interior. Qui and JZ stretched while Father Pasqual, not to be sidetracked, continued speaking. “With the Black Madonna held firmly in their grasp, the three fishermen, struggling against the waves and the blasting storm, miraculously made it to shore with the statue.”
“Since then,” added Ramon, “pilgrims-who lots of times…make the last twenty…or thirty feet here…on their knees…”
Pasqual finished for him, adding, “-they pray to her image and place votos-”
“Mementos-” Qui put in.
“-and offerings of gratitude for her miracles,” finished the cabbie.
“Small carved wood images from animals to boats,” said Pasqual.
“Along with prayers for those who’ve tried to make it to Florida on rafts,” added Qui, “and failed.”
Pasqual nodded in earnest to this. “Your American author, Mr. Zayas, Ernest Hemingway-”
“ The Old Man amp; the Sea, yes.”
“-his fisherman in the story made a promise to God. Do you recall it?”
“I…I’m sorry, I do not.”
“Ahhh…well, Hemmingway had the old Cuban promise to visit the shrine if he could only land his marlin-and when Hemmingway won his Nobel Prize for Literature, he donated it to our Black Madonna.”
Ramon said, “I’ll get my Amazon ready for the trip back; she’s thirsty and so am I.” He pointed to a nearby village nestled among the trees, leaving no doubt as to his intent.
“I read that the statue was once stolen?” asked JZ as they walked toward the rear entry to the basilica having come by way of a service road, thereby avoiding the 254 steps linking the village of El Cobre to the cathedral’s front entrance.
Father Pasqual replied, “Stolen, yes, but later recovered. Those who stole it…let’s just say horrible things befell them. Steps were taken. It’ll never happen again.”
“What sort of steps?” asked JZ, ever conscious of security matters.
“It once stood in the hermitage created for it,” said Father Pasqual. “Everyone could approach and pray at will. She was unadorned and unprotected.”
“So, where is she now?”
“On the second floor,” the priest pointed at the cathedral, adding, “up the back stairs, encased in glass, air conditioned. Untouchable. When Mass is said, at the push of a button, there she is, bejeweled and enshrined, the Virgin. You must see her.”
Having been alerted by Father Pasqual’s phone call, Father Francisco Cevalos stood like a sentinel at the door. “My young colleague and friend, it’s so good to see you again. So who are these important people who get the easy route into Basilica de Nuestra Senora de la Caridad del Cobre?”
“Gotta be the longest name for a church I’ve ever heard,” JZ commented as he shook hands with the tall older priest. “Julio Zayas.”
“Almost a letter for each step out front,” added Qui. “Detective Quiana Aguilera, Havana PNR.”
Eyes widening at hearing Quiana’s title, Father Cevalos turned to JZ and asked, “And you, Mr. Zayas, your accent says you’re not Havana PNR.” He quizzically raised an eyebrow.
“I’m with the American Interest Section.”
Turning to Pasqual, Cevalos said, “Gabriel, you can’t legitimately beat me at chess, so you bring in reinforcements-with badges?”
The two men enjoyed a good laugh, and as Father Cevalos waved them inside, he said, “I overheard Father Pasqual giving you a lesson about our Madonna when I interrupted. Let me finish for him.”
The group entered the shadowed cool interior of the cathedral, following Father Cevalos whose voice echoed off the high-ceilings as he led them behind the alter through passageways few people ever saw. “Our Black Madonna might be untouchable now, but on her day, September eighth, she is carried in pilgrimage for all to see. Not everyone can make the climb. Since you come with Gabriel’s blessing, let me show you our Lady.”
The group climbed to the second floor and walked along narrow silent hallways until arriving at a locked room. Flourishing a key, Father Cevalos opened the door, swinging it wide for them to enter. In a moment, Qui and JZ stood in silent awe before the Black Madonna. Wearing a crown encrusted with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies, with a golden halo above, she held a cross of diamonds and amethysts. In the glass case, the statue appeared beatific and serene as if she whispered the words-peace, hope, love, and charity. Her liquid-black eyes bore into Qui’s, transfixing her.
Father Pasqual turned to his friend, commenting, “She has been entranced by the Lady.”
Cevalos replied, “I wonder if Detective Aguilera was called here by the Lady to begin with.”
Noticing Qui’s silence, JZ wondered what she thought of Father Cevalos’s profound words, or even if she heard them.
Startled, Qui now stared from JZ to the two priests. “She’s given me a message.”
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.”
