ‘amens’ before they partook of the offering. The next minutes were spent enjoying the repast.
Taking another cup of coffee, Pasqual said, “Father Cevalos has been priest here since before the time of the revolution. If it’s to be known, he will know it. I trust him with my life.” The two priests stared at one another in silence until Cevalos nodded. The gesture hinted at a special bond between the priests.
“My friend,” began Father Pasqual, still looking at the other priest, “I have sad news. The lock from the Revolucion has come home.”
Not a man easily surprised, Father Francisco Cevalos raised both eyebrows.
Qui reached into the purse at her feet, withdrawing the black pouch containing the lock. As she placed the lock on the table before the priest, she asked, “When was the last time you saw this?”
The elder priest looked accusingly at Pasqual. “I had thought this nightmare over…years ago.”
Pasqual reached out to Cevalos, placed a hand on his arm, and calmly said, “We’ve known this day would come and now it is here.”
Qui added, “Fathers, Luis Estrada, my father Tomaso, Dr. Arturo Benilo-all of you know something about this lock you won’t talk about.” Qui’s angry tone filled the room. “This lock surfaced in a triple murder in Havana last Friday.” She began to pace. “Why? It’s an antique, not commonly available. It’s the same as the photo of a church door here in Santiago. Is there a connection, some message?” She stopped before the two priests. “I need answers.”
This was met with silence.
“Fathers, we were nearly killed by a bomb hidden aboard the Sanabela. Someone doesn’t want us to ask questions. Someone’s behind this. And I intend to find out who.”
Staring at the two priests, JZ broke the continued silence. “It’s time somebody talks.”