The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

“That is not important. Meet us in the square. Come now.”

  Ben heard the dial tone bleep in his ear, and the phone went silent. He saw that the display had returned to normal.

  He knew she could be anywhere, most likely hiding amongst the crowds. With people hurrying in both directions, in and out of shops, he knew the chances of finding her would be one in a million.

  Resigned, he returned his phone to his pocket and headed for the main square.

  39

  Valeria didn’t stop running until she had entered the church. She held her breath whilst the heavy, ancient wooden door seemed to take an eternity to swing shut, before she exhaled with a deep sigh of relief.

  The church was empty apart from her. Sunlight entered through the stained-glass windows, casting an array of colours as it shone across the pews.

  According to the map on her phone, she had entered Iglesia Vera Cruz.

  She headed along the centre aisle and genuflected before the altar, taking a seat in the front pew on the left. She spent the next few minutes in silent prayer, her biggest request that Ben would not follow her inside.

  In all her years she had never known fear like it. The culmination of events in England had been like living through both a dream and a nightmare. She could still picture the sight of the various bodies in front of her, lying scattered across the floor of the mine in the shadow of the bizarre statue. Every night since, she had dreamed of Ben shouting at her, apparently through water. The vision was strange, as though he had been a member of Catalina’s cursed crew in a previous life. Dressed in the clothing of old, he was always there. Haunting her.

  Judging her.

  When the nightmare ended, the promise of daylight a reminder that life went on, new problems always arose. Though getting into the castle and the bank had given her the treasures she had long sought, everything that had followed she had previously considered unthinkable.

  She had last seen her sister the day before in Mérida, at the house once owned by her grandparents. Even as an adult, she still remembered staring out fondly across the classical ruins, dreaming of myths and legends. Twenty-four hours earlier, her sister had been surprisingly grounded. She had last seen her two years earlier in Madrid, living in a slum with some good-for-nothing waster and struggling to cope with being unemployed after being sacked from a local dive bar.

  Two years on, she was recovering from leaving another bum and resigning from a strip club that had caused her nothing but grief. Valeria had found her single, passionate and refreshed. A new leaf had been turned. Her passion was to teach. She had got herself a job, and things were going well. The news was everything Valeria needed to hear. She knew, if it was ever necessary, she could rely on her sister’s support. A happy sister was a sister unlikely to slip into a meltdown.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, here she was in Valladolid. A nervous wreck.

  With Cortés.

  And Ben.

  Led like a lamb to the slaughter.

  She took a deep breath, calming herself as she contemplated her next move. She had been certain that Cortés was dead when she last saw him. His body had been sprawled out at an awkward angle across the floor of the mine. His eyes had been closed, his white T-shirt stained with blotches of cherry-red liquid that had drained from his lips. His fellow accomplices lay in almost identical postures, their bodies rigid as if already beset by rigor mortis. Their facial expressions were tight, their eyes lifeless. It would have been impossible for anyone to survive such an ordeal. Yet they had. At least one of them.

  Was the whole thing a set-up?

  Impossible.

  She had seen the wounds.

  Ben was the only exception. The last time she had seen him he had definitely still been alive. He had clearly received medical treatment since, she mused. Since being shot in the mine, he had regained his ability to walk and jog, even running at a pace.

  Fortunately, the wound was still to heal completely.

  She left the pew and headed for the door, daring to inch it open. The hot sun immediately unleashed its rays on her face, casting a long shadow across the door. The sound of a thousand conversations echoed in her ears as a multitude of people crammed the nearby streets, their interests piqued by surrounding sights. She heard words spoken in English and breathed out in relief as she realised the voice was a woman’s. She scanned the streets and saw no sign of Ben or Cortés.

  Taking a deep breath, she departed the church and attempted to blend in with the crowds.

  *

  Eduardo had bided his time. He knew that the entrance to the hotel was less than twenty metres away from where he currently stood, and that at least two of the visitors were still inside. His uncle had warned him that the slimy eel was on the loose, apparently still being passionately pursued by the American. He viewed her return as likely, especially as Ben was no longer capable of pursuing her. The man inside was also an American, his cousin, apparently. He was still to learn the full story.

  He would meet him soon, he guessed.

  Eduardo took a seat on a wooden bench located in the east section of the Plaza del Poniente. The area was warm and leafy, the bench partially shaded by verdant tree life that surrounded him on every side. Children played freely in the nearby play area, their fearless antics overseen by smiling parents.

  He didn’t look out of place. With his designer sunglasses perched high up on the bridge of his nose and a small earphone firmly in one ear, he was just another young man whiling the time away amongst the greenery before continuing on to his next port of call. He listened with the sound on low volume, the music of Muse coming through quietly compared to his usual sound levels.

  The hotel was located directly in front of him on the opposite side of a busy road that was well used by white taxis. He watched the hotel closely as people came and went from the lobby. If his uncle was correct, one of two things was likely to happen.

  Either they would leave or Valeria would return.

  It turned out to be the latter. He saw her approach from the north, turning south opposite the gardens after walking from the Plaza de la Rinconada. She increased her pace as she approached the main doors, gripping her handbag tightly with both hands.

  He left his seat and crossed the road, moving casually in her direction as he headed north, brushing against her shoulder as they passed one another, hard enough to test her balance. He moved on as she turned instinctively, her mind clearly on other things.

  He allowed ten seconds to pass before walking more slowly, taking time to look over his shoulder.

  By which time, the woman had already disappeared inside the hotel.

  *

  Valeria walked briskly across the velvet carpet and took the stairs to the second floor. She knocked on the door of room 217 and Elena answered, looking slightly more refreshed than she had been.

  Immediately her face grew concerned. “What is it, child?”

  “Where is Chris?”

  “The gentleman is sleeping . . .” She studied the contours on her granddaughter’s face, holding her cheeks tightly in her dry hands. “What has happened?”

  “You didn’t tell me Juan Cortés is still alive.”

  Elena noticed Valeria possessed extra fire in her eyes. “What happened?”

  “We have to move. He saw me take the stone. Ben is with him.”

  *

  Eduardo made a quick exit from the Plaza del Poniente and headed east as far as Calle Cebadería and south to the Plaza Mayor.

  He found Cortés alongside Maria and Danny, standing in the centre of the courtyard. His uncle had chosen one of the lamp posts near the famous statue. It was a good place to meet, he thought.

  To an outsider, they were just a group of tourists enjoying the sights of the square.

  Juan awaited him with folded arms. He removed his sunglasses and asked, “Well?”

  Eduardo removed a small electronic tablet from his pocket and handed it to Juan. “See for yourself.”


  Cortés took the tablet and examined the screen. Visually it was like an electronic blueprint, something between Google Maps and a spy network. One bright blue dot moved along one of the roads at speed while a second stood still close to one of the squares. The double presence confirmed the newest tracker and the one from the night before were both doing their jobs.

  On closer inspection, he saw the one planted by Maria made no mark.

  “Excellent.” He looked Eduardo in the eye and embraced him. “Your father would be proud.”

  *

  Ben made the journey to the plaza slowly. Though it was not far, the fresh injuries to his leg prevented him from walking quickly.

  He saw Cortés standing by the lamp post, talking with his nephew. Danny was seated alongside Maria, whose exhausted frame sat hunched across the steps.

  Ben approached Cortés. “She escaped.”

  “That does not matter.”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “Here. Look.” He showed Ben the screen, which he immediately realised showed some form of sophisticated tracking technology.

  “What is it?”

  “Eduardo witnessed the party enter a hotel close to here.” He looked Ben in the eye. “A man matching your description of your relative was with them.”

  That didn’t surprise him. “Where are they now?”

  “In their hotel, almost certainly preparing to leave. Eduardo was most efficient when passing her by. Thanks to this, they will not remain hidden for long.”

  Ben bit his lip, fresh optimism ensuing. “Great. In that case, what are we waiting for?”

  Cortés’s expression was sterner than that of the nearby statue. “Not now. Patience. This will lead us to her.”

  “If you know where she is, what’s stopping us?”

  Cortés’s lips slowly formed a smile. “Thanks to this, she is going to lead us directly to the location of the lost treasure.”

  40

  They checked out of the hotel less than an hour after their arrival. The mid-morning traffic had built up to an inevitable rush hour, causing equally inevitable delays. Chris sensed Valeria was getting uptight; she smiled and told him to relax. Relax! she thought.

  If only she was capable of taking her own advice.

  The items she had retrieved from the safe deposit box were both indispensable for different reasons. Elena had already confirmed the legend that Hernán Cortés had overseen the transfer of at least part of the great Aztec treasure to Extremadura within days of that fateful night in 1520, its contents stowed away in a place of utmost secrecy. Like most secrets concerning Cortés, the knowledge survived, passed down from one generation to the next. The final location would be revealed only to one who owned every piece of the puzzle.

  Just as in Cornwall, the final door would only be accessible to one who possessed all of the original keys.

  Heading south out of Valladolid, she followed the directions of the satnav back on to E-80, through Salamanca. With the next busy city successfully behind them, the journey along the E-803 continued with relative ease. Driving the same road as the night before was a strange feeling. While the journey north at night had been like driving through a black hole, the long periods of darkness cut only by the low light of car headlights, in daylight the scenery was revealed in its entirety.

  On every side the views were vast. The outside temperatures soared as the sun baked the newly laid tarmac, the intense combination of light and heat creating mirages in the distance like oases in the desert. The occasional small town came and went, their soft sights appearing ghostly below the horizon. The lack of cars made her nervous; she remembered hearing a story about a friend who lost a tyre in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Even in twenty-first-century Spain, there were certain places one didn’t want to break down alone.

  While the first part of the journey involved retracing their steps from the night before, the second part was less familiar. As the walled city of Plasencia disappeared behind them to the north-east, a quiet roundabout took them east past its foothills. Like the road before it, traffic on the EX-A1 came in spurts. It wasn’t a road usually taken by those out for a pleasure drive; even an experienced traveller would think twice before taking on its potential dangers. On noticing the signs for the municipality of Navalmoral de la Mata, Valeria followed the road as it took them south on to the E-90 through the epic grasslands.

  The sights were familiar, albeit wild. It was an area that never changed, as though time itself had forgotten it. To an outsider, unfamiliar with the roads, the settlements always seemed beyond reach, like a ship passing a mystical island shrouded in fog.

  Yet to one who knew them well, their isolated appearance possessed a different, more appealing, quality. It was like looking at a scene from the past, a return to the golden days.

  If it was an area that time had forgotten, it was better off for it.

  As they left the E-90 for the EX-386, the previously flat land gave way to dramatic inclines as the Sierra de las Villuercas rose steeply into the clouds. The nearby villages were small and remote, even compared to those they had recently passed, as though they had been dropped there by accident in a freak hurricane. Orchards and dehesas nestled quietly below the mountains, another throwback to ancient times. It was famed as a secret gem among the travellers. The perfect gateway to the mountains.

  A route found only by those who knew exactly where they were going.

  *

  Valeria remembered exploring the mountains with her mother and sister as a young girl. As the years passed, she began to wander off alone or with her friends, taking in the sights without a care in the world.

  There was a rough dirt track, leading to an old mill, that took her down to the river close to the point at which it began to wind its way through the mountains. She loved it because it was the best place in the area to be at one with nature.

  Even today she could have walked it blindfolded.

  She stopped the car on the side of the only approach road; from the hillside the view was extensive. With her final destination visible in the distance, she removed the manuscript from her handbag and examined its content. The final page was the most revealing. The markings on the map were faint, but clear. The directions presupposed the traveller would arrive from the south, specifically through the village of Solana.

  Valeria had no plans to visit it.

  There was a timeless cork forest south of the village that she had often visited as an alternative to exploring the area along the river. Her mother once referred to it as the gateway to the dehesas. Beyond Solana, the road led away from the mountains, the cork oaks replaced by holm oaks. As a child of the locality, Valeria realised the map pointed to one precise location. The same one spelled out by the four stones.

  The hamlet of Cabañas del Castillo.

  *

  The hamlet was located less than twenty minutes from their home village of Roturas; they decided to visit the old house to replenish supplies.

  Its appearance hadn’t changed very much, the shabby white exterior flaking from years of neglect. Under the porch she found two old climbing kits, once the property of her parents.

  She decided they would probably come in handy whilst scaling the hills.

  The hamlet of Cabañas del Castillo was the smallest site in the municipality; in living memory, the population had never been much over thirty. A cluster of stone houses lined the hillside, many existing to serve the hikers. It was a place famed amongst nature lovers; an ornithologist from Australia, America or China would come for miles just for the pleasure of seeing the rare birdlife. Those who didn’t come for nature came for the history. Above the village, the ancient walls of an old Moorish castle rose impressively over the hillside. Though clearly a ruin, its presence was imposing, as though its thick walls on bare crags were a natural extension of the mountains.

  Valeria followed the road from Roturas across the River Almonte and south into the hamlet. She park
ed outside a small guesthouse she had often used as a journey break when she was young. There was a small graveyard at the southern end of the village, by a medieval church with walls that revealed evidence of neglect and dilapidation. Leaving the car, she made her way up a narrow lane to the far side of the graveyard.

  She recalled it was possible to cross the mountain ridge and approach the castle.

  *

  Chris went with her, leaving Elena to potter around the church. He followed Valeria along an old pathway through ancient tombstones and east across the ridge before taking a footpath up to the castle.

  Valeria stopped beside a large pile of earth, where the ground had clearly been disturbed. Unlike the other graves, there was no headstone.

  Chris looked at her, confused. “What is it?”

  “The last resting place of Lady Catalina.” She looked at him, her eyes revealing a strong inner flame he had not seen before. “Come on.”

  They stopped on reaching the summit, Chris pausing for breath. Ragged ravines surrounded them in every direction, views as far as the eye could see. The mountains were forested in part, their lush dark hues a treat to his eyes, as though offering a glimpse of paradise. The first thought that entered his mind was how similar it was to the Valley of Mexico, that the view would have been similar to that enjoyed by the conquistadors.

  A piece of Mexico in the heart of Spain.

  Little remained of the castle other than the outer walls. A dark rectangular doorway gave access to a square tower that cast a dense shadow across the nearby rocks. The stone exterior was predominantly white, with darker stones scattered randomly. The roof had been lost long ago; its walls echoed with the sound of birdlife.

  Chris noticed that Valeria had become distant; he found her looking for something among the rocky crags.

  “What is it?”