The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  The electronic tracker had worked perfectly.

  Leaving his bike parked close to the hotel, Eduardo followed the woman from a safe distance. He watched her enter an eatery and subsequently a shop that sold sunglasses, from which she emerged with her face hidden. As she headed south on to Calle Regalado, he realised his uncle had chosen his own position wisely.

  He got out his mobile phone and quickly sent him a text message.

  *

  Cortés paused mid-sentence as he heard his phone bleep in his pocket. He checked the message and looked immediately across the street, where he saw a woman with dark hair walk briskly along Calle Regalado and into the Banco Ramírez. Though large parts of her face were shaded, there was something about the way she moved that made it impossible not to recognise her.

  Sitting opposite, Ben sat with his back to the bank, looking in the direction of the nearby cathedral along the narrow street.

  He looked at Juan. “What?”

  “I think the eel has landed.”

  *

  The key had served a second purpose, which on reflection made complete sense. If the original account dated back over a century, it stood to reason that the key predated the security checks she had just encountered.

  It fitted the lock perfectly. Turning it to the right, her heart raced as she heard a distinct clicking sound, confirming success.

  The lid opened slowly. Valeria felt resistance at the hinges, suggesting it hadn’t been opened for some time. Persevering, she heard a slight creaking sound coming from the hinges before she decided to throw her weight behind it. Slowly, she felt it coming. Slowly then more smoothly. Finally it opened.

  She looked inside for the first time.

  *

  Juan saw Eduardo pass by on the opposite side of the road. He nodded casually at the lad, who was wearing oversized, rock-star-style sunglasses, and returned his attention to Ben.

  Ben noticed. “A friend of yours?”

  Cortés looked him in the eye. “In times such as these, it is important to know exactly who is on your side.”

  Ben glanced across the road as the young man disappeared towards the cathedral. From a quick glimpse, Ben could see that he had shoulder-length, curly brown hair, and wore a white T-shirt and shorts that matched the profile of local students. Although slim in build, his muscles were lean and toned, indicative of strength, which reminded Ben of some of his own students back home.

  Probably the sort of teenager who spent most of his time alternating between the gym and the bar, he mused.

  Danny and Maria appeared at the entrance of the café, casting two contrasting figures. Danny took a seat at the next table, fidgeting, whilst Maria huffed indignantly.

  “Sit down,” Cortés ordered.

  She did so. “I refuse to have anything more to do with this.” She leaned in so close the words stung his ears. “Abuela was right about you. You are nothing but an arrogant pig!”

  Cortés smiled, a self-assured smile, and turned to face her head-on. Her appearance had improved since her recent shower; her scent was strong and delicately feminine, while the bruising to her cheeks was well hidden by make-up.

  “Your sister is already inside. Soon she will return. When she does, I wish to speak with her.” He leaned forward, his brown eyes staring firmly into hers.

  “Do not forget why you are here.”

  37

  There was something about the way recent events had unfolded that made Valeria feel unworthy – as if history had somehow conspired to help her succeed despite her weaknesses. She remembered her mother had once told her that destiny involved making difficult choices, the chance to turn back or continue in the face of adversity.

  That the hero of the story always won through self-belief.

  The account had been opened in 1823, exactly a century after the bank’s creation. It had been opened by one Miguel Cortés, Juan’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, apparently along with a separate cash account.

  Valeria decided against exploring what it was currently worth.

  The interior of the box was lined with velvet padding to ensure the inside remained dry. It contained two objects wrapped in a red shroud, disturbingly similar to the colour of blood.

  She removed the shroud carefully and laid it out across the table. Strong feelings of fear and anticipation overcame her as she looked at the contents for the first time. After her recent experiences in the castle, she had expected another stone, bizarre metallic lighting originating from its source. A bright golden light confirmed her suspicions, but the stone wasn’t the only item. Beneath it was a thick paper document; its stained yellow colouring confirming that it was not of recent origin. The writing was quill written, clearly Spanish.

  Though she recognised the language, understanding it was difficult without aid.

  She knew now was not the time to begin.

  She picked up the stone and studied it carefully. The exterior was similar to the others, its brilliant glow lighting up the room like a lantern. Again, the centre appeared unstable, jellylike. There were letters scribed into the core.

  l Cas

  She smiled to herself as she mentally pictured all four together.

  Buoyed by the new findings, she rewrapped the stone and placed the items inside her large designer handbag, locking the empty box as she prepared to leave.

  She found the concierge standing by the main doors; he smiled at her as she handed over the box.

  “Thank you.”

  He returned the deposit box to its original location and escorted her to the lift.

  *

  She left the bank a completely different person, relieved that nothing had gone wrong. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably from pent-up stress and emotion; after twenty minutes trapped in the windowless underground enclosure, the rapid and forceful palpitations felt almost permanent.

  It was warmer outside than it had been. It was approaching 9 a.m. and the city was wide awake. Traffic had reached peak volume along Calle Regalado; cars travelled in slow convoys along the one-way section, a large no-entry sign confirming the way to the nearby cathedral was off-limits.

  On the pavement, people headed by in both directions, many dressed for work, some speaking intently into mobile phones or receiving advice or information through unseen earpieces as they attempted to hit the ground running on entering the office. She detected a distinct sense of urgency in the air, as if the locals had more important things on their mind than to worry about a visitor from another city standing outside the bank.

  She knew she couldn’t have picked a better time.

  *

  Ben studied Maria quietly as she sat disconsolately at the next table. Her hair was less vibrant than it had been the previous evening; Cortés had refused her request to provide her with hair conditioner. Her only sleep had been leaning against the window of the helicopter. She wore a hard expression that screamed ‘Don’t mess with me’.

  Maria looked at him, her eyes raw. For the first time he noticed the swelling had worsened since the night before.

  To Ben, she looked like a model with the mumps.

  “So what made you decide to leave Madrid?”

  She glanced at him, indignant. “Did you annoy my sister asking stupid questions, too?”

  Ben looked at Cortés and Danny; hearing no response, he smiled wryly. “All right. In that case, how about we talk about what exactly your sister is doing in Valladolid?”

  “I told you on the flight – I do not know.”

  “So it never came up in conversation yesterday when you saw her?”

  “No.”

  “Then what did you talk about?”

  For several seconds she stared at Ben and leaned in as close as her body would allow without leaving her seat. “I hope your cousin is more respectful of women than you are.”

  Ben placed his hands together in deep contemplation. “Well, you met him yourself; you tell me.”

  Opposite him, Cortés
also leaned forward. Since the moment of Valeria’s arrival, his attention had been directed exclusively to the bank’s classical entrance. Crowds of people were walking in both directions, a typical mix of holidaymakers enjoying the sights and workers commuting to their places of employment on foot.

  A woman of confident bearing was standing outside the main entrance, studying her surroundings as if contemplating her next port of call. She was dressed impressively in a clean white blouse and black shorts, and carried a large designer handbag. Though her face was largely concealed, other things he recognised immediately.

  Her height matched Valeria’s, a fraction under five feet five with a waist that was unlikely to exceed twenty-seven inches. The stance was also the same, as were the hips, the posture, the bone structure – even if she had been dressed as a man, it would have been impossible not to identify her.

  The final confirmation came from the natural waviness and vibrancy of her hair that reminded him of a character from Greek mythology; even as she stood in shadow, it seemed to glow with a healthy vitality.

  Glancing at Maria, Ben could see that the family resemblance was clear, more so than he had expected. Though Maria’s hair was lighter in colour, the length a few inches shorter, she shared her sister’s waviness. Maria looked like a dancer by comparison. Valeria was shorter in height, identical in weight. Unlike the waitress he had seen days earlier, she looked dynamic and purposeful.

  And alive.

  Ben rose to his feet.

  “Sit down.” The tone of Juan’s voice confirmed it was an order rather than a request. “I have warned you already not to attract attention.”

  Ben obliged, albeit reluctantly. A million thoughts were rushing through his mind. He had already witnessed how she had successfully used his cousin to break into Cortés’s home, taking his property. Now she had succeeded again.

  He guessed Chris was close at hand.

  “You’re just going to wait?”

  “Yes.”

  Ben bit his lip, confused. “And do what in the meantime?”

  Cortés looked to his left, staring piercingly at his ex-wife. Maria had felt it before, feared it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You know what to do.”

  Maria gritted her teeth and swore at him in Spanish. She left her seat and swung her hand at Juan.

  Cortés grabbed it mid-slap. “Remember. I’ll be watching!”

  *

  Eduardo walked slowly past the bank and stopped outside the entrance of the grocery shop next door. The interior smelled of fresh food, the healthy selection of homemade cold meat sandwiches especially appealing.

  He saw his uncle look at him circumspectly from across the street. He nodded casually before retracing his steps, and entered a small café on the opposite side.

  The plan was to cover all bases. With his uncle and the others seated close to where Calle Regalado joined Calle de Fray Luis de León and Calle Cánovas del Castillo at a crossroads, the logical choice was for him to cover the western section of the street. The café was quaint with outside tables that offered a clear view from the bank to where Calle Regalado formed a second crossroads with Calle de Teresa Gil.

  Leaving the bank, he knew Valeria would have a choice of directions. Should everything go to plan, she would have no way of avoiding contact with one of them.

  *

  Maria’s legs were shaking. She felt her knees buckle, her body swinging from side to side as her heels made contact with the surface of the road. Though she had prayed throughout the night that the re-emergence of her former husband into her life wasn’t real, that she was merely enduring a nightmare from which she would soon awaken, she knew no dream, no matter how vivid, could replicate the feeling of anguish that invaded all of her facial features. Every time she moved her lips, she felt sore, the feeling worst just below her eyes. She wanted to cry, but they too were numb, as if she had endured a series of powerful injections. That at least was a blessing, she decided.

  Any hint of trouble and Valeria would also be in danger.

  *

  Valeria paused outside the bank, considering her options.

  East was the wrong direction for the hotel, but her gut feeling told her not to retrace her steps exactly. Although leaving the bank had proved relatively easy, her instincts told her to be cautious. She had noticed it for the first time on leaving the castle. Despite the lack of traffic on the road from Medellín, she couldn’t shake the feeling someone had followed them.

  She took a deep breath and looked around, seeing nothing obviously out of place. Choosing to head east, she held the strap of her handbag safely in her right hand and over her right shoulder. She felt her muscles tense as she attempted to hit her stride before moving purposefully towards the imposing west front of the cathedral.

  The manuscript she had discovered was short; she estimated less than twenty pages long. The absence of a spine, cover and frontispiece along with the weak binding all pointed to a clear conclusion that the pages had once belonged to something far more substantial. The writing on the first page indicated it was a continuation of something, most likely a legal document connected to the account. The majority of the documents in Cortés’s study had concerned family business prior to the 1900s.

  Nevertheless, she knew there was little point in leaving anything behind.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman walking towards her from across the road. She had made it halfway over, seemingly oblivious to the threat of oncoming traffic.

  Looking a second time, Valeria realised that she knew her.

  *

  The instruction was to place a tracking chip inside her handbag. As her sister, Maria was the ideal candidate to carry out the task, as their embracing would not arouse suspicion.

  The ideal time to do so would be in the embrace itself.

  Cortés watched with circumspect eyes as the sisters approached one another. Valeria had noticed Maria as she crossed, proceeding with some hesitation before meeting her on the paving.

  They embraced immediately, though more rigidly than he had anticipated. Maria was doing most of the talking. After several seconds, he saw Valeria’s lips move, her cheeks still hidden behind her oversized dark lenses.

  He sensed the conversation was equally strained.

  *

  Ben didn’t know how to feel. He had expected anger, and got it, but it wasn’t the only feeling.

  The attraction was still there; somehow it had escalated. Her clothes were different, far sleeker, the sunglasses like something out of a fashion magazine. Her skin had bronzed after two days in the Spanish sunshine, giving her a natural polished look that suited her appearance. Had his motivation been different, he could have conned himself into believing he was looking at a different person: a model or a celebrity out enjoying a quiet morning in the hope of not being recognised.

  He sensed from her face she was uncomfortable, that the surprise appearance of her sister had disconcerted her.

  Instinct told him Chris was nearby.

  “Sit down,” Cortés said again with a firm, calm voice. “I’ve told you already about attracting attention.”

  Ben stared back at him, realising he had risen to his feet again. He had positioned himself close to the exit, ready to cross the road at a moment’s notice.

  Slowly, he lowered himself back into his chair and watched the sisters as their conversation showed signs of coming to an end.

  As the seconds passed, he saw them embrace a second time and prepare to part ways.

  *

  Valeria was stunned. For the briefest of moments, she thought she was seeing things, that the turmoil of recent days was catching up with her. Her sister was walking towards her from across the road.

  A road in Valladolid.

  “Maria?”

  Maria had made it on to the pavement, her high heels echoing on the concrete surface. With each passing second, Valeria felt an escalating sense of trepidation, stalking
her like a shadow.

  “Maria?” She caught her breath. “What is wrong?”

  Valeria received no reply as her sister embraced her, Maria’s long, wavy hair sweeping softly against her cheek. As they brushed together, she felt a strange swelling on Maria’s cheek, a series of bruises disguised by heavy make-up.

  “Juan is here. He knows about the theft.”

  Valeria felt as though her heart was about to explode. She looked Maria in the eye. “That’s impossible. He’s dead, I saw him.”

  “He’s not dead. He’s watching us from across the street, the café with the red umbrellas. Be careful or he might suspect.”

  Valeria looked cautiously in that direction, moving her eyes but not her face. She saw Juan looking somewhere to the north; two others accompanied him.

  Including Ben.

  “What has happened?”

  “He came last night; he gave me this.” She pointed circumspectly to her face. “He went to Javi in Madrid and they found the house. They know everything. His nephew followed you here from Medellín.”

  Valeria felt as though her entire world was falling apart, her take on reality shattered. She had known there was a chance that the theft would leave a trail and the disappearance of the stones would be noticed. Eduardo was technically Juan’s next of kin; according to Chris, none of the staff had been killed. CCTV was known to exist.

  Yet the shock of seeing his face, those villainous features lined with a goatee worthy of Satan himself, was a reality beyond any she had prepared herself for.