BLACK CITY (Ulysses Vidal Adventure Series Book 2)

by Fernando Gamboa

  “Some money!? Listen, if the Xingu reservoir isn’t completed we’ll lose hundreds of millions! It’s our biggest project and we’ve invested a major part of our resources in it. I cannot possibly sign what you’re asking me to!”

  “Three minutes…”

  “This is absurd!” he said, exasperated. “It’s just a matter of business. It’s not personal!”

  “Well, in my case it is personal, Mr. Queiroz. Very personal.”

  “It will be the ruin of me and my company. Don’t you understand I can’t do what you want?”

  I sat down again, fully convinced I was doing the right thing. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand. Imagine a pair of scales. The money is on one and your life is on the other. Which one do you choose?”

  “And what you want is to stop the flooding? Don’t be stupid! I can give you twenty… no, fifty million dollars in less than an hour with just a single call. You’ll be a rich man for the rest of your life.”

  “Hmm… it’s a tempting offer,” I said, rubbing my chin as if I were considering it. “But I think not. I only want you to sign the documents.”

  “And if I don’t?” he said challengingly. “If I press this button and my men come in, you won’t be able to leave the building. You’ll be accused of murder, if they don’t kill you first.”

  “That’s a possibility,” I admitted. “But at this stage I have nothing to lose, and it’ll be comforting to know you’ll be rotting in hell. Although really…”—I took out the phial again and studied it against the light—“it might not be such a bad idea. Maybe it’ll be worth it for me and my friends to see you dead. It might be the fairest thing in the end, after all the damage you’ve caused.”

  In spite of himself, Luciano Queiroz reached out to pick up the documents and started to look through them.

  “You’d better read fast,” I said, “because you have less than two minutes.”

  “How can you expect me to sign this without reading it first?” he retorted furiously.

  “Imagine you’re an illiterate indigenous man, selling away his land for a color TV,” I said relishing his anguish. “But don’t worry, I give you my word: the contract only deals with what we’ve talked about. With some clauses added to stop you having second thoughts in the future, of course.”

  He leaned on the desktop as if he were on the verge of fainting, but he picked up his pen and began to sign reluctantly, as if it were his own death sentence.

  “Don’t forget to sign at the bottom of each page,” I reminded him. “Let me warn you, I’ll go over them one by one.”

  Without looking up, he went on signing until he had finished. Then with infinite scorn he threw them at my face. “There, you have what you want. Now give me the antidote.”

  “Of course,” I said, holding the fragile phial between index finger and thumb. “But now that we’re friends, I need you to do me a tiny favor.”

  103

  Ten minutes later I walked casually out the front door and left the building just like any other executive. I hailed a taxi, got in, and asked to be taken to the International Airport of Guarulhos.

  I had left Luciano Queiroz slumped over his desk in a deep sleep, knowing that it would be at least eight or ten hours before he woke up. Before I gave him the phial I had made him order his secretary that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances and to hold off all calls until he came out. Nobody would be aware of the situation until midafternoon, and by then I would be above the Atlantic on my way to Barcelona.

  The funniest thing (at least for me) was to imagine his face when he called his doctor for a check-up only to be told that nobody had poisoned him. He had suffered no more than the typical allergic reaction to an extract of the parapara flower of the Amazon, which causes intense tingling and numbness of the limbs, but nothing more. He would also find out that the supposed antidote had been just a sedative for horses mixed with Coke, which is what had put him to sleep almost all day.

  I swear I would have paid to see the face of the President of AZS when he realized what had really happened.

  I was smiling to myself while the taxi rolled at a good speed down the Rodovía Presidencia Dutra when I saw the control tower in the distance. Shortly afterward we stopped in front of the departure terminal.

  I left the taxi driver a good tip and inhaled the warm air of that Brazilian noon as I thought that if I wanted to avoid any trouble, it would be a long time before I could set foot in this incredible country again.

  “You can’t have everything,” I told myself gazing up at the bright sky.

  I had no luggage except for the briefcase containing the documents signed and sealed by Luciano Queiroz, so I was able to check in quickly. I went through the metal detector arc, then headed for the restaurant area with the idea of having something to eat before boarding my flight.

  I stopped at the first eatery I came to and, after a brief visit to the self-service counter, sat at a table ready to enjoy my turkey sandwiches and iced peach tea.

  Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders from behind, making me choke on a piece of bread.

  “You won’t get away this time, Mr. Vidal,” a voice growled in my ear.

  I turned around, about to suffocate from coughing, to see the sunburned faces of the professor and Cassie laughing at me.

  “Damn, Doc!” I protested. I swallowed with difficulty while they took a seat in front of me. “You nearly gave me a death fright!”

  “Stop moaning,” he said. “Don’t forget we crashed that appalling balloon because of you.”

  “Wouldn’t you allow it as a point in my favor that I jumped a hundred feet into the void to try and save you?”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks!” He waved the subject away with a smile. “Now tell us, how did everything go?”

  My two friends were looking at me with expectation. Trying to keep my face blank, I wiped my mouth with a napkin and said: “It went okay.”

  “What do you mean, it went okay?” Cassie asked, intrigued.

  “Well… if what we wanted was to get the documents signed,” I said, putting the briefcase on the table with dramatic flair, “here they are, all of them, signed by Luciano Queiroz and with the seal of AZS.” I allowed a wide smile to appear on my face. “I’d say that everything has come out according to plan. The Xingu rainforest won’t be flooded, and as a bonus we’ve managed to get a generous payment from the Construction Company by way of compensation.”

  “I knew you’d make it happen!” Cassandra exclaimed, attracting the attention of the rest of the customers.To my surprise, she came to me and hugged me with enthusiasm. Then her face was just inches away from mine. She was happy and smiling at me with her beautiful green eyes.

  104

  Fourteen hours later a taxi was driving us along the Gran Via under an overcast sky. We were on our way to the professor’s apartment and I was looking at my home city through a gray veil of indifference.

  I viewed this return to the comforts of home, which a matter of days ago had seemed to me an unreachable goal, with resigned apathy. A foretaste of the tedium and routine I associated not only with Barcelona but with a sedentary, civilized way of life which for many reasons did not suit me. More than that: I hated it.

  The professor was in the back seat with Cassandra. They too were silent, the silence of those who arrive home and realize there is no one and nothing waiting for them. Or at least, nothing really worth it.

  I was in the front seat, beside the driver. I turned to look at Cassie questioningly before asking: “Would you like to stay at my place?”

  “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea,” she said too quickly, as if she had been expecting my invitation.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She gave me a long look and shook her head again. “I think we’d better not complicate things.”

  “As you wish,” I said with a wan smile, and turned back to look ahead.
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  I knew she was probably right.

  Sharing the same roof, even for a few hours, was not going to change things between us: it might even make them worse. But I was not going to lie to myself, I craved having her close to me, sharing coffees, laughter, even the heated arguments which had caused all this mess.

  We arrived at the professor’s apartment after a silent drive, made longer by the traffic lights and the incipient rain beginning to fall on the sidewalks. While the taxi waited, we got out to say goodbye in the street.

  The professor and Cassie hugged affectionately and she went back into the taxi to get out of the rain.

  I shook hands with Eduardo. “Well,” I said, “we’re meeting for lunch tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “That’s right, I’ll be expecting you around one o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  I nodded. “Great, I’ll be here.”

  We said goodbye and I got back in the taxi beside Cassandra.

  “Do you think he’ll be all right?” she asked, watching the professor through the window as he opened the front door of his apartment building.

  Before I replied I looked at the stooped-over figure of my old friend as he disappeared into the shadows of the cavernous lobby. “I certainly hope so. I really don’t know. Although I think it was a good idea to leave the journals with him. That’s going to keep his mind occupied for a long time.”

  “Time enough to make him forget the death of his daughter?”

  “Enough to learn to live with it, I hope.”

  We continued watching him until the great iron door close behind him, as if we wanted to make absolutely sure that he had arrived home safely.

  “Where to now?” the taxi driver asked with a touch of impatience looking at me through the rearview mirror.

  I turned to her, also waiting for an answer.

  She was still looking through the window in silence, her gaze lost in the raindrops that slithered down the glass.

  “Cassie?” I said, thinking she had not heard the taxi driver.

  “All right,” she said, turning to me, “let’s go to your place.”

  I did not understand that sudden change of mind and all I could think to say was: “Are you sure?”

  Fortunately, before she had time to reply, I had the wits to quickly give the driver the address to my apartment on Paris Street, and we headed there. I was hoping she would not change her mind before we got there.

  A moment later she added in a whisper: “Don’t make me regret it.”

  Once in my small penthouse, it felt as if she had left the day before, although it had been a long time. I gave her some clothes of hers I still had in the closet, and she immediately got in the shower without a word.

  In spite of the thrill of having her here again, I did not feel like talking much either. I was afraid anything I said or did might be misunderstood and our fragile truce break. But when she came out of the shower wrapped up in a towel and with her damp hair falling on her bare shoulders—she had taken off the bandage that covered the bullet wound and there was a violet line on her tanned skin—I could not help staring at her like an idiot, as if I was seeing her for the first time.

  “What is it?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

  “No, nothing.” I muttered. “Just that you look so pretty.”

  “Ulysses…” she said in a warning tone.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump on you. It’s just that seeing you here again… like this, has brought back old memories.”

  “But that’s all they are,” she said. “Memories.”

  “Yeah… yeah… I know.”

  Cassandra gave me a good long stare, as if trying to discover what I was thinking. Impossible to know for that matter, because I didn’t know myself.

  “Is there anything for lunch?” she asked at last, to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “Lunch?”

  “Yeah, you know. It’s like dinner, but in the middle of the day.”

  “I think there’s a couple of frozen pizzas in the freezer,” I said pointing at the kitchen door.

  “Great! You go take a shower and I’ll put them in the oven. And you’d better be out before they’re ready, because I’m so hungry I could eat them as they are now,” she said with a wolfish grin.

  Half an hour later we were sitting opposite each other, eating the pizzas and remembering some of the situations we had been through in the rainforest, as well as the turn events had taken during the last few days.

  “So, we managed to get the deal with Queiroz to stop the reservoir, and the Menkragnoti will get their lands back…” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and leaning back in her chair, asked, “And now what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That was only a fraction of the problem.”

  “Only a fraction?” I said sarcastically. “Well, just let me finish my dinner and I’ll get down to ending world hunger and global warming.”

  “Don’t be a jerk!” she snorted, and threw her screwed-up napkin at me. “I mean all the loose ends, all the unanswered mysteries we’ve left behind.”

  “I didn’t know that was a problem,” I said, perplexed.

  “It is for me. And probably it is for the professor as well.”

  “For Eduardo? How? I don’t follow.”

  “Púchica, Ulysses. He’s lost a daughter in that pinche rainforest!” She waved her hand at the window, as if we could see the Amazon through it. “He wants answers. He wants to know why she died. To make her death meaningful.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “We talked a lot about it while you were in the hospital.”

  I put the piece of pizza I was holding back on the plate, worried by the turn the conversation was taking.

  “And what exactly is it you guys want to do?”

  “I’ve already told you. Keep finding out about the Black City and the Ancients. Follow the thread and see where it takes us.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going back there! Tell me you haven’t even thought of it!”

  Cassandra shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “Not to begin with, no…”

  “Not to begin with? That means you’re considering it?”

  “Calm down, Ulysses. It would only be as a last resort. I swear I don’t want to go back to that place any more than you do. But don’t forget I’m an archeologist”—she shrugged as if it were an incurable disease—“and that city represents the greatest archeological mystery of the last hundred years. I want to get to the bottom of it, whatever the cost. I want to find out where the Ancients came from, the inexplicable presence of the monolith, how the Black City was founded, and why it was abandoned…”

  “I thought we already knew that,” I said, surprised.

  Cassie shook her head emphatically. “Not in the least, Ulysses. We’ve barely scratched the surface, and all we have are speculations. Not a single piece of evidence, not even a photo. Practically everything that could be used to figure out the truth and tell the world is still there in that rainforest.”

  “Well then, let’s give the coordinates to the National Geographic and let them organize an expedition to confirm we’re right, and that the Black City really exists.”

  She shook her head again. “No,” she said gravely. “We’re not going to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed before answering. “Because the discovery is ours, that’s why.” She emphasized this by pointing her thumb at herself. “It’s cost the lives of too many people, including Valeria, for us to let a group of pinche gringos take all the glory while we’re left as a bunch of trippers who stumbled on the Black City by chance. No,” she insisted, “I refuse to let anyone else take credit for the discovery. And let me tell you that Professor Castillo thinks the same. We owe it to the memory of Angelica, Claudio… and Valeria. It’s either us… or no one.”

  She was so serious about it that it was clear there would be no argument. Whatever I might say, I would never manage
to convince her otherwise.

  “All right,” I said, rubbing my nose. “So tell me, if you aren’t going back to that hell and you won’t allow anybody else to go, how do you plan on doing it?”

  Cassandra smiled slyly. Clearly she had been waiting for that question. “We still have the Nazi journals.”

  I had nearly forgotten about them, and the fact that the professor had taken them home to translate.

  “That’s true, but I remember hearing you say they’re not worth much on their own. You said anyone could claim they’re fake.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of using them as evidence,” she said with a grin, “more as a starting clue in our investigation. We have a good bit of what we squeezed out of Queiroz.” She winked. “Don’t you think we could use it to follow the trail of those notebooks and see how far we get?”

  Had I heard correctly? Had Cassie really said “we” to refer to the future?

  “You mean… we as in you and I?”

  “And the professor, of course.”

  “Of course, but… what about your excavation work in Cadiz? Don’t you have to go back?”

  “The pinche digging can go to hell,” she said. “Besides, they’re going to be spending months on the pieces we took out of the mud, identifying, classifying, and numbering them. They definitely don’t need me for that.”

  “Do you really think there’s more in those journals than what we saw?”

  Cassie gave me a long look of surprise. “Are you serious? We only had the chance to leaf through the drawings of the reliefs. We’ve no idea what those hundreds of pages in German say. They were there far longer than we were, and they might’ve made discoveries we can’t even begin to imagine before they… well, before they were… you know”—(she clicked her tongue in disgust—“before the Morcegos killed them all. We don’t even know what they could’ve carried away in those boxes of archeological samples, or where they took them. Perhaps they’re lying in the cellar of some German museum, forgotten and covered in dust, and thanks to those notebooks we might be able to get hold of them.”