“Tenemos que ir al aeropuerto. Es eso posible?”
It was clear from the man’s reaction, he assumed Ben was joking. “Señor.” He gave up and defected to English. “The horse. It is not possible to take the motorway.”
Juliet was gobsmacked; Ben figured as much. “Take us as far as you can. Here’s fifty euro for you.”
“Señor?”
“Fifty euro. Take us as close to the airport as you can.” Ben pushed the money into the driver’s hand, depriving him of any opportunity to argue. Taking Juliet’s hand, he climbed up into the rear of the carriage. Though the décor was luxurious, close up the smell of the horses was strong.
Juliet took a seat alongside him, inadvertently falling into his arms. “Not now, Jules. We have a plane to catch.”
She pushed him away, furious. “Just what the hell are you trying to pull? Even if we make it to Valladolid, nowhere will be open at this hour. And what country do you know of where a horse can be ridden on the freeway?”
Ben grinned, satisfied by the movement of the carriage that the driver was open to persuasion. “Keep your shirt on. Let me know if you see a vacant cab.”
Juliet grabbed hold of the side of the carriage as the horse picked up speed, the rhythmic clip-clopping of its feet echoing on the stone surface. Her immediate desire on seeing the horse-drawn carriages had been to take a ride in one of them.
She prayed it stuck to the designated roads.
She looked at Ben, who was again busy on his phone. “What are you doing now?”
“First time I went to Valladolid, I tried to visit the site. It’s changed a lot since the days of the friars.”
“What is it now? A museum?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t find it.”
22
Cortés hung up the phone in the library and allowed himself a moment to digest the news. Recently, calls from Velázquez had been quite frequent, but on this occasion the topic of conversation was completely unexpected. Velázquez had now met the American first-hand, along with a female colleague. Neither were uneducated in matters of history, especially the woman. He smiled to himself, begrudging admiration.
Ben Maloney was clearly a man of much talent.
Cortés gazed at the nearby doorway, through which the sounds of progress continued. Confident that discovery of the missing letter was imminent, he left the library and proceeded in a southerly direction along the oak-panelled corridors into the oldest of the castle’s five towers.
The one at the south-west was reserved solely for security purposes. Originally, it had been the headquarters of the castle retinue; as late as the Spanish Civil War, his ancestors had maintained a garrison of no less than twelve men, with sleeping quarters provided in the six bedrooms on the floors above.
Juan personally remembered when the changes occurred. With castle security no longer requiring an armed body of men, his grandfather had brought in men of similar talents to keep a nightly vigil from the parapets while others patrolled the grounds. As technology evolved, the latest surveillance equipment upgrades were installed, and by the time Juan was a teenager a team of security guards oversaw a range of surveillance cameras set up from the postern to the portcullis. His father once boasted they had the strongest vigilante force in Europe.
Then one fateful day, one of the guards attempted an inside job.
Since 1997, the castle had operated without full-time security personnel.
Juan pushed hard against the heavy door of the control room and entered a room steeped in history. Although a varied and expensive array of technological equipment had been deployed along three of the walls, the far one remained largely unchanged from the castle’s heyday. A large original fireplace was located at the base of a wide chimney, the mantelpiece embellished by keepsakes from the retinue days, including a striking coat of arms. While the far wall was cold and atmospheric, eighty identically sized television monitors hid the stonework of the other three, all of which were attached to a central control console.
Its creator had dubbed it the most sophisticated in Extremadura.
Juan took a seat at the controls and glanced from screen to screen. Intrusion was impossible; he had heard the statement first from his father the day the cameras were installed. Over the years he had heard it many more times, usually from other relatives. He remembered hearing a more accurate one from someone else, not from any great warrior or leader, but a football commentator.
A team is always most vulnerable in the moments after they have scored.
The first attack came within weeks of the installation, a meticulously planned operation spearheaded by an organised crime syndicate who Juan’s grandfather had offended in a card game. The mission was more about retribution than acquisition of property. The target was a Fabergé egg that Juan’s grandfather had allegedly lost in the bet. The egg survived. The culprits were arrested.
Never again had Juan put his faith in empty words.
In the years since, the technology had only been tested twice. The second attempt came later that year, the same syndicate, this time looking for gold. Again the newly installed camera system had been invaluable. It would be years until another attempted entry. But it happened.
One week ago.
And they had succeeded.
Juan kept his focus on the screens, satisfied all was well. Eduardo was right; a series of red lights flickered consistently, confirming that the key areas had been set to motion detection. In the early days, the feature had been used everywhere in the castle, until the pitfalls presented themselves. A hungry butler heading to the kitchen, a small rodent darting through the nearby shrubbery, wild birds perching on the parapets all served as a reminder it wasn’t just the criminals who were capable of motion. The cameras didn’t discriminate. There were certain things that computers couldn’t do.
Including think for themselves.
But technology changes, usually for the better. The most recent upgrades had undoubtedly improved security. Because of the cameras, guards were no longer needed to deter would-be intruders from seeking to gain entry via the usual channels. He had to hand it to the slimy eel.
She had thought of something even he had never considered.
The screens displayed little of interest. It was approaching 8 p.m. and all was normal. The household didn’t usually go to bed before midnight; only a fool would attack before then. All of the inhabitants were currently accounted for. The butler was in the pantry, checking supplies, while, in the adjoining kitchen, the chef was busy preparing the evening meal. Elsewhere, the handyman was alone in one of the garages, totally distracted from anything going on around him by the sound of music blaring through his earphones.
The library was quiet, the light of the rising moon piercing the leaded glass and shining across the main reading table. Light also shone from the nearby stairway, the only way in or out, indicating Eduardo and Claude remained downstairs. There was no camera in the archives, nor was one needed. All of the rooms below ground were inaccessible from the outside. Only three rooms below the ground contained cameras.
Recently their presence had proved invaluable.
The top four rows of monitors were directed on the land outside the walls. In the distance, the village gave out a familiar neon haze as the lights of its many buildings and street lamps radiated into the darkening sky. The wind had picked up in recent hours, as could be readily seen and heard from the swaying of the tree branches and rustling of the leaves. In the distance, cars travelled in both directions along EX-206, some heading into the village, others making their way in the direction of the nearby Extremaduran capital. It was Tuesday night and the clubs and restaurants would be open in Mérida, a feature notably absent in the sleepy village.
As Juan’s attention moved to the top left of the screen, he noticed a shadow move across it, something clearly separate from the trees. He focused on it, suddenly curious. The wind was softer than it had been; an air of
greater calmness descended. As the seconds passed, the shadow reappeared, this time on another screen, and then again for a third time. Away from the first shadow, a second joined it, clearly human.
The red lights began to flash urgently at the top of the console.
*
Eduardo felt vibrations against his left thigh, accompanied by a recurring bleeping noise. Reaching deep into his pocket, he removed a small black pager with a solitary light that was blinking red in tandem with the sounds. Though the pager’s design was dated, every member of the household was assigned an identical model; with no permanent security officer, it was the only way to monitor the screens without someone always being there. His grandfather had once compared the role to that of a retained firefighter.
Never on duty, but always on call.
Eduardo stared at the pager for less than a second before deactivating the alarm. He ignored Claude as he spoke from behind the adjacent bookcase; Juan was still to return since receiving the phone call.
He assumed he was probably already on his way to the control room.
Leaping to his feet, he jumped a pile of recently organised papers and ran up the stairway, into the library. Finding no sign of Juan, he sprinted along the main corridor and through the deserted halls.
The security console was presently unmanned, the screens relaying live footage from the various cameras. The butler and the cook appeared on different screens; he could tell from the urgency of their movements they had also been paged. The handyman was oblivious to the sound, hard at work beneath the bonnet of Juan’s Mercedes.
Eduardo felt hands gripping his shoulders. “Why do you think I told you to watch the screens?”
Eduardo sensed extra fury in his uncle’s voice; turning, he saw it also in his face.
“I got the page. What is it?” He scanned the monitors hastily, initially seeing nothing amiss. The butler and the cook had made it as far as the north-west corridor. The cameras placed within the castle confirmed all was quiet; most of the rooms were shrouded in shadow, requiring the infrared settings to expose their unlit features.
Concentrating on the top four rows, he saw a strange outline close to camera 18, the same area where movement had originally been detected.
Eduardo zoomed in, still perplexed by what could have activated the sensor. The lens was pointed at a small area of ancient woodland, whose trees were presently in bloom. At the base of the control panel was a slick leather joystick used to move the cameras; he selected it to control the movements of camera 18 and began to rotate the camera for a wider view. Beyond the original point of focus, further trees and wild vegetation cloaked the darkening backdrop, their leaves fluttering in the breeze. Small creatures, mostly insects too small to focus on individually, passed across the scene at frequent intervals.
Another alarm, this time camera 19. Then another immediately afterwards from camera 20. Two silhouettes darted across the screens, encroaching into the view of camera 21. Eduardo watched in partial disbelief as the second figure began to argue with the first, their bodies moving briefly out of sight within the foliage. Their features remained unclear.
Their shapes suggested only that they were women.
The sound of running in the corridor preceded the appearance of the butler and the chef, both of whom were panting. Eduardo could tell from the look on his uncle’s face he was unimpressed by their late arrival.
The intruders, meanwhile, remained among the trees. Zooming in, Eduardo focused on their upper bodies.
Only one of their faces was visible.
He turned to Juan. “It’s them.”
Juan needed no confirmation. “Stay at the controls. Keep in contact.”
He rushed through the open doorway, ordering the chef and the butler to follow him. He didn’t stop running until they entered the armoury.
Juan removed three semi-automatic rifles from the wall, each hanging below several mounted trophy heads, the spoils of past hunts. The butler used the delay to amass bullets from the nearby chest of drawers.
“Ten each should be enough.”
Cortés took a handful of bullets and loaded two into his rifle as he edged towards the outer door.
“Follow my lead. Do not fire until I give the order.”
23
Medellín, 8 p.m.
Valeria waited until the sky began to darken before driving up the hill. She chose the same place she had parked a week earlier; she associated it with good luck because of her previous success. Pulling up behind a series of large cork oaks approximately one tenth of a mile off the rugged approach road that led to the castle’s main gate, she spent a further five minutes studying the map before hiding her scooter within the foliage and proceeding on foot towards the outer walls.
Without Chris, she knew it would be necessary to concoct a new plan. A week earlier, his expertise as a diver had proved invaluable; without him, it would have been impossible to gain access through the old cistern. Even with him, she knew she would be in for a far tougher ride the second time. Infiltration by one method had worked once, but Cortés would not be caught twice in the same way.
She knew from the map that the castle had five identical towers, together forming a loose pentagram shape when viewed from the air. On her previous visit Chris had let her in on the south-west side through a discreet wooden door that had once been the postern. Using it again would be advantageous.
Getting there without being spotted by the security cameras, however, she knew would be much tougher.
Daylight was fading fast within the trees. In the last half an hour, the sky had blackened considerably; the bright floodlights mounted on the imposing walls lit up the hillside like the beacon of a lighthouse. The sky itself was partially obscured, the endless array of stars hidden by the veil of nearby light pollution. Thanks to the external lighting, the castle’s features, including the cameras, were clearly visible. On the flip side, she knew it also had the ability to expose other things.
Including her.
A new security camera had been installed above the postern; she had not noticed it a week earlier. As she approached the south-west wall, she removed a black balaclava from her jacket pocket and placed it over her head, taking care to ensure every inch of her skin was concealed.
Not that Juan would be in any doubt of her identity, she knew.
She remembered from the previous heist that Chris had made his entry using another door hidden from the trees behind a walled courtyard that jutted out from the north-west wall that connected the west and north towers. Within the square-shaped enclosure was a beautiful section of medieval gardens inspired by those that once adorned Moorish paradises. Chris had used the nearby battlements to drop down on to the unsuspecting butler when he opened the door.
Doing the same again would require exquisite skill.
Taking advantage of the nearby illumination, she made her way stealthily through the trees, circling the south-west wall from the south. In the distance, she saw the courtyard sticking out like a medieval cloister, its ornate architecture a vivid reminder that the long quarrel between her family and Juan’s predated the present generation.
She paused again among the trees and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Glancing to her right, she saw extra light shining down from large floodlights that overlooked the outer curtain walls at various intervals along the parapets. There were other cameras present, pointed in various directions.
There was no sign of human activity.
She gazed at the courtyard, considering her next move. She placed the nearest of its three walls at thirty metres away, rising at least twelve feet high on every side. According to Chris, the door to the castle had been located in the middle of the north-west wall. In order to access it, she would have to cross the courtyard, either by scaling the walls or entering via the gate on the north side.
She sensed movement behind her. Sounds. A presence. She held her breath as she felt hands on her shoulders.
She l
ashed out.
“Wait, wait. Valeria, it’s me.”
Valeria couldn’t believe her eyes. Maria was standing in front of her, dressed in the same clothing she had worn in the underground monastery.
Valeria shrugged her off, desperate not to let her sister’s arrival interfere with her concentration. “Why have you come?”
“I had to, to stop you making the biggest mistake of your life.” She grabbed Valeria by the cheeks, forcing her eyes to look upon her own. “Juan will kill you if he sees you.”
Valeria pushed her away. “I did not ask for your help in anything. This is my burden.”
Maria pushed her back, causing her jacket to become tangled with the nearby branches. “Listen to me. Go in there and you will die. He will shoot you, like he did Abuela.”
Valeria removed Colts’s old Smith & Wesson from her jacket. The gun chamber was still loaded with the final six bullets.
“Not if I kill him first.”
*
The gate that connected the courtyard to the outer grounds could only be unlocked from the inside. The gardener had removed the old lock at the turn of the millennium, replacing it with the double-bolted arrangement Cortés saw in front of him.
He knew that the location of the door gave Valeria a problem. To reach it involved circling two walls and being forced to pass over open ground within clear view of five cameras.
Juan moved to the heart of the courtyard, where the butler stood alone, carrying a semi-automatic rifle. The cook was still standing by the door, also armed; Cortés had ordered him to remain there.
He darted through the maze of vegetation until he reached the courtyard’s south wall. The stonework was impossible to climb without assistance, but there were square windows at equal intervals, originally put in as observation posts.
Cortés looked through the nearest at the surrounding woodland. In the darkness, it was impossible to see things clearly, except for the easily identifiable cork oaks that, according to family tradition, had been planted by Hernán Cortés on purchasing the land. As the seconds passed, he noticed shadows moving quickly amongst the trees. Subtle, but clear.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 78
