He’d no answer for this.
Instead, he looked at Torres who likewise smiled.
“Makes perfect sense to me, David. As to where we begin, I image it would be by first confirming the identity of the company owning that particular stretch of property where Peter went missing.”
“Company? You know who they are?”
“I think so. From Pilar’s location narrative, I’m reasonably sure it’s going to be an outfit called En-Tex Environmental. But there’s an awful lot of open territory in that part of the county and I’ll need to confirm the exact spot where she dropped Peter off.” He glanced at his wrist. “It’s already well past nightfall—and quite frankly, I’d rather we did this during daylight just to be absolutely sure of my bearings.”
David agreed.
“Then I suggest you meet us downstairs for breakfast,” he said. “Say 8am? Pilar will be spending the night right here.”
“I am?”
“Definitely. Tomorrow we can also go out to Indian Town and gather up whatever you wish. Until I make other arrangements, for the time being you can take my room and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You really think this necessary?”
“I’m afraid so. Just a precaution, certainly, but one we’d be damn foolish not to take.”
“I’m not sure I fully—”
Fearing she might object, David saw the need to speak bluntly. There was simply no way to do this gently.
“I know it’s difficult, Pilar, but take a moment and consider what was done to Peter. Regardless of whoever tortured him—and for whatever reasons—isn’t it logical that the main questions they wanted answered was not only his reason for being where he was—but also who else knew of his whereabouts? The fact that you’re still here and unharmed tells me he must’ve loved you very much, because after hours of unimaginable agony, he’d obviously told them nothing.”
He saw tears springing to her eyes.
“I—I never thought of it that way.”
“Which means the danger to you is still a very real possibility. Once we begin probing, as we must, at some point they may eventually learn of your involvement. We owe it to Peter to protect you at all costs until his murderers are identified and apprehended.”
He turned to Torres, asking, “How much do you know about this local company called En-Tex Environmental?”
“Not near as much as I intend to, believe me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
San Antonio, Texas.
On the sixteenth floor of the luxurious Talbot Plaza Hotel, Camilla Madrigal lay naked and satisfied on the disheveled bed she shared with her dozing lover. Curled happily at his side, her profusion of dark hair framed the olive-colored sheen of her delicate features. Like her, the man’s breathing was shallow and rapid, his tanned skin still damp with earned perspiration. It was always thus after their first frenetic coupling of the night—for it was invariably the most physically draining for both of them.
But she likewise knew it was still early, not yet 10:30pm, and the history of their clandestine meetings—infrequent as they were—told her that their planned evening of protracted passion would soon resume after a necessary respite for recovery. The mere thought of what that would entail brought a smile to her lips.
Patience had its own delightful rewards.
Still bathed in the sweet afterglow of their mutual release, she tolerantly watched his slumbering features, anticipating all of the familiar and erotically pleasurable activities yet to come in which she so enjoyed indulging.
As did he.
When it came to sex, they were of a like mind.
How unlike her late husband, she thought, for it often amused her to contemplate what would’ve been Felipe’s reaction had she suggested even one of the many things that her and her long-time lover now routinely practiced. His shock would’ve been extreme, the sensibilities of his old-world, prudish nature offended beyond all reason.
But then again, she conceded, perhaps this was to be expected from a man over thirty years her senior.
As it was with many Ruiz family marriages, hers was one arranged by her older brother, Carlos, acting as head of the family and all of its extensive holdings. Unfortunately, he also held the traditional opinion that the latter included complete control of all Ruiz women.
In retrospect, Camilla had to admit that at the time she’d actually been amenable to the match, for despite Felipe’s advanced age, he’d been both moderately wealthy and physically attractive. Too, though having little apparent interest in sex, as such, he did dutifully give her two children in rapid succession—a son, Julian, now eight, followed fourteen months later by a daughter, Malena,
It was at this point, however, that her spouse began avoiding their marital bed altogether, believing it was no longer relevant to any of his husbandly obligations. Soon afterward, they were only rarely seen together, even at family functions.
This became a disturbing reality that eventually reached the attention of her brother, who sought a solution to this distracting problem before it led to the shame of complete separation—or, even worse, divorce.
True to his nature, Carlos’ remedy involved the disbursement of money.
Thinking to somehow compensate her for Felipe’s apparent physical and emotional abandonment—and perhaps marginally accepting Camilla’s innate intelligence as demonstrated by her unused business degree from one of Mexico’s premiere universities—he established her with a modest import company in San Antonio. If he’d assumed she must eventually fail due to the weakness of her gender, she quickly proved him wrong. After five years of operation under her sole management, it was fast becoming a profitable and viable operation.
Yet there was a distinct cloud over her success that continued to bother her.
What personal satisfaction she might’ve derived from her hard-won efforts was tainted by the knowledge that her brother had never intended this import business to be truly hers in any real sense of the word. Quite the opposite. Meant more as a diversion to occupy her time than an outright gift, he retained controlling interest—which once again fed her growing frustration at having constant limitations placed on all her natural aspirations. Just a further demonstration of Carlos’ obsessive need to dominate. The bottom line was that he possessed the ability to pull the plug on her and her children at any time of his choosing—which he doubtless believed was his inherited right as head of the Ruiz family.
It was curious to Camilla how events often unfolded, however, for she likewise knew that Carlos had unknowingly given her far more than he ever realized. Back then, the lawyer he provided to give the necessary legal expertise required to launch her enterprise in the U.S. was the very same man who now regularly shared her bed. Theirs was a sexual chemistry that began with their first meeting. Not so much love, per se, but a synchronization of deeply felt desires and needs. Though no one else within her family knew—for she was always discreet—it was a continuing affair that neither wished to see end.
Content for the time being, she also began to doze.
A few minutes later, the activation of Marino’s cell phone jarred him awake, the persistence of its ring tone a distinct and unwelcome interruption to his relaxed period of bliss.
Before sitting up, he slowly disentangled himself from Camilla’s sleepy embrace and lightly kissed her brow. She opened her eyes as he retrieved his phone from the bed stand.
“This won’t take long,” he assured her.
He knew it could only be one of two people, and he rightly deduced it was Hogan making an overdue report. It was his cell number that appeared on the display as he stood and stepped over to the room’s desk. Though the man’s skills were exceptional, his timing sometimes left much to be desired.
He’d expected the call hours earlier.
“You’re running a bit late,” he began, not entirely masking his mild irritation. “I take it something unusual cropped up?”
“I’d say so, yes,” was th
e response. “Don’t know quite what to make of it.”
“Hold up a second,” instructed Marino. He snapped on the plush lamp and located the hotel stationary. Pen in hand, he then said, “Okay, go ahead. Give me what you have.”
He listened in silence over the next several minutes, absorbing the information being offered him and occasionally jotting down a few particulars. One of them was the license plate number off the young woman’s pickup. From this he could produce an identity.
He glanced at his wrist as he lit a cigarette.
It was now 11:15pm.
“You say she’s still there with him?”
“And probably spending the night by the look of it. The lights were turned off twenty minutes ago, not long after the sheriff’s cruiser left. As I said, it surprised me Torres showed up like he did.”
Marino agreed.
Something odd was going on.
“And you’re convinced she’s not a local hooker?” Though the question had to be asked, he likewise doubted it—what with the deputy sheriff being there—yet wanted it confirmed. Too bad, actually, for it would’ve definitely simplified things considerably if it were true.
“No way, sir. Her look was entirely wrong. I can tell these things.” Hogan paused for a long moment. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked. “It’s already—”
“I’m aware of the time.”
Considering all he’d learned, Marino gave it careful thought before framing his response. Finally, he said, “I suggest you take a room there yourself to better keep on top of this. I want to know Manning’s every move, understood? Double up on your reports if you think it necessary.”
“Not a problem. You’re the boss.”
Marino ended the call, pondering what implications could be drawn from all of this. Not only was this an off-the-wall development, it also went entirely contrary to his expectations. He’d assumed that Hogan’s report would tell him Manning had checked out of his hotel and was now heading back east. The evidence that he earlier intended doing just this was clear, for why else did he and Torres apparently part ways after a lengthy conversation in the diner with a handshake? No. It was definitely the sudden arrival of the young woman that somehow changed everything.
But how?
It was a puzzle that required solving.
What could she have possibly brought to the table to re-involve both Manning and Torres in such an abrupt fashion?
He tore the top sheet off the hotel pad, his eyes drawn once again to her license plate number. Tomorrow would be soon enough to learn her identity. As potentially troubling as this little mystery might be, he yet felt reasonably certain nothing warranted any immediate alarm on his part. It would require close monitoring, to be sure, but until he learned otherwise, the ground rules of the game still remained the same. Manning’s annoying investigation was ultimately destined to go nowhere.
Marino now glanced over to where Camilla lay on her side, patiently awaiting his return. Her smile was inviting, her forearm only partially covering the enticing swell of her ample breasts.
He returned her smile, then butted his cigarette and snapped off the lamp.
Time to concentrate on far more pleasurable things.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was ten minutes to noon when David began to wrap up his lengthy phone conversation with Elizabeth back on Cape Cod. Placing the call was overdue, but recent circumstances hadn’t allowed for otherwise. Fortunately, she understood the situation once he brought her completely up to date, being particularly taken—as he knew she would be—by the details of young Pilar’s relationship with Peter and the possible cause of his brutal murder.
Regarding this, she eventually asked, “Do you think there’s any validity to her family’s story about an Aztec treasure? I mean, if that painting is as old as you seem to think it is . . .”
“I honestly don’t know, hon. It’s fascinating, mind you, but any correlation is still only speculative on my part. Pilar is convinced, of course—but at this point, all I know for certain is that finding it led directly to his death. Still, it might have no relationship, whatsoever. It may prove purely coincidental that his bit of exploration put him in the path of very dangerous people involved in something totally unrelated.”
“Such as?”
“Anything from drug smuggling to God knows what . . .”
“I see. And what about this Deputy Sheriff Torres? What’s his opinion on the painting and Pilar’s story of its origin?”
David smiled into the phone.
“Like you, he’s certainly intrigued, but hardly convinced of anything until a direct linkage can be made. A good man, actually. As I said, he’s more than willing to follow up on whatever leads present themselves, yet keeps a ‘devil’s advocate’ approach much of the time. Just being a good cop, so I really can’t blame him.”
“Where are they both now?”
“After meeting us here for breakfast, he drove Pilar out to the spot she dropped Peter off that evening. If it’s where he suspects from her description, then it will definitely bring that local company I mentioned into play.”
She was silent for a moment, consulting her notes.
“You’re referring to En-Tex Environmental, right?”
“That’s it. Which now brings me to another subject—something you can help me out with from your end if you’re willing. I hate to ask, but it involves DeCaylus Corp and your high paid management team up in Boston.”
Her response was immediate and unequivocal.
“Of course, David. Whatever you need.”
“Figured I could count on you. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure yet myself, but I do know it will help move things along considerably if you could appoint a single contact man I can go to whenever it becomes necessary. Someone with complete company authority who can act on your behalf—plus the resources and computer expertise to do whatever is required. As you can imagine, Enid is a small town with few technological resources to draw upon when I need to find answers. In fact, I can envision a few things right off the top of my head that should be checked out.”
“Will do,” replied Elizabeth. “I’ll set it up immediately. In fact, I already have someone in mind that may be perfect for you. His name is Ted Quenton, a senior vice-president planning to retire in the near future. You couldn’t get any better. Give me until later this afternoon to arrange it and I’ll have him get back to you. How’s that?”
“Sounds great.”
“Oh, and David—”
“Yes, I know, hon. No unnecessary risks.”
“Promise?”
“Count on it.”
She chuckled before breaking the connection, saying, “How often have I heard that before?”
David noted the time as he replaced the receiver, estimating how long before Torres and Pilar would make it back. He guessed a few more hours at most, which gave him time to now pursue a little historical matter that had continually piqued his curiosity; a recurring question that kept running through his mind concerning the painting and Pilar’s explanation for its existence.
Was it even possible that her family story had legs?
If the premise of it held any merit—a veritable treasure trove once secretly moved north into what is now Texas to evade the conquistadors—then surely there must’ve been a corresponding window of opportunity for the Aztecs to have actually pulled it off. Without such, he reasoned, to transfer any sizable amount of gold virtually out from under the Spanish noses would’ve been most unlikely.
Realistically, damn near impossible . . .
Seeking a possible explanation, he plugged his laptop into the hotel’s in-room DSL connection and began the cumbersome process of learning all he could about Hernan Cortez’s amazing conquest of the Aztecs. After better than an hour’s reading—covering everything from the conquistador’s arrival on the coast of Mexico to the death of Moctezuma II—nothing appeared to lend itself for such a remarkable feat. Certainly no available
time frame that might logically support even its attempt.
Or was there?
That’s when he saw the Aztec ‘window of opportunity’ he sought finally begin to unfold on his screen. It appeared one had actually existed—and damn if it didn’t make perfect sense, as well!
He read on, jotting down dates and particulars for future reference.
On the rainy night of July 1, 1520, the vastly outnumbered Spanish, finding themselves trapped inside the city center of Tenochtitlan by a native uprising following the death of their emperor, tried to escape the city under the cover of darkness. In the running battle that ensued, they lost more that six hundred of their comrades—not to mention all of the gold and silver they foolishly endeavored to take with them. Known thereafter as ‘La Noche Triste’, the night of sorrows, it was such a bitter defeat for Cortez that it took him until May of the following year, 1521, to regroup all his forces and again march on the capital.
Though the city’s eventual fall after a long and bloody siege decisively marked the end of the Aztec empire, it had yet provided an eleven-month reprieve between the Spanish expulsion and return—certainly adequate time by anyone’s estimation to hide the emperor’s treasure.
Pleasantly intrigued by this possibility, David ordered up coffee and sandwiches from room service before continuing, wondering what other tantalizing facts he might uncover. Doing further research, one such historical detail leaped out at him almost immediately—a definite plus that spoke volumes to the potential credence of Pilar’s family story.
It appeared that the vast hoard of abandoned gold and silver artifacts lost by the retreating conquistadors was never retrieved when they re-took Tenochtitlan. It simply wasn’t there to be claimed—and no amount of torture, rigorous searching, or questioning, ever solved the mystery of its complete disappearance. As time passed, those who may have possessed such knowledge apparently took the answer to their grave, leaving behind no tangible clues.
The Emperor's Treasure Page 9
