who seduced seaman to their deaths on the rocks just to pick their bones, he seduces men to their damnation with money.”
Qui realized a truth about Luis as he said these words. “You’ve done work for him in the past, haven’t you?”
“No…not him. Not directly. Through Gutierrez, yes. And I suspect through him, Cavuto Ruiz.” It came out as a confession here in the chapel. “But it is how I know what they know, to wallow in the snake pit and be paid for it. It’s how I’ve protected Rita all these years, and how I’ve kept my boat and my skin.”
“Protected Rita? Does she need protecting?”
“She is Sangre.”
“Blood? Really your relative?”
“Her husband, among the disappeareds for six years now, was my youngest brother. His eyes and heart full of dreams for a free Cuba. Rita’s now my blood, and still my contact with Edwardo’s group.” His eyes held Qui’s in a duel. “I tell you all this in confidence, knowing your prey is also Arias, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
JZ took a deep breath and said, “We will keep your confidence, won’t we, Qui?”
She slowly nodded, realizing that they were asking her to go against all her training as a PNR officer. However, if it meant cornering the man who’d arranged for Montoya to die so ignobly with a prostitute, Hilito to blow his head off, and her three doctors to be buried at sea, this was a secret worth keeping. “For Arias, I will keep your confidence, but never put me in a position like this again, Uncle. I won’t lie for you or anyone else.”
“I can only hope it never comes to that for any of us,” JZ commented. “Least of all me. Our mutual governments don’t need another brouhaha over freedom fighters in Cuba.”
“Arias’s killing American doctors. How is that for a brouhaha?” asked Qui.
“Luis, can we prove it?” asked JZ. “Where’ve you gotten this information?”
“That I cannot tell you.”
“Damn it, Luis…you’re sounding like Benilo now!” She erupted at him. “What are you all afraid of? If the truth comes out, it can only put Arias away!”
“It’s not that simple, and I have made promises.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Promises to whom?”
“I know what he means, Qui. Sometimes you have to make deals to get anything out of a witness or informant.”
Luis nodded vigorously at this like a man drawing at straws. “Precisely true. With Arias’s international contacts, I have to be extremely careful, or else. I could be found out to be something more than a simple fisherman who dabbles in the black market, loves women, and drinks to excess.”
JZ added, “Arias might well be selling anything…anything Cuban, from cigars to…to exotic animals or birds found only here.”
Luis suggested an even more ominous conclusion, adding, “Or Cuban medical research secrets. You know, from that nephew of his.”
“What nephew?” asked JZ.
“Our illustrious Minister of Health.”
They did a round of confused looks that went from denial to ‘aha’ as Qui continued to think aloud. “This Denise, she worked for a pharmaceutical firm. No one has more vested interest in medical intrigue than a pharmaceutical company.”
“What’re you saying?” asked JZ. “That the Canadian was being fed information through Montoya from Arias from his nephew?”
“Perhaps…Montoya and she double-crossed Arias?” suggested Luis.
“Something along those lines, yes,” said JZ, nodding. “Then…if it is true…then Montoya brought this down around his own head, so perhaps it’s time, Qui, to stop feeling like you had anything whatsoever to do with his death.”
“JZ is right, Qui,” agreed Luis. “If it’s true, then your investigation had less to do with his death than you’d thought.”
Still, she resisted the notion. “How could Estaban be involved in such a scheme to export medical research secrets out of Cuba?”
“Montoya always had money to spread around,” said Luis. “Too much money for a government doctor and a back-door pharmacist for his patients and friends.”
JZ ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Luis, are you saying Montoya sold drugs?”
Luis looked again into Qui’s eyes. “You are not PNR now; you’re blood, my niece.” Turning to JZ, he continued. “Aspirin…antibiotics, all hard to come by. Montoya always had it…that and other drugs. Whatever I needed, whatever my crew needed.”
JZ whistled, taking it all in.
Luis added, “Come on, Quiana, you always suspected something wasn‘t quite right with the man. It’s why you wouldn’t marry him.”
She reluctantly nodded. “This explains a lot…the money…his thumbing his nose at what was expected. What else did I miss? Some detective.”
“No one suspects their family,” countered JZ, “and he was almost family, right?”
“Montoya and others I cannot name danced with the devil every day, only Montoya made a misstep somewhere along the line,” added Luis. “It’s like a flirtation. Lose rhythm, step on the wrong toe, you die.”
“This doesn’t explain Hilito. Why was he killed?”
“Hilito was forced off the dance floor. None of it his choosing.”
“You’re saying he knew too much?” asked JZ.
“They used his kid against him, didn’t they?” asked Qui.
“Luis,” shouted Father Pasqual as he entered the chapel. “I see Rita gave you the keys to my car. Are you all ready to return to Santiago before nightfall? These mountain roads’re dangerous by night.”
Luis replied, “Yes, I think we’re done here.” He rushed out ahead of the others and back into the light, Pasqual following him.
Qui leaned into JZ and whispered, “I hope whoever’s driving is better than Ramon.”
JZ laughed, agreeing. “My head can’t take another wild ride like this morning’s.”
35
That evening at the Forteleza
Alfonso Gutierrez sat with his rum in hand, angry that Cavuto had called his room and demanded he meet him in the Forteleza lounge and here he was, but no Ruiz. “My time is worth nothing to this man,” he muttered.
“Sir?” asked the bartender.
“Nothing…mind your own business.”
“Of course, sir.”
Surrounded by fools and likely spies, Gutierrez bitterly thought, his mood as sour as his stomach. His presence here made him wonder if his life were in danger amongst the high-level powerful men who frequented this place. His ulcer worsening with each sip, he felt a gnawing, growing fear. It was a truly horrific feeling to be alone and friendless amid these Cubanos, all with beautiful women on their arms, laughing and joking, speaking of bright futures ripe with opportunity and promise.
His thoughts turned to his liaison with Humberto Arias’s daughter, Angelica, a relationship that’d become increasingly untenable. Lately, his wife had taken to talking more frequently to Arias about her growing litany of what troubled her most about Alfonso, aside from their inability to conceive for which she completely-and without medical evidence-blamed him.
He called for a second drink while pondering whether Cavuto had been ordered by Arias to bring him here to the infamous fort. But he’d seen nothing of Arias, and he had no reason to believe his father-in-law was anywhere
