“What’s his name?”
Samuel shook his head. “He’s my cousin. Just middleman, not important to you.”
“Then who’s paying him?”
Samuel shrugged. “The top boss man? He’s from Cuba. And he likes antiquities and shipwreck artifacts, like you. That’s all I know.”
“A Cuban, you say?”
“Yes. He flew here in Army plane, not stay long.”
Dirk nodded and released the journal.
Samuel gently picked it up and tucked it under his arm. “I got to know,” he said. “Where’s the stone that everybody wants?”
“Most likely, in an American museum. Where your Cuban friend won’t be able to touch it.”
Samuel shrugged. “I hope you find it first, not him. My cousin says he’s crazy.”
The Jamaican backtracked to the door and turned the handle. “Good-bye,” he said, his eyes staring down in shame.
“Good-bye, Samuel.” Dirk clicked on the speargun’s safety and set it down.
Samuel closed the door behind him.
A minute later, Summer emerged from her bedroom wearing an oversized Scripps Institute of Oceanography T-shirt. She covered a yawn. “I thought I heard voices.”
“I just gave Samuel the journal.”
“You what?”
“It’s what Díaz was after. Now he doesn’t need to kill us in our sleep.”
“Juan Díaz, the Cuban we met in Mexico?”
“One and the same. He hired Samuel to monitor us and paid for the thugs in the pickup. No doubt he’s behind the theft of the stone at Zimapán.”
“Díaz . . .” A look of bitter disappointment crossed her face. “He was the leader of the thieves who took the stone? How could I have been so blind?”
“We met him only briefly. You told me they all wore disguises and that the top guy hardly spoke.”
“Still, I should have recognized him.” She sat on the couch in shock. “He’s responsible for the death of Dr. Torres. But why would a Cuban archeologist kill over an Aztec artifact?”
“He may not even be an archeologist. It could be he’s operating an artifact smuggling operation. There’s big money in black market antiquities. Both sections of the stone together could be worth a lot of money to a collector . . . Or it could be something else.”
“What’s that?”
Dirk stared at the speargun with a faraway gaze. “Perhaps, just perhaps, Díaz knows exactly what the Aztecs were carrying when they sailed to Aztlán.”
32
Dirk and Summer had barely stepped aboard the Sargasso Sea when the engines rumbled to life and the research vessel sailed out of Montego Bay’s sparkling waters.
“No R and R for the crew in sunny Jamaica?” Summer asked her father after greeting him with a warm hug.
Pitt shook his head. “We’re headed for the north side of Cuba and I want to get there as soon as possible.”
“He’s a regular Captain Bligh,” Giordino said.