The Columbus Code (20 page)

You lied to me,” Austin blurted out.

Maria looked up from loading the dishwasher. “I never lied to you. How did I ever lie to you?”

“You told me you weren't staying in Barcelona permanently.”

“I'm not.”

“Then why are you taking all this stuff?”

Maria closed the dishwasher door and pushed the button. “What stuff are you talking about?”

“Two suitcases. A carry-on as big as the trunk of my car.
And
a briefcase so full it won't even zip.”

“I'm not a guy, Austin,” she said, crossing the living room. “I can't get everything I own into a sock.”

Austin glared at the luggage parked by the front door. “I'm depressed and you haven't even left yet.”

“And I'm
not
leaving right this minute so come here. I want to show you what I found.” She motioned for him to join her at the counter where her laptop was still open.

“Aren't you taking that with you?”

“Yeah . . .”

“And it's going to fit in that briefcase?”

“Okay, stop it. Now look at this.”

Austin parked in front of the computer and frowned. “Danish schoolgirls?”

“I found this hidden in—well, never mind—the gist of it is Schlesinger was at a Global Security Conference in Copenhagen. Apparently there was an issue with some parents insisting that their daughters were in his room.”

“Were they?”

“According to the girls and their parents they were, but the whole thing got smoothed over.”

“You're thinking this is what he and Molina were talking about?”

“Molina was on the roster of attendees.”

“Why wouldn't he be? He's the head of security for Catalonia.”

“But the fact that he mentioned it to Schlesinger—and mentioned having pictures—is pretty damning.”

“Circumstantial at best, but yeah.” Austin chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip. “So you kind of know what Molina is blackmailing him
with
, but you don't know what he's forcing him to
do
.”

“Right. And that's not all Molina has on him. Something went down in Kenya, too, but I haven't been able to put that together. The point is, whatever Molina wants him to do is pretty big or he wouldn't need all this ammunition.”

Austin hoisted himself from the stool and crossed to the living room, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What?” Maria said.

“This is scaring me.”

“Come on, Austin. If I find out anything I'm not going to confront Molina with it.”

“Not even to use it as leverage for Elena?”

“I told you, I'm just going to bring her back here so we can make this whole thing right.”

“Then what
are
you going to do with it?” Austin strode back to her. “Swear to me you're not going to take it to Tejada. You don't know whether he's involved. Molina works for him and—”

“Would you chill? My best option is to take it to my father.”

Austin's mouth fell open.

“I know. But it makes sense, right?”

“Don't you think you should tell him you're doing this in the first place?”

Maria piled her hair up and let it drop back to her shoulders. “I've been trying. His cell phone keeps going straight to voice mail.”

“Did you call his office?”

“He's on some kind of leave.”

“What—bereavement?” Austin put both hands up in that way he had. “Sorry. You can be snarky about him . . . I shouldn't be.”

“It's okay.” Maria twisted a curl. “Actually he told me he's being seen for depression.”

Austin stared until she nodded. “I should follow up.”

“Ya think?”

Maria glanced at the time on her phone. “I guess I could call his friend Taylor Donleavy. Dad used his phone to call me one time so I think it's in my contacts.” She looked at Austin again. “But what do I say—‘Has anybody checked my dad's place lately?'”

“You'll think of something. I'm gonna start loading the car. I should've started yesterday.”

Maria wrinkled her nose at him and searched for Donleavy's number on her phone. She'd never met the guy, which made this weird. Her dad had mentioned him a few times—the only friend he'd talked
about since he moved to California. Uncle Ben brought him up more than Dad did. The three of them had hung out together when Ben was visiting. He had a whole stand-up routine about Donleavy's geek quotient.

The phone rang several times before a voice mail greeting said, “Donleavy. Leave an encrypted message.”

Yeah. He was a geek all right.

Maria couldn't decide what to say so she hung up. Maybe her father was back at work, doing something undercover and just wasn't bothering to check his messages.

She heard Austin fiddling with the doorknob and she drew her hand down her face to remove the worried look she was sure was there. Maybe then he'd believe her when she said Donleavy was going to get back to her. Otherwise, all that luggage was coming right back up the stairs.

Winters looked for something to grab on to and reached for the dashboard.

Sophia smiled at him. “Are you a nervous passenger, John?”

“I'm a terrified passenger. Did I miss the memo about us being entered in the Grand Prix?”

“That takes place in France.”

Her laughter rose above the wind whipping through the windows. He was having to shout to be heard. Fortunately she'd been doing most of the talking as they crossed Spain and had filled him in on how she'd found his distant cousin Jacobo Colon through birth and death records going back from Winters' great-grandfather to previous generations.

“What's he like?” Winters shouted to her.

“I do not know.”

“You couldn't gather anything from talking to him?”

“I have not spoken with him.”

Sophia slowed the car as they crossed an ancient bridge over the Tormes River. Winters was finally able to speak rather than shout. “Nothing from his e-mail either?”

“I have not been in contact with
Señor
Colon at all. I discovered his address . . . which should not be far from here.”

“He doesn't know we're coming?”

She shook her head and took a corner way too fast for Winters' comfort.

“What if we came all this way and he's not home?”

“He is eighty-five years old and lives in a long-term-care facility. I am certain he will be there and grateful for the company. Here most families take care of their own elderly so he must truly be alone.”

Winters tried not to groan. Another old guy with theories and foggy memories. How much money had he spent on this trip?

Sophia abruptly pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and lowered her sunglasses to look at the long, low pink-stucco building with a rose-colored tile roof. “We have arrived.”

Winters glanced to the right. “This is a long-term-care facility?”

“Yes, it is.”

Winters guessed the word “care” might be an overstatement, but he kept that to himself. He was going to keep his own counsel this time. And then he'd be looking for that return flight home. Archer was never going to let him live this trip down.

The inside of the building didn't reflect the outside, at least not entirely. The floor of the wide central hallway was covered in much-washed clay tile and the walls were a butter-yellow stucco that had worn off in places to reveal patches of brick. Sunlight streamed from the rooms on the west side into the hall, giving it a playful, striped effect, and the woman who walked toward them was smiling. The gaps left by missing teeth would have detracted from her credibility if her English hadn't been crisp when she asked, “I can help you?”

While Sophia told her their business in rapid-fire Spanish, Winters pulled out his phone and checked for the umpteenth time to see if he had service.
Nada
. Not that he was expecting to hear from anyone, except maybe Ben, and even that was doubtful. He wanted to let
Maria know he was in Barcelona in case she was still there, although he didn't think that was possible either. She'd said she was just going for a short business trip.

“You will follow?”

Winters looked up to see Sophia already trailing the attendant into a room to his left. He caught up and felt himself nod appreciatively when he got there. Arched windows lined three walls and cream stucco bounced light from the other. Ceiling fans spun lazily overhead. Not a bad place to spend the end of your life.

Only three people were in the room. Two of undetermined gender napped on a couch at the far end. Another, a wiry old man with an impressive moustache, sat upright in a wheelchair near one of the windows, chortling over a book.

“
Señor
Colon!” the attendant shouted at him.

Winters jumped but the old man barely gave her a glance. Wonderful. He was either deaf as a post or senile. Uncle David heard better than this guy.

The woman rattled off something in Spanish of which Winters caught only the word “Columbus,” and
Señor
Colon turned his gaze on Winters and Sophia. His eyes were an unexpected blue that gleamed as they surveyed Sophia. At least the old guy could still appreciate a good-looking woman. He closed his book, set it aside, and stroked the moustache.

More give-and-take in Spanish as chairs were pulled up to the wheelchair and the attendant laughed and made some kind of assurances to
Señor
Colon. He didn't take his eyes off Sophia as she perched in her light-as-a-sparrow fashion on the edge of one of the chairs and patted the other one for Winters. He sat, but he might as well have been invisible. The old man was clearly smitten.

“I have heard these stories, too,” he said.

Winters startled.

“Your English is very good,
Señor
Colon,” Sophia said.

“Please. Jacobo.”

“Jacobo. I am Sophia. This is John.”

Jacobo gave Winters a cursory glance and returned to the object of his affection. “My mother, she insist that I learn English as a boy. She wanted I should go to America but it never happened. I did not want to go anyway.” He smiled at Sophia. “Too much beauty here, no?”

The old man could still flirt, Winters had to give him that.

“So you have heard the stories,” Sophia said.

“Of our relation to Columbus? Yes.”

“Are they true?” Winters asked.

“Yes. And no.”

Winters sat back. It was going to be a long afternoon.

“True for me, no. True for you. “He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.”

“Why not true for you, Jacobo?” Sophia said, her voice laced with sympathy.

Yeah. Definitely best to let her do the talking.

“I am related to
Señor
Christopher Columbus, but not in the line of direct descent. I am a relative very distant, not of the main branch.”

“I'm sorry,” Sophia said.

“I am not! Why do I want Americans knocking at my door who want to see me?” He looked at Winters for the first time—and burst into barroom laughter. “I only joke with you, my cousin! Come—let us drink together!”

The smiling attendant pulled a small table closer and deposited a tray on it. A pitcher of something cold with citrus curls floating in it was flanked by three glasses. Jacobo looked up at her. “You have used the sangria recipe, Anita.”

She shook her head the way any good nurse would who refused to serve alcohol to her aged patient. Winters didn't have to speak Spanish to know what was going down. Uncle David and this guy were clearly related.

Sophia poured and asked Jacobo to go on.

“
My
family, it has a colorful history,” he said, caressing his moustache.

Big surprise.

“We are related to a servant who took the name of Colon.” Jacobo winked at no one in particular. “This woman, she had . . . 
asunto amoroso
with her master.” Jacobo let out a horselaugh again. “They had something hot on the side—a child was born—and there you have it—another Colon!”

Winters let himself grin. He was beginning to like this old character.

“Now you,
el primo
,” he said, gesturing to Winters. “You are no son of a servant.”

“How can you tell?” Winters asked.

“You have the . . .” He snapped his fingers and looked at Sophia.

“
El aura?”

“Ah,
sí!”

“You have the aura,” she said to Winters.

“
Sí
, the air of the descendants of the third duke of Liria, Jacobo-Franscisco Eduardo Fitz-James Stuart y Colón.”

“That's nice of you, Jacobo,” Winters said, “but I don't think you can say—”

“You have not seen his portrait?”

“I saw his picture online—”

“You must see the portrait or—” He snapped his fingers again.