Piled into Yuri’s prized 1955 Jeep with an oversized motor and four-barrel carburetor, they raced for Havana. Qui shouted over the noise of wind and motor, “Damn! I’d wanted to develop the film and to talk to Papa and Benilo before going to Castro.”
“If you want to help, it’s now or never,” replied Yuri. “Castro’s not feeling well; rumors again he could pass away.”
“There’s always rumors,” JZ replied.
“National pastime is betting on when and where,” shouted Qui. This made the men laugh. “Stop laughing and help me decide how to tell Fidel about Humberto Arias’s crimes and treason without sounding like a lunatic.”
The Jeep continued at breakneck speed toward Havana while they wrestled with strategies. How best to approach Fidel with the truth? How best to ‘handle’ Fidel, when everyone knew there was no ‘handling’ Fidel.
Castro’s presidential office
Having granted Tomaso and Benilo an audience, and with them two PNR detectives-the well-known Jorge Pena and a younger detective named Latoya-Fidel smiled at his old compatriots. He’d kept tabs on these two ex revolutionaries, watching their careers unfold. Lately, Fidel had been hearing countless accusations and rumors directed at Benilo as being too old, too feeble, and too out of touch to continue on as Cuba’s premier Medical Examiner-the same arguments leveled daily at him, and for this reason Fidel did not believe a man’s age necessarily interfered with his ability to do his job.
Fidel felt it good politics to grant an audience to veteran soldiers-particularly men who’d fought alongside him, loyal, disloyal, or indifferent. While both Aguilera and Benilo had done little to support his rule, neither had they become involved in any insidious plots against him. Besides, he held a soft spot for old Arturo and Tomaso. Still, he had kept them waiting an appropriate length of time.
But, this story they told…an outlandish tale that linked the murder of three foreigners and two Cubans to the well-respected arts and antiques dealer, businessman Humberto Arias, another old compatriot. “This is too much to accept on such flimsy evidence. He’s never given me reason to question his loyalty before.”
Benilo began, “Sir, Arias was never loyal to you-”
Castro, irritated at the accusation, insisted, “Arias defected from Batista! Brought his troops to our side, in Santiago.”
Tomaso countered, “However, he only did that when the tide of the revolution was shifting to your favor. And, that only after the hushed-up slaughter at El Cobre.”
Castro grew silent, eyes narrowed. “Ravages of war…things none of us had time to investigate. We were fighting for freedom, for our Cuba gentlemen.” He stood and strode to the window and stared out, hands crossed behind his back.
Tomaso held up a hand to Benilo silencing him where they sat before he could say another word. Leaning in, he whispered, “Let him think it over.”
Castro turned and announced, “This is not sufficient evidence to take action against this man.” He stared a hole through Pena demanding, “Do you have anything further to add…Colonel Pena?”
“ Colonel Pena?” spluttered Latoya, his eyes wide, every word, every slight he’d ever perpetrated in Pena’s presence replaying in his mind.
Benilo and Tomaso gaped at one another in silence, but knew enough to remain silent.
Pena stood and said, “Presidente, it is entirely true-all that’s been said in this room is true. But, we have no hard proof yet, but when Detective Aguilera returns from Santiago, I’m sure what we have will be irrefutable.” After delivering these words, he relaxed but only slightly.
“This is not the news I wanted to hear from you. Are you certain Colonel?”
“There is no doubt.”
“It will ruin the image of Cuba. The bastard.”
“It’s treason against the state, Presidente.”
Benilo chimed in. “That’s an understatement.”
Tomaso added, “Crimes against foreigners. Crimes against Cubanos.”
“Three bodies stolen from my care!”
Latoya declared, “Secret Police corrupted. Murder and attempted murder of PNR officers.”
“Worst of all,” said Tomaso, “more people are at risk until Arias is locked up.”
“And his operation dissolved,” Pena added.
Benilo picked it up here. “Imagine when the world community learns that Cuban insiders have been selling medical secrets to a Canadian pharmaceutical company. Secrets only the Minister of Health controls.”
“Not to mention the cover-up that began with the disappearing Canadian woman and Americans,” added Tomaso.
The more they said, the darker Castro’s features became. His face a pinched mask of anger, he looked ready to explode. He paced, his legs stiff, wooden, his mind sharp and cunning as always. Even after all these years, Tomaso and Benilo recognized the unmistakable body language; it meant someone must pay.
Fidel raised his hand and was about to speak when the doors burst open and Qui Aguilera, struggling with a secretary that she finally pushed to the floor, entered. JZ followed, helping the secretary to her feet.
“What is the meaning of this?” shouted Castro.
“It’s my daughter, Detective Aguilera, General!” shouted Tomaso.
“The detective who kept this case alive,” added Pena.
“She uncovered the truth well before the rest of us,” said Benilo, coming to Qui’s defense.
“And she’s been a target since,” added Sergio.
“Presidente, you’ve got to listen to me!” pleaded Qui. “I have evidence of a horrible wrong in this camera.” She came forward and placed the camera on his desk. “A wrong that can no longer be ignored.”
“What is this evidence?”
“Damning evidence, sir. And, more in Santiago going as far back as the Revolucion.”
“Enough! No more talk until I see the photos.” Herding them them inside a small dining room, he ordered his aides to bring them lunch and keep them there. He strode off to have the film developed.
42
Two hours later
The meal finished, they watched Fidel enter the room, dismiss his aides, and begin to lay Qui’s photos across the table. He paused to look at each before positioning the next photo. When all were arranged, he lifted a single photo, the one of JZ brandishing an ancient sword in the cave. “Interesting weapon, Mr Zayas. Are you a collector?”
Surprised in spite of himself that he was known by name, JZ replied, “Yes, it broke my heart to leave them there.”
Fidel nodded. “Before we go any further, Mr. Zayas, precisely what is your interest in all of this aside from treasue hunting?”
JZ replied, “El Presidente, in the interest of justice, I’ve worked closely with Detective Aguilera to uncover what precisely happened the night two American doctors were killed in Havana.”
“So Dr. Benilo informed me earlier. You are here to see justice carried out. Cuban justice.”
“I am indeed, sir.”
“I vouch for his sincerity,” Qui jumped in. “I owe him my life.”
“Then your only interest in all this is to determine who’s responsible for the deaths of the two American doctors, Mr. Zayas?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t work for the CIA?” Fidel pointedly said to JZ.
JZ took a deep breath. He knew a lie would get him arrested, but he was unsure if the truth would not have the same result. “I write reports that I assume are read by the CIA, sir, same as all of us who work in the American Interest Section.”
“Interest…a handsome word for spying.”
“So I’ve been told, repeatedly by almost every Cuban who learns where I work. Let me assure you I’m no spy.”
“I’m not sure I can trust the word of any American. The history between our countries has proven that lies are as common as maggots. How do I know that this is not some elaborate CIA plot against me?”
JZ realized only now the enormity of Fidel’s paranoia with respect to anything American, including him. “Everyone in this room can vouch for my interest and integrity throughout these eunfortunate circumstances.”