The Columbus Code (21 page)

“Or a copy,” Sophia offered.

He grinned at her. “You and me—we are the perfect team. Why don't you marry me?”

“You far outclass me,” she said, without missing a beat. “I am not in the line of the Colons.”

Jacobo faked a jealous glare at Winters and laughed again.

“In the stories you were told by the old ones,” Sophia said, “did you ever hear of a secret journal that
Señor
Columbus kept?”

“Heard of it? I know where it is!”

Winters choked down a laugh. Sophia, however, kept a straight face. “And where is that?” she asked.

“He give it to a monk by the name of Gaspar Gorricio for the safety keeping. He lived in a monastery, the best place for the keeping of secrets.” He gave Winters another wink. “This was common in that day with the important papers.”

Sophia's face was no longer emotionless. Her eyes were keen on Jacobo. “What monastery was this monk connected with, Jacobo?”

“You haven't heard this story before?” Winters asked, glancing in her direction.

“This is the first time—”

“The monastery at Santa Maria de las Cuevas.” Jacobo looked pleased that he'd been able to impress her. “In Seville.”

Sophia nodded.

“But you will not find it there.” Jacobo shook his head with more sadness than he felt, Winters was sure. “The monastery, it was closed long ago. It is now a place for history—”

“A historical site,” Sophia said, her voice deflated.

Winters frowned. She was
buying
that whole thing?

“But”—Jacobo waited, one long bent finger up, until they both looked at him—“the trail to the journal, it begins there.”

Winters couldn't handle it any longer. “If it was once there and the trail still leads to it, why hasn't anybody found it before now? Or maybe they have.”

Jacobo's glare was genuine this time. “They have not, or you would have heard of it.”

“That's true,” Sophia agreed.

“And . . . only a direct descendant of
Señor
Columbus will be able to find it.”

And Winters thought his mother was strange. It must run in the family. They were all nuts and he was beginning to feel that way himself. What was he even doing here?

But as long as he
was
there, okay, he'd play along. “So the journal knows if the person who's about to find it is a direct descendant of its original owner?”

Jacobo looked at Sophia in disgust. “He is
loco
, no?”

“Maybe,” Sophia said, “but please, go on.”

The old man turned to Winters and all but rolled the searing blue eyes. “No, the journal does not ‘know.' It is an—” He snapped the fingers at Sophia again.

“Inanimate,” Sophia said.

“Yes. An inanimate object. But the keepers of the journal have always known, through the generations. They have knowledge who will have the right to it.” He shook his head ruefully. “All who have tried have failed.”

“What do you mean?” Sophia said.

Winters watched her watch Jacobo, her eyes measuring his face. The old man was suddenly sober. No barroom laugh was forthcoming and he seemed to have forgotten his moustache.

“They have all died,” he said in a somber tone.

“What?”

Jacobo kept his eyes on Sophia, who hadn't uttered a word. “Your friend, he is not only
loco
. He does not believe.”

“He's a man of logic, Jacobo,” Sophia said. “His work requires him to see only what is reasonable.”

“I understand then,” he said.

She smiled at him “What do you understand?”

“I understand why he needs you.”

Winters stood up and extended his hand to the old man. “It's been a pleasure, Jacobo. Let's keep in touch now that we know we're related.”

“Send me a Christmas greeting,” Jacobo said. His voice was as dry as Winters' ever was.

Winters left Sophia to the prolonged good-byes and waited for her in front of the building. No doubt the old guy was trying to get her phone number.

When she joined him, her face was unreadable again, but her walk wasn't.

“You certainly have a way with people,” she said coolly.

“I guess I should have humored the old guy.”

“Or perhaps you should have believed him.” Sophia's eyes flashed as she swept past him to the car. He hurried after her, only because he wouldn't put it past her to drive off without him.

He waited until they were on their way out of town before he said, “Are you telling me
you
believed him?”

“I believe he is passing down what he knows without embarrassment.”

“Just because someone's passing down a family legend doesn't make it true. I heard all my life that George Washington chopped
down a cherry tree and then caved to his old man, but I wouldn't swear it happened.”

She looked at him blankly.

“You wouldn't know about that,” he said. “But you get my point.”

“Yes,” she said. “And no.”

At least the sparkle was back in her eyes. “Look, I don't mean to offend you, Sophia—”

“Then stop doing it.”

“Tell me how I'm doing it.”

“By discounting the spiritual aspect of this. I am not trying to press any of my religious beliefs on you, but I would appreciate your not belittling them.”

“Were we talking about religious beliefs? I'm serious—did I miss something?”

“Do you have dinner plans?” she asked.

“I
know
I missed that.”

“Do you have plans?”

“No.”

“I know a place. If we are still speaking to each other when we arrive, I will buy our meal.”

“And if we aren't?”

“I will take you to your hotel and we will say good-bye.”

“I really did miss something.” Winters gripped the dashboard. “But I'll agree to that on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“You don't kill us before we get there.”

She gave it a minute before she eased off the accelerator.

“Thank you,” he said. “You wanted to say?”

“I wanted to say that I do not think we should discount everything
Jacobo said. There may be some merit to the possibility that the sacred keeping of the journal has been passed down through generations of monks and that they do have some way of recognizing a direct descendant.” Sophia glanced at him. “And that way may very well be from the seeker's motives.”

“I'm listening.”

“Only someone with pure motives should have access to the journal. And who better than a person who has been given a sacred trust to be able to discern that?”

“What possible motives could there be?” Winters watched the tile roofs zip past. She hadn't slowed down much. “I suppose it could be worth a lot of money—but I'm not interested in selling it.”

“What are you interested in?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Why are you on this search?”

My shrink said I needed a hobby?
That wouldn't buy him dinner. And it wasn't true. But the
real
reason suddenly caught in his throat.

“My mother started this,” he said. “She left me a letter asking me to continue the search. It meant something to her—I don't know what—but . . .” Winters spoke more slowly now, “she was like you. She saw something spiritual in it. She said God told her to do it.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I believe she believed it,” Winters said. “And I want to honor that.”

They rode in silence for a few miles. By then the sun was turning the hills to silhouettes.

“Then I don't see that you have much choice but to pursue this,” Sophia said finally. “If it leads nowhere, then you've lost nothing except a little time. But if it proves to be true, think what you will have done for your mother. And for all the rest of us.”

“And my daughter, maybe?”

Sophia glanced at him with a questioning look but didn't ask. He'd never told her anything about himself, much less that he had a daughter. Instead she said, “If God did ask your mother to carry out this mission, there must have been a reason—a reason that still exists or she would not have handed it on to you.”

Winters nodded. “Tell me—how far away is Seville?”

Sophia brought the car to a stop in front of a tiny, tile-topped building. “Four hours.”

“Where are we now?”

She smiled at him. “Dinner.”

Maria had way too much on her mind to sleep on the plane like she had on her first flight to Barcelona, despite the fact that she'd been mysteriously upgraded to first class, where the flight attendants all but rocked the passengers to sleep. Even though her Barcelona experience had started only a few weeks ago, she felt years older than when she began.

At the exit from customs she spotted Elena, just as they'd arranged. Maria grinned and waved but Elena's response was unenthusiastic.

Actually that was an understatement. Her eyes were wide with panic and her face pasty-white. It didn't take long to figure out why, either. Carlos Molina stood no more than six feet behind her.

The Austin voice in Maria's head told her to get back on the plane. A wiser voice told her to pretend not to see him. She went straight to Elena, dropped her bags, and gave her a brief hug, lips close to her ear. “Did you come with him?”

“I would rather be shot. I don't know why he's here. He's acting like he doesn't know me.”

Maria could hear the terror in her voice and she squeezed tighter. “I'll handle him. Just grab my carry-ons and head for the door.”

Elena did exactly as she said, though
fled
for the door would better
describe her exit. When Maria turned to grab her suitcases she found Molina already had them.

The words
Scream and run because you're about to be kidnapped
entered her mind, but Maria inhaled and gave him a smile. “I wasn't expecting you,
Señor
Molina,” she said. “It's a shame you came because I made other arrangements for pickup.”

“
Señor
Tejada instructed me to come.”

Then
Señor
Tejada was going to get a very large piece of her mind. “I'm happy to tell him you followed orders,” Maria said. “Let me take those from you. I need to catch up with my assistant.”

She made a grab for the handles of her roller bags but Molina deftly moved them aside.

“Seriously,” she said. “Elena's getting a cab and I don't want to make them wait.”

“Go, then,” Molina said. “I will take your things to your apartment.”

Maria stopped in mid-grab for one of her bags. “My apartment? No. I have a reservation at the—”

“
Señor
Tejada thought you would be more comfortable in the complex near Catalonia. Three bedrooms, two baths, full kitchen—”

“I'm not settling down here!” Maria reached up to scrape her fingers through her hair. Everything about this was wrong and she had to make it right, or Operation Save Elena was going to be over before it started.

“Tell you what,” she continued. “I'll keep all my belongings with me until I've had a chance to speak with
Señor
Tejada. Then—”

“He has gone out of town for the day.”

“Then I'll call him on his cell phone.”

Molina gave the hint of a smirk and Maria immediately knew why. She didn't have Tejada's cell phone number. That was going on
the list of things she would discuss with him first thing . . .

“All right,” she conceded at last. “I'll go to the apartment, but Elena can take me. What's the address?”

Molina said nothing, either by word or expression. She truly wanted to smack him. But that would get Elena exactly where?

Maria forced a smile once more. “You know what, I get it. You have your orders and if you don't carry them out, it's not going to go well for you with
Señor
Tejada. I imagine he can be a pretty tough boss. Where else are you going to find a great gig like this, right?” She started toward the exit, still talking over her shoulder. “I'll let you take me and my things to the apartment. If
Señor
Tejada is out of town today I'll just use the time to get settled.”

As she moved toward Elena to explain the new plan, she could only imagine what Molina's reaction must have been.