by K. T. Tomb
“Just walk. I can pick these up,” Chyna said, but saw the resistance in his eyes. She knew Mark hated being treated as a special case, but she picked up the bags in her hand and proceeded to the door while he walked with her. There was little time to be sensitive to anyone’s sense of pride.
As they reached the door, Tacho came around the front of the hotel with a rental car. The fake cops in Cordoba had seen his minivan and he didn’t want anyone else to recognize it in Barcelona. The chance that the highway patrol had taken note of his license plate was too high, almost certain, and it was a chance neither Chyna nor Tacho was willing to take. He had parked the vehicle some distance across town, so if it was indeed located by co-conspirators to the murderers or the murderous agents themselves, it might buy them a little extra time while they investigated the false lead.
Chyna handed the bags over to a lone attendant in the hotel, who readily carried them toward the designated room. She then turned to Mark. “Get some rest. We’ll be fine. We’re just going in for a routine scouting. We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”
Mark looked hesitant, but agreed nonetheless. “Okay, but call me if you need anything.”
He put his arms around Chyna in a friendly hug, and leaned on his cane all the way to his room.
When Chyna exited the hotel, she found that Tacho already had the car running. She hopped in without wasting any time, and got into the business of interrogating Tacho about the Cathedral to which they were traveling, absorbing as much information as she could.
“It’s an old but famous building. Built primarily in Gothic style, it is dedicated to Saint Eulalia, whose remains are also entombed here. It is said that the Romans tried to shame her by undressing her in public here at this very Cathedral, but a mysterious snowfall saved her honor. She was then forced into a barrel that had knives sticking out of it and rolled downhill. I think she was thirteen when she was martyred,” Tacho said.
“That’s a pretty gruesome ending for a child.” Chyna felt a chill go down her spine at the thought of such a torturous death.
“It is, yes. It is a beautiful building though. You, as an archaeologist and historian, will find many pieces that might interest you. The Gothic influence is clearly visible, and the cathedral itself is just grand!”
Chyna smiled at Tacho’s enthusiasm. Even in times of evident danger and after being shot at, his face showed no worry. In fact, he seemed more like a child lost in a museum rather than a journalist on an assignment. She longed to share that same passion, that same excitement with him. She hated to admit it, but she knew that Tony’s betrayal had left her halved and broken. She didn’t feel as loved as she had before, as excited, as confident and as adventurous. However, looking at Tacho truly enjoying something he loved made her almost nostalgic. She found that she longed to feel thrill, anticipation and enthusiasm for the hunt all over again. Maybe she wasn’t as recovered from her ordeal in Dresden as she had thought she was. Her efforts in Deadhorse had been somewhat of a help but even her ‘soldier of fortune’ friend, Rivka Ibrahim, had found her taciturn. “Too little, too late,” she had quipped.
The square in front of the cathedral seemed dark as they approached it. The streets themselves were populated with the late night revelers of Barcelona’s thrumming nightlife, but the square itself seemed almost deserted. Chyna checked her watch and frowned; it was not even midnight yet. According to Tacho, the church was a popular destination for young lovers and party goers, so much so that it usually remained flooded with people well into the wee hours of the morning. Therefore, it seemed unusual for the main square in the church to be deserted this early. Tacho found the answer before she did, reading the signs in Spanish. “Look,” Tacho pointed to something in the corner. “The sign says ‘Closed for Construction.’”
“I don’t see any construction equipment,” Chyna pointed out. She thought she had an inkling as to who or what could have made the ruse—if the sign was one at all—possible, but she didn’t want to believe it. The fake cops couldn’t have caught up so fast, could they?
“What do you think?” Tacho asked. “Should we go in?”
“Do you think it’s the cops from Cordoba? I smell a trap here, Tacho.” Chyna wondered aloud.
“Maybe, but either we spring the trap now, or we spring it in the morning when they have had even more time to prepare.” Tacho shrugged nonchalantly and Chyna was impressed by the man’s bravery, or recklessness she wasn’t quite sure. “It still depends on us, though, whether we want to take the chance or not.”
Chyna sighed heavily. She stared out of the windshield and at the rising gothic behemoth in front of them. Everything about the cathedral seemed daunting and uninviting, the effect enhanced by the night that closed in on them, cloaking all movements of potential or imagined enemies. Chyna reminded herself about darkness. If there is darkness, there is sanctuary. If you cannot see anyone else in the black, chances are, no one can see you. If the pretend cops had caught up with the team, then they were as close to the next clue as Chyna and Tacho, and in the final calculation that was all that really mattered at that point.
“Let’s go in,” she finally announced, “We need to find as many clues as we can.”
They alighted from the car together after parking it in a secluded and darkened spot and moved toward the main doors, all the while alert and watching closely for any other movement. Chyna noticed that there were no guards on the premises, which further added to the weight of suspicion in her mind. A building this old and holding so many precious artifacts had to be guarded at all times, surely; but then perhaps not. Spain was at heart a relaxed Mediterranean idyll, perhaps there was not the need or requirement here for oppressive, all-encompassing security.
The gate in the front was locked, and there did not seem to be any source of light as well. Tacho leaned and inspected the knob, rattling it.
“We can’t get in.” He stood up. “It’s locked. What do we do now?”
“Tacho,” she said, playfully reproachful, “an investigative journalist who has never picked a lock?” Chyna fiddled with her hair for a moment and pulled out a bobby pin from her ponytail, leaned down and inserted the pin inside the lock. From the looks of it, the cathedral authorities did not take protection very seriously. She concentrated on the movements going on inside of the mechanism, and breathed an exhalation of satisfaction when, after some seconds of manipulating the chamber, the lock clicked and the handle fell open.
They were finally inside, and they were evidently not alone.
The very first thing that had Chyna reaching for her gun was an unearthly, almost inhuman howling that was resonating inside the cathedral. She looked around for the source of the noise, and found him right at the end of the nave they were closest to, at the very steps of the altar.
The man leaning there was dressed as if he had once been the very picture of grace and opulence, with an air of formidable coolness. Incongruous with his appearance was a person bent under the weight of the world, feeling suffocated and alone. Chyna and Tacho approached him carefully, unwilling to arouse an angry response from the tormented soul before them. He looked well dressed, but his suit was of an older style and seemed like neither he nor the suit had been washed in days.
“Senor?” Chyna called out to the man, gaining his attention and providing a break in his continuous sobbing.
“Si?” he gasped and spoke in hiccups. Chyna immediately turned to Tacho, knowing that she would never be able to understand his words, garbled by grief as they were and in a language upon which she had only the vaguest grasp.
Tacho nodded at her and turned to the man. It was clear from his tone that he was trying to placate him but was failing miserably. The man was now hysterical, talking with his hands flailing about in the air, his chest heaving with the exertion he was putting into his words. After a while, he started sobbing again, and Tacho began speaking English again only after comforting him.
“He says his name is Fernando. He is the head
of the Medici—a very famous crime syndicate here in Barcelona. They are the ones who have been transporting the rosary across Spain. They received a tip off some weeks ago from an unknown source, who told them the location of the rosary. They were paid a handsome advance to retrieve it from its location and transport it across Spain to Geneva. The rosary is going to be exported to an unknown location after that.
“He says he and his team stole it from the Cathedral of Valencia, but as they moved cross country, each one of his crew members went mad. They went the same way the other victims did—hallucinations, voices, and visions and so on. He is the last one left.”
Tacho leaned in close to Chyna, signaling her to come closer, and whispered in her ear, “Chyna, I think he is going mad too.”
Chyna gasped, her head turning to take in Fernando’s profile, bent over the altar again, praying fervently.
“Look at him,” Tacho continued. “He was barely coherent when I was talking to him. He kept saying things about God and his wrath and whatnot; listen, he’s speaking again.” Fernando sobbed prayers out through clasped hands, and Tacho translated in real time for Chyna to hear. “He has come here to beg forgiveness. He says that he realizes now what a grave crime he and his team had committed, and has come to beg forgiveness. He says he will return the rosary to the priests in the cathedral in the morning and leave.” Chyna slapped her hand on Tacho’s shoulder.
“Wait a minute, are you saying he has the rosary?”
Tacho nodded gravely at Chyna’s question and pointed to the altar, where Fernando was praying. It was only when Chyna looked closely at the prostrate man that she realized that he wasn’t actually apologizing to God per se, but to a wooden box; the rosary itself.
Chyna felt a tremor go through her: the very item she had heard of and been chasing all this while was right in front of her in all its majesty and delightful danger. She looked at Fernando and the box he was praying to, imagining the rosary inside it. The thrill that coursed through her was something she could identify as being closest to what Tacho must have felt while talking about the Cathedral. She wanted to touch the box, but she realized that Fernando was standing between them like a wall. If Tacho was right, then Chyna needed to take her next step very carefully. A slight misconception and the mobster could potentially turn this situation into a very violent one indeed.
“What do we do now? We need to get the rosary out of here, or at least get it to safety until the morning. Fernando can hand it over to the priests tomorrow.” Chyna whispered.
“I know. Also, if those highway policemen really were following us, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up and figure out where we are,” Tacho reasoned. “Fernando isn’t in his right mind. He will tell them what he told us. And Chyna, they will not be as cooperative as we are.”
“That, my friend, is true,” a voice announced from the back.
The hair on the back of Chyna’s neck stood up at the cadences. She felt like a robot, turning mechanically to follow the source, eyes widening when she found it. Her arms and legs went numb momentarily, and she found herself unable to react.
The cops from Cordoba were there emerging from the shadows along with One Eye and their leader.
Anthony Stewart.
Chapter Ten
RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014
Calm before the storm: When Cristoforo was preparing to leave for his first voyage, Isabella declared on March 31, 1492, that all Jews had four months to be baptized into the Catholic faith, or else they would be forced to leave Castile y Leon and Aragon. Some agreed, but most fled. England and France closed their borders to those expelled from Castile y Leon and Aragon, so most were forced to find refuge into Portugal. Italy, Greece, and Turkey also opened their doors to the refugees. Others found their way to the New World. Isabella believed that she was doing God's work, but the horror and cruelty of the Inquisition stains her reign of many achievements. During her reign, Isabella created a new Espana, many of the Spanish kingdoms joined together. She financed voyages that led to the discovery of the New World, and created one of the most cultured and powerful kingdoms in Europe.
***
“Well, here we are again.” Tony smiled at Chyna, and for the first time in months, Chyna felt like she was getting the closure that she had so longed for. The Anthony she had known and the one facing her now were two different people, and she knew that hers was lost, a lie given to the world by the gods of betrayal and greed. This man standing before her disgusted her.
“Here we are again,” she announced, staring down the length of her arm, past her raised pistol and into the eyes of the man she once loved. There was no fear in her this time, cold determination wrapped her fingers, her arm, her shoulder and her heart in steel. Chyna felt like she was meant to do this, meant to face Tony at this particular point of time in Cathedral de Barcelona on a summer night.
“I must say, you bounced back faster than even I ever expected you would, Chyna.” Tony raised an eyebrow in appreciation, and Chyna remembered all the times the gesture used to turn her on. It curled her lip with disgust, her breathing betrayed her and her heart rate rose unbidden. The barrel of her pistol wavered slightly, and Tony smirked at her to see the effect he still had.
“You know me, Tony. I have never been one to dwell on things, especially the little things,” Chyna said.
His expression didn’t falter, but the way his lips pursed slightly told her she was getting under his skin. She smirked herself this time.
“Yeah, that's why you moved on with Mark. I’m sure I’m no competition in the bedroom to a cripple. How’s his leg, by the way? Still limping, I imagine. Like other things, there I suppose. I imagine a good stiff dose of PTSD does wonders for the libido.”
“You don't hold any sway in my life now, Tony. And after what you did, I'm pretty sure you can't hold me responsible for anything I did while we together. What’s even more sure is that I should have finished you in that church two months ago.” She raised an eyebrow, hoping an implication of infidelity would splinter his resolve, make him slip.
“It doesn’t even matter, Chyna. I’ve won again, you see,” Tony countered. “I never loved you. You were just a means to an end. I needed the pieces; you had the resources and oh so much energy to go chasing around the world, getting into danger to gather up these precious items, and all for my friends to swoop in and collect them all in one night. Pretty effective strategy, don’t you agree?”
“Yeah, about that: I had some questions. Why do you need them, Tony? Was it the money? They're just pieces of history. They’ll probably end up in the vault of some rich collector. I had a higher opinion of your career prospects than being a petty mercenary.” Chyna tried to play it cool because she knew he would not give up important information easily. When Tony opened his mouth, she could hardly believe her luck.
“Why does anyone do anything, Chyna? Why does anyone need anything? Because they want to be the best. Deep down, every person is hungry. They need opportunities; they need money; they need fame. Me? I realized long ago that all that really matters is power, and the right to exercise that power, Chyna. Once I saw how toothless the FBI really was, I knew I had to make some new allegiances.”
Chyna didn't want to admit it, but she was a little disappointed. By the way Tony had conducted himself these past years, she had really expected him to be more creative and less mainstream. But here he was, reciting rhymes of world domination and whatnot when she had expected all of his extensive planning to go into something more worthwhile.
“Really, Tony? World domination? By you? You’re nothing but a glorified gigolo, a fame whore.” She frowned comically. “I had really expected something better. I don't understand how a little rosary will help you to dominate the world.”
“Not me—us. We have a plan, Chyna. We always have a plan.” Tony looked over his shoulder briefly while speaking. “And now that I'm ahead, I think I'll just quit. I know you, Chyna Stone. I know all the mind games that you play w
ith people. You're not getting anything else from me, not tonight at least. Maybe after I’ve led you on another wild goose chase for my own amusement,” he laughed.
She looked past Tony to see One Eye grabbing Fernando and picking him up. The mobster was all but spent because of his weeping and whimpering, but One Eye showed him no mercy while hauling him up to his feet. He screamed at the poor man to pick the rosary up and walk. Tacho was backed up against the transept wall, hands in the air and a gun pointed squarely at his chest.
They were going to walk out of the cathedral with the rosary in their possession, and Chyna knew that chances would be she would not be able to do anything about it. She saw more tears leave Fernando's eyes and drop to the floor of the cathedral as he picked the rosary up and started walking, with sluggish feet, toward the door of the cathedral.
“Stop!” Chyna shouted, pointing the gun straight at Tony. “So help me God, Tony, stop or I will shoot you.”
Tony, who had been strolling toward his group, turned around, amused and in theatrical shock.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “You took your confidence pills, Chyna. I am so proud of you!”
“Shut up, Tony!” She threatened, “Release him or I will shoot you!”
Tony's smile vanished from his face. His eyes narrowed into slits and his lips pursed into a hard, thin line. He turned around and threw his gun to One Eye, then spread his arms out and stood facing Chyna, his chest puffed out.
“Try it. Go ahead, gun me down, right here and now. Quite fitting, don’t you think? A self-sacrifice in a cathedral?”
But Chyna couldn't. She knew she should pull the trigger; that she should finish him off before he had the chance to hurt even more people than he already had. She would be doing a favor to herself and the world.
What held her back was what she saw in his face; a glimpse of the Tony she had once loved, his valor, his intelligence, and his stupid tendency to jump into anything and everything without thinking too much. She saw the Tony she knew in love and in her heart; she saw the one who loved her right back, not this clone who claimed to be him and yet was so different. She knew it was someone else facing her, and she still couldn't pull the trigger.