He watched. Waited. The only sounds still came from inside, the familiar ticking of a grandfather clock echoing off the panelled walls. With the door open, additional light spilled out on to the courtyard, revealing a plethora of plant life alongside the stones.
Leaving the safety of the porch, he looked both ways, holding his gaze to his right. He heard movement above. Then behind.
*
Chris looked down at the unconscious body of the butler and removed the phone Valeria had given him from his trouser pocket. Thanks to the protection of the dry suit, he had avoided getting it wet.
Valeria answered and he spoke.
“I’m in.”
25
Her sister’s address was listed less than half a mile from the hotel. They found it to be a classical white terraced building that stood directly opposite the famous Temple of Diana.
As they approached the ruins, Ben saw a young woman in her mid to late twenties leaning against the rails of a first-storey balcony, enjoying the view as she smoked a cigarette. From a distance, Ben couldn’t tell if it was her or not. Though the woman’s elegance was obvious, her hair possessing a natural waviness that he considered was possibly a family trait, the colour was different, clearly lighter. Her attire matched the customs of her location: a loose, dark-red skirt that billowed slightly as it was caught by the breeze. There was something familiar about her, the way she stood, leaned, gazing out across her surroundings rather like a queen watching over her domain. The woman appeared content in just passing the time, perhaps dreaming of lost desires. Her expression left him mystified, but also intrigued. Nevertheless, Ben was satisfied.
They had found her.
Like most parts of the city Ben had seen so far, the street was one of contrasting sights. Although the imposing ruins of the ancient temple dominated the square opposite him, the surrounding neighbourhood was a hotchpotch of the old and the new. It was unclear from outward appearances whether it possessed wealth or not. A mix of smells from vendors trading a wide variety of local delicacies added to the warm ambience of artificial floodlights reflecting off the stone walls of the temple.
Danny stood alongside him, suddenly nervous.
“You sure that’s her?” Ben asked.
“Sure looks like her.” Danny nodded. He had found her by calling Gary and getting him to check Valeria’s employee file at the Gibbous Moon.
Conveniently, the address had been listed.
*
Juan remembered the last time he had seen her. The woman had wanted him dead, arguably more so than her sister. Gaining entry through the front door, he knew, would be impossible by honest methods.
Even by dishonest means, he knew it would be difficult.
He had led them to the north side of the ruins, choosing a place well hidden. From where they stood, the building was clearly visible to the south; a brown wooden door allowed access to the lower storey, while a series of small classical windows looked out from the second tier, the design similar to a church bellcote.
He gestured Ben and Danny nearer. “Right, there is only one way success can be guaranteed. For this, I will need you both to create a diversion.”
The thought made Ben uncomfortable. “I’ve not even met the girl . . .”
“That is precisely why you are the most appropriate candidate. You also,” he said to Danny, “you have seen her recently and gained her trust?”
Danny stuttered a response, “Well, I wouldn’t go as far . . .”
“You met her and she left without trying to kill you, yes?”
Danny nodded.
“Then you are already the perfect man for the job.” He looked at Ben. “Together, walk beneath her window and engage her in conversation.”
“You don’t want us to serenade her?”
Cortés grinned, the first time Ben had seen him smile. “Tell her you wish to speak with her. Say it concerns her sister.”
“What if she refuses?”
“I suggest you make every effort to convince her.”
“Why exactly does she hate you so much?”
Juan sighed. “It’s a very long story.”
Ben didn’t like it. “What will you do?”
“Take advantage of her being distracted.”
*
Maria Flores watched the sights from her balcony as the sun disappeared behind the local acropolis.
The ruins had always been her favourite sight in the city. Her grandfather had grown up in the house and attended the local school; her first memory was of spending Christmas there, her mother and grandmother sweating over a hot stove.
Though life had changed, the sights remained the same. It was a tourist hot spot, which was irritating as a resident. The restoration crew had come in just before Christmas; the trucks were still there when she moved in. On warmer days, she had learned her presence on the balcony could cause a dramatic slow down in progress. In one of her darker moments, she had considered their offer of a job.
Two months ago she finally found better.
As a teenager, she had dreamed of becoming a dancer. When her marriage broke up, she got her wish – albeit not the kind of dancing her grandmother approved of. More recently she had become a teacher – a teacher of dance. The last two months had been the start of a life she had never believed possible. Gone were the old ways, the luring gazes, the disgusting proposals, the gropes, inappropriate demands from the bosses . . .
The smiling faces that replaced them had brought new meaning to life, like a feng shui of the soul. She remembered her mother had once told her that the greatest gift a woman could receive was the unbiased praise of an infant. Suddenly life no longer seemed so complicated, so meaningless. This is the life, she thought as she gazed across the sights of history and construction.
Maybe Mother was right all along.
Two men were walking along the stone pavement below her, heading in between her house and the ruined temple. She made eye contact with the younger of the two, a young black man whose face she recognised.
“Daniel?” She smiled at him, recalling his impeccable, though at times nervous, waiting on her during her weeklong visit to St Mary’s. “Daniel, is that you?”
*
Ben nudged Danny in the midriff as he looked up at the woman standing on the balcony. Up close, her skin displayed a healthy tan, while her hair hung down to below her shoulders; he placed the colour somewhere between brown and blonde.
Her appearance clearly resembled Valeria’s, but there were enough subtle differences to make it easy to tell the two apart. The woman on the balcony was taller; he guessed around five feet nine, with longer legs and a firm, voluptuous figure that he guessed had been aided by cosmetic surgery. Her eyes were brown, yet lighter than her sister’s; her English was more phonetic, indicating she had spent her entire life in Spain.
But what struck Ben most was her face, her pretty cheeks marked with dimples when she smiled. It was the same smile.
A family smile.
“Evening, Señorita Flores,” Ben said, shielding his eyes from the overhead lights. “My name is Ben Maloney; I’m a friend of your sister.”
She smiled back, looking him over coyly. “You are American?”
He put on the best smile he could muster, reminding himself that no sister was guilty of the crimes of her sibling. “You’re very perceptive.” He glanced at Danny. “I believe you’ve met Danny?”
“Of course, we are friends on Facebook.”
He whispered in Danny’s ear, “Juan’s not gonna like that.”
“I forgot.”
Ben gazed up at the balcony. “Pardon the intrusion. You mind if we come in for a second?”
Maria’s expression instantly warmed. “Of course. I shall be right down.”
*
Cortés watched from the mosaic walkway to the north of the temple as the woman disappeared from the first-floor balcony only to reappear a few moments later at the front door.
The sight of
the waiter seemed to have warmed her, he mused, as he watched her hug him – the man was far too afraid to even dream of such things himself.
The American, on the other hand, she greeted more cautiously, a soft sweep of her hair away from her forehead before shaking his hand, the newfound tension obvious. No surprises, he knew.
The man was handsome.
He waited for the door to close before moving quietly along the private walkway, ensuring he was alone. The only possible means of entry was the balcony, which meant he would have to risk being observed.
At least he had the advantage of nightfall.
*
Standing at the opposite end of the narrow road, Elena felt as though her heart was about to stop. From a distance she had smiled to herself as she witnessed the two gentlemen speaking to Maria for over a minute before her granddaughter disappeared. Such sights were not unheard of. Her elegance on the balcony had always been a distraction for the male folk, especially with local construction work continuing on a daily basis.
Yet as she continued her approach, she realised what she saw should not have been happening. She recognised the waiter before she did the American. Though trips to St Mary’s had become rare in recent years, she still knew him immediately. In her only experience of the American, he had been dressed differently: hatted and prepared for the cold.
While threatening her other granddaughter over a book.
She looked on cautiously as her granddaughter reappeared at the front door, inviting them both inside. The American had been dying, almost certainly dead; Valeria had been positive. Things had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.
Considering her options, she retreated down the street.
26
Chris let Valeria in on the south side of the castle. His route there had been well lit, the consistent glow of wall lights and chandeliers illuminating his way without the need to use his torch.
What he encountered after taking out the butler was much as he had anticipated. The chef was asleep in a downstairs television room, apparently the main hub of the servants’ quarters. Thanks to the carpeted floor, he had been able to knock him out without alarming him.
The third man had posed more of a challenge; according to Valeria’s grandmother, Cortés employed the third man as a general handyman, another distant relation. Chris had found him in a garage, his presence heralded by the sound of banging. He didn’t see Chris immediately, but his reactions had been quick enough to force a fight. Chris’s face was bleeding from being hit with the back of a claw hammer, but eventually he overcame his opponent through superior power. If Valeria was correct, a fourth man was still a potential threat: Cortés’s nephew. Chris had seen no sign of him.
He concluded he was probably not present.
Valeria was waiting by the postern door where the castle was at its darkest, the walls in the worst condition. Chris unlocked the latch and quickly ushered her into a dimly lit corridor lined with stone walls and miscellaneous items of furniture.
“You’re bleeding,” she said quietly.
“It’s nothing,” Chris replied, taking in her appearance. A black leather jacket fitted closely around her arms and chest, its colour blending in well with the external surroundings. Her leather boots and trousers had seen better days, but again they looked the part, providing anonymity when out of the light.
“Where are we headed?”
“Somewhere in the lower chambers; Abuela says we must enter through the great hall.” She scanned the corridor in both directions, cautious. “First we must ensure we are alone.”
“I’ve taken out the butler and the chef.”
“What of the others?”
“The handyman was in the garage. It was him who did this.” He pointed to his wound.
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. Only that he’s unconscious.”
She looked at him and smiled casually. “There is no one else?”
“Not that I saw.”
A good start, she figured. Even if more obstacles remained, at least they had made it inside.
“Bravo, Chris. Let us go on.”
*
The castle had five towers in addition to the keep. Each was connected by a series of corridors; from the air, the layout took the shape of a loose pentagram. The great hall was located at the heart of the keep, accessible by a single walkway that led south from the northernmost tower.
Chris took the lead, checking inside each doorway as they passed. The towers were all deserted, their many rooms presenting a slightly ad hoc environment of antique furniture and dusty recesses. Features repeated themselves: most of the rooms contained valuable artwork, the style ranging from the last century to portraits of Spanish soldiers from the days of the Habsburgs. Crimson curtains hung in most rooms, their textured shades absorbing the light of the adjoining corridors. Noises occurred regularly and without warning, ranging from creaking floorboards to melodious chimes. Unlike the sounds of shooting and police sirens he had heard on the television in the lounge of the servants’ quarters, his gut feeling told him the chimes would be of more historical significance.
He led the way slowly into the heart of the keep, gesturing for Valeria to remain concealed. A large stairway connected to the second floor, its many furnishings and architecture dating predominantly from the Renaissance. Below the stairway, the floorboards were covered in antique rugs that carried the aroma of dry wool. A further selection of portraits concealed large sections of oak panelling, the poor light creating the illusion that the eyes of the subjects were watching on unsettlingly.
Close to the wall, a unique pine-cased grandfather clock struck a recurring pattern, explaining the noises he had recently heard. As he gazed at the clock face, the little hand pointing squarely to ten and the large to twelve, several figures and figurines dressed as Spanish soldiers emerged, acting out a timeless sequence. For several seconds Chris stopped and stared, captivated by the bizarre mechanical marvel. Watching, he noticed a further set of letters engraved into the body. MDCL.
1650.
Like most things he had seen, something told him the piece had barely moved since its creation.
He felt Valeria’s presence behind him, her familiar scent a welcome distraction from the aroma of old wool. He saw her proceed across the hallway.
“Come on. I think it’s this way.”
Chris followed her into a grand room that, unlike those that adjoined it, was flooded with light. Huge, highly impressive chandeliers were brilliantly lit, their great candle holders filled by eighty-watt bulbs, with additional light coming from a sizeable open fireplace located below a large portrait of the family’s most famous son.
Spreading out, they searched the room slowly. Antique chests and cabinets, constructed of the best quality walnut, cedar, cypress and mesquite, had been carefully positioned against the walls, while the remaining furniture was decorated in fine leather and wrought iron. A dozen imposing chairs had been placed evenly around the dining table with a shiny tortoiseshell exterior that glowed as it reflected the chandeliers. In his mind, Chris took a moment to picture the events the room had witnessed: Christmases, birthdays, meetings, celebrations . . .
For the first time reality was beginning to dawn that he was following in important footsteps.
The sights of grandeur only served in escalating his anger.
Valeria had moved to the far side of the room, standing adjacent to the fireplace alongside a large cabinet-like piece of wooden furniture.
“What is that?” Chris asked, approaching.
“A vitrine,” she replied, familiar with its appearance. She recalled what her grandmother had told her years earlier. “Here, help me move it.”
Ignoring the temptation to ask why, he lined himself up with the left side and gently eased it away from the wall. As they moved it slowly across the floor, Chris noticed an original oak door, with a heavy doorknob, set into the stone surroundings.
Chris was speech
less. “Your grandmother didn’t miss a trick.”
Valeria smiled and opened the door. “Come on. This should take us directly to the lower chambers.”
27
The house was cosy but unspectacular; the majority of the walls a dirty shade of brown or yellow. Maria gestured for them to sit on a three-seater couch, then immediately disappeared into the kitchen to organise refreshments. Though Ben could no longer see her, with the kitchen door open, he heard her hum gently as water poured from the tap.
Ben recognised the song was by Beyoncé.
He leaned towards Danny. “You sure this is her home?”
Danny’s hands were trembling. “Why else would she invite us in?”
“Something here isn’t right.” He eyed his surroundings sceptically, his attention turning to the stairs. The house was old, the furniture in keeping with its character.
He placed the décor around the late ’60s.
“Has she always lived here?” Ben asked, curious as to the lack of visual clues. “It just doesn’t seem the type of place a girl like that would live in.”
Danny continued to fidget. “What the hell are we going to say to her?”
Ben patted him on the left thigh. “You’ll think of something.”
Danny looked back, alarmed. “M-m-me?”
The door to the kitchen swung open and Maria emerged, carrying a large tray with a small, floral-patterned ceramic teapot along with three matching teacups and a selection of sweets and biscuits.
“Whatever happened to your leg?” she asked.
Ben smiled, surprised. “You’re very observant. Old lacrosse injury. I damaged it again the other day. I just need to rest it.”
He waited until she placed the tray down on the table before filling his cup with whatever liquid was in the teapot. He took a first sip and immediately added sugar. He smiled at her, disguising his reaction to the unpleasant taste.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 47