Soon, her supply would be exhausted.
He edged his way forward and stared deep into the trees. Again sparks flew above him; sounds pinged off the wall. A light appeared among the trees, shadows scampered. Further movement followed, quicker. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he made out an outline: human form, female, brown hair. As the seconds passed, her features became clearer. Maria’s eyes were looking back, scared. Can she see me as well? he wondered. Make out my features against the backdrop of the wall.
He smiled to himself, realising she could.
And lowered his weapon.
*
Maria felt her sister’s weight lift from on top of her. Valeria was struggling to her feet, her gun aimed at the wall.
Valeria fired. Sparks rebounded off the wall of the courtyard.
No longer pinned to the floor, she was finally able to move. Keeping low, she rolled to her right, her eyes staring at the floodlit walls. Someone was present, crouched near to the south-west corner of the courtyard. She recognised Juan’s face, another man close behind him. Despite being positioned in the shadows, Juan’s features were visible: his cheeks, his eyes, his bearded chin, his pierced ears partially obscured by long black hair. His gun was aimed at her, his finger close to the trigger.
For what seemed an eternity he stared at her.
Just watching.
She heard her name being called, soft but urgent. Valeria was running quickly among the trees, urging her to flee. Maria looked behind her, the path partially illuminated by the faraway light.
It was now or never, she knew. Only seconds could last until Cortés finally went for the trigger. Now or never.
She shuffled behind the nearest tree and followed Valeria through the woodland.
*
Juan saw everything. Though Valeria had long since disappeared, Maria lingered. She looked at him like a frightened kitten, reminding him of days gone by. She was more innocent once, he remembered, less streetwise.
Shame the bitch had become tainted.
Someone was speaking in the distance, the exact words lost among the trees. The voice sounded like hers, but he was sure Maria’s mouth hadn’t moved. For what seemed like an eternity, she just looked at him, returning his gaze.
Then she departed.
He heard a gun cock to his right, the butler.
“No.” He grabbed hold of the barrel, his eyes remaining focused on the nearby woodland. No sooner had Maria made for the clearing, she vanished among the trees.
“Let her go.”
26
The taxi arrived within twenty minutes of leaving the airport. It pulled up on a street close to the city centre, outside a building Ben recognised.
He noted the street name.
Calle Colón.
Ben thanked the driver and asked him to wait around. The man smiled and told him not to worry.
The meter would continue to run.
Ben got out and walked along the right side of the pavement. The rose-coloured slabs were shrouded in tree-shaped shadows as the lights of the Victorian-style lamp posts shone against strategically placed vegetation.
Juliet joined him in front of a low industrial-looking gateway with a sign labelled Museo Colón and additional information on a smaller signpost. They looked ahead to the building beyond the gate. The first thought that entered Juliet’s mind was that the clean brick façade was far too modern to contain anything important.
“This can’t be it.”
“The house has been rebuilt since Columbus lived here. Looks as if it’s changed a fair bit since I was last here as well.”
Ben recalled his last visit, strolling around the two-storey museum for over an hour, apparently the only visitor. Apart from a large mural of Columbus’s fabricated death scene that covered an entire wall, copies of the first letter he had written following his arrival home, and a unique room filled with flags denoting Spanish discoveries in the New World, he couldn’t recall much of consequence.
He tried the gate with no luck. Within seconds, a dark-haired woman emerged from the front door, a disdainful look on her tanned face. Ben guessed from her expression she was an employee preparing to return home.
“Hola?” she greeted.
“Hola,” Ben returned, mustering the best smile he could. “Is the museum closed?”
“Si. It is not open till tomorrow. We close at eight thirty.”
Ben bit his lip, frustrated they had arrived just too late. “In that case, I wonder if you can help us. We’re looking for the Convento de San Francisco.”
The woman looked back sceptically; Juliet could tell from her expression she doubted it was a serious question.
“The convent no longer exists. It was destroyed two centuries ago, along with other parts of the city. It is part of our city’s lost heritage.”
Ben sympathised with her doleful expression. He had read that many buildings of historic interest had been lost in the 1800s as part of a major regeneration project.
“Where was it?”
“Head for the Plaza Mayor. Then look for the Zorrilla.”
“Zorrilla?” Ben checked he had not misheard. “Gracias.”
“De nada.”
They got back inside the taxi and asked the driver about Zorrilla. Failing to recognise the name, he drove for five minutes and pulled up on the south side of the Plaza Mayor.
Ben paid the driver and thanked him, overlooking the loss of forty euros from the multicoloured pile of currency. As the taxi departed, he looked around to familiarise himself with the area.
Night had fallen over the historic quarter, the iconic view that he had seen before on many postcards enhanced and intensified by the brightness of local floodlights. A strengthening wind blew noisily across the square, drowning out the seemingly endless conversations taking place between the citizens.
Juliet checked her watch. “It’s nearly eight forty. If we’re not careful, we’re not going to have a bed to sleep in.”
Ben agreed. They checked in to the first hotel they found on the Internet, the hotel Zenit Imperial located close to the north-west corner of the square. Due to the lateness of the hour, they accepted one room, dropped their bags off and left.
The woman on reception knew nothing of any Zorrilla.
Ben bought two Mars bars from a vending machine and gave one to Juliet as they crossed the square. He looked around in all directions, studying the sights in the minutest of detail. There was no obvious sign of anything bearing, or associated with, the name Zorrilla. Ben recalled that the only other advice from the woman at the museum had been to head to the Plaza Mayor.
“Okay. Let’s split up. Do you have your phone on you?”
“Of course.”
“The woman said to look for Zorrilla,” he repeated. “Whatever it is, it probably won’t be modern.”
Ben hurried off, heading south-east, reacquainting himself with sites he had previously seen a week earlier. Seeing them again brought back vivid memories: the pain in his thigh, the oozing wound, his vain attempts to chase Valeria through the backstreets. She had escaped, only to be pursued again, tracked, captured.
He was grateful the injury was finally healing.
He left the square and jogged quickly along Calle Cánovas del Castillo, stopping within sight of the cathedral. A service was taking place inside, the rich vocals of a primarily male choir sounding melodiously through the main doors as they were opened and closed by the evening visitors.
Moving on, Ben paused once more along Calle Regalado, temporarily distracted by the feeling of déjà vu. Removing his Android from his pocket, he started back towards the square.
*
Juliet froze, surprised by Ben’s sudden disappearance. She watched incredulously as, not for the first time, he hurried away, oblivious to her objections. It was becoming an awkward habit, an irritating character flaw she had never experienced before Seville. Still, she thought, watching him rush across the square, apparently equally
unmindful of his recent injury.
A man could have worse qualities.
She stood alone on the north-west side of the square, studying the local surroundings. North of the famous statue of Pedro Ansúrez, the iconic town hall was lit up like a gold crown, its outline casting an impressive shadow across the gentle red paving. She had read once that the Plaza Mayor had always been the largest square in the city. In Columbus’s time, it had been used as a forum, its shape unchanged over the centuries.
She took a moment to appreciate that she was standing in an area that had experienced so many important moments.
She wandered towards the centre of the square, still to discover any sign of Zorrilla. Convinced Ben was missing something, she decided to concentrate on the most historic area, curious as to what had avoided destruction. The square contained numerous cafés and restaurants, each interspersed with other historic buildings. From outward appearances, it looked as though only one side had been rebuilt in recent times. The south side.
If Ben was right, that was probably the place on which to focus her attention.
She set off in that direction. Despite the late hour, the plaza was alive and vibrant, its many bars and eateries filled with hungry visitors. The appetising aromas reinforced the feeling that a chocolate bar was hardly her idea of a romantic supper.
She tore at the wrapper of her Mars bar and took a first bite of the cool, firm chocolate, hoping for a sudden surge of extra energy and inspiration. She approached one of the cafés as she finished it and sat down at an unused table, hoping that one of the waiters would force her to order a coffee. Ignoring the distractions of nearby customers, she removed her smartphone from her handbag and entered a search for Zorrilla into Google. The name was familiar. She couldn’t place why.
Almost immediately she had an answer.
*
Ben felt his phone vibrate as it rang. Checking the screen, he saw the call was from Juliet.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Why would you assume something’s wrong?”
He grinned. “Where are you?”
“At a café, having a nice coffee. You got it all wrong. Zorrilla isn’t a place, it’s a person.”
“You’re kidding.”
Juliet smiled at the waiter as he brought her a one-shot Americano. “José Zorrilla was a nineteenth-century Spanish playwright. A native of the city. Though he died in Madrid, he was born here.”
Ben bit his lip, frustrated but not surprised. “There’s probably a street or a building named after him. I noticed last week a lot of streets or arcades are named in honour of former residents.”
“I haven’t seen anything yet, though the south side is a maze.” She added sugar to her coffee and took it down black, relishing the strong flavour. Pausing to take in more of the nearest buildings – the glass façades of the modern shops, cafés and arcades more in keeping with an upscale shopping mall than an ancient town square – she noticed a sign largely obscured by nearby visitors and chairs.
Ben had been speaking for several seconds, but his words no longer registered. Rising to her feet, Juliet dropped three euros down on the table and followed the sign towards a glass frontage located between two elegant columns and beneath four upper storeys painted in a red and white pattern, the lowest of which was unique for the presence of several flags that hung horizontally over the main sign. Behind the glass, countless posters advertising upcoming concerts and theatre performances partially obscured illuminated red lettering that spelled out a name.
Teatro Zorrilla.
“Juliet, are you there?”
Distracted, she replied, “I’m here. I’ve just found it.”
“What is it, a museum?”
“No, it’s a theatre.”
27
Valeria ducked again the moment the gunfire restarted. She could tell from the noise it had come from directly behind her, and that Maria was at last following her, gaining fast. Keeping low, she continued through the trees, praying they made it unscathed.
She sensed, if she had her bearings correct, that her scooter would be parked nearby. Looking around, she saw its outline against the background of dense vegetation; less than fifty metres away, she also noticed Maria’s four-by-four parked off road.
Still to be returned to Javi.
She grabbed the bike by the handlebars and attempted to wheel it out from its hiding place. Close by, the lights of the four-by-four flashed bright orange. Maria was running towards the driver’s door, the key in her hand.
“Quickly. Before they come.”
Valeria persevered with her attempts to free the scooter. She reasoned there would be room for it in the backseat.
“For God’s sake, leave it!” Maria shouted.
“Help me.”
The gunfire returned, closer than before. Within the foliage, Valeria saw leaves moving, branches falling. Diving to the ground, she let go of the scooter’s handlebars and hurried to the car.
Maria quickly got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The engine immediately roared into life. From behind the wheel she shouted, “Hurry.”
Valeria scrambled into the seat alongside her, narrowly avoiding a fresh volley of bullets. “Keep the lights off. They will give us away,” she said, breathless. Even with the headlights turned off, she feared the instrument lights would be bright enough to give away their position.
Almost instantly, the gunfire resumed.
Maria rammed the gear lever into reverse and accelerated hard through the wild shrubbery. Mud spun up off the tyres, wood crunched, debris flew, a harsh straining noise reverberated from the front axles as the cold rubber struggled for grip.
Valeria held her breath as the gunfire continued relentlessly. Sparks flew up off the bonnet. Maria screamed as she gazed in terror through the rear windscreen, turning the wheel with shaking hands. As she reached the road, she braked, the tyres screeching to a sudden halt. She jammed the gearstick into first, narrowly avoiding a tailspin. The car moved forward.
She activated the headlights.
Valeria had never felt so panicked. Her eyes were streaming, her heart pounding violently. No matter how hard she tried, air just refused to enter her lungs.
Alongside her, Maria was even more agitated. Mascara tears had ruined her make-up, creating dark lines across her cheeks that still displayed evidence of swelling from being hit by Juan a week earlier.
“Here.” Valeria grabbed her hand and touched her face, wiping the tears away with a tissue. “We need to concentrate.”
“Don’t touch me.” Maria’s emotions were in danger of boiling over. “Why did you leave me in that awful place?”
Valeria’s thoughts continued to race. What happened? Where did I leave her? She wasn’t talking about just now, she realised. She was referring to the monastery in Cabañas del Castillo.
She had left the inner sanctum without her.
“I’m sorry. I did not think.”
“You left me there all alone.”
“I had to face him. I could not live with myself had I not.”
Maria’s fury suddenly escalated. “You selfish bitch. You could have been killed. You would have died. And I would have been all alone.”
Valeria looked at her and tentatively touched Maria’s face again.
“I said don’t touch me.”
Valeria sank back into her seat, her emotions at last beginning to overcome her. Maria wiped her eyes, doing her level best to concentrate on the road. She took the tight turns through the narrow streets of the village, praying they would soon reach the main highway.
For several minutes they sat in silence. Maria concentrating, Valeria contemplating. Her break-in at the castle a week earlier had been swift, well planned, flawless.
Tonight Valeria knew she had been reckless.
“How did you know I would be there?”
“Where else would you be going? Abuela always said you were rash.”
Valeria bit he
r lip, diffusing her anger by concentrating on the new surroundings. The countryside ahead was open and sparsely vegetated, the oncoming glare of headlights the only source of extra light in that direction. In the rear-view mirror, however, the floodlit walls of the castle shone imposingly above the village like a large moon, its brilliant light passing over the surrounding houses.
In the temporary silence, she considered their recent escape. The gunshots had come from outside the courtyard. She had seen Cortés standing there with another man; even now, the sounds still echoed in her ears. The first of the shots had been uncomfortably close; the bleeding from her head was still to cease completely. Glancing again into the mirror, the village now appeared as little more than a hazy outline. Soon it would be gone altogether.
If she never saw the place again, it would still be too soon.
She took a deep breath, her focus again on her sister. The motorcycle hadn’t made it, but more importantly Maria had. Though she was no longer crying, her expression was blank, her body numb. Pain no longer carried the same weight it once did.
Perhaps dying was no longer the worst option.
“Thank you.” She looked at her sister, the consequences at last beginning to sink in. “You were right. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Maria glanced to her right, her eyes red and moist. She dried them quickly. With the sticky combination of tears and make-up gone, seeing was now much easier.
“You’re welcome.”
Valeria’s thoughts turned to their recent conversation. “You said there were diagrams. Clues in the inner sanctum. What did you see?”
With one eye on the road, Maria rustled through her handbag and removed her iPhone, unlocking the screen.
“Check the gallery. Everything is here.”
Valeria accepted the phone, but kept her eyes on her sister. Something about her had changed; it was as though she had encountered the dawning of a new truth, full understanding of which was still to sink in.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 80