"I'm so glad you found me," she said finally. "Did you just arrive?"
"Last night," replied Giordino. "We've been looking for Dirk."
She gazed blankly at the great smoke cloud. "He's gone," she said as if in a trance.
"The bad penny always turns up," Giordino muttered absently.
"They're all gone-- my husband, Dirk, so many others." Her voice died.
"Is there coffee anywhere?" said Sandecker, changing the tack of the conversation. "I think we could all use a cup."
Jessie nodded weakly toward the entrance to the cathedral. "A poor woman whose children are badly injured has been making some for the volunteers."
"I'll get it," said Giordino. He rose and disappeared inside.
Jessie and the admiral sat there for several moments, listening to the sirens and watching the flames leap in the distance.
"When we return to Washington," Sandecker said at last, "if I can help in any way. . ."
"You're most kind, Admiral, but I can manage." She hesitated. "There is one thing. Do you think that Raymond's body might be found and shipped home for burial?"
"I'm sure after all you've done, Castro will cut through any red tape."
"Strange how we became drawn into all this because of the treasure."
"The La Dorada?"
Jessie's eyes stared at a group of figures walking toward them in the distance, but she gave no sign of seeing them. "Men have been beguiled by her for nearly five hundred years, and most have died because of their lust to own her. Stupid. . . stupid to waste lives over a statue."
"She is still considered the greatest treasure of them all."
Jessie closed her eyes tiredly. "Thank heavens it's hidden. Who knows how many men would kill for it."
"Dirk would never climb over someone's bones for money," Sandecker said. "I know him too well. He was in it for the adventure and the challenge of solving a mystery, not for profit."
Jessie did not reply. She opened her eyes and finally took notice of the approaching party. She could not see them clearly. One of them seemed seven feet tall through the yellow haze from the smoke. The others were quite small. They were singing, but she couldn't make out the tune.
Giordino returned with a small board holding three cups. He stopped and stared for a long moment at the group threading their way through the rubble in the plaza.
The figure in the middle wasn't seven feet tall, but a man with a small boy perched on his shoulders. The boy looked frightened and tightly laced his hands around the man's forehead, obscuring the upper part of his face. A young girl was cradled in one muscled arm, while the opposite hand was clutched by a girl no more than five. A string of ten or eleven other children followed close behind. They sounded as if they were singing in halting English. Three dogs trotted alongside and yapped in accompaniment.
Sandecker looked at Giordino curiously. The barrel-chested Italian blinked away the eye-watering smoke and gazed with an intense wondering expression at the strange and pathetic sight.
The man looked like an apparition, exhausted, desperately so. His clothes were in tatters and he walked with a limp. The eyes were sunken and the gaunt face was streaked with dried blood. Yet his jaw was determined, and he led the children in song with a booming voice.
"I must go back to work," said Jessie, struggling to her feet. "Those children will need care."
They were close enough now so that Giordino could make out the song they were singing.
I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy. A Yankee Doodle do or die. . .
Giordino's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief. He pointed in uncomprehending awe. Then he threw the coffee cups over his shoulder and bounded down the steps of the cathedral like a madman.
"It's him!" he shouted.
A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam. Born on the fourth of July.
"What was that?" Sandecker shouted after him. "What did you say?"
Jessie jumped to her feet, suddenly oblivious to the wrenching fatigue, and ran after Giordino. "He's come back!" she cried.
Then Sandecker took off.
The children stopped in midchorus and huddled around the man, frightened at the sudden appearance of three people shouting and running toward them. They clung to him as life itself. The dogs closed ranks around his legs and began barking louder than ever.
Giordino halted and stood there only two feet away, not sure of what to say that was meaningful. He smiled and smiled in immense delight and relief. At last he found his tongue.
"Welcome back, Lazarus."
Pitt grinned impishly. "Hello, pal. You wouldn't happen to have a dry martini in your pocket?"
<<78>>
Six hours later Pitt was sleeping like a stone in an empty alcove of the cathedral. He had refused to go down until the children were cared for and the dogs fed. Then he insisted that Jessie get some rest too.
They lay a few feet apart on double blankets that served as pads against the hard tile floor. Faithful Giordino sat in a wicker chair at the entrance of the alcove, guarding against invasion of their sleep, shushing an occasional band of children who played too close and too loud.
He stiffened at the sight of Sandecker approaching with a group of uniformed Cubans at his heels. Ira Hagen was among them, looking older and far more tired than when Giordino had last seen him, hardly twenty hours previously. The man next to Hagen and directly behind the admiral, Giordino recognized immediately. He rose to his feet as Sandecker nodded toward the sleeping figures.
"Wake them up," he said quietly.
Jessie struggled up from the depths and moaned. Giordino had to shake her by the shoulder several times to keep her from slipping back again. Still bone-tired and drugged from sleep, she sat up and shook her head to clear the blurriness.
Pitt came awake almost instantly, his mind triggered like an alarm clock. He twisted around and elbowed himself to a sitting position, eyes alert and sweeping the men standing around him in a half circle.
"Dirk," said Sandecker. "This is President Fidel Castro. He was making an inspection tour of the hospitals and was told you and Jessie were here. He'd like to talk to you."
Before Pitt could make a remark, Castro stepped forward, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. The magnetic brown eyes met with piercing opaline green. Castro wore neat, starched olive fatigues with a commander in chief's shoulder insignia, in contrast to Pitt, who still had on the same ragged and dirty clothes as when he arrived at the cathedral.
"So this is the man who made idiots out of my security police and saved the city," said Castro in Spanish.
Jessie translated, and Pitt made a negative gesture. "I was only one of the luckier men who survived. At least two dozen others died trying to prevent the tragedy."
"If the ships had exploded while still tied to the docks, most of Havana would now be a leveled wasteland. A tomb for myself as well as half a million people. Cuba is grateful and wishes to make you a Hero of the Revolution."
"There goes my standing in the neighborhood," muttered Pitt.
Jessie threw him a distasteful look and didn't translate.
"What did he say?" asked Castro.
Jessie cleared her throat. "Ah. . . he said he is honored to accept."