“Murder and money,” agreed JZ.
It was the images of the Black Madonna that gained most purchase with Fidel. Qui felt heartened that he’d immediately grasped the significance of these photos.
Fidel, staring the whole time at the strange, underwater, otherworldly look of the real Black Madonna, commented, “Perhaps, I will call on you again if the need arises. You have all been very helpful and Cuba appreciates your patriotism and your discretion in this matter.” Stopping to stare at JZ, he added, “Even you, Mr Zayas, our prodigal son.” His eye then fell on Qui and he pointedly said, “In future, should I ever need your help, Quiana Magdalena Aguilera, I will call you.”
The president of Cuba abruptly stood, gathered the photos, his intense gaze once again fell on each of his visitors. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will take it all under advisement.” With this cryptic remark, he left without another word. Two aides immediately entered the room and silently gestured, guiding Qui and the others to the exit.
The following day in Miramar
Arturo, Tomaso, and Yuri sat in the mariposa garden, sipping drinks and congratulating Qui on solving the case of the dead foreign doctors. They discussed the disposition of the disparate elements of the mystery.
Benilo said, “Humberto Arias has completely disappeared. No one’s heard from him.”
“After fifty plus years,” Tomaso commented, “He’s finally paying for his war crimes.”
Qui added, “As well as the deaths of my three foreign doctors, Estaban, and Tony.” Silently she acknowledged her success in not failing the dead, a fear she’d had at the beginning of this tangled case.
“He’s a member of that elite club called the disappeareds,” insisted Yuri. “Finally achieved the status he so well deserved.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Helluva a thing Qui, that Esteban was killed simply to cover Arias’s sale of Cuban medical secrets.”
“But who’d have guessed that Montoya would’ve been illegally dealing in medical drugs?” Benilo added, “The man seemed toe the line.”
“Prim and straitlaced, he was.” Tomaso added.
“Must have been a serious liability to Arias,” Benilo replied.
“Word is that Arias had Hilito killed for the same reason,” said Yuri, “to cover his tracks.”
“Some detective I am,” commented Qui. “I never suspected Montoya of anything. He was so obsessed about rules. But I was onto Hilito…only too late.”
Patting her shoulder, Benilo remarked, “Qui, his death came was hours before you arrived.”
“No criminal charges have been leveled at Alejandro Valdes,” Yuri commented. “None of the dirt’s sticking to him.”
“Cunning man,” replied Qui. “Orchestrated Arias’s downfall…took years to realize his goal.
“Revenge has never been so perfectly executed,” Tomaso observed.
“Like a dessert Riesling,” stated Benilo. “A wine aged to perfection. After years of investment, the payoff must be indeed sweet.”
“How often in this life are we treated to real justice,” commented Yuri.
“Agreed, it’s a rare commodity,” Qui added putting down her glass. “And without Alejandro’s having peppered the trail, we’d never have caught Arias. For now as far as I’m concerned the scales are balanced, but I’ll keep my eye on him.”
Tomaso said, “And Alfonso’s future can be summed up in a single word: disgrace. ”
“Disgrace to him personally,” Qui added, “as well as disgrace on the entire PNR.”
Benilo sarcastically replied with a smile, “That’s nothing new.”
Yuri added, “Disgrace in a communist country is nothing! It’ll be ignored under the banner of reform with new faces. Politics as usual.”
“Remember, Qui?” asked Benilo raising his glass in a mock toast. “I said politics is everything in Cuba.”
“This case has proven you right.”
Finishing his drink, Benilo stated, “Cagey how Fidel leaked the information about your discovery of the Black Madonna.”
“Yeah, that news release supposedly from of the university at Santiago was quiet a piece of work. Fidel’s speechwriters musta worked overtime to make it so thoroughly ambiguous.”
Yuri roared with laughter, the others joining in. “It’ll take years for anyone to unravel the details of what’s happened here and in Santiago. The communist way…bury it in secrecy, bureaucracy, and mis-information.”
Qui continued, “Out of our hands. The experts have it.”
“I’d like to believe the experts have it,” began Tomaso, “but I fear it’s in political hands. The international media is skewering our country once again.”
“Well, I got enough on my hands with the estimable Mr. Zayas.” Looking at her watch, Qui announced, “And it’s time for me to leave before I miss his flight.”
Turning to Tomaso, Benilo said, “Looks like your daughter’s finally met an American she likes. A man who won’t be intimidated by Rafaela’s spirit.”
Tomaso smiled widely. “My little bird? Not likely her wings’ll ever be clipped.”
“Oh Papa!” Qui leaned over kissed her father, then waved goodbye to the others.
43
During the drive alongside the ocean, Qui surrounded by bright sunlight mused over the preceding night spent with JZ when he had informed her that he must return to America. “I’ve been selected to explain to the families exactly what went on here.”
“Oh, for what you call a debriefing? Fidel and Alejandro had you pegged right, then?”
“Not precisely. The families have a right to know the details of how their loved ones died here. It’s not something I’m looking forward to, Qui.”
She’d never pushed him for details on his background, and now was not the time to start. Instead, they’d made love, the kind she’d always dreamed of-at times passionate, at times tender, at times just plain fun. At one point, during a food break, she’d promised to see him off at the airport. He’d responded, “Might not be smart, Qui. Fidel’s got me under a microscope since we stormed his office-guess he’s still nervous over an Interest Section person getting so close.”
“I don’t care about any of that!” she’d protested, kissing him again.
“You should be; your career could be at stake.”
“It can only improve with Jorge Pena being placed in Gutierrez’s position.”
“Seems a good man in spite of a bad first impression.”
She couldn’t help but smile at this. “Agreed. That machismo act of his had me fooled too.”
JZ added, “But then you, he, Cordova, and Latoya disprove the prejudice I held against all PNR.”
“What’s not to love?” Qui teased.
With that, JZ left his chair, stalked over to her, pulled her up and over his shoulder, saying, “What not indeed,” over the sounds of her delighted shrieks. Dropping her onto the bed, he climbed up and toward her as if stalking prey. Capturing her, he shut off her laughter by pressing his lips tightly against hers. With the return of desire and with their time together shrinking, their lovemaking became a slow languorous tango, touch igniting fire. This intangible thing between them had become irresistible. It solidified and strengthened as the night passed with the lovers entwined within one another’s arms. The night proved magical. Their feelings had evolved into a deep, passionate, caring love, the existence of which neither could deny.
As Qui continued toward the airport, her thoughts focused on how much she’d gained and how much she’d lost, and how much she’d changed since that first day on the Sanabela, staring at the netted bodies. She’d gained untold experience, knowledge, and street smarts. She’d lost Montoya and Tino, but she’d found JZ, and she must admit to herself if to no one else she’d found love. This case had changed her- seasoned her. In this regard, Qui would never again doubt her own instincts and intuition. She understood that her relentless determination and her commitment to truth and law had won out against all odds-including the Cuban underworld.
But all these concerns were obliterated when Qui pulled alongside the private jet that JZ would board for
