The Columbus Affair: A Novel

He made no effort to hide his disbelief.

“It is true,” Simon said. “His family took the name Colon after converting.”

“Why does that matter?” He truly wanted to know.

“To my family it matters a great deal. To the Jews, even more. Do you know the story of Columbus’ death?”

“How did Columbus die?” he asked Halliburton.

“Where’d that come from?”

“Something I was thinking about. How did it happen?”

“He died in Spain in May 1506 after a long illness. Nobody knows what killed him. It wasn’t so much his death but what happened after that’s really interesting.”

He listened as Halliburton explained how Columbus was first buried in a convent at Valladolid. Then in 1513, his daughter-in-law requested that the remains be brought to the Seville cathedral. In 1537 the family was granted permission to bring the body back to the New World, and Columbus was interred inside a newly built church in Santo Domingo.

1537.

He knew the significance of that year.

That was when the same daughter-in-law—the widow of one of Columbus’ sons—acquired control of Jamaica from the Spanish Crown.

Columbus stayed on Hispaniola until 1795. When Spain lost control of the island to the French, the remains were transferred to Havana. In the early 20th century, at the end of the Spanish-American War, when Cuba gained independence, the bones were brought back to Seville, where they have remained.

“With just one problem,” Tre said. “They might not be Columbus. Toward the end of the 19th century, some workers digging in the church at Santo Domingo found a lead box full of bones. On the outside was written, RENOWNED MAN DON CRISTOBAL COLON. That made everyone believe that the Spanish might have dug up the wrong grave back in 1795.”

“I’ve been to the church in Santo Domingo,” he said. “There’s a monument to Columbus and a tomb.”

“That contains those bones from the lead box. The government did all that in 1992 to celebrate the five hundredth anniversary of the first voyage. But there’s also a magnificent tomb in Seville. They’ve run several DNA tests, but nothing has ever been solved. Those bones were moved so much, scattered around, he could be in all of those places. Or none of them.”

“My family is searching for Columbus’ grave,” Simon told him. “We think that the bones were secretly transported to Jamaica and hidden in his lost mine. That location was apparently one the family trusted, since the Admiral himself located it.”

But he’d not believed the Simon then, and still did not now. This wasn’t about finding some grave. No way. Simon was after something else entirely, something important enough to draw the attention of American intelligence agents. He could not care less about the bones of Columbus. That man had been an invader. A destroyer. His arrival meant the deaths of tens of thousands of Tainos, and eventually led to slavery, which wrought even more pain and suffering. Maroons had rebelled against all of that, becoming the first Africans to win their freedom in the New World. If there was a lost mine, it definitely belonged to them.

“What is it, Bene?”

The engine’s angry chorus waned and they began their descent. Out the window he spotted Cuba and the green bastion of mountains that skirted the coast. La Sierra Maestra. He knew that slaves had used its harsh terrain for cover as they escaped the cane plantations. They’d not acquired a name like Maroons, but they were the same nonetheless.

Halliburton was glancing out a window, too. “That’s where the Cuban revolution started. Castro and his men hid in those mountains.”

He knew coffee was grown there. A strong blend that only mildly competed with his prized beans.

“I want to find that mine,” he said, his voice low. “If there be nothing there, fine. But I want to find it. I need you to help me do that.” He faced Tre and asked, “Will you?”

“Sure, Bene. I can do that.”

He saw that his friend sensed the urgency. He also saw something else. Apprehension. He’d never seen that in Halliburton’s eyes before. He hated that his friend might be afraid of him, but he did nothing to ease that feeling.

He would tolerate no more lies, no more mistakes.

Not from foe or friend.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

TOM STARED AT THE GUN AND ASKED, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

The man Alle said was named Brian marched toward them.

“I knew you were the problem,” Alle said.

“Your daughter tell you what a great actress she is?”

He kept his gaze on the weapon. Strange. Two days ago he hadn’t feared death. Today was a little different. Not that he definitely wanted to live, it was just that, at the moment, he didn’t particularly want to die. Abiram’s two messages and Alle’s betrayal both raised questions.

And he hadn’t been curious for a long time.