The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  He waited for Velázquez to complete his inspections, quietly troubled by his latest expression. This time there was no need for loud electric drills to disturb the floor or the silence. The slabs were already loose, broken; for Juan, it was all the evidence he needed that they had arrived too late. Taking the curator’s advice, he waited for the slab to be lifted free before approaching the square-shaped hole. A fine white mist rose into the air, falling softly on the nearby effigy and coating the noble figure of the inhabitant in a ghostly powder.

  Juan could tell from the curator’s face he was relieved no new damage had been done.

  Cortés moved to the base of the tomb and knelt at the spot where the slabs were broken. The spherical object was now lying loose; its exterior was cool, hard, as though made of marble.

  Beneath where it had once been, he could see nothing but a dark void.

  “Well?” He looked at Velázquez.

  Velázquez gazed down at the hole for several seconds before shaking his head. “It is empty.”

  Cortés took a deep breath and nodded, his worst fears confirmed.

  Though two of the original emeralds were in his possession, at least two of the remainder were missing.

  *

  Less than an hour away, in another part of Spain, Eduardo Cortés gazed inattentively at the surrounding walls as he waited for the senior academic to complete what he had started. Although he had passed the building from the outside many times, from his new viewpoint he was awestruck by the way the white stonework reflected the light dazzlingly like a great chamber of a royal palace.

  Unlike the other rooms he had seen in the building, the library was laid out in an open plan arrangement with antique desks and other reading items occupying the space at the centre of the wooden floor. Around the outer area of the room were four identical, fifteen-foot-tall bookcases filled with tens of thousands of identically bound manuscripts. Wooden antique ladders allowed access to the upper reaches that were decorated, also at equal intervals, with wooden busts and plaques, all located in specially designed alcoves, beneath classical sculptures from the Renaissance period.

  The academic grimaced as he strained his seventy-year-old arm to the utmost and finally removed the relevant panel from the rear of the bookcase. He adjusted his glasses and shone the torch into the dust-filled space, quietly unsure of exactly what he was looking at.

  Eduardo got down on one knee. “Can you see anything?”

  The academic offered him the torch. “I best let you be the judge.”

  Eduardo took the torch and got down on to his stomach. He moved into the space the academic had recently vacated and peered beneath the bottom shelf into a dirty recess lined with cobwebs. He moved the torch from left to right and after several seconds returned to his feet.

  It was obvious to him that the senior academic feared the possibility of having to inform his uncle that the result was negative.

  “Thank you for your help, Professor. I’ll let you know if my uncle has any other suggestions.”

  The Ninth Day

  7

  Cornwall

  For Ben, the passage from New Hampshire to the south-west tip of England could not have been more different than the last time.

  Less than three hours after hanging up his office telephone and collecting Chris from his temporary lodgings, a car pulled up outside his colonial-style apartment in Hanover and proceeded to make the short trip to a similar-looking townhouse close to the river.

  Two hours later, the quiet, dark-haired driver parked on the verge of an isolated runway on the outskirts of Logan International Airport. Unlike the modern Boeing 747 that had taken him to Heathrow two weeks earlier, this plane was far smaller, but greatly distinguished. A well-dressed air steward accompanied by two equally smart stewardesses in their early thirties smiled widely from the portable stairwell as the dark-haired driver opened the doors and escorted the three passengers to the bottom step.

  Ben had never seen such a sight. Like the jumbo jets he was used to, the interior contained seating on both sides of a wide central aisle, yet the heavily cushioned fabric fixed with thick black armrests capable of holding anything from cans of soft drink to glasses of champagne clearly showed that he was dealing with something far beyond business class. A slick flat-screen seventy-two-inch HD television had been built into the partitioning wall that separated the passengers from the staff section, and was presently showing the pre-game show from the Red Sox versus the Yankees. The captain spoke quietly through the speakers while the stewardesses offered champagne and took orders for the forthcoming meal.

  Ben noticed that Chris had little interest in the food.

  The next six hours passed peacefully. With Juliet asleep, Ben took a seat at the rear of the plane, spending his time alternating between looking through TF’s books and dozing. The flight was quiet and smooth, the sound of the powerful air streams from the jet engines little more than a faint drone against the strong fuselage.

  It was dawn when they reached England, the distant signs of a vibrant orange sunrise appearing brightly above the horizon through the cabin windows. At 6 a.m., Ben watched with interest as they began their descent, the tops of nearby houses and rolling countryside a clear sign they were a long way from London. Unlike the flight of almost two weeks earlier, there would be no chaos at Heathrow, no standing in line to check passports, collect baggage from carousels, or any vain attempts to flag down a taxi for a long trip into the city. Instead, the destination was of far less great profile. Ben had seen the area before.

  And enjoyed the sight of the Cornish coastline glistening in the early sunlight.

  They landed on a small tarmac airstrip surrounded by greenery. As the cool sea air refreshed his face on descending the portable stairwell, Ben followed the directions of the attentive steward towards a blacked-out limousine driven by another dark-haired, impeccably dressed chauffeur.

  The ensuing journey was completed in almost total silence. After thirty-five minutes of negotiating the winding countryside roads, the driver came to a brief stop at a familiar crossroads, at the far side of which was a pub. As the car continued onward, the pub disappearing from sight, Ben watched as they took a left turn among dense woodland. There the journey ended, just as it had a week earlier. Pulling up by a well-maintained, circular lawn, Ben left the car and gazed at the façade of a Tudor mansion that he had seen twice before: both in real life and in the final pages of a mysterious diary.

  He turned to the driver and asked, “Are we here alone?”

  “No, sir. One other guest is already present.”

  *

  Inside, everything was as he remembered. An appetising aroma of fresh food wafted through the downstairs from the kitchen, enhancing the atmosphere created by the period wooden furniture that was a prominent feature throughout the ground floor. Upstairs, Ben dropped his case off in the same room as before; Chris took another close by, equally splendid.

  Ben decided against telling him it was the same room Valeria had picked.

  On the floor above, another familiar room showed clear signs of use; a plethora of clothing, maps and notepads covered much of the desk and maroon furnishings. With the grandest room taken, he showed Juliet to another opulent room close to his own.

  The last thing he wanted was for her to take the room once occupied by Cortés.

  Their luggage dropped off, the blacked-out limousine took them back along the wooded road and stopped outside the pub. Once parked, Ben and the others followed the driver inside and through traditional oak-beamed rooms into a damp cellar cluttered with the usual stock from beer kegs to bottles of wine. At the far end, the driver opened a wooden door and within ten metres stopped outside another, more like one in a science lab than a pub.

  What Ben saw next made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Lining what appeared to be a natural tunnel, he saw several stacks of food boxes with labelling that indicated everything from oysters to cheese, all bearing the brand logo of Ni
choll’s company. Beyond the corridor, a series of artificial lights shone brightly from down below, the combined product of a recent installation of a high-powered electricity generator and over fifty hi-tech floodlights that lit up the mine like a small city. Ben smiled to himself as he considered the view. He no longer doubted the story he had heard a day earlier.

  It had come from the mouth of a gentleman.

  *

  Ben led the way down the highest of the pathways, heading for the heart of the mine. Unlike his last visit, he felt prepared. The wound to his thigh had largely healed since being professionally treated back in Boston, but more importantly they were all appropriately dressed for their purpose. Replacing the black woolly hat, dirty jacket and muddy trainers he wore last time, the fluorescent yellow jacket, hard hiking shoes and hard hat with a torch gave him a new sense of confidence.

  The sights were incredible. Beyond the generator and the new electronics, the lake of coins created a familiar halo capable of illuminating the far walls of its own accord. Under the new lights, the Montezuma statue cast an epic shadow in several directions that ended over twenty feet up the nearest wall. There were no bodies lying in a heap at its base, nor was there any evidence of recent trauma. The sounds, instead, were more refreshing, the familiar sound of cascading water echoing gently throughout. Though the source had earlier been a mystery, the new light revealed a natural waterfall located beyond the statue, surrounded by sparse elements of greenery.

  To Ben, it seemed incredible something like that could exist so far underground.

  Three people were standing on the main path, close to the statue. Ben recognised only one of them.

  Colts turned away from the other two and walked quickly towards Ben. He smiled and offered a hand.

  “Dr Maloney, so glad you could make it.”

  “Nice to see you again, Colts.” Ben shook his hand. “This is quite an operation you’ve got here.”

  “This operation, as you call it, is still only in its beginnings.” He shook hands with Chris. “Nice to see you again, Chris. Last I saw, Ben here was mighty worried about your stomach problems.”

  “It’s his own fault. I never even liked garlic bread.”

  Colts grinned, distracted by the appearance of the third person. “My, my, who do we have here?”

  “Colts, I would like to introduce you to Dr Waters. My colleague at Dartmouth.”

  “Juliet Waters.” She offered her hand and shook it with firm eye contact.

  “Dr Waters is an authority on sixteenth-century European history, including the colonisation of the New World. Her knowledge on the subject is far greater than my own, and as I said to you on the phone, I’m sure her expertise will prove invaluable.”

  “Juliet, my, my.” Colts took the opportunity to kiss her hand before releasing it. “I hope you had a jolly crossing.”

  “Very jolly.” She forced a smile. “As a matter of fact, I had never been on a private jet before.”

  “Is that a fact? Well, I’m delighted you were able to spare the time. Now, please make yourself at home. I just need to borrow Romeo here for a second.”

  Colts led Ben to the ridge, leaving Juliet and Chris alone in the centre of the mine. Juliet was already fascinated by the nearby railway tracks that were lit by a specially rigged-up lighting system.

  “An authority on sixteenth-century Europe, huh?” He glanced back and smiled. “That all she’s an authority on?”

  “No. She’s also an expert on the Mesoamericans.”

  Colts laughed loudly. “Is that a fact? Mighty pretty, I must say. For your sake, I hope you haven’t been broadcasting your trip here, Ben.”

  “Aside from Chris and Juliet, the only people who know about the hoard are us, Danny and Juan.” He looked around sceptically. “From what I can see here, you haven’t exactly been silent on the matter.”

  “On the contrary, Ben. News of the discovery is still classified.”

  “On what grounds exactly? I mean, I’m guessing this isn’t exactly on a par with the Nazi art heists.”

  “No, but due to the sensitive nature of the find, we’ve been taking every precaution. In a way, Godolphin couldn’t have been a more perfect location. Not only is it technically part of the Duchy, it’s also on National Trust ground. The set-up to excavate was really already in place. Eventually it will be made known to a small select circle, and in due course the news will be made public. By which time all the important tests will already have been completed.”

  Ben was confused. “So who exactly is running the show?”

  Colts led Ben up the pathway to where the other two men were engaged in conversation. Both were in their mid-fifties; the slightly larger of the two, bearded and wearing spectacles, shuffled from foot to foot as he listened intently to the other man. The smaller man, approximately five feet eight, was of more angular features with a thick head of grey hair that looked curiously noble in the temporary absence of his hard hat.

  Ben recognised him immediately.

  “Sir, may I introduce Dr Benjamin Maloney, the man I was telling you about.” Colts gestured to Ben. “Ben, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Cornwall.”

  “I say, Dr Maloney, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you with us.” The prince shook Ben’s hand with firm enthusiasm. “Geoffrey here has told me all about your exploits. I must say it came as quite a shock to find that we were looking for something so close to home.”

  Ben needed a second to gather his thoughts. Despite the man’s low-key appearance, dressed in an identical fluorescent jacket and carrying a hard hat, he couldn’t believe he was in the company of a royal.

  “In my experience, sir, such things are often the way. Of course, without prior knowledge of the entrance through the pub, it was only by looking through the old clues we were able to stumble across the original entrance. And even that required a large amount of luck.”

  “Well, however you managed to achieve it, achieve it you did. And once again I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I hope your journey over was satisfactory.”

  “The finest jet I’ve ever flown on, sir. Thank you.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it. Geoff here has told you of our needs?”

  “Well, since our last meeting, we’ve spoken on the phone a couple of times; though, I must admit this place sure looks a lot different all lit up. It’ll probably take a while to complete a full survey of the mine. Based on the present state of the hoard, it looks as if things are already progressing.”

  “Well, let me know if you require anything more. I cannot stress the importance of fully understanding its contents. People have been searching for it for generations.” He passed over a business card. “This is Stephen’s number. Call him if you need anything.”

  Ben glanced at the card, the words lit up by his head torch. Stephen Davenport. Head of Geography. “University of Cambridge?”

  “Yes – at least that was my former title.” The second man spoke up. “I actually retired at the end of last term. Quite good timing, really.”

  “Yes. Thankfully, Stephen will be able to spend more of his time here,” the prince said.

  “Steve here is the guy to ask about surveys of the mine,” Colts added.

  “Yes. A 2D scan will commence this week. By the time the pit has been emptied, the gear should be in place for the 3D scan. Make sure we don’t miss anything.”

  Ben nodded, stunned. “This is all incredible.”

  “Well, Dr Maloney, I’d best be leaving you to it.” The prince offered his hand again. “Remember, if there’s anything at all that you need.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ben shook hands with Davenport and watched circumspectly as they disappeared down the path into the heart of the mine. As far as he could tell, Chris and Juliet were no longer present.

  Ben breathed out deeply. “You sure know how to throw a surprise.”

  Colts grinned. “Come on, Ben. Don’t go telling me you’ve never met a
member of the royal family down in a mine filled with treasure before?”

  “Once, but I’d rather not talk about it.” He turned his attention to the lake of coins and rubbed his fingers against his stubble. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I take it some of the hoard has already been removed?”

  “Everything that has been removed is now back at the house, under lock and key. You’ll have the chance to cast your eye over it later. As will your . . . colleague.”

  A wry smile. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted. How’s the stomach?”

  “Staples came out yesterday. How’s the leg?”

  “The new ones went in three days ago. But the surgeon reckons I can use Sellotape from now on!”

  *

  They passed the Montezuma statue and soon reached the waterfall. The rocks were of softer stone near the water and sparkled as they reflected the external lights. There were gold deposits deep in the water, clearly placed there deliberately. The plant life was sporadic and weed-like, different to that Ben had seen in Cabañas del Castillo.

  As far as he could tell, there was no underground river or stream adjoining it.

  “Whatever treasure was brought here, we know now it wasn’t the full thing,” Ben began. “If Catalina came on one ship, she couldn’t have managed to take much more.”

  “For now I suggest we work on the assumption that we’re only dealing with one; and equally importantly, one trip,” Colts agreed. “Though Catalina eventually escaped the island, chances are she didn’t return.”

  “You know for a fact she escaped?”

  “For sure I do. See, perhaps you didn’t realise this, Ben, but unlike the others, Catalina wasn’t buried on St Lide’s. Her grave actually exists in a quiet part of Spain a long way from anywhere. Chances are she died of an illness.”