The Columbus Code (22 page)

Tejada rarely dreaded meeting with Abaddon. On the contrary, since the age of twelve he had savored his visits the way other boys enjoyed playing
fútbol
and practicing their budding machismo on young girls. From adolescence through his adult years, he had decided nothing without Lord Abaddon's personal counsel. His leadership among his friends, his strict, grueling education, the relationships with women that could never go far, his rise to power at Catalonia, all of it had transpired with the wisdom of his Master in his head if not in his physical ear. That had always been Tejada's joy, particularly after Abaddon began to groom him to take his seat when the day came that he could no longer lead the Brotherhood. And that day was almost here.

As Tejada's car made the final descent into El Masnou the joy and
the savoring turned to dread. He was not bringing good news, and far worse, he was certain Abaddon already knew that.

The day was overcast and the sun gave no promise of appearing. Tejada found Abaddon seated on the balcony off his office. Despite the lack of light, he wore his gray hood pulled down over his forehead and sat in his straight-backed chair facing away from the windows. His greeting to Tejada, however, was strong and unusually friendly.

That drove Tejada's sense of uneasiness even deeper.

Their ritual greeting completed, Tejada reached for a cushion from a nearby chair to take his place on the floor, but Abaddon shook his head and pointed to the chair itself. Tejada lowered himself into it.

“I think we will see eye to eye today, Emilio,” Abaddon said.

Tejada had no idea how to respond to that so he simply nodded.

“Has the attempt to pull all the leading nations together on a common currency been successful?”

“Not yet,” Tejada replied.

“Do you believe the US debt default will be enough to force any of the reluctant nations to change their minds?”

“That was part of the original plan that you—”

“Do you believe it?”

“I did,” Tejada said.

“But now you have doubts.”

“I am not as certain as I once was. Though it has not come to a vote in the American Congress.”

Abaddon's eyes rested on him. “But you would like to wait and see what happens there.”

“I would.” Tejada nodded. “But if you think it is pointless, there is no reason to continue.”

Abaddon held up his hand. “It is not pointless. What you have
set up will not go as planned, but it will serve its purpose.” Abaddon lowered his hand and rested it in his lap. His eyes fixed on Tejada.

Though the plan was a long shot, Tejada had always hoped it would work and that events would not lead them to this point. And yet now, it seemed as though it always had been inevitable and so he asked, “Why, Lord Abaddon? Why put us through these paces if they were for naught?”

Abaddon leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Because there was no other way you would accept this, Emilio. You had to know there was no alternative. There is still a softness in you—a softness that has been the Achilles' heel of many before you. But the time is
now
and you must have only strength. No weakness at all.”

His voice, thin and raspy until that moment, struck Tejada with a force that knocked him backward.

Abaddon leaned back in the chair. “Have you set things in motion?”

“Yes, Lord Abaddon.”

“I will allow you to wait until one more task has been completed.”

“What would you have me do?”

“It is not for you to do.” Abaddon's voice was calm but he moved restlessly in his chair. “I want you to know about it nevertheless. We must make certain that when this thing is done and the Brotherhood has taken its rightful place—we must be sure that nothing exists to contaminate it.”

“What could that possibly be? The line from the ancestors through you to me is pure.”

“So I have always thought.” The old eyes flashed. “But I sense the approach of someone else from our ancestral line.”

Tejada arched an eyebrow in a questioning look.

“Yes.” Abaddon nodded. “There are many secrets buried in the past, things even I do not fully know. Rumors of documents that have been hidden for centuries. These are the things that can destroy us if we do not discover them . . . before someone else does.”

“And that is the task that must be completed? Destroying this person before he destroys us?”

“But perhaps not before he leads us to the secrets.”

Tejada was incredulous. “Secrets
you
have not been able to uncover?”

“I will! Be sure of that!”

Abaddon leaned forward once more and erupted in spasmodic coughing. Tejada resisted the urge to reach for him or offer him water. As he waited for Abaddon to recover, his mind quickly reviewed what they had discussed.

This question of another heir had never come up before. This idea that someone else was in their line, someone who was not a member of the Brotherhood, someone who could “contaminate” the purity of a body that had spent centuries preparing to accomplish what Jacobo-Franscisco Eduardo Fitz-James Stuart y Colón, and Admiral Columbus before him, had believed in. To assemble a one-world government capable of marshaling resources and assets on a global scale.

“This task has been put in the hands of others.” Abaddon said, finally. “But you, Emilio, must stay alert. Pay attention. The stakes are rising every day.”

Tejada recognized his dismissal. Usually he wanted to linger in the presence of this man whose wisdom he lived on, but today he could not escape quickly enough.

Molina hadn't been exaggerating about the size and scope of the apartment Catalonia had provided for her. The spacious digs could have been advertised as a luxurious executive suite, complete with a Jacuzzi and a seemingly endless view of the coastline. The master bedroom featured a raised-platform bed and a fully equipped wet bar.

Maria looked the place over, then opted for one of the smaller bedrooms that didn't scream,
This was made for seduction!

She wished the third bedroom could be Elena's, but when they'd finally connected that afternoon Elena insisted again that they keep everything as it was.

“It has to look like I'm just your assistant and nothing more,” she'd said tearfully when they met for lunch. “Molina mustn't suspect that we're close enough for me to tell you anything personal.”

Maria hadn't told Elena, but in the car driving from the airport to the apartment, Molina had spent more time watching them in the rearview mirror than he had paying attention to the traffic. That was just one of about five thousand reasons she'd leapt from the car when they arrived. Better to keep that to herself for now.

“Let's meet for coffee at seven thirty tomorrow,” Maria had said.
“We'll walk over to Catalonia together. Meanwhile, I've already heard from Austin.”

Elena's face brightened for the first time since Maria had arrived.

“He has a line on a good attorney. And my priest friend I was telling you about has a safe house for you until we can get you reconnected to the justice system.”

Elena stared at the cheese croquettes that had grown cold on her plate. “Do you really think you can get me out of Spain without . . . him knowing?” She looked over at Maria. “He knows everything.”

“I know people,” Maria said. That part was true. Her father had connections. She reached across the table and squeezed Elena's hand. “They're going to help us.” That part wasn't exactly true, at least not so far. No one else but Austin knew what she was trying to do.

Elena withdrew her hand. “I'm never going to be able to repay you for this.”

“Who says you have to? Your freedom will be payment enough for me.”

Their gazes met. The fear had all but dissolved from Elena's eyes.

Maria pictured those eyes now as she wandered from the bedroom through the finely appointed dining room she was never going to use and into the kitchen where she'd set up her laptop on the table. It was the only cozy room in the place and she needed cozy for what she was doing.

En route from Washington she had reviewed her notes from the Schlesinger-Molina conversation. What was she missing? Just before landing, she scrolled down below the bottom of the list—and there it was—Jason Elliot. An agent. For the CIA?

Maria sat at the computer and Googled his name. It was ridiculous, of course. The CIA wasn't going to publish a list of its agents.
She'd been lucky to find out what she had about Schlesinger. And even if she heard the name correctly from their conversation, wouldn't that name be an alias?

She shook her head. Her body screamed for sleep but she wanted to see what she could learn, now, while it was fresh on her mind. Maybe tomorrow she'd hear from her dad or Taylor Donleavy and she could ask them for help. Actually, if she didn't receive word from her father, she was going to call the Secret Service office in San Francisco. Even if he couldn't help her with this, she'd at least like to know he was alive.

In fact, maybe she should do that now.

As Maria picked up the phone, it rang in her hand. The sound of it startled her and she jumped, sending the phone tumbling across the counter. She retrieved it and took the call without bothering to check the caller's number.

“Maria Winters,” she said in a businesslike tone.

“Maria.”

She recognized Tejada's voice immediately.

Her first impulse was to snap at him.
Why in the world did you send Molina to meet me at the airport?
But something in the way he spoke made her ask simply, “Is everything okay?”

“I'm afraid not,” Tejada replied. “May I speak with you privately?”

“Here? In the apartment?” Maria knew she wasn't making any sense but then, neither was he. Nine o'clock at night and he wanted to visit her? “What's going on?”

“I have some bad news I would rather bring to you in person.”

“Then I'll meet you somewhere.”

“Maria. Please,” he insisted.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “How soon will you be here?”

“I am just down the hallway.”

The phone went dead and seconds later a light tap sounded on the door. Her heart sank as she slid from the kitchen stool, made her way to the door, and peered through the peephole. No Louis. No Molina. Just Tejada.

Maria opened the door and Tejada stepped inside. His face was grim and his pace determined as he made his way past her. He was as formal and reserved as ever, but there was something warm in it this time that had been missing before.

Maria folded her arms tight across her midriff as he faced her.

“You should sit down,” he said.

“No,” she said. “Just tell me.” His eyes conveyed distress and he seemed to want to reach for her, but she took a step back. “Just tell me,” she insisted. “Is it Snowden?”

“No,” Tejada said. “It is
Señorita
Soler.”

Maria frowned. “Elena?”

He nodded. “There was an accident. She was crossing the street this afternoon and apparently she didn't see the car—”

“She's hurt?”

“Maria,” he said, lowering his voice. “Elena is dead.”

The air went dead, too, and Maria turned away.

“I am truly sorry,” Tejada continued. “I know you worked together. You were a team, yes?”

His voice was solid, deep, and filled with compassion. But Maria fought to make some sense of what still hung in the air.
Elena is dead
.

She drew in a deep breath. “How do you know this?” she asked.

“A news report,” he replied. “I keep myself apprised of what is happening in the city, especially around Catalonia. It happened only a few blocks away, outside of Teresa Carles.”

Where they'd had lunch. A chill ran through Maria's body. “What time?”

“Around three o'clock. The lunchtime traffic would have been heavy then.”

“What about the driver? Did he say what happened?”

Tejada stared at her.

“What did he say?” she repeated.

“The driver did not stop,” Tejada said.

“A hit-and-run?”

“The worst kind of cowardice. The Barcelona police are looking for the driver, of course, and I have initiated a full-scale investigation myself. Our employees cannot be run down in the street without justice being served.”

“Who's in charge of your investigation?” Maria was surprised at the evenness of her voice.

“I have a team of people who handle such matters,” Tejada explained. “Not that we have ever had anything nearly this tragic before.”

Tejada stepped closer. “What can I do for you? You are far from home. None of your associates are here. I know you thought highly of her. What can I do to help you through this?”

Tell me you aren't behind it. That would help
. Because he was right—she had no one here to turn to for comfort—and his arms looked so strong.