“Good. It’s settled; we both dive. Thought I’d have to get Giraldo as my dive partner.”
“A good choice, but he’s not here and I am, which makes me the better choice.” He chuckled softly. “Pasqual’s right about the sonar-without it, we’d be dead in the water.”
“Poor choice of words, JZ,” she smiled grimly at him.
Just then a tall, stern-looking man in a colonel’s uniform stepped up to them, offering his hand and introducing himself. “I had a call from an old friend who said you’d be coming,” said Cordova. “He tells me you’re Havana PNR, detective, and your American associate is with the Interest Section in Miramar?”
“Correct on all counts,” said JZ following Qui and the colonel to his office.
“Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” added Qui.
“Never too busy to help a friend. In fact, I have these for you. He said you’d be round for them.” Cordova handed her a brown clasped envelope stuffed with papers.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The deal that I’ve put together. You’ll find everything in order.” He stared at the two surprised visitors to his station house.
“I’ve never known paperwork in the PNR to go so…so-”
“Efficiently done,” said JZ.
“That’s the word,” Qui said. She wondered how long the relationship between the Santiago PNR colonel and Alejandro had existed. She guessed his age at about the same as Valdes. Earlier, on their way to PNR headquarters, Pasqual had made a cryptic remark about the colonel. “My brother and I, ironically, share common ground with the colonel. Alejandro is correct. Cordova can be trusted.” She now wondered if Cordova, like Rita, might be among the eight children orphaned at El Cobre that fateful night.
“I hear your target’s Humberto Arias, Detective.” Cordova continued, “Dangerous quarry, connections everywhere.”
“Including Santiago PNR?”
“Likely. But he hasn’t the power here he has in Havana. Still take all precautions.”
JZ commented, “So we’ve been told by everyone with any connection to this case.”
Qui sensed she could trust this man. “We’re going to take a close look at the Lake of Blood, Colonel, and you’re welcome to join us.”
“We want to keep it as quiet as possible,” added JZ.
“A good plan. Keep me posted. When do you plan to dive?”
“Tonight. We’re making arrangements now.”
“I’ll try to be on hand.” Cordova showed not the least surprise. “We keep a small patrol boat out there.”
Outside the stationhouse, Qui hailed a cab to take them to the local scuba diving outfitter whose address Father Pasqual had left them.
When they arrived, they saw Father Pasqual’s Lada parked outside. Once inside, JZ and Qui found that the persuasive priest had convinced his friends who operated the shop to outfit two visiting ‘American tourists’ for the dive.
On entering, the two visiting ‘touristas’ from Havana were greeted with a series of cheers. Father Pasqual rushed to them, whispering, “You are world champion divers, you two, from America. You’re going to take the shop’s T-shirts back to the States and tell everyone through your media how wonderful the diving in Cuba is, do you understand?”
“Got it. World class divers,” replied JZ. “Qui, keep your mouth shut, they’ll know you’re native.”
“I’ll have to make an extra trip to confessional this week,” ruminated Pasqual.
Qui assured Pasqual that the government would pick up the tab at some future date. “No, no! They can’t know. God…I mean, if they think a priest a liar…”
“Your secret is safe with us,” JZ assured him, and then JZ fell into the role of an arrogant, famous American undersea diver.
Luis, who’d been alerted by Pasqual to their whereabouts, joined them at the shop. He proudly said, “I’ve found decent transportation to the lake. It’s parked outside.”
With everyone carrying oxygen tanks and equipment, they went in search of Luis’s recent acquisition. What passed for decent was a beat up, wooden-paneled station wagon that’d had its entire back end custom cut to create an open cargo hold, the whole looking like some grotesque metal sculpture of mismatched car parts.
“So much for decent,” muttered JZ as he began loading the equipment into the back of the thing.
“Sorry no shocks or springs, going to be a bumpy ride.”
In the back of the truck, Qui noticed a long, slender unmarked wooden box-she asked no questions. As soon as all the diving gear had been stowed, with Pasqual leading in his Lada, they drove for the lake.
After a long and uncomfortable ride, during which they'd watched as day become twilight, Father Pasqual led them to the sandy shore of the lake. As they’d approached along a winding road so thick with trees on either side they couldn’t see the chapel and only snatches of the cathedral.
JZ and Qui began moving the equipment from the station wagon to the boat Luis had arranged for, appropriately named Madonna — a tourist craft that had long plied the lake for its scenic beauty. During the back and forth between the station wagon and the boat at the end of the dock, Pasqual and Luis began a whispered exchange. Instead of being discreet, the whispering only called attention to the pair as they carried the odd shaped box aboard.
Qui caught snatches of the dialogue and nudged JZ, pointing in the direction of the priest and the fisherman. “Something to do with that strange box.”
Sometime later, JZ said to Qui, “I suspect what’s in the box, but I hope I’m wrong.”
“What do you suspect?”
“It’s no longer a suspicion. Take a look. You won’t believe what he’s setting up.”
Qui turned to see Luis bending over a frightful weapon, a rifle on steroids, its muzzle aimed out the back of the boat. “Where the hell did he find that?”
“An RPG in Luis’s hands is just plain scary. Think he’ll sink the boat?”
Qui shook her head in reply. Dropping the last load of equipment on the deck, Qui went to Luis and demanded, “What’s all this?”
“He’s gone mad,” said Pasqual. “More paranoid than my brother. Thinks we may need this monstrous thing.”
“That right Luis?”
“It could get dangerous out here; we don’t know who might show up.”
“Actually Luis has a point,” said JZ. “We don’t know who to trust.”
Pasqual shrugged and added, “Can’t be sure of anyone. Too many people know you’re in Santiago.”
Luis nodded. “Yeah…Carnival and rum means gossip…loose tongues.”
“Dangerous situation all around,” replied JZ.
“And Giraldo tells me Lago de Sangre is the most dangerous place in all of Santiago to dive,” added Luis.
“It looks as peaceful as glass,” Qui challenged him.
“I’m not talking about the water. Countless outlaws in these hills, renegade guerilla bands, you name it.”
“The best offense is a good defense,” suggested JZ. “It can’t hurt if Luis watches over us while we’re below, and Father Pasqual offers a prayer and a second pair of eyes.”
“Which will be more effective, Luis’s cannon or the prayer?” asked Qui. “And, how do you that old thing won’t blow up in your face?”
“As far as danger goes, I think Giraldo meant the lake itself, Luis,” explained Pasqual. “Old mine shafts and limestone caves below creating treacherous currents.”
“We’re both experienced divers,” Qui assured Pasqual.
“Even experienced divers have never surfaced…alive.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” said Qui.
Handing her a wetsuit, JZ added, “Time to suit up. Who’s gonna manage the sonar?”
Pasqual replied, “Luis, you monitor the sonar, and I’ll take us out.”
“Fine with me.”
While JZ and Qui helped one another gear up for the dive, Pasqual directed the Madonna toward the area
