by J. F. Penn
Jake smiled, his teeth white in the dark. "I'll take that challenge. Race you to the bottom."
Together, they slipped over the wall and disappeared into the darkness below, hand over hand into the woods below the citadel.
Morgan beat Jake to the bottom by a few minutes and she watched him finish the difficult clamber down. He clearly favored one side and she could see the stiffness in his body. When he finally reached her, there was sweat on his brow. That wouldn't have been there prior to the devastating injuries he had sustained. Morgan felt a flicker of concern for his health – wondering at the same time whether she could really trust her partner to have her back if they bumped into another shooting party.
"You OK?" she asked.
Jake nodded, leaning against a tree. "Give me just a minute." His breathing was uneven and Morgan saw pain in his expression, both physical and from his own frustration at not being at full health. He had been signed off for active duty and she knew he'd been in training since discharge from hospital, but his weakness made her uneasy. One part of her wanted to fold him in her arms, to let him take strength from her own. But there was another part, the soldier with a mission, who knew she should request another partner and let Jake go home.
She pulled out her phone and texted Martin Klein, describing the man with the scarred eye who had taken Sofia. She knew he would come up with something in the next few hours, but where should they go in the meantime? They had no way of knowing where the scarred man might have taken Sofia, or even why she was important to the hunt for the Key.
Morgan slipped Santiago's notebook out of her jacket and, using the light filtering through the trees from the Alhambra, she counted the numbers in the grid. The photo frame had a different set of numerals carved into the back and Morgan had copied them into the notebook too. So now they had three different grids, if Subirachs' was to be included, and one that had been blown apart on the statue of the Sagrada Familia. Martin was working on the possible gematria answers, so there was nothing to do but wait. She stood up. Jake's color was returning and he breathed more easily now.
"Let's head back to the plane," Morgan said. "It's late and if we give Martin some time to work on the info, I bet he'll have something for us soon."
They walked together through the trees, eventually emerging on a residential street. They walked towards traffic noise and soon caught a taxi back to the airfield.
Back in the plane, Morgan immediately grabbed a blanket, curled up in one of the large chairs and fell asleep. Her years in the military had taught her to take advantage of any lull, however brief, repairing the body and mind with unconsciousness.
Jake watched Morgan's face relax as she slept, but her curled body still seemed to hold its tension. His own muscles still spasmed from the effort of the climb down the Alhambra wall. Before the injuries, he could have beaten Morgan down, and he was angry – really angry that he wasn't able to even match her. He had spent years in the British military honing his physical fitness and combat skills, and the ARKANE missions had kept him fresh. He'd passed the last battery of tests with top marks, yet he couldn't even get down a simple wall climb without feeling nauseous. He had wanted to throw up at the bottom, his legs and arms shaking with the effort, and the pain in his chest excruciating. It had to be more than physical. The demon in Sedlec had crushed his bones, but had it also crushed his love of the game?
Jake glanced over at Morgan once more. She was made for this work, and she looked glorious as she did it. Moving through the dark of the Alhambra, weapon in hand, she had been stunning to watch. Her slight curves did nothing to hide the hard edge of her resolve, and he knew she respected strength. Would she turn from him now he had shown weakness? They were friends, for sure, and after what they had been through together, they were more than just work partners. There had even been moments when they could have taken it further, for the spark of attraction remained. But now, Jake thought he glimpsed doubt in her eyes.
Morgan sighed in her sleep and a dark curl slipped down to cover her cheek. Jake ached to touch her, but instead, he closed his eyes, willing the darkness to come.
Chapter 10
Sofia heard voices as her consciousness returned, men speaking in rapid Spanish arguing over a football game. She tried to open her eyes, but a dark scarf prevented her from seeing too much. It smelled of apple tobacco smoke from the hookah pipe bars and for a moment she was transported back to the warm Granada evening, laughing at something Alejandro had said without a care in the world. Then she remembered the lights going out in the Court of the Lions, the men who had taken her and their rough handling before oblivion.
Though blindfolded, Sofia could sense that she was lying sideways on a reclinable chair, a safety belt snapped tightly shut and pulled across her hips. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, her throat was dry and a bitter aftertaste lingered. Her head throbbed and from the sound of engines, she was on an aircraft. Where was she? Why had she been taken? Sofia recalled Alejandro's face as the lights had gone out, his fingers frozen on the guitar strings. Had anything happened to him?
The men's conversation stopped suddenly and Sofia was aware of someone sitting down in the chair next to hers as the air shifted. Her heart thumped and she closed her eyes again, unwilling to face what was coming. A moment later, her blindfold was removed.
"I know you're awake, Sofia." The man's voice was smooth and deep, rich like molasses. "Come, have coffee with me. I'll take the cuffs off if you promise to at least hear me out."
Sofia took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She shifted on her seat and turned her head to see who spoke. It was the man from the flamenco dance, as she had known it would be. When he had stepped forward last night, his bearing proud, she had sensed danger in him, but she had been drawn to it. For when Sofia danced flamenco, she became someone else. No longer the independent woman she was in the daylight hours, Sofia became the archetype of femininity; and as the music transformed her, she had responded to this man's dominance. The slash of scar tissue over his eye only served to give him gravitas, his thick hair and muscled limbs exuding a masculine presence she couldn't help but respond to, despite their obvious age difference.
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. They were in a small private plane with luxurious seats, fully equipped galley and entertainment space. Four men sat intently watching a football game, their neck muscles taut in the effort not to turn and see what was going on. The man noticed her look, stood up and pulled a curtain across, giving them a modicum of privacy.
"What do you want?" Sofia said softly, meeting his gaze. His one good eye was sensual, the color of winter spices, offering a trace of dark pleasure.
The man lifted his fingers to her cheek. Sofia froze, willing him away, but he gently caressed the side of her face, tracing her fine bone structure.
"You look so like your mother." His voice was wistful.
Sofia frowned. "You knew her?"
He pulled a knife with a short blade from his belt. Sofia jerked back instinctively, pressing herself against the wall of the plane, her heart thumping in a rhythm of fear.
"It's OK," the man said, his tone gentle. "Turn and I'll cut your cuffs off. They were just temporary – you're my guest now."
After a moment, Sofia relented, turning in her seat. She felt a brief tightening around her wrists and heard the sawing of the blade, then her hands were released. She rubbed her skin, restoring circulation as the man poured black coffee into two espresso cups, carefully placing one of them in front of her with a spoon and two sugar cubes. He was precise in his movements, deliberate and practiced.
"Who are you?" she asked, as he poured a glass of water and set it down next to the coffee.
"Drink," he said, lifting his own cup to full lips, his big hands dwarfing the crockery. His mouth was generous and sensual, his tongue licking the crema from his mustache after drinking. Sofia drank the glass of water straight down and then took a sip of her coffee, beginning to feel better alrea
dy. She felt his gaze on her, watching her throat as she swallowed.
"How did you know my mother?" she began again. "Why am I here?"
He smiled, his dark eye glinting a little in remembrance. "Blanca was just as curious and impatient as you." His gaze flicked to hers. "And I loved her for it."
Sofia heard a dark promise in his voice, something that made her gut twist. She realized that his kind of love wasn't something she wanted to experience. She waited for him to continue.
"My name is Adam," he said finally. "I knew your mother when she was young and I … had dealings … with your father. I also studied with your grandfather a long time ago, so my life has been entwined with your family for many years."
Sofia looked out the plane window, down at the fields of Spain far below.
"Then you'll know both my parents are dead, and I haven't seen my grandpa for years now. He disapproves of the way I live, my dancing and my boyfriend. It's not proper for a Jewish girl, according to his outdated rules of life." She snapped her head back around. "What happened to Alejandro?"
"He's fine," Adam said, waving his hand dismissively. "He's not my concern, for now at least. We left him behind in Granada." His eye flicked again to Sofia's. "But I came to tell you something, as a friend of your family."
He reached forward and took her hand. Sofia wanted to pull away, but there was something hypnotic about his gaze. She understood what a rabbit must feel like as it faced the devouring eyes of a wolf.
"Your grandfather is dead."
His words were hard and unyielding. Sofia gasped and tried to pull away but Adam gripped her hands tightly, forcing her to face him.
"He killed himself yesterday by jumping from the top of the Sagrada Familia." Tears ran down Sofia's face as Adam compelled her to listen. "His body smashed on the stone in front of the basilica."
"No, no." Sofia wept openly now and Adam pulled her towards him, embracing her and holding her head tight against his chest. She wanted to pull away, to run far from this stranger, but as his hands stroked her hair, she relaxed into his arms. He smelled of coffee roasting and cinnamon cologne, and as her tears soaked his shirt, she sobbed harder, remembering times past.
Her grandfather had been a stubborn old man, trapped in a previous generation's way of doing things, but he had loved her. Sofia knew that. Guilt rose, a crushing pain in her chest at the thought of him dying without knowing that she had loved him, too. He had mourned the death of his daughter, her mother, for many years and really, Sofia had been all he had left. But she had denied him that relationship out of stubborn pride.
The tears rose again until at last her emptiness was complete. Adam handed her a tissue and she blew her nose as she pulled herself together.
"Are you taking me to the funeral?" she asked. "Are we going to Barcelona?"
Adam shook his head. "Not yet. The funeral will be in a few days, the local Rabbi is organizing it. You don't need to worry about anything. But before he died, Santiago told me of a Key that he sought, something precious … but he was so depressed at the end, so distraught that he wasn't able to finish what he started." Sofia's chest tightened and the prick of tears threatened again at his words. "He told me that you could help with this quest, that you knew something of its whereabouts."
Sofia frowned, confusion transforming her face. "I don't know about any Key. Grandfather wouldn't talk to me about his Kabbalah knowledge. After all, I'm just a woman." Her voice was bitter. "And way too young. I think perhaps he would have told me later on, as my mother was taught after my father disappeared … but now it's too late."
Adam's face darkened at her words, his expression evoking storm clouds, his mouth taut. He reached out and clutched her wrist tightly, his fingers crushing, turning her skin white beneath his grip.
"You must know something. Think, girl."
There was no trace of familial concern in his voice now. Sofia straightened her back, meeting his gaze.
"Take your hands off," she whispered. "You're clearly no friend of my grandfather if you would hurt me."
A range of emotion swept over Adam's face as he looked at her. A flash of something like love flickered in his expression again and for a moment, Sofia thought he might pull her back into his arms and comfort her again.
Instead, his hand pulled back and, with an open palm, Adam slapped her face hard. Sofia's head snapped sideways and she gasped in shock at the sudden pain.
"You spoiled little bitch," Adam said. "You don't know what hurt is, pretty one. Shall I give you to my men back there and you can find out?" His gaze raked down her body, lingering on her curves. "I've seen you dance, and I like what I see." He leaned closer, his voice tinged with spite. "Perhaps I'll use you myself."
Adam stood up and with one hand, he grabbed her hair and yanked her towards him. Sofia grabbed at his hands, fighting him as he roughly grabbed her breast, squeezing it tight, making her wince with pain. He laughed at her distress.
"How I wish that bastard Santiago could see this. He would have given me anything to spare you, perhaps even the Key itself. But it's too late now." He reached down and lifted her skirt, his hand rough on the skin of her thighs. "If you don't know anything, there's only one more use I have for you." He stopped suddenly, a dark smile on his lips, and Sofia saw madness in his gaze. "But before we proceed, I think we need an audience."
He thrust her away from him. Sofia fell hard, knocking her cup to the floor, the spoon falling underneath her. Her fingers crawled to it, clutching the makeshift weapon. She looked around the cabin, searching for any way to escape, desperation rising within her.
Adam walked over to a square wooden box on the floor, its rough panels carved with occult symbols.
"I keep this with me as a reminder of what drives my quest, and how I deal with those who stand in my way."
He opened the lid and lifted out a large glass jar, his hands obscuring the interior. The preservative liquid inside was yellowish and something round and heavy moved inside the jar as the plane rocked with turbulence. A dark foreboding rose within Sofia's chest. She didn't want to know what was inside.
Adam lifted it higher to examine what was within.
"Your father took my eye many years ago. Then he took your mother." His smile was wolfish. "Years later, I repaid the debt."
Adam bent and thrust the jar in Sofia's face as she drew back in horror. The eyes of the severed head were wide and staring, the mouth fixed in an agonized scream. Sofia couldn't look away. For a moment, she thought that it couldn't possibly be her father. This fleshy specimen didn't look like him, but then the features coalesced and beneath the grimace of death, she saw the man who had danced with her, teaching her the steps of flamenco as a girl.
No," she gasped, her hand lifting to her mouth. A moan escaped her, a keening animal sound as she reached out to touch the jar. Adam pulled it away.
"Your family has always been a thorn in my side," he said. "Even in death, they plague me. I would know of this Key or your precious Alejandro's head will be next in a jar."
"Please," Sofia said, her voice weak. "I'll tell you all I know. I promise. Please don't hurt Alejandro." Adam nodded for her to continue. "Grandfather would always talk about how the Sagrada Familia was his lifelong passion, but his heart would always belong to the Córdoba Mezquita. It was there he met my grandmother, you see. Please, whatever you seek. It must be there. That's all I know."
Adam paused for a moment, then thrust open the door to the cockpit.
"Change of plan. We're heading to Córdoba."
He turned back to Sofia. "And you, my dear, I will keep pristine for the final day. Your sacrifice to the Devourers will complete the circle your mother and I began so many years ago. Your father took what I loved most – now I will return the favor."
Chapter 11
The buzz of her phone woke Morgan and she felt around for it on the chair next to her.
"I know where you need to go next." Martin's enthusiastic bounce was evident even
at this early hour. Morgan pulled up the blind on the window of the plane, squinting a little. It was just after dawn. Fingers of pink touched the skyline of the city and thin clouds were highlighted with the golden glow of morning.
She sat up, pulling the blanket off. Jake was still sleeping in the chair next to her, his handsome face marred with a little frown, as if he was solving impossible problems in his dreams. She nudged his chair with her hip as she stood up and his eyes flicked open, his hands coming up in automatic defense. He relaxed as he saw her.
"Go ahead, Martin," she said, switching to speakerphone and then moving to the little galley to put coffee on.
"The man you saw at the flamenco is Luis De Medina, but he's known to his followers as Adam Kadmon, a name used for primordial man in Kabbalah teaching. The spiritual realm of Adam Kadmon is said to represent the sephirah, or divine attribute of the crown, the specific divine will and plan for creation. He wants to return the earth to this perfect state, cleansing it of those who despoil its perfection."
"Not egotistical at all then," Jake said with a chuckle.
"Exactly," Martin said. "It seems that Kadmon was a student of Santiago's, thrown out many years ago over a fight. He courted Santiago's daughter, wanted to marry her but she chose another man."
Morgan thought of the way Kadmon's gaze had devoured Sofia's body when he stepped into the flamenco circle. Was he obsessing over the daughter as he had the mother?
"He also has a small militia group, well-funded and armed. It seems their plans are escalating, so whatever Kadmon wants to do, he intends to do it soon."
Martin hesitated and Morgan sensed he was holding something back.
"What is it, Martin?" she said, her voice sharp.
"He's … ummm … known to ARKANE, actually. I don't know how much I should tell you, Morgan. This file is marked for top level security only. I haven't cleared it with Marietti."