by Ken Fry
§
The Condesa’s countenance was grim as she walked into the study, her thoughts contemplating Throgmorton’s death threat.
Pausing, she gazed around the room before moving to the furthest fan vaulted pillar. What she was about to do had not been done or known for centuries. Her father, the former Duke, had revealed it to her as a drastic resource for self-protection. He had shown her how the former monks of the Abbey, facing increasing attacks not only from the Moors but later from the Archbishop’s army, had constructed a final way of protecting their holy prize, The Eyes of Christ.
Reaching into a slot concealed next to a wall-mounted crucifix, she extracted a thin leather wallet tied with a thick black thong. Untying the knot, she opened the covering flap and with great care, unfolded it before reading its contents.
The chest containing the tabard stood at the far end of the room. She removed it and draped it gently across the closed lid so that the black cross was in full view.
Holding the wallet, she headed for the door. Before she reached it, she removed a small silver pistol from her desk drawer and placed it in her pocket. Then, reaching out, she pulled hard on the crucifix, letting it move downwards before releasing it and allowing it to spring back into position. There was a sound of gears and metal moving from beneath the room. She stepped out of the room and shut the door.
CHAPTER 27
Ladro pulled the car over, bringing it to a stop by the roadside. They were taking the scenic route and were about forty kilometres from Valencia.
“They’re still behind us.”
Ulla stretched her neck to look behind. “They’ve stopped, too. What do you think they’re going to do?”
“Nothing. They’re on an observational exercise and not on behalf of the Condesa.”
“I’m pissed off about this. Brodie, reverse towards them, will you?”
He raised an eyebrow but did as she asked. “What are you planning do?”
“Stop the car and watch.”
They were about fifty metres away. Without a word, Ulla stepped out of the car and walked towards the parked vehicle.
“Ulla! What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. At about thirty metres away, she reached behind her jacket and produced the Glock. Safety catch off, arms extended, she fired three shots in quick succession. All three thudded through the front grille. The car was disabled.
With a smile, she got back in the car. “Valencia please, James.”
§
“I learnt more by looking at Raúl’s paintings yesterday than several hours trawling the Internet.”
“What did you find?” asked Ulla.
“I don’t quite know yet. They’re full of clues to something, and it seems they were painted before the work we are looking for. The background hills are the same and the pointing figures are all looking in the same direction, at what looks like a church of some sort in the distance. What are they trying to say? It doesn’t fit the historical scene and as you said before, it’s out of context.”
“The story as we’ve heard it says he committed suicide after his last work, if he ever painted one. That wouldn’t fit in with the paintings we’ve been looking at. They suggest a later date.”
“And we know the black cross and the lettering refer to the Knights of the Risen Lazarus.”
“When we examine the third painting in the Cathedral, we might get more answers. Otherwise, the codex and the diaries are all we have to go on. We’re almost there.” He pointed to a road sign, Valencia 5 km.
The third largest Spanish city was saturated with tourists. The Cathedral, layered in early medieval history and the resting place of what is claimed to be the Holy Grail, worked like a magnet for believers and non-believers alike. The story goes, that the persecuted Roman Catholic Church gave the Holy Chalice to Saint Lawrence for safekeeping. He sent it to his parents in Spain before the Romans roasted him alive on a gridiron.
“Where are we going?” Ulla asked.
“Follow me. Remember, we’re not tourists.”
Ladro strode into the main entrance and in spite of the number of people moving around, the coolness of the air surprised him. Frankincense wove it all together.
Passing by Corinthian pillars, numerous arches, and a wealth of famous art, he made his way to the small chapel of The Blessed Saint Lazarus of Bethany.
“We’re here.”
They were alone.
“What are we looking for?” Ulla ignored the pews and homed in on Christ Crucified and the Mother Mary behind the altar.
“I told you the other two paintings showed a figure of a man pointing, but this one shows a woman.”
Ulla moved to within inches of the painting. Using the lens, she began concentrating on the forlorn figure of the pointing woman. She said nothing. Following the outstretched arm, she moved up to the line of broken hills and the vague outlines of the building. She began squinting and then snapped her fingers.
“Brodie, notebook and pen.”
He knew her well enough not to interrupt. He handed her what she wanted and sat down in a pew. She scoured every inch of the painting. At times, she would pause to write notes. Ten minutes passed. She snapped the notebook shut, took a deep breath, and sat next to him.
“Well?”
She leant against him. He saw the disbelieving shake of the head and the gleam in her eyes. Her hushed voice matched those of the pilgrims and tourists queuing to see the Holy Chalice.
“It seems that this place has got more than its fair share of sacred mysteries.” She lifted her hand, placing a finger on her lips to signal no interruptions. “Cortez has to be an amazing artist. The preliminary sketch that Evita had of the Abbot praying to the Virgin Mary, and the other drawing of the young woman, remember?”
Brodie remembered, nodded, but said nothing.
“She has the same face of the Virgin Mary in this work. It’s the same woman. Whoever she was, she played an important part in his life. Artists in those days rarely used a model more than once. The painting of the Abbot and possibly of the woman, may also still be in existence. Now, here’s another clue. Make out from it what you will. Hold your breath, Brodie.”
“Just get to the point.”
Ulla pulled him up towards the painting. “Look very closely.” She handed him the magnifying glass. “That lone figure of the pointing woman, who d’you think it is?”
“My God, Ulla! It’s the same woman again.”
“What else can you see? Just look at her.”
Ladro stared hard. It was not easy to spot but then it dawned on him. “She’s pregnant! That’s why she looks unhappy.”
“Exactly. There’s more to come. What do you think she’s doing?”
“Pointing upwards?”
“More. Look at her other hand. It’s turned with the palm upwards.”
“What does that tell you?”
“She’s asking for help from that odd building in the distance; a church, a monastery or a convent?”
“That’s what I think.”
He could see she still had the gleam in her eye.
“Tell me,” she asked him, “what’s the short form of Francisco?”
“It’s Cisco. Why?”
“I might be reaching but look, let me explain. The central construction here is the figure of the Virgin Mary, the Cross, and the dead Christ. Look at the body postures. Cortez had used a palette knife in certain places. The way Mary is leaning over, the palette knife clearly marks out in her shape the letter C. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“The base of the cross stands almost between them, but towers upwards and out of sight. So, you could say we have the letters CI?”
“Okay. What next?”
“Cortez, using his palette knife, has given Christ’s bent body from one side--the letter S. Can you see that?”
“Yes, I can see that. So, we have CIS.”
“We now need a C. Easy, look.” Ulla traced her finger alon
g the drape of a large white mantle of cloth lying next to Christ. “The letter C. CISC --- the letter O is trickier but watch. The shape and bend in Christ’s arm from his body form the Greek letter Ω --- Omega. O is the last letter, literally the end, and his fingers extend out towards our pointing woman. So, we have CISCO.”
Silence.
Ladro became analytical. “An interesting interpretation. A first-year student could pick a dozen holes in it. What’s it got to do with our search for a speculative painting? It tells us nothing.”
Ulla placed her arms across her chest and with a pinched expression stared back at him.
“You can be an arrogant shit at times. It has everything to do with it. This woman is central to what we are looking for. Here, she is pregnant. He spells out his name and points at her, and she looks unhappy while pointing to a church of some sort. He’s painted her at least three times. Doesn’t that suggest something to you? Why did he paint her? Is she unmarried? Is he the father? The records suggest he vanished. When was this painted? It would have to be before his alleged disappearance. Why paint it at all? C’mon Brodie, you can do better than that.” She turned her back on him.
“Ulla, it’s too simplistic. If he was the father of the woman’s child, he could have added her in at a later date, after he signed it. Didn’t you say a while back that answers often stared you in the face? Where’s the best place to hide a stone? The most obvious is a pebble beach.”
“I take your point. So, you’re suggesting what we are looking for is under our noses?”
“I am. That line of hills must be around here somewhere, and the place where that building stood, or stands.”
“So, let’s get this straight. We need a historical record of this area; buildings, people, events, and the social order. We also need to find out about the pregnant woman. There must be something in those diaries … listen.”
Ulla turned around. From outside in the central pews, about sixty people were kneeling as a service started, complete with a choir and organ music. She saw a figure dart behind a pillar.
An uncanny mixture of sound and silence.
“Something’s not right here. Hey! He’s got a gun!”
Ladro flung Ulla to the floor.
Three bullets from a silenced weapon thudded into the oak woodwork above him.
Nobody seemed to have heard anything. The congregation was still singing. Three more shots splattered into the plaster and one thumped into a pew next to Ulla. He saw three men, one wearing a yachting cap, running towards the west entrance at the far end of the side walls.
“Let’s get out of here before any questions get asked.”
Ulla ignored him. She was already in a firing stance.
“Ulla! No!”
There was clear daylight between her and the escaping figures. She pumped off three shots in quick succession. One of the figures staggered, but the hit didn’t stop him as he vanished with the others out of the door.
“You stupid bitch.” Ladro pushed her arm down hard and propelled her in the same direction as the men had taken. “Put that gun away and just follow me. If we’re caught, we’re finished ... in more ways than one.”
As they exited, he saw the main doors swing open and a swarm of uniformed police rushed in.
“I don’t think we’ve been spotted.”
Ulla looked angry. “Hell! What was that all about? Someone’s trying to kill us, and you tell me not to fire back. I don’t believe it!”
“Throgmorton’s giving us a warning. He’s obviously well pissed off. What’s got into you? You’ve raised the stakes. First his car, and now you’ve just hit one of his men. He only needs to be lucky once and our research days are over.”
She gave a grim smile. “At least it’s not boring.”
Their quick footsteps clattered across the flagstone flooring. “Quick, what do you want to do?”
“We carry on, and from now on, I’ll also be carrying a gun.” He pushed the door open and stepped out into the sunlight.
CHAPTER 28
Shielded from view, the Judge stood in the shadow of the Cathedral, hidden by one of the small statues around the Almonina entrance.
It hadn’t gone quite to plan, but close. He stood in the circle of onlookers before his men approached him. He’d seen them emerge from the Cathedral and Copin looked as if he’d taken a hit. The arrival of the police had drawn the crowd’s attention, as some of them were armed with more than handguns. People had seen the gunfire and were streaming out. It was becoming chaotic. The entire approach was flooded with police and flashing lights.
His earlier phone call had almost worked. He’d wanted Stuart and Ladro to be caught by the police, carrying weapons. That would have removed them in the gentlest manner possible. Their removal hadn’t happened, but they must have got the message. Nobody messes with him and gets away with it.
It would be a while before any witnesses would be able to describe the men who had fired the guns. The situation had become more physical. But as always, he told himself to relax. He was enjoying it. More police were arriving, and barrier tape was going up like bunting.
His men sidled up to him pretending to be innocent bystanders.
“Were you hit?” Throgmorton demanded.
Copin grabbed his hand. “Feel this.”
Throgmorton felt the rigidity of body armour.
“Good thinking.” Ladro and Stuart were not easy meat. Far from it. Even with the odds stacked against them, they were dangerous, resourceful, and had nerve. His initial checks on them hadn’t mentioned that, but he was beginning to understand why they were successful.
He turned to his associate. “Next time make sure they’re the target, not the woodwork.”
His phone rang, it was De Witt.
“I’m out tomorrow,” the voice growled in his ear.
“Good. I trust you have some ideas?”
“I think you’ll be pleased.”
“You remembered my instructions?”
“I have.”
“Then we’ll meet in Madrid in a few days’ time.
The judge switched off the phone. What De Witt could come up with would be interesting. Enough, he hoped, to fool any researchers … or a Condesa.
§
Ladro gunned the rented car out of Valencia, in the direction of Toledo. The shootings in the Cathedral had unsettled him more than he had anticipated. They had been lucky to get out unscathed. They could have been killed or imprisoned. Luckily, the ensuing chaos had enabled them to slip out without being detained. He had powered the car past a police patrol setting up a road block. After years of precise planning on each and every mission, he felt they were being out-manoeuvred.
Ulla said nothing but wore a tight-lipped expression. He hadn’t expected her to get involved in two bouts of shooting, but again, she was proving as unpredictable as ever. The thought of it kept his foot hard pressed on the pedal. He’d always been a prudent driver, but now the needle was clocking 145 km per hour and moving upwards.
“Brodie, slow down, will you?” Her voice had to compete with the engine noise.
“There are times, not often, when I feel like driving fast. This is one of them,” he snarled at her.
“We’ve just avoided a load of police. The way you’re driving will draw them to us like flies around shit.”
Ladro refused to answer but he decreased the pressure on the pedal.
An uneasy silence ensued as he slowed the car. Ulla peered against the sunlight with her hand over the top of her eyes.
“Brodie, stop please. I saw something.”
“What?” He couldn’t disguise his irritation as he pulled the car over.
“That line of hills over there.” She pointed to the distant skyline. “Do they remind you of anything?”
He braked, switched off the engine, and stepped out. He squinted into the direction of the dipping sun. At first, the glare blinded him. Then, he began to understand what Ulla had seen. The hills stood part
in sunlight and part in silhouette. He let his eye wander across the undulating range that ascended sharply in one part, before dipping down to two smaller summits. He paused and repeated the exercise.
“I see what you mean. They look as if they were lifted straight from Cortez’s paintings. I think we need to go up there. Okay with you?”
“That’s what we’re here for. Let’s go.”
Ladro soon found a turnoff, a dusty side road that led in the direction of the hills. His imagination heightened as they drove down into a small valley, before climbing upwards and passing what had once been a remote hamlet.
Staring up the twisty road, he couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a religious community in the area, plus the Holy Grail in Valencia, the place was an ideal setting for a religious mystery. It wasn’t hard to imagine monks, knights, and pilgrims inhabiting the place.
More twists and turns and the road began to disappear. The summit came into view. He slowed and passed through a crop of dilapidated stone pillars and arches. Sagging black and yellow safety tape barred further progress.
Ulla climbed out and gazed at the ruins. “It looks ancient. What do you think?”
“Some sort of church or monastery. It matches the structure shown on Cortez’s painting.” He pointed to the roof, once fan vaulted and supported by a crumbling pillar.
“By the sheer size, it looks more than a church. It’s remote enough to warrant it being a monastery. That ruined hamlet back there was typical of such places springing up close to a community of monks. We can check that out later when we get back.”
“There’s no cross here that’s shown on the painting.”
“That must have long gone.”
“Hey, we’re not alone here. Look.” Ladro pointed up a narrow flint strewn track. Three people, in single file, laden with backpacks and wearing chunky walking boots, were heading towards them. “Let’s ask them, they might know.”
