Gage narrowed his eyes. “Was all that some sort of retribution for something?”
“While we don’t know for certain, we later learned that he owed an incarcerated member of Los Leones money. The debt was a decade old.”
“A great deal of money?”
Valentin eyed Gage. “Less than a hundred euro.” He dragged on his cigarette before crushing it out. “In Berga, any insult is colossal despite its size. You remember that.”
* * *
Ascending in the Abba Hotel’s elevator, Gage readied himself for his next challenge. He was more nervous about this one than any he’d encountered thus far in Spain.
It was time to tell Justina.
Gage exited the elevator, viewing himself in the mirror at the landing. He was ashen. When he reached his hotel room door, he placed his hand on the knob, taking a deep breath. Then he keyed the door and stepped inside.
Justina was still in bed, sitting up, the covers to her waist. She looked up from her magazine, studying him for a moment before lowering her eyes to the bag. Her smile faded—she was reading his face.
“What have you done?”
“I’ve taken a job.”
“What job?”
“A job that’s going to take me away for a while.”
She crossed her arms. “How long is ‘a while’?”
“Please, just listen,” Gage said, moving to the bed and sitting at her feet. “I have to work, Justina, and my job isn’t always pleasant. Far from it, actually.” He touched her leg. “My last three jobs have been miserable and dangerous—and none of them made me much money. I risked my life on each one and, had anything gone wrong, I’d probably be dead right now.”
Justina didn’t respond.
“The reason I woke up and accepted the job this morning, Justina, is completely about us. This isn’t about only me.” He chewed on his lip, finding the correct words. “I’m fearful of the job I’ve accepted. I don’t have a problem admitting that, but I’m also fearful that, had I told you about it beforehand, you’d have talked me out of it.”
Her nostrils flared.
He lifted the bag, placing it between them. “This is a million euro.”
She stared at the bag. There was a jolt that ran through her but she recovered nicely. “I don’t want you because of money,” she said flatly. “You could go off on this job, meet some other pretty girl, and never come back to me. It’s you I want. Not money.”
Gage pulled the curtains back, flooding the room with morning light. “First off, Justina, I don’t want to meet some other girl. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been involved with anyone and being with you has brightened my outlook like the sun just brightened this room.”
“And where are you going for this job?”
“Before I tell you, I want to know something, and I want the truth even if it takes you a day to think it over.”
“What?”
“If I’m gone for a long time, years even…will you wait on me?”
Justina blinked several times. She stared up at him, obviously trying to comprehend what would make him ask such a question. “Why would you be gone years?”
“The job could very well take that long.” Gage licked his lips. “So, will you, Justina? Will you wait for me? I think we’ll be able to communicate sometimes but, even if we can’t, will you wait?” She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “Before you answer, I’m going to give you that money. Just know that. That money is for your mother and brother.”
There was a lengthy period of silence in the hotel room. Outside, church bells chimed the ten o’clock hour. Then, Justina began to cry, covering her hands with her mouth.
Gage wanted to hug her, to console her, but he kept his distance. Right now, he wanted Justina to be alone in her decision. Eventually, her face contorted through her tears, she shook her head, barely able to get any words out. Several times she said, “I can’t…”
“I understand,” Gage whispered.
Justina used the sheet to dry her eyes, shaking her head back and forth. Turning her bleary eyes up to Gage, she said, “That’s not what I mean. I just can’t believe that a man I’ve known for only a week has been so good to me. Even in my dreams, I didn’t believe a man like you lived on this earth.” She held out her hand, pulling him beside her. “I will wait for a lifetime for you, Gage. I will dream of you all night, every night. There’s no other man for me.” Justina buried her head into his chest, crying, gripping him, continuing to tell him that he was the only man for her.
He held her, waiting for her to calm down. “I’m going to tell you everything, okay? It must remain between only us. You cannot tell anyone about it, understand?”
“I understand,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.
Taking his time, Gage explained what exactly he did for a living. He’d shaded over it before, but now told her about his background and his present life.
Justina took it all in stride.
Then he told her everything he knew about the mission. He told her about Navarro, about his son Cesar, and about Berga. She asked a few questions, most of which he didn’t know the answer to. When they’d talked about it long enough, an hour later, Justina opened a bottle of water, drinking it while staring out over the center of the city. Camp Nou, the massive home to Fútbol Club Barcelona, shimmered in the distance.
She turned. “The hardest part of all of this is imagining myself alone. When I was working for the Russians, although I was surrounded, I felt alone then.”
“I understand. If you’d like, you can go back to Poland and wait.”
“No,” she answered, firmly shaking her head. “I want to be near you.”
He slid his shoes off, dropping into the chair beside her. “Then you can just send your mother the money. We can’t deposit it in a bank, nor can we send it all at once. The best way will be to send it by FedEx or something similar. You’ll send it in cash installments, probably once a month. She can’t deposit the money either, and will need to be smart about how she goes about using it.”
“My mother is wise. I will tell her how to do it, and she will follow instructions, yes?”
“Good.” He pointed to the west, saying, “So, now, our first priority is finding you a place to live.”
“Near the prison?”
“Within reason,” Gage answered.
“Can I visit?”
“We’ll have to wait and see. If I think it’s safe, we’re going to have to take some precautions to ensure that you’re never followed. I don’t want a soul knowing where you live. Okay?”
Justina nodded. Then, from the table beside him, she lifted a magazine and began to roll it, twisting it nervously in her hands. Gage could hear her breathing, probably trying to come to grips with the seismic upheaval her life had taken in the last week. “Why me, Gage?”
“Why would someone follow you? Well, hopefully that won’t ever—”
“No, Gage. Why do you do this for me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just poor Polish trash who you met in a sleazy Russian club. We had a nice week together…okay, great. But, because of that, you want to share your money and your life with me?”
Gage knew this was some sort of defense mechanism, especially from someone who’d never had two nickels to rub together. He allowed silence to settle over the room before he asked, “How do you feel about me?”
“You already know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I love you, Gage. I’ve loved you since our time in Tossa.” Her mouth twitched. “And the hardest part of all of this is thinking of being without you, no matter how much money you make.”
He moved beside her. “You can trust me, Justina. I’ve got no agenda here other than us.”
She took his hand, kissing it. “I hope you love me.” As he was about to answer, she stopped him. “Tell me on my first visit to Berga, yes?”
Gage and Justina lay back on the bed an
d held each other.
Chapter Eleven
They talked about the job during the three-hour drive to Berga. Had they driven straight through, the trip would have taken less than ninety minutes, but they had stopped twice. The first time they pulled over was after Justina calmly asked Gage to stop the car following a gulf of silence. Once he was off to the side of the road, in a mountainous area, she exited and, at her behest, Gage followed. She led him to an overlook at the high hairpin curve, the Catalonian valley falling a thousand feet below the ascending roadway. There was a red picnic table above the rocky escarpment and she motioned him to sit. As soon as he did, Justina began to scream and yell at him. She spoke in her native tongue at first, giving him a tongue lashing any drill sergeant would be proud of. When she switched to English, she called him a maniac, saying she was unable to process how—even for such a large amount of money—a person would willfully allow himself to be imprisoned. Gage let her finish before he again explained his reasons, this time going so far as to cover the high points about his past, his post-traumatic-stress, and even the tragedy with Monika.
When he was finished, Justina, spent, apologized for her outburst.
“You don’t need to say you’re sorry,” he said, pushing her hair back and kissing her on the cheek. “Because you’re right, I am a little nuts.”
They stopped again, a half-hour later, again at Justina’s request. Trying to stifle his irritation, Gage pulled to the side of the road in a heavily wooded stretch south of the town of Ruig-reig. Justina exited, again commanding him to get out. When he did, she led him by hand down into the damp conifer forest, the gray skies obscured by the canopy of towering trees. In a glade below the roadway’s level, a hundred meters from the rental car, at Justina’s direction, Gage made slow, passionate love to her on a soft bed of pine needles. When finished, they’d gotten dressed and Justina had lain in the crook of his arm, the two of them peering upward, through the gaps of the Spanish Pinsapo fir trees. Justina smoked a cigarette, toying with his Gage’s short hair as the two of them enjoyed the moment for what it was.
“Why did you come back for me?” she asked.
“This morning?”
“At Eastern Bloc.”
“I guess it had something to do with what you first told me, about being essentially held against your will.”
She kissed him. Ten minutes passed as birds zipped overhead, ignoring the two humans on the forest floor.
Justina broke the silence. “We must make love many times in these two days.”
Gage turned to her. “Yeah?”
“Two years is a long time, yes? I think we will both miss it.”
Their laughter got them moving again.
They travelled to the town of Berga, stopping north of town to view the eponymous prison from the road. It was unremarkable, surrounded by several high fences and guarded by squat towers on each corner. The prison itself, set back a kilometer from the road, appeared to be made of cinderblock. Three stories high, it didn’t appear much different than a gargantuan warehouse. Gage didn’t care to linger too long, but did make a quick sketch of the exterior features and the surrounding relief.
From Berga, they continued north, the growing gray of the day seeming a bit of a harbinger of things to come for Gage. Despite their lovemaking a short time earlier, he fought to keep his spirits buoyed. He thumbed the window switch for a dose of fresh air, breathing it deeply. Having no idea of where the road would take them, they continued on until they stumbled upon a picturesque lake marked as La Baells. The water, most likely snow and glacier fed, was distinctly turquoise, which Gage knew usually signified an abundance of resident lime. In the middle of the long lake were a towering concrete dam and, just above it, a bridge. They followed the road that circled the lake upward, above the dam, coming to a small town called Cercs around mid-afternoon.
Cercs was situated in the valley of high Catalonian foothills, with the vivid water of the lake behind it. The rustic town seemed more likely to be situated in Scotland or western Canada than in Spain. The marker just outside of Cercs announced its founding in 1379, with a current population of just over a thousand people. In the center of Cercs, like most Spanish towns, was a handsome old church. Gage parked the rental, another Audi, and exited, immediately getting a good feeling about Cercs but vigilant due to its small size. If someone unsavory were to ever take interest in Justina, finding her here wouldn’t be difficult. After another glance around the quiet town square, he led her to the church.
Gage guessed the church was at least five hundred years old. The distinct reddish stone building probably seated no more than a hundred people. The stone was badly in need of pressure washing, having been overrun in spots by dark moss. The architecture was quite simple; the most complicated feature was the columned façade that made the church appear larger than it actually was.
Inside, there were several worshipers, praying and meditating, and a number of illuminated candles providing light along with the stained glass windows. Gage and Justina walked forward through the arched nave, passing through two more doors to an administrative area before seeing a light at the end of the hallway. Gage held Justina’s hand, leading her to the light where they found a priest sitting in a cluttered office, reading a newspaper while having what appeared to be a glass of hot tea. His face was old and leathery and he arched a bushy gray eyebrow at the couple as he grumbled what must have been a local greeting that neither Gage nor Justina could understand. The way his voice rose at the end made his greeting more of a question, probably because he wasn’t used to having people walk into his office unannounced.
Gage didn’t speak Catalan, one of the languages of Catalonia, but his Spanish was passable—improving with each day in Spain—and, after greeting the priest, he asked who in Cercs might have a home they could rent.
“You’re married?” the priest asked, switching to English without prompting, his eyebrow still cocked.
When Gage hesitated, Justina stepped forward. “Not yet, señor,” she replied in smooth Spanish. “But we will be soon. My fiancé here is going away for a bit. He wants me to have a quiet place to prepare for our nuptials.”
The priest rolled his chair to the opposite end of the desk, moving his spectacles down to the tip of his Gallic nose, going through an ancient rolodex card by card, eventually grunting and transcribing something on a piece of church stationary. He folded the paper and handed it to Justina.
“Go to that address…Señora Moreno’s home. When you exit the church, look to the north, to the south, to the east, and to the west. She owns nearly everything you will see.”
Gage cleared his throat. “Will she help us this late in the afternoon?”
The priest continued to look at Justina, adding a dash of humor to his voice though his face remained stony. “If you have money, Señora Moreno will help you any time of any day of the year.”
Gage thanked the priest who called out as they were leaving. “Young lady, I do hope you will join us for Mass. The times are posted outside.”
Justina smiled back at him.
* * *
Cercs, Spain
Señora Moreno, real estate magnate, was nothing like Gage envisioned she might be. Short and squat, with a corkscrew beehive of black hair marked by twin streaks of gray, she looked and acted more like someone’s doting grandmother. No sooner had they knocked on her door than she had begun fawning over Justina. At Señora Moreno’s directive, Gage drove her and Justina down a private road to the lakeshore and followed a gravel road around the lake. Justina was in the backseat with the landlord, the two going on about all manner of topics. Per Señora Moreno, Gage parked at the final house, a picturesque cabin. Gage stood outside the car and waited for the landlady to finish a story about her herb garden. Finally, the two women emerged from the Audi and, using a key from her large ring, Señora Moreno opened the door to the lakeside cabin and gestured them inside.
Other than the dust raised by the forced air fr
om the door, the cabin was still and quiet. The furniture that appeared at least half a century old, but otherwise looked completely functional. A few old paintings hung on the knotty pine walls and, at the cabin’s rear, a large paned window was covered by brittle drapes.
As Señora Moreno showed Justina the tiny kitchen, Gage pulled the drapes open, viewing the lake above the dam and, on the leaf and pine needle-covered hill below the cabin, what appeared to be an old fire pit. There was no dock at the lake and no worn trail leading down to the water. He guessed the cabin had been empty for some time, confirming it when he turned on the kitchen water, waiting as pipes rattled and frightening gurgling sounds could be heard below the cabin. It sounded as if a giant suction hole had opened in the earth and was close to swallowing the cabin and everything around it. After no less than ten seconds Gage was rewarded by an explosion of muddy water, punctuated by explosive air bubbles until, after running a bit, a smooth stream of clear water eventually emerged. He splashed the water in the sink to move the sediment down the drain and walked into the far room in search of the two women.
“…was to be hers,” Señora Moreno said to Justina, standing before a medium-sized bed, clasping Justina’s hands as she looked her up and down.
Gage felt, judging by Señora Moreno’s tone and expression, that he’d just interrupted a weighty story. He stood silently. Justina turned to him, her face awash in sympathy.
“Señora Moreno built this cabin for her daughter.”
Unsure of the context, Gage nodded and dipped his head.
Señora Moreno shooed the sympathy away. “It’s been many years now, and she would want someone staying here.” She turned to Justina. “You remind me of her.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Justina took her hand. “Thank you.”
Señora Moreno beamed.
To The Lions - 02 Page 15