“Tell me, Quiana,” JZ asked, “do you believe the photos you took are enough to convict Arias?”
“I have to believe so, yes, but once they’re turned over to the authorities…well, you’ve seen how things disappear here.”
“Yeah and this is about Cuba’s international image.”
“Image, image! I’m tired of concerning myself with Cuba’s damned international image. I’ve got murders to resolve!” She stared out the window.
“Still, these murders affect Cuba’s image, we can’t ignore that,” countered JZ. “A Canadian, two Americans, a-”
“A Cuban doctor and cop are no less important!”
“-mass murder during the revolution… Qui, I would never minimize the murder of Montoya or Hilito-I just hadn’t gotten there yet!”
As if in answer, a shot rang out and both Qui and JZ raised weapons to the windows, expecting more shots. Feeling trapped, vulnerable, they were tossed about the back sear as the car spun wildly out of control, sending up a huge cloud of dust. The car came to a shuddering stop along the shoulder of the road.
“Everyone okay?” asked Ricardo, the driver.
A string of curses erupted from JZ who’d slammed into the car door immediately followed by Qui landing atop him.
“OK? Are you both nuts? They’re shooting at us!” Qui screamed, searching a target in the dust cloud.
“No, no. It’s just a blown tire, Lieutenant,” replied Ricardo.
Qui, sagging against JZ, commented, “That scared hell outta me.”
JZ held her as they sat underneath a canopy of trees and settling dust, murmuring into her hair, “Me too, Qui, me too.”
“Sorry, I’m all nerves today.”
“Understandable, we’ve been target practice all week.” Releasing her to exit the car, JZ continued, “Face it… if anyone should be paranoid, we do!”
Qui laughed lightly and stretched against the side of the car. Looking at her now dusty hands, Qui continued, “We were talking about Fidel. For all we know, he wants this kept quiet…you know, the past in the past.”
“This is too large to be buried. Too many people know something of what’s going on.”
Brushing her hands, Qui sighed. “It comes back to Cuba’s image.”
“Exactly what I was saying before the tire blew.”
“I know…I know, JZ, so we take this into consideration and go lightly.”
“How lightly? Do we really have to dance around this?”
“You’ve seen me dance,” she said distractedly. “What do you think?” The question recalled conversations she’d had with Dr. Arturo Benilo. The old ME’d been right all along about Cuban politics; it really did permeate everything.
After the delay of the blown tire and the excitement of thinking themselves under attack, they continued on their way to Miramar. Choosing to avoid Havana, Qui asked the driver to take an indirect route to the bed and breakfast. As they neared the city, Quiana realized just how much she loved and missed her father and the trappings of home. Wanting to feel her father’s protective arms in a hug and to sleep in her own bed, she hoped to feel safe and untouchable once again.
When the B amp; B came into view, she squeezed JZ’s hand and said, “I pray that all is well here. And, nothing bad has happened.”
“We’ll soon find out,” JZ answered as the car pulled up to the family homestead.
Not waiting for JZ to alight, Qui dashed from the car to seek out her father where he’d normally be by mid- afternoon, but he was not in his garden. She found Sergio’s wife and children instead, playing with Maria Elena’s children.
Maria Elena and Carmela rushed to Qui and hugged her.
“Where’s Papa? Why isn’t he here?” Her tone clearly revealing her fear.
“He’s with Dr. Benilo,” Maria Elena assured Qui.
JZ’d joined the two asking, “Where exactly are they?”
Carmela replied, “They’ve gone to Fidel, along with my husband.”
“Pena’s with them too,” said Yuri, who’d come to investigate.
“Pena?” asked Qui accepting a hug from him.
Yuri filled them in on what they’d learned from Estaban Montoya’s nurse, along with the secret cache of papers found in Qui’s room.
Confused and angry at this revelation, Qui demanded, “He used my rooms to hide illegal doings?”
“Afraid so.”
“When’re they meeting with Castro?” asked JZ.
“Now…” Yuri checked his watch. “An hour, hour and ten.”
“We’ve gotta get to Havana.” She snatched the underwater camera from her purse. “We have additional information. Proof in here!”
“The car and driver already left,” JZ lamented.
“I’ll drive,” replied Yuri. “I’ll get you there in time.”
As they rushed for the parking lot, Qui warned JZ, “You’re in for another bumpy ride.”
Piled into Yuri’s prized 1955 Jeep with an oversized motor and four-barrel carburetor, they raced for Havana. Qui shouted over the noise of wind and motor, “Damn! I’d wanted to develop the film and to talk to Papa and Benilo before going to Castro.”
“If you want to help, it’s now or never,” replied Yuri. “Castro’s not feeling well; rumors again he could pass away.”
“There’s always rumors,” JZ replied.
“National pastime is betting on when and where,” shouted Qui. This made the men laugh. “Stop laughing and help me decide how to tell Fidel about Humberto Arias’s crimes and treason without sounding like a lunatic.”
The Jeep continued at breakneck speed toward Havana while they wrestled with strategies. How best to approach Fidel with the truth? How best to ‘handle’ Fidel, when everyone knew there was no ‘handling’ Fidel.
Castro’s presidential office
Having granted Tomaso and Benilo an audience, and with them two PNR detectives-the well-known Jorge Pena and a younger detective named Latoya-Fidel smiled at his old compatriots. He’d kept tabs on these two ex revolutionaries, watching their careers unfold. Lately, Fidel had been hearing countless accusations and rumors directed at Benilo as being too old, too feeble, and too out of touch to continue on as Cuba’s premier Medical Examiner-the same arguments leveled daily at him, and for this reason Fidel did not believe a man’s age necessarily interfered with his ability to do his job.
Fidel felt it good politics to grant an audience to veteran soldiers-particularly men who’d fought alongside him, loyal, disloyal, or indifferent. While both Aguilera and Benilo had done little to support his rule, neither had they become involved in any insidious plots against him. Besides, he held a soft spot for old Arturo and Tomaso. Still, he had kept them waiting an appropriate length of time.
But, this story they told…an outlandish tale that linked the murder of three foreigners and two Cubans to the well-respected arts and antiques dealer, businessman Humberto Arias, another old compatriot. “This is too much to accept on such flimsy evidence. He’s never given me reason to question his loyalty before.”
Benilo began, “Sir, Arias was never loyal to you-”
Castro, irritated at the accusation, insisted, “Arias defected from Batista! Brought his troops to our side, in Santiago.”
Tomaso countered, “However, he only did that when the tide of the revolution was shifting to your favor. And, that only after the hushed-up slaughter at El Cobre.”
Castro grew silent, eyes narrowed. “Ravages of war…things none of us had time to investigate. We were fighting for freedom, for our Cuba gentlemen.” He stood and strode to the window and stared out, hands crossed behind his back.
Tomaso held up a hand to Benilo silencing him where they sat before he could say another word. Leaning in, he whispered, “Let him think it over.”
