It was still unclear what else she had taken.
He found the number he was looking for and dialled, holding the phone firmly against his ear as the ringing tone sounded out its usual pattern. He ignored Ben’s attempts to distract him and drank sangria from the nearest glass.
The call failed to connect; he tried again, same result. He tried a second number, then a third.
A feeling of dread began to overtake him.
Why the hell is nobody answering?
*
The phone was ringing in the butler’s parlour. No sooner did it stop, another began in the lounge of the servants’ quarters. As both sounds ceased, the recurring archaic tinniness replaced by a daunting silence, a third sound began to reverberate further afield. Unlike the others, this was more modern and melodious, like a song playing on the radio. It played for over twenty seconds before stopping abruptly, as though someone had pressed the pause button on a stereo. As the sound ceased, the first phone began to ring again.
Followed by the second.
Then the third.
Once again the three rooms fell silent.
*
Cortés swore loudly. To receive no response from all three was unheard of; even if one of his men were temporarily out of action, another would always take their place. If all three failed to answer – and on more than one occasion – he knew it meant only one thing.
Someone had taken them out.
*
Ben watched in partial disbelief as Cortés furiously navigated the menu of his phone. A pattern was forming. After listening to the dialling ring long enough to be sure that nobody was likely to answer, he rifled through the contacts list and did the same again.
Each call was met with the same lack of response.
Though Ben was unsure who he was calling, it was obvious from his urgency that his intention was to capture his intruders. Quietly he willed him to succeed; if Valeria and Chris got away, they would be back to square one in tracking them down. However, Ben realised recent events had also given rise to a new problem.
If Cortés viewed Chris as an accomplice, his life could be in danger.
Ben saw Cortés give up on his attempts to make the latest call and attempted to attract his attention. Receiving nothing but a hard stare, he waited for Cortés to fail with another call before doing the same again.
“Juan?”
Cortés grabbed Ben by his jacket and pinned him hard against the wall. “How did your cousin know about the stone? How?”
Ben felt a rush of adrenaline. Though the wall behind him was largely smooth, causing him to glide freely across the surface, Cortés’s fingers pinched hard against his armpits, stinging him like the pincers of a crab.
“Juan, take your hands off me.”
“Who told him about the stone?”
“I don’t know; until tonight I’d never even heard of it.”
Cortés reapplied his grip and shot Ben a deathly look. Ben feared he was in danger of crossing a line.
“Juan, come on, let go.” Ben kicked out, forcing Cortés off balance. He saw the phone come free and slide across the floor towards Maria.
Hesitantly, she picked it up.
Cortés’s rage immediately intensified. He dived at Maria; they crashed down heavily, the impact causing the couch to move. Sitting opposite, Danny was afraid to move.
Ben didn’t blame him.
“Juan, just listen to me.” Ben gripped his shoulders and ducked instinctively as the Spaniard threw a punch. Ben felt the top of Juan’s fingers graze his hair, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He rolled to one side and got back to his feet, standing far enough away to avoid another punch.
“Juan, just stop.”
Ignoring him, Cortés got to his feet and redialled the first number, again receiving no answer. He bit down hard on his lower lip as he tried a second and punched hard against the wall.
“Juan, I think if they were going to answer, they’d have done so by now.”
Cortés turned and addressed Ben aggressively. “Just who is your cousin? I thought you said he was a sailor.”
“He was. He used to be in the navy, but he was injured.”
“He’s still military?”
“Not any more.” Ben could tell Cortés was re-evaluating his assessment of Chris. Based on the footage, Chris was looking well, his physique imposing.
Cortés lowered his dominant hand and dialled again. “If I ever find your cousin, I’m going to hang him from a flagpole.”
Ben didn’t doubt it. “How far away is your castle from here?”
“Forty minutes’ drive – less by helicopter.” Juan looked instinctively at his Rolex, its gold strap so tightly fastened it cut lines into his skin. “Either way, not close enough.”
Ben bit his lip. Though the castle was close, getting there in time to foil their escape was a big ask.
“Don’t you have security in place?”
Again he grasped Ben by the scruff of the neck. “Who do you think I am trying to contact?”
Ben rubbed his pectoral muscles as Cortés released him. He felt tender around his nipples where Cortés had applied pressure.
He still couldn’t get over what he had just seen. The likelihood of Valeria and Chris successfully infiltrating such a well-guarded structure seemed almost unthinkable. Even with Chris’s extensive military training, Ben would have doubted his chances against a group of fully armed professionals. Cortés was paranoid about his possessions; it stood to reason he guarded everything closely.
Forcing a way in could only have been achieved by avoiding detection.
Valeria achieving it seemed even less likely. Despite her recent successes, her very survival had relied heavily on luck. Colts’s injury had lost him the gun – that and his stupidity in trusting her. By the time she shot Nicholl, she was the only person left uninjured.
Ben gazed uneasily at Juan, knowing the repercussions would be serious.
If Chris and Valeria were alive, it would be only a matter of time before they were found.
He looked at Cortés. “You came here looking for answers, now you’ve got them. Even if we can’t catch them, we may be able to find out where they’re going.”
“I told you already, I know exactly where they are going.”
“How?”
Juan was slowly regaining his composure. “As an Extremaduran by birth, I am privy to things an American tourist could never know. The village of Medellín lies in a strange position; it is not like the great cities where one can easily get lost. The villages here belong only to the few – the ways in and out are scarce.”
He searched again through his contacts list and dialled a fourth number. He licked his lips and breathed out forcibly as he anticipated a response.
Ben folded his arms. “Who are you calling now?”
“My final resort.”
32
Eduardo Cortés had spent most of his life so far in Medellín. The only son and child of Juan Cortés’s older brother, he was the oldest of his generation and, so far, the only boy.
As a child, Eduardo had learned that there were certain traditions that every generation just had to put up with. Growing up in a family of renowned prestige, he had grown accustomed to living a privileged life, but as a Cortés, he knew there were other things that didn’t affect the average Joe millionaire.
There was something about the name that just guaranteed a reaction. Just like the Rockefellers and Vanderbilts, it could be feared or respected, loved or loathed, met with intrigue or boredom. Amongst the villagers, the reactions were invariably positive. Should a local come to their door, down and out, looking for work, or a community building be in need of a facelift, the reactions of the family would almost certainly be favourable. The neighbouring buildings had been upgraded over the years; even in Eduardo’s time donations had regularly been given. Most of the locals put such acts down to progress and community spirit.
And each com
munity in times of crisis looked to its elders.
There was an old saying that a man’s home is his castle, though in the case of the Cortés family the saying was particularly apt. The only childhood he had known had been spent in castles. At fourteen, in common with all of his ancestors in the last three centuries, he left for boarding school in Mérida. With school over, the next step was university – another family tradition.
A Cortés’s path in life was always to study the law.
And that meant four years in Salamanca.
Eduardo had been in his room for most of the evening. Since finishing his first year, hours that had previously seemed like days studying law now flew by in the blink of an eye. His ambition at school had been to be a musician, but convincing his father that his future lay in grunge was difficult when talking to a man of mottos and rules. Despite his death, the family expectations refused to go away – intensified in some cases. If Juan’s philosophy on life was correct, to succeed meant to outwit and outwait.
And that meant a degree in law.
Alone on the top floor of the state apartments, in the largest of the castle’s five towers, Eduardo had been oblivious to the unanswered ringing of the phone in the butler’s parlour. The same had been true of the servants’ quarters, which were located even further away. The garage was a separate section altogether, situated within the outer walls but detached from the main towers and the keep. A Bugatti Veyron could rev loudly for hours within the converted barn and never be heard in his room – especially when his guitar was set to nine on the Marshall amp. If a mobile phone were to ring indefinitely, it would take forever for it to be answered.
The only place he would hear something was in his room.
Assuming he was paying attention.
He saw his mobile phone buzzing like a hummingbird on his desk. As he ceased strumming, he made out the sound of his ringtone, the opening lyrics of ‘Times Like These’ by the Foo Fighters replacing the gentle sound of his acoustic guitar. As he examined the display, he saw his uncle’s mobile number.
Tucking his wavy dark hair behind his ear, he answered and listened to his uncle shouting frantically through the crackling line.
*
Juan disconnected the call and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ben could see from his face, he was suddenly far more confident.
Without saying a word, he hurried towards the front door.
“Where are you going?”
Cortés glanced back at Ben. “As you correctly said moments ago, my purpose for being here is passed. I came in search of one thing, and thanks to this I am now aware of its location.” He held his phone aloft, the display now locked.
Ben chased after him. “Just a second, you can’t leave us here.”
“Your family seems determined to make a nasty habit of interfering in business that does not concern you. Your cousin is nothing but a thief.”
Ben grabbed Juan by the arm. “Let’s get one thing straight. My family do not meddle, nor is my cousin a thief. You heard what I just told you; I awoke one morning and he was gone – vanished into thin air.”
“Disappeared – yes. You said he was kidnapped. The man we saw on the screen was not acting under duress. Willing men are not the same as prisoners.”
“Be that as it may, I know my cousin. If he’s assisting her, he must have a good reason.”
Juan gestured to Maria. “She removes her clothes for a man’s pleasure in return for financial gain. Why not ask her about reason?”
“Look. I’m sorry about the stone, I really am. But my cousin is notoriously fickle. If he likes a girl, you can bet your ass it’ll be over in a month. He wouldn’t break the law deliberately. If Chris is assisting her, it’s probably because he thinks I’m dead and you were responsible. You said yourself, Valeria’s a slimy eel.”
Maria was riled. “How dare you say that about my sister!”
Ben ignored her. “Let’s get back to the chopper and we’ll see who’s right. If it’s the only village for miles, they won’t get far. Just promise me you’ll leave Chris to me.”
Cortés eyed Ben with a stiff expression, his breathing clearly rising. For Ben, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, whether he was capable of either logic or forgiveness.
“Come if you wish. But if you are to come, I suggest you make yourself useful.”
“How exactly?”
“You may start by tying her up.”
*
The helicopter was ready on their arrival. It had touched down moments earlier in the same field, its rotors creating their hypnotically rhythmic pattern above.
The journey to the field had been made at a frantic speed. Within moments of receiving Juan’s call, his driver had picked them up with their luggage by the ruins and they were soon heading east out of the city.
Cortés took over from the pilot and directed the helicopter slowly into the air before following the inbuilt navigation system east.
Ben joined him in the front, Danny in the seat behind. Alongside him, Maria was a bag of nerves. Her hands were tied together and her mouth gagged.
Ben was relieved she had finally calmed down.
Ben smiled at her faintly. “It’s okay; I promise he won’t hurt you again.”
She shouted something, the exact words muffled. Ben could tell by the widening of her eyes it was probably nothing complimentary.
“Remove it.”
Danny obliged, and Maria shouted, “You bastard. I swear to God, when this is over I will kill every last one of you.” She turned to Danny. “Starting with you.”
Ben rubbed his temples and smiled wryly, knowing Danny was probably more scared than she was.
“How long before we reach your castle?” Ben asked Cortés.
“If it were daylight, you would be able to see it already.”
Ben nodded and gazed quietly across the darkness. In the distance, he saw a small collection of lights, indicating a village or a hamlet somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The road below had practically disappeared from view, the brief street-lamp illumination having faded rapidly once they left Mérida behind.
He found himself thinking about what he had seen, the incredible scenes that had unfolded before his eyes. The break-in had occurred somewhere within the castle, an area hidden from the wider world. There had been no obvious sign of forced entry or confrontation, but Ben assumed it probably had occurred.
For Ben, three questions now remained unanswered.
Firstly, what was that enigmatic room within the castle? It appeared to be an exact replica of the famous city, but on a scale Ben had never before seen.
Secondly, why had Chris and Valeria been there in the first place? As far as he could tell, the stone looked identical to the one they had found in Cornwall, but the colour apparently confirmed it wasn’t the same one.
Valeria obviously knew something the others didn’t.
Thirdly, what was its purpose? Though he knew Cortés was still to let him in on every secret, he sensed its existence was connected to something far greater.
As he leaned back in his seat, his tense neck enjoying the massaging motion of the leather headrest, he found himself starting to relax. Even if Chris were in over his head, there was one thing he could take solace from.
His cousin was alive.
And currently in the same part of Spain.
*
Getting out of the lower chambers had been the easy bit. The gallery room was still illuminated, the stairway that connected it to the great hall still carrying the light from below.
The great hall remained deserted. Valeria’s one lingering fear was that during the last half an hour, one of the residents would have awakened or another turned up out of the blue. She had expected a fourth, yet according to Chris, there had only been three.
The fourth potentially remained unaccounted for.
Valeria had decided the best way out was to take the way she had used to enter. Relying on Chris’s ability to swi
m up through the former cistern, she had used the cover of darkness to journey unobserved to the old postern. Getting out was unlikely to prove an obstacle, assuming no unforeseen problems arose.
The way down the hillside could only be achieved with patience.
Chris took the lead as they negotiated the deserted corridors, retracing their earlier steps. The butler was still out cold in the pantry, the kitchen and neighbouring rooms silent save the regular chimes of antique clocks or the vague hint of background noise coming from either music speakers or a television.
From somewhere further afield, the tinny vibrating sound of a distant telephone echoed off the ancient walls, its rings going reassuringly unanswered. As the sound became nearer and louder, Valeria felt her heart begin to beat with increasing rapidity as she feared it would finally be picked up.
Fortunately, there appeared to be nobody in sight.
The postern door was still slightly ajar. A soft breeze penetrated the gap, causing it to swing backwards and forwards against the latch. Outside, the voices of nature sang their nocturnal songs, which carried soothingly across the black horizon.
Chris found his dry suit, stashed away where he had hidden it.
On reaching the outer wall, Valeria took the lead, remembering Chris was unfamiliar with the area. The car was parked halfway up the hill; to return to it meant crossing a small area of woodland. After making the difficult hike through the thick hillside vegetation, their feet almost disappearing beneath them, the ground became firmer before, finally, changing to tarmac. Valeria’s heart skipped as she saw the outline of her sister’s four-by-four, parked off the road, partially hidden amongst the greenery.
After getting in, she turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove away, waiting several seconds to switch on the headlights.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 51