Authors: Robert W. Walker
Cuba Blue (41 page)
JZ commented, “So we’ve been told by everyone with any connection to this case.”
Qui sensed she could trust this man. “We’re going to take a close look at the Lake of Blood, Colonel, and you’re welcome to join us.”
“We want to keep it as quiet as possible,” added JZ.
“A good plan. Keep me posted. When do you plan to dive?”
“Tonight. We’re making arrangements now.”
“I’ll try to be on hand.” Cordova showed not the least surprise. “We keep a small patrol boat out there.”
Outside the stationhouse, Qui hailed a cab to take them to the local scuba diving outfitter whose address Father Pasqual had left them
.
When they arrived, they saw Father Pasqual’s Lada parked outside. Once inside, JZ and Qui found that the persuasive priest had convinced his friends who operated the shop to outfit two visiting ‘American tourists’ for the dive.
On entering, the two visiting ‘touristas’ from Havana were greeted with a series of cheers. Father Pasqual rushed to them, whispering, “You are world champion divers, you two, from America. You’re going to take the shop’s T-shirts back to the States and tell everyone through your media how wonderful the diving in Cuba is, do you understand?”
“Got it. World class divers,” replied JZ. “Qui, keep your mouth shut, they’ll know you’re native.”
“I’ll have to make an extra trip to confessional this week,” ruminated Pasqual.
Qui assured Pasqual that the government would pick up the tab at some future date. “No, no! They can’t know. God…I mean, if they think a priest a liar…”
“Your secret is safe with us,” JZ assured him, and then JZ fell into the role of an arrogant, famous American undersea diver.
Luis, who’d been alerted by Pasqual to their whereabouts, joined them at the shop. He proudly said, “I’ve found decent transportation to the lake. It’s parked outside.”
With everyone carrying oxygen tanks and equipment, they went in search of Luis’s recent acquisition. What passed for decent was a beat up, wooden-paneled station wagon that’d had its entire back end custom cut to create an open cargo hold, the whole looking like some grotesque metal sculpture of mismatched car parts.
“So much for decent,” muttered JZ as he began loading the equipment into the back of the thing.
“Sorry no shocks or springs, going to be a bumpy ride.”
In the back of the truck, Qui noticed a long, slender unmarked wooden box—she asked no questions. As soon as all the diving gear had been stowed, with Pasqual leading in his Lada, they drove for the lake.
After a long and uncomfortable ride, during which they’d watched as day become twilight, Father Pasqual led them to the sandy shore of the lake. As they’d approached along a winding road so thick with trees on either side they couldn’t see the chapel and only snatches of the cathedral.
JZ and Qui began moving the equipment from the station wagon to the boat Luis had arranged for, appropriately named
Madonna
—a tourist craft that had long plied the lake for its scenic beauty. During the back and forth between the station wagon and the boat at the end of the dock, Pasqual and Luis began a whispered exchange. Instead of being discreet, the whispering only called attention to the pair as they carried the odd shaped box aboard.
Qui caught snatches of the dialogue and nudged JZ, pointing in the direction of the priest and the fisherman. “Something to do with that strange box.”
Sometime later, JZ said to Qui, “I suspect what’s in the box, but I hope I’m wrong.”
“What do you suspect?”
“It’s no longer a suspicion. Take a look. You won’t believe what he’s setting up.”
Qui turned to see Luis bending over a frightful weapon, a rifle on steroids, its muzzle aimed out the back of the boat. “Where the hell did he find that?”
“An RPG in Luis’s hands is just plain scary. Think he’ll sink the boat?”
Qui shook her head in reply. Dropping the last load of equipment on the deck, Qui went to Luis and demanded, “What’s all this?”
“He’s gone mad,” said Pasqual. “More paranoid than my brother. Thinks we may need this monstrous thing.”
“That right Luis?”
“It could get dangerous out here; we don’t know who might show up.”
“Actually Luis has a point,” said JZ. “We don’t know who to trust.”
Pasqual shrugged and added, “Can’t be sure of anyone. Too many people know you’re in Santiago.”
Luis nodded. “Yeah…Carnival and rum means gossip…loose tongues.”
“Dangerous situation all around,” replied JZ.
“And Giraldo tells me Lago de Sangre is the most dangerous place in all of Santiago to dive,” added Luis.
“It looks as peaceful as glass,” Qui challenged him.
“I’m not talking about the water. Countless outlaws in these hills, renegade guerilla bands, you name it.”
“The best offense is a good defense,” suggested JZ. “It can’t hurt if Luis watches over us while we’re below, and Father Pasqual offers a prayer and a second pair of eyes.”
“Which will be more effective, Luis’s
cannon
or the prayer?” asked Qui. “And, how do you that old thing won’t blow up in your face?”
“As far as danger goes, I think Giraldo meant the lake itself, Luis,” explained Pasqual. “Old mine shafts and limestone caves below creating treacherous currents.”
“We’re both experienced divers,” Qui assured Pasqual.
“Even experienced divers have never surfaced…alive.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” said Qui.
Handing her a wetsuit, JZ added, “Time to suit up. Who’s gonna manage the sonar?”
Pasqual replied, “Luis, you monitor the sonar, and I’ll take us out.”
“Fine with me.”
While JZ and Qui helped one another gear up for the dive, Pasqual directed the Madonna toward the area 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?”
