*
Watching from the west tower, Eduardo saw two silhouettes hurrying through the mini dehesa on the west side of the castle, heading towards the approach road. He remembered seeing something similar once before, an occurrence that had ended badly for the intruders. His uncle had been wise to be cautious.
The question was, what had happened to the others?
He was desperate for assistance, but reasoned it was no longer likely. His heart throbbed in his chest as his uncle’s words replayed over in his mind.
“Remember, Eduardo. The legacy of our family is only important if people remember it.”
Steeling himself, he rushed down the steps of the west tower and moments later departed for the approach road on his motorbike.
33
They landed in the middle of a deserted courtyard less than fifteen minutes after leaving the field. Despite the lack of focal points, Ben was in no doubt of their current location. Light shone down blindingly from the surrounding walls, bouncing off the ancient stone and illuminating the ground as though they were touching down in a sports arena.
Cortés unbuckled his seat belt as the engines stuttered to a standstill. He eyed the surroundings contemptuously; Ben followed him out the door.
It was warm still, despite the late hour. It was approaching 10:45, but the comfortable temperature made it feel like it could have been several hours earlier. A pleasant breeze blew in from the north, taking the sting from Ben’s arms and elbows that had been burned during his time out in the sun earlier in the day. Great! he thought.
Another lesson learned the hard way!
He heard a noise coming from the helicopter. Cortés was wrestling with Maria as she tried to force her way out.
“Stay here and guard her,” Cortés barked at Danny. “Whatever happens, she is not to leave your sight!”
Ben joined Cortés as the Spaniard headed towards the keep, his eyes peeled for anything suspicious. He counted five surrounding towers, each round and capped by parapets, a sight he associated fondly with the Middle Ages. Larger still was the square keep that rose to almost double the height of the outer walls.
He guessed the view from a distance would be iconic.
Cortés sprinted for the main door. The first thing Ben noticed was how quiet it was; the master had returned yet no one had arrived to greet him. The atmosphere was strange; it was unclear whether anyone was at home.
Castillo Cortés was hardly the type of place where one simply arrived unannounced.
The door to the keep was locked. Juan banged hard against the ancient oak and rang the accompanying doorbell. Giving up, he removed a large key ring from his pocket and chose the one that appeared to be the oldest.
“You always carry a set of keys?”
He glared at Ben. “Even castles require a door key.”
*
The great hall was magnificent. Ben loved the way the room was somehow capable of encapsulating five centuries of history and still give off the feeling of warmth and family.
His gaze lingered on the area directly above the marble-encrusted mantelpiece, where an oversized portrait of a Spaniard in conquistador garb watched over the great dining room table as though floating on a pedestal over the fire. Like the other portraits that had lined the route to the great hall, the soldier’s charismatic expression defied time, his eyes harbouring the self-surety of a man who had entered hell and exited a winner. A strong aroma originated from the furniture, that same history recently polished. He sensed tobacco in the air also, but again, not a typical brand.
It reminded him of a Cuban cigar.
Even from the doorway, he sensed something about the room was out of place. A large vitrine lay at a subtle angle close to the far wall. When Juan moved it, Ben saw a wooden door connected to the wall by iron hinges. The coating of the door was out of keeping with the rest of the room; while the tops of the furniture had been recently varnished, the door was far dirtier.
The evidence suggested it was usually hidden from sight.
Juan opened the door and hurried down the stairs, Ben doing his best to keep up. It was surprisingly warm at the lower level, as if the area had its own central heating. As Juan turned on the lights, Ben found himself in a well-illuminated, oak-panelled chamber decorated with more artwork than he had ever seen in a single room. Slowing for the briefest of moments so that he could quickly take in the features of the portraits that he passed, he followed Cortés through what had initially appeared to be an innocuous passageway that led into another room.
As the passage ended, he heard new sounds, the trickling of water the most prominent. The light was brighter than before, as though provided by some natural source. The ceiling was higher; the colours suggested it had been painted to resemble the appearance of an afternoon sky. Below his feet, he realised the surface had also changed: what had begun as wooden boarding was now something more primitive, painted tiles decorated to appear like walking in grassland. Ahead of him, Cortés was walking purposefully across the rocky surface to what appeared to be a pathway into a lake.
Ben stopped and gaped at the sights in front of him. As implied by the images he had earlier witnessed on the small screen, he was standing before a mock layout of the city of Tenochtitlán.
Cortés wasted no time. Taking the nearest of three pathways, each representing the great causeways that once surrounded the city, he strode quickly on towards the great temple that loomed above everything else in the room.
Ben followed him, taking care not to lose his footing on the slippery surface. On reaching the heart of the island, the floor changed from blocks of stone to a tiled combination that seemed to match the walls of the nearby buildings. He came to a standstill by the Templo Mayor, where Cortés was kneeling near the circular shrine of Quetzalcoatl. He had an inquisitive look in his eye, as if he were unsure what would await him.
Crouching down beside him, Ben took a moment to study the surroundings. The three temple shrines were constructed of immaculately decorated stone, yet near the main stairway to the Quetzalcoatl shrine, a small gap created the illusion of a doorway into a lower chamber.
What Ben saw was incredible. Whoever had designed it had clearly done so solely for the purpose of safeguarding an item of importance.
Ben looked down at Cortés from behind. “What was that thing?”
Cortés huffed impatiently. “We have spoken before about your insistence on asking pointless questions.”
“I’m guessing it’s part of the same set.” Ben folded his arms. “The Tollan Stones?”
Cortés got to his feet and jogged back across the causeway. He took the stairwell to the raised gallery and continued into the hidden study.
“What else did you see on the screen?” Cortés asked as Ben entered the study.
“What are you talking about?”
“As you held the screen, you saw the slimy eel enter this room, yes?”
Ben looked around as he entered, recognising the room’s appearance from the video coverage. The desk was located against the far wall, its cluttered surface illuminated by an eerie combination of overhead lights and moonlight filtering in through the leaded glass above.
“She sat down here.” Ben pointed to the desk. He noticed the drawers were closed, the locks reminiscent in some ways of those on a modern suitcase.
Cortés sat down, dragged the heavy chair closer and lined up the dials in sequence. Successfully in, he scoured through the drawers, and noticed the third was empty.
The same was true of the other side.
Closing them, he rose to his feet and raced through the lower chambers back into the heart of the keep. He found the butler still unconscious in the pantry and continued to a large room within the south-west tower, filled with surveillance equipment.
Ben barely managed to keep pace with him, quietly feeling the effects of his injury. There was a large office-style chair overlooking a control console that operated more than eighty cameras.
&nbs
p; “I take it you employ security staff?”
“At one time soldiers would guard the parapets and conduct nightly patrols into the village. These days, the job is more automated.”
Ben avoided the urge of a rebuke. Clearly the strategy had failed.
Cortés navigated the main controls. The cameras confirmed another man was lying unconscious in what appeared to be a lounge, whilst another was in the same condition in one of the garages. Danny and Maria had made their way into the kitchen; Ben was shocked to see the pair actually talking.
He prayed the boy wouldn’t be soft-talked into removing the bonds that secured her.
Cortés rewound the footage and stopped after forty-three minutes. Chris had made the initial break-in; the infrared camera had clearly caught the emergence of a black-silhouetted figure, wearing a dry suit, from the heart of the nearby cistern. Once the dry suit had been discarded, Ben was easily able to make out his cousin’s features as he entered what appeared to be an armoury after knocking out the butler. He proceeded to dispatch two others before allowing Valeria access. Ben noticed rare anger in the way Chris had fought.
The other men had never stood a chance.
The only robberies had occurred down below. Once again, the footage showed Valeria sitting at the desk, looking through the drawers. The items she had removed were unidentifiable from the video evidence, but he guessed Cortés was aware of their significance.
As the footage played out, Cortés’s morale seemed to worsen before finally he allowed himself a smile.
“What is it?”
He looked at Ben. “The slimy eel has just given me a plan.”
*
The four-by-four pulled up outside the house in Mérida. Valeria extinguished the lights and darted quickly towards the front door, knocking calmly.
The house was the only one in the vicinity that still had lights on. Outside it was quiet, the sounds of the city replaced by those of nature filtering down from the hills.
Elena opened the door and waited for Chris to enter before locking it from the inside. She made a point of drawing the curtains before switching on a large table lamp located in the centre of the main table.
The first thing Valeria noticed was that the furniture was slightly askew.
“What has happened?” Valeria asked.
“Did you succeed?” Elena replied in English to include Chris.
Valeria placed the stolen items on the table, taking extra care with the stone. Elena picked up the blue stone and examined it, her face a picture of joy.
“You were not seen?”
“No, except from the cameras.” She peeked outside the curtains; on her return she noticed her grandmother’s face suddenly appear uncomfortably tight. “Something is different here. Where is Maria?” she asked in Spanish.
This time Elena addressed her in Spanish. “We cannot stay here. Your American friend is alive. He has taken Maria.”
*
Eduardo pulled up close to the ruins. The house opposite had an attractive traditional façade that he imagined would be quite cosy on a hot day.
As far as he could tell, he couldn’t place the owners.
He watched from a distance as the car pulled up underneath a first-storey balcony and two figures got out. He recognised neither, aside from having witnessed their escape moments earlier.
He assumed his uncle would know far more.
*
Cortés was in the great hall when his phone rang. He was too angry to sleep.
“Yes?”
“Uncle.”
Juan nearly leaped out of his seat. “Where are you?”
“I followed the intruders to a house in Mérida. There were two of them: a man and a woman.”
Cortés couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Where are they now?”
“They left the house about an hour ago; they’re currently heading north.”
Juan leaned back in his chair, showing only indifference to the hard, rigid exterior.
“Where are you now?”
“I had to stop for fuel, but I placed a tracker on their car whilst they were parked. They’re not far ahead. Seem to be heading for Salamanca.”
Cortés smiled, knowing he could probably guess their eventual destination. “Keep with them. We shall meet with you tomorrow.”
The line went dead and Juan placed the phone down on the table, using his fingers to massage his facial hair.
After the day he had experienced, he was surprised it still felt so soft and smooth.
The day had been unlike any other, even for a man used to such things. The audacity of the intrusion was unlike anything he had ever encountered. Even for a woman he associated with dishonesty, the break-in was the strangest he had come across, even compared to the one of years earlier.
Fortunately, back then, the woman had left disappointed.
There were certain things a person just didn’t do; and if they did, they usually lived to regret it. Fate was a strange thing, as was destiny. It was incredible how history often had a tendency to repeat itself. Like attracted like. Violence begot violence. Sometimes even the smallest event could go on to be of great consequence.
Or begin a great chain of consequences.
Leaving his seat, he headed towards the fireplace and stared contemplatively at the great man on the wall above. He remembered a saying associated with him: “He travels safest in the dark night who travels lightest.”
Smiling, he decided it was time to wake the American.
The Seventh Day
34
Valladolid, 8 a.m.
The journey ended after a night on the road. Chris hadn’t slept since the day before. Although he was tired, his body felt strangely driven, as if something or someone was guiding him.
Stretched out on the front seat of the car, he recalled his last clear memory. It was two weeks earlier. He was back in New England; his grandmother, as usual, had taken control of preparations for the family’s annual emigration to the States’ anniversary celebration. It was a tradition in his family that the clan would spend the day together, eating anything that could be barbecued. As dusk fell, they would sit together, him drinking beer and eating burgers and hoping Ben’s date brought a friend. A fortnight earlier that had happened. Her name was Emily.
The first thing he had noticed was that she was overweight.
Ben’s date was beautiful. He remembered seeing her once before at Dartmouth, but officially they were still ‘just friends’. Her name was Juliet, she taught something history related and was technically Ben’s head of department. Emily, on the other hand, was a wedding planner, passionate about everyone’s special day but her own. He bit his lip as he recalled the tail end of the night. He did what he always did – got too drunk. The next day Nana had read him the riot act – Chris, honey, you have to let a lady come to you; why can’t you be more like Ben? He smiled to himself. Somehow Ben had the knack. Women chased him whether he liked it or not; for some reason, most of the time he didn’t. Juliet was the worst, dreaming of kids and marriage.
He dreaded to think how she would take the news.
He watched the road with tired eyes, his mind moving on from happier times to more recent events. The break-in at the castle had been unlike anything he had ever experienced. Entering the home of the man who was apparently responsible for the death of his cousin had succeeded only in escalating the ever-increasing feelings of anger that were fast threatening to boil over inside him. Though he had never met Juan Cortés personally, the Cortés name was famous worldwide, infamous in certain quarters. He had researched the story of the famous conquistador many times, but never considered the possibility the man’s descendants still walked the earth, or that their paths might one day cross. He remembered Colts telling him on his first night at the Gibbous Moon that there would be people on St Mary’s who would not warm to their presence; at the time, he had put it down to local superstition. The island had a reputation for it; there was something
about the place that made it a haven for myths and legends.
He realised now the man had a point.
Even in the navy there had never been cause for breaking and entering. The mistakes he had made as a teenager were long behind him. Thanks to his best friend, Bobby, the authorities had never known his name. If any of the castle staff had been successful in identifying him, he knew the situation would have been grim. Execution without trial would have been the inevitable outcome. The family would have had to mourn two lost sons. He glanced at himself in the mirror, wondering what on earth had possessed him to take such an unnecessary risk. He looked at Valeria.
Then he remembered.
*
Chris had already visited Valladolid once in his life. Like all the great European cities, it basked in the elegance of past glories and was swarming in intoxicated sightseers. As Valeria drove swiftly along the historic streets, he took in the familiar sights of its countless medieval buildings merged with a modern business centre that stretched far into the skyline.
Valeria parked in a private multi-storey car park adjoining a four-star hotel and unbuckled her seat belt. She hadn’t slept for almost twenty-four hours, and Chris could tell she felt all the worse because of it.
“What is this place?” Chris asked, helping her remove their luggage from the boot.
“The Hotel del Poniente.” She closed the boot and headed for the entrance. “You will be able to rest here. I will return after I find the bank.”
35
Ben recalled his previous visit to the city of Valladolid some five years earlier. On that occasion he had Chris and their two sisters for company.
The present circumstances could not have been more different.
There was something about the city he had instantly taken to. Though some things changed, others remained unaltered by the passage of time. It was a city of majesty, but slightly less spoiled than the neighbouring capitals. The city hall in the Plaza Mayor dazzled in the early morning sunlight; crowds of citizens crossed the red-brick surface, many stopping to take photographs of the famous statue of the city’s founder, Count Ansúrez.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 52
