The Columbus Code (33 page)

By late that afternoon Tejada still hadn't returned to the house and Maria was frazzled from pretending for the benefit of the staff that she was “retreating.” It was time to go back to her apartment and she was gathering her things from the bedroom when a knock sounded at the door. The maid had been trying to ply her with lunch, tea, and wine all day and Maria was ready to pay her to leave her alone. “I don't need anything, thank you,” she called out.

But the thought occurred to her that the woman could be useful. She crossed the room hurriedly and said through the closed door, “Would you call a taxi for me,
por favor
?”

“Maria,” a male voice replied, “it's me.”

Tejada sounded solemn, if not grim, and the pressure in her chest made it almost impossible to breathe. He'd found the bug and traced it to her. She knew it. Molina was onto her and had reported to him. She was going to be dragged into the street and run over by Louis.

“Maria?”

Okay—she was freaking out.

She tossed her hair back and opened the door. Tejada stood with one hand high on the doorjamb and the other poised to knock again. He had a serious expression but he wasn't angry and he seemed to be studying her intently.

Desperate
. That was how he seemed. But it was not a word she would ever have used to describe him before and it was the only thing that kept her from ducking under his arm and fleeing.

“Something's wrong,” Maria said. “How can I help?”

“By staying. Please do not go.”

“I can stay for a little while, if you need me.”

“Dinner is being prepared. I would like to share it with you, in a private room where we can speak freely.”

“I suggest your study,” Maria said. “It is my favorite room in your house.”

If the request seemed odd to him, he didn't so much as flinch. “Shall we go there now?”

Maria nodded and picked up the briefcase she had set at her feet. Tejada glanced at it. “I'd like to keep it with me in case I need any of my files when we're talking.”

“You will not need it,” he said.

But as he offered her his arm, she shifted the case to her other hand and carried it with her anyway.

A supper of
escalivada
, chicken with raisins and pine nuts, and
crema catalana
arrived in the study shortly after Tejada and Maria entered. Servants rolled it into the room on a table already set for them. When the servants were gone, Tejada leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin in a contemplative pose, and studied her face once more. She was so sure this had been a bad idea she almost bolted. And yet there was something about that look that made leaving as impossible as staying.

“You are a bright woman,” Tejada said after a moment.

“Thank you,” Maria replied. “But why doesn't that sound like a good thing right now?”

“You see?” A smile danced through his eyes. “I can hide nothing from you. What troubles me is whether you can hide things from me.”

“I haven't told you absolutely everything about myself,” Maria said carefully. “But I don't consider that ‘hiding.'”

“Nor do I. In fact, I savor the process of discovery.”

Tejada pushed his untouched plate aside, placed his elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hands. It was a vulnerable position for anyone but it looked almost submissive on Tejada, and Maria had to force herself not to reach across the table and cup his face. What was happening to her?

“This is difficult,” he said.

“Just say it, Tejada.”

“I have feelings for you,” he said. The words hung between them. “And I must know if you share those feelings, Maria. It is important that I know.”

Important? That seemed far from the right word.
Vital
fit better—as if something far beyond her depended on it. When she didn't respond immediately, he leaned back in the chair once more. “And I suppose your silence is my answer,” he said.

Maria frowned. “Come
on
, Tejada,” she lamented. “You can't just say that to me out of nowhere and not give me a minute.”

He rose from the table and moved to the window, where he stared out on the city below.

“Really?” Maria stood and tossed the napkin on the table. “You're not even going to give me a chance to answer?” She started across the room toward him “Because if you have that much pride, then you can—”

Maria stopped in midsentence as Tejada turned to face her. He slipped his arms around her waist, squeezed her close, and pressed
his lips to hers, firm and full. And by then, she didn't want to resist.

After a moment, he leaned away from her just enough to ask, “What would you say, Maria, if I gave you a chance? Would you say you have no feelings for me?”

“I would not say no,” Maria replied.

Tejada smiled and pulled her close once more.

I have intel,” Donleavy said. “You sure this is a secure line?”

Winters wasn't sure of anything at this point, but he said yes, just to keep the conversation moving. Sophia was in the shower, which gave him limited time. She'd been upset when she awakened but a phone call from Hirsch had calmed her. Apparently he still “knew people” and had arranged for both of them to leave the next morning from a private airport near Masada. From there Sophia would go to a house she sometimes used for spiritual retreats, not far from Málaga.
If
they made it to the plane without trouble from—whom? That, he hoped, was what Donleavy was about to tell him.

“What did you find out?” Winters asked.

“Satellite images are a beautiful thing. The satellite is positioned in a geosynchronous orbit that keeps it permanently in place over the Middle East.”

“Donleavy.”

“Right. I also have files from satellites that circle the globe once every twenty-four hours but in orbits that brought them over the region at the time you two were attacked.”

Winters tightened his jaw. “Bottom line, pal, we're running out of time.”

“Okay, I got an image of the three cars and then frames of the
other two cars leaving the scene. They went into the neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah and pulled into a house behind Saint John of Jerusalem Eye Hospital.” Donleavy gave a heavy sigh. “If I give you the address, you're gonna go there, aren't you?”

“I haven't lost it completely, Donleavy. Can you tell me anything about the guys who attacked us?”

“Couldn't get faces—we're not that good yet—but I did get some intel on the house. It's owned by a corporation called Belgium Continental.”

“Belgium. That doesn't make any sense.”

An uneasy silence.

“What?” Winters asked.

“This is probably nothing. Probably a coincidence.”

“What is?”

“Belgium Continental was recently acquired by Catalonia Financial.”

“Why is that name familiar?”

“Because it's the conglomerate Maria is working with right now. But don't flip out.” Donleavy talked faster. “It's a huge corporation with business interests all over the world. It might not have anything to do with Maria. She hasn't told them who you are—”

“She doesn't have to. When was the last time you heard from her?”

“Yesterday morning. But something else makes me think this doesn't have anything to do with Maria.”

“I'm hanging up,” Winters said. “I have to call her.”

“You don't have her number. She's using a burn phone. Listen to me.”

Winters wasn't sure he could. His pulse pounded in his ears.

“This thing with your laptop,” Donleavy said. “Somebody did tamper with it. Whoever it was loaded a program onto it called Eye of Horus—it's used in industrial espionage and domestic surveillance. It takes control of the built-in camera and microphone to monitor your activity.”

“You are not serious.”

“They—whoever they are—got four months' worth of audio and video files, along with mirror images of all e-mails. The good news is that whoever infiltrated your laptop wasn't able to corrupt your phone, although they could overhear the calls you made on it when you were near your laptop. I can explain how—”

“How did they get the program on there? I either had my laptop with me or it was secured at home.”

“Evidently somebody got into your place—probably the same person in the e-mails. Now that I'm thinking about it, S.A.M. was probably you.”

“I don't get the connection. Besides, who do I know besides you who could pull that off? I don't have that many friends who are geeks.”

“You don't have that many friends period.” Donleavy snickered. “And it doesn't take a computer genius to do something like this. Remember those e-mails I told you about—the ones that said ‘all you have to do is insert a flash drive into the USB port.' I checked your activity logs. That's how they did it.”

“All right.” Winters felt anxiety rising in his gut. The shower was off, which meant any minute Sophia would come out of the bathroom. “What did they use all that stuff for? Do you know?”

“Oh, yeah. It was the Russians, man.”

“The Russians.”

“They probably didn't plant the program directly. They don't work that way. But with the information collected from your laptop, they knew we were coming that day.”

Winters' mind spun. “Why didn't they just leave?”

“Money was on the line. The day we went over there, they were already running the transaction program. If they had just shut it down and hit the road, they would not have had time to complete the transactions. That would have left a lot of money on the table.”

“They took me hostage so they could stay there until the transactions were complete?”

“Yeah.”

Winters listened for sounds from the bathroom. The water was running in the sink. “I just need to know who was behind it,” he whispered into the phone. “And I need to know if there's a connection between that and what's happening here.”

“I'm still working on that. Both of these are pretty elaborate schemes. Someone else had to be involved besides the thugs who attacked you and Sophia, and whoever hacked into your laptop wasn't working alone.”

“Okay. You'll keep working on it?”

“You know it. And listen, I'll take care of Maria. You take care of yourself and Sophia.”

“Deal,” Winters said. But as he hung up, he wasn't sure how he was going to hold up his end of it.

“You should rest,” a voice said from behind him.

Winters turned to face Sophia, who stood in the bathroom doorway wearing the same clothes she'd worn earlier, yet looking as fresh as she had the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. “Really, John,” she said insistently. “We have hours until we leave. Lie down. I am fine now.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn't be able to sleep. And we need to talk through what's going to happen next.”

She had a quizzical look. “Is there something that you are not telling me?”

There were many things he wasn't telling her, but none of it seemed to matter. These would be their last hours together and he wasn't about to sleep them away. He rose from the chair where he'd been sitting and crossed the room toward her.