The Columbus Code (23 page)

Maria shook her head. “I need to process this, that's all. We weren't close, but . . . she was
mowed down
. I need to wrap my mind around it.” She glanced in his direction. “Alone.”

“Will you call someone? Family?”

Who? Mom was gone.
Abuela
was gone. Her father was unreachable. Uncle Ben was useless. If Tejada would just go, she could call Austin.

“I'll be fine,” she said. “Thank you for telling me yourself.”

She waited for him to leave but he remained right where he'd
been. And now his eyes expressed concern. “We have begun a search for Elena's family,” he said. “But so far we have come up with nothing—no relatives, not even distant ones. Do you know whom we should contact?”

“We?” Maria asked.

“We have asked for her body to be turned over to us so that we can take care of arrangements, assuming no next of kin step forward.”

The realization of Elena's circumstances swept over her. No one from her past knew where she was—or who she was now. “I didn't know her well enough to find out about her family,” Maria replied. That was true. Elena's family in Madrid wouldn't know about her either. This person named Elena Soler did not exist for them. She was gone and there was no one to care.

No one except Maria.

“What kind of memorial service do you think Elena would want?” Tejada asked.

“I'll think about it,” Maria answered. “But like I said, I just didn't know her that well.”

“I understand. If you need anything, anything at all, please call me. This is my cell phone number.” He placed a card on the glass-topped coffee table. “Do you need time off tomorrow?”

“No,” Maria said. “I'll be alright.”

Finally, he touched her lightly on the shoulder, turned toward the door, and made his way out. When she heard the elevator close, she ran to the door and turned the dead bolt. Because suddenly, she was terrified. The long, thin wail of a faraway siren drew nearer and nearer, more and more alarming until it was screaming into the room. Maria was on her knees on the floor before she realized it wasn't a siren at all, but her own mournful cries.

Those in Barcelona blocked me at every turn. But then my friend Gaspar Gorricio, who was well acquainted with the monarchy and many others, approached the king and queen on my behalf. Unable to deny his appeal, they agreed to fund two boats. The other I must procure myself, and so I turned to a group of Jewish investors living in Valladolid. Although not as wealthy as the men of Barcelona, they were nevertheless quite capable of funding my expedition.

Two of them, two members of this group whose names I shall not mention, were reluctant to participate and because of them the rest hesitated. In response, I asked to meet with those two separately and explain myself as to the meaning and purpose of this undertaking.

—Christopher Columbus

Locating the former Santa Maria de las Cuevas monastery wasn't difficult. Old Jacobo was right. It was a national historic site—complete with a tour Winters wanted to skip, but Sophia insisted they take.

The tour guide pointed vaguely to various books and artifacts and droned on about the Moors occupying Spain. And, just as with every other Catholic site he'd ever heard of, an image of the Virgin Mary had appeared to someone—this one in one of the many caves below. Hence the name, Saint Mary of the Caves.

According to their guide, the government seized the property during
La Desamortización
and it was later purchased by a man who was in the pottery business. The guide's face lit up when she invited them to visit the museum of tiles in an adjacent building. Winters silently vowed that if Sophia tried to drag him there, he would bolt for the border.

“That would be lovely,” Sophia said.

Grrr. . . .

“But I have a question.”

The tour guide sighed and waited impatiently.

“What happened to the monks?” Sophia asked.

The answer came in spurts. “Most went to monasteries elsewhere . . . became local priests . . . melded into society.”

“Was there a library? Any records?”

A strange look came into the guide's eyes.

“They were taken to a church in Toledo,” she replied. “
Santa Maria la Blanca
.”

Winters felt a trip to Toledo coming on, although he hoped it wasn't happening that day. It had already taken them over four hours to get to Seville.

“Thank you so much for your time,” Sophia said. “May we look around?”

The guide looked pleased to have completed the tour, although she couldn't have been as happy as Winters.

“If you're going to look at tiles,” he said to Sophia when the guide was gone, “I'll meet you at the—”

“We didn't come to see tiles,” Sophia said. “But I have a feeling there's something else here.”

She was already headed toward the entrance area. Winters followed but instead of leaving the building, she turned down a broad hallway, lined on either side with rooms that had been refurbished to look like fifteenth-century monks' quarters.

“It wasn't the Ritz-Carlton,” Winters observed.

“I'm going to give you a quick history lesson,” Sophia said as she continued quickly up the hallway. “You heard the guide talking about
La Desamortización
.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That was a series of decrees issued by the prime minister, Juan Álvarez Mendizábal, who was also prime minister during the Carlist Rebellion—which started in the first half of the nineteenth century—about the time your family left here and went to America.”

“Good to know, I guess.”

“By Mendizábal's decrees, most of the monasteries in Spain were seized by the government and sold to private owners. That is how the tile factory came to be at this location.

“What about those caves she said we are on top of?”

“Those were used during the rebellion. For hiding.”

Sophia stopped when they came to a stairway that plunged down into the darkness below the monastery. She looked at him with a mischievous smile. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“You know,” she said with a knowing look and a nod toward the stairway.

“You think that's where old Gaspar may have hi—”

“John,” she whispered in a teasing way. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

“No,” he said, glancing around the empty hallway. “But let me go first.”

“I am glad to.”

Winters led the way down the steps and soon found it wasn't as dark as it appeared from the top. At the base of the stairs, they followed the hallway past more reproductions of monk cells until they came to a doorway leading to yet another dank stairway. The entrance was blocked by a steel gate fastened with a heavy padlock. Winters held it in his hand and looked it over. He could easily pick it open with a paper clip or hairpin.

“Well,” Sophia sighed. “It was a good idea.”

“I can open it,” Winters offered.

“I don't think you should,” Sophia said. “Would this be a good time to tell you that I am claustrophobic?”

“Ha,” Winters laughed. “Have I finally discovered something
that daunts you?” He grinned at her. “How did you like that word—‘daunts'—pretty impressive?”

A voice behind them interrupted. “This area is off-limits to visitors.”

Sophia jumped. Winters kept his cool as he turned to face a man wearing a security uniform.

“Sorry,” Winters said. “We got a little lost. This place is like a labyrinth—”

“Allow me to guide you to the visitors' area,” the guard offered.

Winters would have told the guy to get a grip, but he felt Sophia's hand curl around his arm. “Lead the way,” he said with a smile.

They followed the guard back to the ground floor and over to the entrance. He gestured toward the doorway and Winters escorted Sophia outside to the parking lot.

“I suppose he just threw us out,” Winters noted.

“That was unnerving,” she replied.

“The guard?” Winters asked.

“The whole place,” she said. “It disturbs me. We should leave at once.”

“
Now
you're daunted,” Winters teased.

“Yes,” she replied. “Take me to the car.”

“You want to go to Toledo next, right?” Winters asked as they made their way across the parking lot.

“You read my mind,” Sophia said.

“Let's not do that tonight,” Winters suggested in a kind voice. “How about I get us a couple of rooms, we have a nice dinner, and then head out in the morning?”

“I like the way you think, John Winters.” She took his arm. “And over dinner, I would like you to tell me what it is you do in the United States.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what line of work makes you think you can pick a lock and stare down a security guard as if it is nothing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know.” She took the car keys from her clutch bag. “And now it is time to tell me.”

Staying busy was the key to getting through this, Maria told herself. If she sat and thought too much, she conjured up images of sweet Elena's body flying through the air while hundreds of people watched. Hundreds of people who so far couldn't lead either the Barcelona police or the Catalonia investigative team to the killer.

The deliberate killer.

She had called her father's number for four straight hours and then resorted to Taylor Donleavy. He answered, finally, and it took fifteen minutes to fill him in on who she was and all that had happened. By then she was too wound up to stay in the apartment any longer so as she continued to talk, she made her way down to the street.

“Don't tell me to contact the police, Donleavy,” she said. “I don't think I can trust anybody here right now.”

“Wasn't going to,” he replied. “Have you always been as paranoid as your old man?”

“I think I have reason to be,” she replied.

“I guess you do.”

“So, can you tell me what to do?”

“The first thing you need to do is buy a disposable phone. One with international access.”

“Where can I get one?”

“Any electronics store . . .” Donleavy let his words trail off and started over with a tone that didn't sound like,
Anybody knows that
. “Find a store in a phone book, okay? And from now on, don't use your laptop for anything but work.”

Maria knew that should be scaring her, but the fact that he was taking her seriously was reassuring.

“We have to make sure they don't know you're onto them,” Donleavy continued. “And you'll need to check for bugs in your apartment
and
your office.”

“Bugs?”

“We're not talking roaches here.”

“What do they look like?”

“Maybe a small rectangle, no longer than your thumb. They can be stuck anywhere, so be thorough. And check the phone too.”

“How do I do that?”

“Unscrew the cover off the mouthpiece if you can.”

“I don't use the apartment phone.”

“You don't have to. The right device can allow it to hear anything in the room, whether you use the phone for calls or not.”

“I can't believe this is happening to me,” Maria sighed.

“I know,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “But it's important. You have to do it. Call me when you get the new cell and do your sweep.”

“I'll call you,” she said and she ended the call.

After talking to Donleavy, Maria felt more hopeful, although she never let her guard down. And there was no sleeping that first night.

So after the sun came up, she took a cab to the nearest electronics store and bought a phone, then she called Austin as she walked toward the office. He didn't answer but she left a simple message. “Nine-one-one, Austin. Nine-one-one.”

She hadn't walked a block farther before he called her back. The moment she heard his voice, her eyes filled with tears.