The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  The idea was preposterous.

  “She didn’t come here just for a quick prayer. She found the Cabañas stones, maybe we’re underestimating her.”

  “You’re clearly not underestimating her if you think she’s capable of pulling off an Ocean’s Eleven job on Seville Cathedral.”

  He looked at her, smiling wryly. He loved the way even the slightest mention of Valeria’s name made her jealous.

  He led them to the main doors and continued inside, a moment’s observation enough to confirm Valeria and Maria had since moved on. He purchased two tickets before entering the church, espying a long central aisle with wooden pews on both sides.

  The congregation was presently in prayer.

  He saw Maria as she took a seat, three pews from the front. Valeria was already seated, playing with her hair after making the sign of the cross. With no epic stone pillars or arches getting in the way, his view was unrestricted.

  He walked steadily along the central aisle, looking around carefully as he did so. Unlike at Seville, the side chapels that lined the nave were all guarded and grilled.

  He took a seat in a pew about midway between the entrance and the altar, paying little attention to Juliet’s latest question.

  “What?”

  Juliet took a seat alongside him and repeated, “I said, we have no idea what area of the convent we’re looking for. It could be anywhere.”

  “Exactly.” Ben had been thinking the same thing. Over twenty metres in front of him, a possible answer had presented itself.

  “If you’re thinking what I think you are, you’re crazy. What are you going to do when they spot you?”

  Ben gritted his teeth; despite the warmth and calming appearance of the interior, seeing Valeria and Maria again brought back strong emotions, as if a long-forgotten memory had been rudely reawakened. He thought of Chris, the hellish days he had been forced to spend in the cellar of the lighthouse, the several days on the road, cold, depressed, alone. The shoot-out below the mountain had almost cost him his life; even the slightest mistake could have proven fatal. Chris had survived.

  No thanks to her.

  He leaned forward, focusing on the backs of their heads. To his right, he could tell from Juliet’s scent and presence she was moving nearer.

  “Listen to me,” she whispered in his ear. “This isn’t like before. You can’t seriously contemplate doing something so reckless in a place like this. There are people everywhere, perhaps cameras. You can’t just come in and desecrate a tomb in broad daylight. And even if you could, based on your recent luck it won’t even be here.”

  Secretly, Ben was equally unsure. “You don’t know what I’m thinking. Right now, I’m happy just to sit here, say a little prayer, and see what they’re doing. After that, we’re gonna just see a couple of sights and leave. Simple.”

  Juliet didn’t buy it. “This isn’t a game, Ben. One wrong step and we could have a crisis on our hands. You told me before what she’s capable of. Just hope to God she isn’t armed.”

  Armed, he thought. Colts’s Smith & Wesson. What a sight that would be. Letting off lead in a crowded church.

  “Let’s just forget about the emerald,” Juliet said. “You saw what happened in Valladolid. It was taken years ago.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Didn’t you see what I saw?”

  “You saw what I saw in Seville. That ground had been disturbed recently; I’ve seen photos on the Internet – nothing showed the recent damage. Cortés was there, chances are he’ll be back.” He looked around, scanning the faces of the faithful.

  He wondered whether Cortés was also present.

  With his eyes concentrating solely on the back of Valeria’s head, he edged towards the aisle. Paying no attention to Juliet’s latest line of argument, he rose to his feet and passed her.

  “Ben?”

  “Shhh. They’re thinking of moving. Maybe we can head into one of those side chapels.”

  He moved again along the main aisle, doing his best to muffle the sound of his footsteps. He took a deep breath as he studied the congregation; the majority were kneeling, focused only on the next line of the preacher-led prayer. Valeria had risen to her feet, her eyes on the main altar. He kneeled down instinctively as he saw her turn; looking again, she appeared to have missed him.

  Maria was also standing. She had a dreamy, dreary look in her eye that he still associated with disdain for Cortés. The make-up on her cheeks still appeared to be cracked, showing evidence of recent swellings.

  Clearly things had not improved in recent days.

  Holding his breath, he took a few steps forward and stopped, lowering himself into the nearest pew, concealing his face. He glanced up through the gaps in his fingers, still to see any further movement from Valeria. Biting his lip, he continued to focus on her, concentrating on her face. Dark lines creased her furrowed brow, suggesting recent days had not been kind to her. Though physically little had changed, the sumptuous stare, the voluminous hair, the dark sultry eyes capable of possessing even the calmest friar, there were differences from before. A shadow crossed her soul like a veil over a sunset, shrouding her spirit in gloom. She was in mourning, yes, deeply, but there was something else, something more personal. A darkness pervaded, clutching, as if the talons of an eagle were gripped tightly around her heart. She was not the person he knew, or thought he knew. She was gone. Dead. Corrupted. Whatever warmth had once existed had now left her, evaporated like cool water exposed to heat.

  How he hated her.

  He saw her move, heading towards the altar. He saw her genuflect, perhaps smile at the friar. The rest of the congregation remained seated or kneeling, taking each line as it came.

  Ben got to his feet and almost immediately stopped dead in his tracks.

  His mobile phone began to ring in his pocket.

  37

  Cortés was awestruck by what he saw. It was as if he had been honoured with the smallest glimpse of heaven, a snippet of life beyond the veil. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined something so significant could be found in such a gloomy place.

  Nothing of the type should have existed on St Lide’s. Its existence was acknowledged only in rumours; he guessed his family had played a part in creating some of them.

  Perhaps been responsible for the physical creation, too.

  Mythology and actuality were colliding, albeit a long way from Mexico. There were seven caves in total, one of which was only obvious when viewed from the air. According to tradition, there had been seven caves at the time of the great people’s origin as well, located somewhere deep within the heartlands. The Aztecs revered it as the place of creation.

  They called it Chicomoztoc.

  Cortés didn’t believe in myths, but he believed in what he saw. Entering the cave that only two weeks earlier had concealed a Victorian schooner, he soon discovered he had done so through one of seven identical entrances to something that led far deeper into the rock.

  There were differences from the mythical site. The traditional view depicted the outline as like leaves from a tree, perfectly symmetrical, and below a curved mountain. The layout on St Lide’s was different, as if the tree had been inverted, misshaped. Six of the caves lined the beach of Hell’s Bay, jutting out sharply like craters on a crescent moon. The seventh was elongated, pointing due south.

  He sensed it was somehow relevant.

  He concentrated his attention on the most important of the seven, dubbed in recent media the Doctor’s Cave. It was obvious from its condition it had expanded recently, clearly the result of erosion. He calculated, by comparing the current size to what was recorded by past eyewitness accounts, that the jaws might have increased to over double the original size. He estimated the current size to be approximately twelve feet by twenty.

  Even now, barely large enough for a schooner to sail through.

  Inside, the cave was dark, treacherous and uneven. Underfoot it was slimy and smelled of the se
a. A plethora of rock pools were visible in the torchlight, some filled with sea life, both dead and alive. Limpets clung tightly to the rocks like snails while crabs moved from rock to rock as if attempting a comical invertebrate-style tap dance. Higher up, dying starfish decorated the walls like pentagrams; others were entangled messily in the seaweed.

  Beyond the first fifteen metres, the cave opened up further; the water became deeper, the floor surface far more irregular. Even with his waterproof leggings tucked deeply into football socks that rose above his walking boots, there was no way Juan could avoid his feet becoming totally submerged.

  Twenty metres in, the dynamic changed completely; the light, inexplicably, became brighter. Shining his torch in every direction, he saw the ceiling was higher, opening up like a cavern. The more deeply he explored, the more questions turned to answers.

  He smiled to himself, now armed with the proof he needed.

  All seven were connected to something far larger, a deep underground lake that stretched far beneath the island.

  Static echoed suddenly, human words, hard to understand. He pressed the receive button on his walkie-talkie and answered, “You’re breaking up. I cannot hear you.”

  *

  Fortunately Eduardo heard him. “What do you see in there?”

  “Darkness.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Stop asking questions.”

  At the other end, Eduardo could tell from the way the transmission ended that his uncle was in no mood to be disturbed. Standing at the entrance, it was no longer possible to make out his uncle’s torch, nor hear his voice without the aid of the communications equipment.

  At least that was clearly working.

  *

  Juan continued into the heart of the cavern, undeterred by the threat of rising water. He explored each cave in turn, confirming his initial suspicions that while six were similar, the southern one was slightly more elevated. There seemed to be evidence of a tunnel heading upwards; he equated it with what TF had mentioned in his diary about a secret way into the castle.

  He decided there was little need to follow it.

  The island had no beach on the west side. While Hell’s Bay had once been a lagoon, the south-west quarter of the island had been the main area of habitation. New Town and Old Town had both been located on the west side, the more populated New Town lying at the south-west. There was still an ancient jetty at the westernmost point, its rotting wood a reminder of past purpose. Littering the hillside, the ruined façades of several stone cottages displayed the ravages of time, like a mining village from the Wild West deserted after the gold rush. From the air, he had seen evidence of similar caves scattered throughout the village.

  It was possible, Juan knew, that they could also connect with the present cavern.

  Checking his father’s army compass he had packed on leaving the castle, he kept an eye on the needle as he headed north-west, looking out for any sudden changes in the layout. The area to the west seemed to be closed off, but the cavern continued north, running deep into the heart of the island. There, the water became deeper, like an ancient pool, perhaps guarding unseen monsters.

  Moving his torch, Juan noticed the outline of something attached to a nearby rocky shore. Up close, he saw it was some form of primitive fishing raft tied to one of the rocks. After examining it in detail, he observed that the main part of it was still intact; inside, a solitary wooden oar lay among wet blankets. Despite the powerful smell of damp and rotting vegetation, he was relieved to see it housed no human remains.

  Cortés climbed on to the nearby rocks, steadying his footing. He pushed the raft as hard as he could, intrigued to see it float out to the full length of the rope without sinking. Pulling it back in and climbing aboard, he tossed the blankets into the far side and made himself secure.

  Incredibly the boat was still seaworthy and capable of supporting his weight.

  His only option was to head north, into the black waters. There were sounds coming from deep within, water echoing, perhaps something else.

  He got out his walkie-talkie and spoke to Eduardo.

  “I may need your help from here. Go back to the chopper and get your things.”

  38

  Ben was suddenly overcome with panic. The sound of the ringtone, the opening lyrics from Springsteen’s ‘Thunder Road’ coming through as if the Boss himself was barking them out on stage, caught him completely off guard, throwing his mind into chaos. He always made the point of switching his phone to silent whenever he entered a religious building. Today he had forgotten about it.

  And now it was ringing.

  The sound caught the attention of the nearby congregation; some glanced at him, more in surprise than judgement. He assumed from their appearances that they were mostly tourists. Though he was aware that it was officially a parish church, he guessed it was unlikely to attract such crowds of parishioners on a Wednesday.

  He knew he daren’t look towards the front of the church.

  Ducking into the nearest pew, he scrambled for his phone. He caught a quick glimpse of Colts’s name on the display and answered.

  *

  Colts stood with one hand on the wheel, the phone in the other held closely to his ear. He could hear Ben’s voice, surprisingly quiet.

  He put it down to a poor signal.

  “Ben? Ben? Can you hear me?”

  *

  Valeria turned to her left, noticing Maria was still to move. She was looking back at her with that timid puppy-like face that for some reason men found adorable. It was a weakness, she mused: a family weakness. For generations, such cowardice had cost them.

  But no longer.

  She looked down at Maria, her eyes narrowing, her furrowed brow almost at the point of snapping. The longer she stood, the greater the chances, she feared, that they would attract unnecessary attention.

  “Come on. The diagram clearly places the stone below ground. Maybe it’s through the entrance to a crypt. Come on.”

  Maria continued to hesitate, her nervous eyes returning to the friar. Her breathing had become more rapid, audible even from a distance. Her hands were shaking; her lips quivered.

  Valeria’s expression had hardened. “I did not come all this way to do nothing. People only look when they have reason to look. Together we are just sightseers. Come.”

  Maria looked at her, wiped her eyes and nodded. It was obvious from her face she had a bad feeling about everything.

  Finally she began to move.

  Valeria smiled at Maria as she approached the end of the pew, preparing to stand. Her instinctive feeling was that the answer to the riddle would not be found in the church, but a different part of the building and definitely below ground.

  The picture on Maria’s phone suggested the south side of the monastery.

  Looking across the aisle, Valeria saw a doorway; the floor plan in the guidebook confirmed it was the entrance to the cloisters. She decided it would be as good a place to start as any.

  She glanced back at Maria, pleased to see she was standing. Close by, pilgrims and tourists continued to sit in silence, listening to the message. She saw movement to her right, someone taking a seat in an empty pew. Ignoring him, she headed for the altar.

  A blast of sound erupted from behind her. Rock music. A phone. Glancing round instinctively, she saw the man she had just seen dive into the nearby pew, seemingly embarrassed at being the cause of the interruption. From the side, his appearance seemed familiar: a rugged mane, his face perhaps displaying evidence of facial hair. A blue polo shirt snug tightly around a well-toned, six-foot-plus physique. She had seen him before, she knew.

  Many times.

  *

  Ben closed his eyes, knowing he had made a critical error. The sound of the ringtone had carried, assisted by the building’s impressive acoustics. Several people as far away as ten rows back were still looking at him. Others pretended not to notice.

  He prayed the two most important peo
ple had been too far away to be able to hear it.

  Shuffling in his seat, he gripped the phone firmly in his right hand and pressed it close to his ear. Fortunately, he had chanced upon an empty section of pews; he reasoned it was unlikely Colts’s voice could carry far.

  With the phone now under his control, he turned slowly. Above Colts’s voice, the preacher’s still resonated calmly through the speakers; it had never stopped, even for a second. Most of the faces around him remained focused on the elevated lectern; towards the front, the wider congregation did the same, eyes looking forward rather than back. Until he came to the third pew.

  Valeria was looking at him.

  Mystified.

  *

  Colts was still to hear a clear response. He glanced at the screen, satisfied he had a full signal.

  The problem was Ben wasn’t speaking.

  “Ben? Can you hear me?”

  *

  Colts’s voice was coming through louder than before; Ben feared it would be audible beyond his pew. As far as he could tell, the congregation were no longer paying him great attention.

  At least for now.

  He hadn’t moved since he saw her looking back at him, her face a surreal blank stare. It was like being on the edge of a mighty gorge or chasm, knowing the biggest mistake anyone could make would be to look down.

  And then doing it.

  She looked at him still, their eyes meeting, hers mysteriously unblinking. To Valeria’s left, Maria had also noticed him, her face a spellbound stare. It was as if time were standing still. Seconds had turned into minutes. Endless torture.

  Something had to break.

  “Ben?”

  Colts’s shout broke the spell, loud enough to carry. With one eye on Valeria, Ben put the phone to his ear.

  “Colts?”

  “What the hell’s going on?”