The conversation ended suddenly with a rain of bullets pinging off metal and shattering glass around them. Diving for cover, the four lay scattered around the deck. Qui and JZ were without their weapons, separated from them by half the length of the boat where they’d earlier left them. An amplified voice claimed to be Santiago PNR, came across the water shouting, “Stop firing!”
A second amplified voice shouted, “Give yourselves up! Secret Police!”
“One boat? Two?” shouted JZ above the sound of the gunfire.
Luis shouted back, “Two. Only one is shooting! Help me with the gun.”
Crawling JZ and Qui joined Luis at the rocket propelled grenade launcher. Anticipating problems, Luis had earlier prepared the RPG for firing.
“Stop shooting!” rang out across the water, but chaos ruled as the second bullhorn drowned out the first with orders of their own. Searchlights coming from two directions wildly gyrated in rapid succession.
JZ loaded the grenade launched and slapped Luis on the shoulder. “Ready! Fire!”
“Aiii!” shouted Luis hit in the left side. Fighting the searing pain, he raised the weapon and fired.
JZ grabbed the RPG as Qui grabbed Luis, cradling him, pressing a dive towel against his wound. Towel and hands awash in his blood.
Peering over the edge of the boat, Pasqual watched as the approaching boat exploded in flames. “Direct hit!” he shouted in relief as the gunfire ended.
“God, I only hope the boat you blew was not official,” added JZ, “but I’m sick of being used as target practice. A single bullet penetrating a dive tank, and it’d’ve been us gone up in smoke.”
“For God’s sake, don’t shoot me! It’s Cordova!”
40
By dawn’s first light, they could see the damage done, the bodies and debris washing ashore. Burned and moaning men lay in one area while bodies lay in another.
Among the dead, rested Cavuto Ruiz, features and body red and black from the gasoline explosion, his once pristine suit rainbowed with the colors of blood and death.
Qui found Alfonso Gutierrez among the living. Flash blinded, handsome face blistered, Gutierrez surely thought himself dieing as made his confession to Father Pasqual. Unannounced, she stood silently behind them, listening to his “small part” in the chain of corruption and deceit that had resulted in the murders in Havana. Alejandro had not exaggerated Alfonso’s part in the intrigue; the man took his orders from Ruiz in a conspiracy to cover up evidence of connections to the Cuban underworld. In doing so, Gutierrez had placed his own detectives at risk-one of the three marked for murder now dead.
JZ joined her. “See those binoculars handing around your colonel’s neck? He must’ve seen Luis’s weapon and leapt overboard moments before the grenade hit.”
Hissed through clenched teeth, “Bastard should’ve died; like a rat, though, he survives the sinking ship.”
She then leaned over Gutierrez and demanded, “Who was Ruiz taking his orders from?”
“This man needs treatment, an IV, transport. Not questions,” complained the medic on the other side of Father Pasqual. “Tell her Father!”
Now standing, Father Pasqual reluctantly agreed, pulling at Qui to come away. “Show some patience. Interrogation can wait.”
“You mean he’s not gonna die on us?” asked JZ.
“Not right now. But we need to move him.”
“No, he gets no medical attention. Do you hear that, Alfonso? Nothing!” she ended.
JZ put a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Easy Qui. You don’t want to be like Alejandro.”
Anger still rising, radiating in waves around her, she shook off JZ’s warning. “Alfonso, you die here, now, unless you tell me what I want to know!”
Pasqual exchanged a concerned look with JZ, and calmly said to Qui, “Maybe it would be best to question him later at the hospital.”
Ignoring Pasqual, she leaned into her boss’s face. “Why was Montoya killed?”
“No idea,” Alfonso groaned.
“Why were the three doctors killed?”
“Dunno ohhh, please…”
“Why was Tino killed?”
Alfonso grimaced in pain from his injuries. “I don’t know!”
“Just a poor lackey, heh? Then who does know?” she insisted. “Who is behind the killings?”
“Stop! I insist,” shouted the medic, nose to nose with Qui over the injured man.
“Best guess, Colonel!” she shouted. “Now!”
“Arias…Humberto Arias.”
“You’re going to say so in a court of law, Colonel. You can’t see them but there are three witnesses who’ve heard what you said, and there’re not all priests.”
Alerted by the shouting, Cordova joined them and placed a hand on Qui’s arm. “You have your confession and your witnesses to it, Lieutenant Aguilera. Now, back off and let us take care of him.”
“OK. Get him outta my sight, but you tell the doctors he’s an important witness. Make sure this weasel gets the best care the Cuban government can provide.”
She finally stepped away allowing the medics to transport Gutierrez. Shortly JZ and Cordova joined her where she stood staring out over the shimmering lake that disappeared around a bend.
“Arias somehow got wind of your interest in the lake,” said Cordova. “Obviously sent Ruiz after you.”
“You don’t suspect Alejandro?” asked JZ.
“No…it wouldn’t serve his ends.”
“People talk,” muttered Cordova. “Secrets are impossible to keep for long in this place.”
“Worse than in Havana?” Qui asked. “Colonel Cordova, I assume you be in charge of Gutierrez.”
“Yes.”
“Then see to it that he has round the clock guards placed on him.”
“In his condition, he’s not going anywhere.”
“He may not be a flight risk, but he is at high risk of being assassinated…and he may consider suicide.”
“Yeah, and some people don’t need to know he survived the explosion,” added JZ.
“Ahhh…of course…understood. We’ll keep him under constant watch and arrest.”
“Do you have the facilities for that?” asked JZ.
“We’re not exactly a backwater force here, Mr. Zayas. We have a prison wing at the hospital where he’ll be kept as soon as the doctors okay a move. Still,” he shrugged, “if the SP comes for him, there is little we can do.”
“Just like in Havana,” Qui muttered in frustration. “Where even three dead bodies disappear overnight.”
“Then, admit him under an assumed name,” suggested JZ. “That’ll give us time to seal our case.”
“As you wish. Do you have a suggestion for the assumed name?”
“Ass,” leapt from Qui’s tongue. “Mr. Ass.”
The two men laughed at this. JZ suggested, “Jacques de le Bontemps.”
Qui now laughed at the play on words, “Good times are gone for this jackass.”
This time all three laughed.
Qui added in a serious tone, “And by the way Cordova…”
“Yes?”
“Be sure Jacques has no access to a phone and no contact with anyone-remember, the other guy’s dead.”
“Of course! We haven’t the power to bring back the dead.”
“When the time comes, this dead man will walk and talk.”
“You may count on it, Detective Aguilera.” Then he added, “I cannot imagine how I would feel to learn that
