he’d seen Arias’s pleasure craft anchored. “Luis, I’m ready.”
“OK, go north.”
Within a matter of fifteen minutes, Luis called out, “I’m picking up something unusual. Stop here.”
Pasqual killed the engine saying, “You two still want go through with this? JZ? Qui?”
Perched on the gunwale of the boat, Qui rinsed her mask, looked up, and replied, “No going back now.”
JZ gave a thumbs up asking, “A blessing, Father, for success?”
“Success, yes…and safety.”
“Thanks,” she replied, pausing to listen his words before going over the side with JZ.
Beneath the surface, they found one another’s flashlight beam, as they’d planned never to lose sight of each other. As predicted, the lake water was turgid. Using the anchor line to descend hand over hand, Qui felt strangely like a traveler on some astral plane, only tenuously connected to the corporeal world. Inky blackness surrounding her, Qui realized that without her flash she’d be unable to see her own hand not so much as a ghostly outline. This fact, along with an increasing current, created a panicky claustrophobia that threatened to send her back to the surface. Repeatedly she reminded herself relax…be calm…breathe slow…conserve air.
Connected to her dive belt, Qui wore an underwater camera. The churning waters now banged it against her hip, tapping like a constant reminder from her father to get the shot…to document her steps as he would do: create a photographic indictment against one of the most powerful men in Cuba.
Buffeted badly on all sides, JZ wildly signaled they should return to the surface and safety. Qui vehemently shook her head and pointed downward, her actions clearly telegraphing that she meant to go on with or without him. He reached out and latched onto her but she pulled from his grasp and continued downward. JZ followed her lead, wishing they had microphones so she could hear his curses.
After five more minutes of strenuous work, they finally came in sight of the bottom. Qui realized the strong currents had ceased. Shining their flashlights and pirouetting 360 degrees, they saw enormous pocked and cracked sheaths of stone. JZ pulled on her arm, holding out his chalkboard. She read his message. “Collapsed mine shaft?”
She took the chalk and wrote, “Could go on for miles.” She then indicated, “Check air supply.”
Finding no problem, they hooked onto the anchor line to ensure they could find their way back in this black water. Qui now scribbled, “Signal for gear?”
In reply, JZ drew a happy face.
She then tugged the signal line they’d earlier attached to the anchor. A return series of tugs assured her all was fine topside and that Luis had gotten the message. Shortly a pair of metal detectors and miscellaneous gear arrived along with fresh tanks in a metal cage. Unhooking the cage lock, Qui tugged the signal line to let Luis know the package had arrived.
Anxious to explore, JZ started out ahead of her. Using one of the metal detectors, he began to search in earnest for anything unusual. It proved a balancing act to focus the flashlight beam on the dial on the detector. Quiana came alongside, instantly realizing that they must work in tandem, one flash, one detector. This would take more time but they had little choice in such a challenging environment.
After an hour of frustration and having to stop to change tanks, Qui realized the detector had finally picked up something substantial. It appeared they hovered over a wide debris field. She pulled on JZ’s arm to alert him.
Switching to hand axes, the two of them began digging out whatever lay below the stone strewn surface below. Qui’s ax slammed into something that did not give way, but splintered, waterlogged wood spiked up locking her ax in place. It took all JZ’s strength to free it. As he did so, large wooden shards floated up and off like so many animated pickup sticks. It took a great deal of time and both divers to excavate around the edges of what appeared to be a strange old door, a portal but a portal to where? JZ reached out and pulled the door open, only to be greeted with carved stone steps, a few curious fish, and a human skull with what appeared a bullet hole behind the ear…executed.
39
The stone steps descended away from the main shaft of the mine into a large open area, left abandoned when the copper vein played out. The cathedral room became a refuge for runaway French slaves escaped from Haiti. When it was safe for them to begin new lives in Cuba, they left behind small, carved stone figures, like offerings.
These small tokens caught Qui’s attention as she climbed the stairs carrying her fins. Emerging from the water-blanketed stairs and into the mineshaft, Qui removed her respirator to test the air. It proved damp and earthy but breathable. She struggled out of her harness, dropping her tanks.
Seeing this, JZ gratefully removed his respirator. “Musty beats canned any day,” he said removing his gear.
“Yeah and speech beats chalk!” Then she added, “Whataya make of the skull?”
“Creepy.”
“Think there’re more?”
“Could be if Valdes is right.”
“Let’s light this place up.”
JZ joined her in activating and tossing six-inch Cyalume lightsticks as far as possible when suddenly, Qui gasped and froze, once again seeing the vision given her by the Madonna. With a start, she realized it was an undamaged mirror across the room, which reflected her image alongside JZ’s.
“What is it Qui?”
Qui lifted a shaking finger at their mirrored images. She whispered, “My vision.”
“It would seem so. Strange place for Alice’s looking glass.” JZ understood her reaction. Reflected in the mirror: their two pale-as-death faces floating in the semi-darkness. He squeezed her shoulders saying, “It’s OK Qui, we’re very much alive.”
“Check my pulse, just to make sure.”
JZ laughed and did so. “Your heart’s beating like a race horse. Take a deep breath…and calm down.”
“Easy for you to say. I won’t feel safe until we’re back topside.”
“Then let’s finish what we’ve started here. Whataya make of these little statues?”
“I haven’t the slightest, except maybe…”
“Maybe what? Ocho figures maybe?”
“Older…more African I think. Maybe this area was used to hide Haitian slaves.”
As JZ’s fingers traced the smooth curves of one figurine, his dark eyes glanced about the edges of the room. “You don’t say.”
“Cuban history books speak of this. Santiago was the original melting pot in the Americas.”
Turning his attention back to Qui, he said, “Thanks, professor. Take a look around. What is this stuff?”
Qui glanced about the room filled with an array of misplaced items out-of-time and out-of-place; things more suited to an attic than an underwater mine shaft. Curios, jewelry, furnishings, tableware, silver goods, even gold filigree framed paintings.
“No slave I’ve read of had items like this.” JZ’s voice was swallowed by the limestone.
“An odd assortment,” murmured Qui, examining the contents of a large chest. “A trousseau, unless I miss my guess. Really old too.”
“How’d it get here?”
“Same way the rest of this stuff got here, I imagine. On the backs of the men Alejandro saw that night.”
“No doubt.”
After snapping off a dozen shots, Qui called out to JZ, “Come over here and help me with this.”
“I’m having too much fun over here.”
Qui looked in his direction and saw a big man with a mall boy’s enthusiasm, sitting on the cave floor happily engaged in sorting through a stash of old weapons. “What are you doing? Playing with guns and knives?”
“Hey, somebody’s gotta sort ’em out!”
She watched for a few moments as he brandished a long, thin, curved blade. He obviously appreciated the
