34
Hotel Casa Grande, Santiago
Alejandro had decided to take the Golden Suite for Reyna as their getaway-a single night before he must meet her father at the Forteleza. He didn’t want Reyna anywhere near that place; she was innocent after all…like a child. One of her most endearing qualities, and what had attracted him to her in the first place. She knew nothing of her father’s dealings or his lurid past. And she remained innocent of all the intrigue and backstabbing politics that characterized Humberto Arias’s normal day, and Alejandro wanted to keep it so. And while he felt confidant that her father would in the end select him over Cavuto, Alejandro did not wish to become a permanent guest in the infamous Forteleza dungeons. Should things go wrong for Alejandro this late in the game, he did not want Reyna on hand to see his downfall, so he intended to send her home the next day.
At his side, Reyna’s breathing proved hypnotically rhythmic like soft jazz, lulling him to sleep after their lovemaking, sweet and tender. If things were to go badly for him, he wanted her last memory of him to be perfect. But now he found himself guiding Reyna through a labyrinth-a nightmarish juxtaposition of today and yesterday; the tangle of current intrigue and haunted past. Holding her hand, he walked along an uneven surface in darkness, pursued by and enveloped in overwhelming fear. The smell of smoke burned his eyes and filled his nostrils, and he heard her cough. The cough became a coughing, and the coughing became explosive, uncontrollable, until it turned into the sound of rifle fire. He pleaded with her to follow him, but she wouldn’t move, no longer coughing…no longer breathing, as if turned to stone. He pushed and pushed, but she didn’t move, and he couldn’t move, as if the two had become fused together. He screamed.
Suddenly, he felt hands on him, tearing at him, pulling and shaking. A voice penetrated his screams. He saw the priest’s eyes, saw his hand extended. Then he heard Reyna’s voice.
The priest’s features turned into Reyna’s as the smoke cleared, and he found himself sitting up in bed with her arms wrapped about him, shouting, “It’s just a dream, Alejandro! Wake up, wake up! Just a dream. Hush, you’re safe with me.”
For just a few moments longer, Reyna’s voice sounded like the priest’s and then it morphed into three-year- old Gabriel’s.
Gasping for breath, Alejandro grabbed Reyna as if touching her could dispel his terror-the nightmares that had plagued him since that night when he’d followed Father Cevalos, leading his younger brother with him from the sight of their murdered mother.
Cavuto Ruiz wondered if he should have left the country instead of coming to the Forteleza, especially now that the American security guard at the Swiss Embassy had died at his hand. But even more worrisome than this additional dead American, he feared Humberto remained unhappy with his recent ‘mistake’-the night his men botched the interrogation of the Canadian doctor and her friends. As soon as he’d returned to Havana, scarcely stepping off the marina after docking his toy, the Norwegian speedboat, Estavio, one of Arias’s gophers, met him with a sealed envelope. Inside, the cryptically worded order read: Forteleza tomorrow-debriefing.
Cavuto understood Arias’s desire to have this meeting away from prying eyes; however, he still felt anxious at the mention of the notorious Forteleza. In a desperate attempt to find his own scapegoat…someone to throw to Arias, Cavuto insisted that Alfonso Gutierrez accompany him to Santiago. They’d shared a governmental flight from Havana, traversing the long Marlin-shaped island from one end to its opposite. When they’d touched down, Cavuto- realizing Alfonso’s sweat glands were working overtime-assured him that they were here for rest, relaxation, and reward for a job well done. Gutierrez seemed to accept this, but he kept after Ruiz for details. He especially wanted to know what’d become of his detective, Quiana Aguilera.
The limousine that picked them up for the Forteleza turned onto one of Santiago’s major thoroughfares, Aguilera Avenida. Alfonso gasped at seeing the street sign as Ruiz confidently replied, “Let us say that the fish have taken a liking to the eagle, not the other way round.”
“My-my God, when did they change Marina Avenida to Aguilera?”
“Don’t be foolish. It’s nothing,” countered Cavuto, ignoring Alfonso’s last question.
“My God, Ruiz, I’m so distracted, I just got it! The Eagle. Aguilera means Eagle. I tell you, this warms my heart.” For the first time since Cavuto had contacted him today, Alfonso laughed and showed a bit of calm. “And think of it, Ruiz, being her colonel, I’ll have to personally carry the news to her father.” Alfonso smiled with the thought.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the look on his face when he learns his precious darling is dead.”
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to hurt Tomaso Aguilera.”
“What is it about Tomaso that so bothers you, Alfonso?”
“Everything. His success, his money, his special position as a good citizen in standing with Fidel…and then he pushes his daughter on me!”
“My friend, her father had nothing to do with her being assigned to the Old Havana force.”
“What?”
“That was purely the fall of the dominos, based on manpower considerations. Nothing more.” Ruiz inwardly smiled. He could always count on Alfonso’s self-absorbed orientation to blind him to what was going on around him-exactly what his plan called for now. All he needed to do was keep the man distracted.
“Uncle, you’ve returned to us,” said Qui as they came from the chapel and into afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. “Good to see you. Is all well? Were you successful this morning in your so-secret dealings?” She teasingly laughed.
But Qui and the others were met with a grim Luis Estrada, who shot Qui a look, as if her words had embarrassed him before the priests. “It’s been an instructive day so far. I need to talk to you and JZ privately.”
Cevalos said to Pasqual, “Come, let’s find a cup of tea and let these three have the chapel to themselves. But Luis, I warn you, keep the sacraments.”
Luis grimaced. “Yes, Father, of course.” He shrugged as though surprised at the priest’s remark.
With the two priests gone, Luis turned to Qui and JZ, saying, “Follow me inside.”
They reentered the chapel and watched Luis chew on an unlit pipe until Qui finally said, “What is it, Luis?”
“I have it on good authority who murdered your doctors; in fact, the El Cobre lock indicts the man for what you Americans, JZ, call war crimes.”
“Then the butcher is still alive?” asked Qui, shocked.
“Alive and doing extremely well. In fact, you may know him. Most of Cuba knows his name.”
“Then the lock was a clue after all,” JZ said.
“I knew it,” replied Qui. “It goes as deep into the past as it goes up to the top-levels of government, doesn’t it?”
“Not government so much as business.”
“So who is this mystery man?” asked JZ.
“Humberto Arias,” said Luis Estrada, leaning into the chapel doorway, staring out at the day. He turned to see Qui’s shocked eyes, and JZ’s questioning gaze.
“Who’s Arias?” asked JZ.
“Arias?” muttered Qui, still stunned. “An international antiques dealer…well-respected. How can this be?”
“Feared as well,” replied Luis. “Not a man to cross, Qui. It might be time to cut our loses.”
“Not on your life.”
“He has tentacles into the Cuban underworld and government. The lowest forms of life work for this man.”
“I think I met a couple of them at the Excalibre Hotel,” replied JZ.
“He has part ownership with the government.”
“How close is he to Fidel?” Qui asked.
“He fought for Fidel the moment he saw which way the wind was blowing. The man has no scruples, pays no tithes to the human race. You know, no matter how bad Father Cevalos thinks I am…Arias is worse. Like the sirens
