The Columbus Code (34 page)

As Tejada leaned against the armrest of the couch and watched the sunrise through the window, he was struck with a sadness he had not known he could feel. But then the night had brought him one new emotion after another until he could neither speak nor sleep.

“You're awake early,” Maria whispered.

He reached with his arm and folded her to himself. “I've been here since you abandoned me,” he said into her hair.

“Abandoned you? We talked until three in the morning. I gave you my dessert
and
fifteen inches of the couch. What more did you want?”

Tejada tilted her face up to his. “There was a great deal more that I wanted from you.”

“But you didn't ask.”

“What would you have said?”

“I would have said no.”

“That is why I did not ask.”

“Are you sure you're for real?” she asked playfully.

Tejada pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair—hair he had wanted to touch since the day she marched into his office and demanded that he remove his bodyguard. He didn't want to see fear in her eyes. He couldn't bear to see that replace the affection that had warmed them as they told each other of their childhoods—their longings—their quirks. Like two normal people who had every right to fall in love.

Maria wriggled free to look at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head.

“I mean, you've treated me with respect and I appreciate that about you.”

The problem wasn't with what she said, but with the things he now knew to be fact. Whether she was working for her father or
not—and there was no evidence that she had even been in touch with him since before she first came to Spain—he had had to risk having that one night, that one chance to experience what his commitment to the Brotherhood and Abaddon couldn't give. But now it was over and there could be no others.

“You look so sad, Tejada,” Maria said.

“I am. I must leave—on business—and that means I will not be with you. And that—makes—me—sad.” He punctuated each pause with a kiss, although the last one fell on smiling lips.

“And I must go back to my apartment today,” she said. “Because I have things to do to get ready for the week.”

“Do them here. I will not leave until tomorrow.”

“I've run out of clothes.”

“I will buy you new ones.” He stopped, because she stiffened in his arms. “I have said something wrong.”

“Not wrong for you,” she said. “Just wrong for me. We said we would take this slowly. Remember?”

He kissed her forehead to avoid having to look into her doubting eyes. It had to stop here. Before Tejada swept her away from Spain and all he had dedicated his life to.

“I will have a car ready for you,” he said. “But take your time. Enjoy a swim—have breakfast with me. Please.”

“Breakfast,” she said. “And then I'll go.”

She turned but he caught her arm. “Once more,” he whispered. He gathered her up and kissed her, then she turned again in a swirl of hair.

But the righteous one will oppose him and vanquish our enemies forever.

—Christopher Columbus

The car that Jacob Hirsch had arranged to meet Winters and Sophia at the Málaga airport wound through the Alpujarras to an ancient town on the southern slopes of Spain's highest mountain, Mulhacén. By midmorning the sun was blazing bright and hot. Sophia pulled her sunglasses from her bag and put them on. She looked even more beautiful, more mysterious than before.

Winters looked away from her. He couldn't keep doing this. He had to start steeling himself to walk away from her.

“John?”

He closed his eyes and pretended not to hear her. Until she put that warm hand on his arm. No matter how terrified she had been in the last twenty-four hours, she had always been warm. “Yeah?” he said.

She put her fingers to his chin and nudged his face toward her. “I want to know that you will be safe.”

He wanted to lie to her but he knew she wouldn't buy it. “I can't guarantee it,” he said. “Not unless we find out who these people are. Then I'll know what I'm working with.”

“They are Russians,” she said.

His eyes widened, but she shook her head at him. “You did not think I would be listening?”

Winters rubbed his forehead. “I should have known, I guess. And no, I'm not sure the Russians are the ones behind this. Those guys didn't look Russian to me—”

“What did they do to you?”

“Sophia—”

“I have to know how to pray for you.” Her eyes were misty. “I am not a fool, John. I know when you leave me at Casa Aloe I may never see you again. But at least let me pray for you.”

“Hey,” he said. “Come on—of course you can pray for me.”

“Then how?”

Winters groped for something, anything that would take the fear from her face. “I'd like to know who got into my house and hacked into my laptop,” he said. “That'll get us on the track of at least one of the groups of the people who want to . . . That much would help.”

Sophia slipped her hand in his. “You can probably think that out yourself, Agent Winters. I have seen you do it before.” She gave him a wan smile. “You need only to be asked the right questions.”

“So start asking,” he said.

“Perhaps this person was not an intruder,” she said. “He could have been someone you allowed into your home. Do you have a housekeeper?”

“You're kidding, right?”

“People who repair things.”

“The place is in a state of total
dis
repair.”

“Anyone who has come to visit since—how long?”

“Four months. I don't do much entertaining,” he said drily. “Donleavy comes over every couple of weeks for beer and pizza. He was there more often when my brother, Ben, was in town. Probably to keep me from killing him.” Winters pressed her hands. “I'm kidding.
The kid drives me nuts, but I'd never actually do him in—” He noticed the look on her face. “Sophia, what?”

She moved her hand from his and turned away. Winters reached for her and leaned close. “Hey. Say it. What's wrong?”

“No,” she said. “If it is to be said, you have to be the one.”

He stared at her a moment before the realization dawned on him. His first impulse was to tell her she was out of her mind. Except that he couldn't.

Ben had been at the house.

Ben could be talked into anything if he thought it meant a chance to have the life of intrigue he thought Winters had. If someone told him it was a test for getting into the Secret Service, he would have sold Winters to the Russians without a second thought. He wanted to be a Secret Agent Man.

“SAM,” he said. “Secret Agent Man.”

Sophia looked puzzled. “I'm sorry?”

“SAM. Secret Agent Man. That's what my brother, Ben, used to call me. I need to borrow that phone again.”

“I'm sorry,” she said as she pressed it into his hand. “But it seemed obvious when you were talking. He was the only one unaccounted for.”

“We don't know for sure it was him,” Winters said. But even as the words left his mouth he knew. He knew.

Maria kept her expression serene and her eyes hidden behind sunglasses until she was inside the apartment—at which point she leaned against the door, slid to the floor, and sobbed.

She had promised Austin she would be careful. She'd sworn to Taylor Donleavy that she would protect herself from Carlos Molina. But she hadn't guarded her heart and now Emilio Tejada wanted to take it from her.

If she was honest, she wanted to give it to him. Ignore the possibility that he knew what Molina had done to Elena—that he was aware of Molina's secret dealings with the CIA and his suspicious meetings with men in alleys and restaurant kitchens. Aware of them . . . or behind them.

Maria crawled to the couch and sank her face in the cushions. How could that possibly be, after what she'd felt with him last night? But there was no way she could ever suggest to him that Carlos Molina couldn't be trusted. Or tell him that she hadn't trusted
him
.

Because she was afraid to be right.

Even now, she was terrified to listen to what might have transpired in Tejada's office yesterday, or in his study after she'd left. The study where she had let herself dream for a few hours that loving Tejada could be a possibility.

Maria stared across the room at the briefcase that held the laptop that held the answers. If she erased it all, called Austin, and told him to make her a plane reservation, maybe she could go home and get back to her life.

Except for Elena.

Maria had promised her that justice would be done. This wasn't the way she'd imagined it when she made that vow—but now it was the only way.

Reluctantly, she retrieved the briefcase and set up the computer on the kitchen table. While it came on, she made a cup of tea, then slipped in the earbuds and clicked on the eavesdropping program.

Just as before, the banter between Tejada and Molina was
in Spanish—though this time that was less a frustration than a relief. Maybe it would be better if she never knew whether Tejada was involved . . .

Suddenly the voices stopped and all she heard was static. Loud static. Maria yanked out one earbud, but before she could pull the other one loose the line cleared and Molina's voice came through, growling in English.

“Farsoun's attack was unsuccessful.”

“Completely?” Tejada said. His voice was taut but controlled.

“He and the Conte woman are still at large.”

Maria sank into the chair and pressed the earbud back in. She had no idea who they were talking about.
They finally speak English
, she thought,
just to go on about people who have nothing to do with Elena
. She'd give it five minutes.

“And they still have possession of the documents?” Tejada asked.

“They do,” Molina answered. “It might help us track them if I knew what these documents are.”

A pause ensued for so long Maria checked to make sure she was still connected. When Tejada finally spoke, she could hear the reservation in his voice. The thought that she knew him that well stabbed at her.

“They have stolen the personal journal kept by Christopher Columbus,” Tejada said.

“And this is important to us how?”

For once Maria was thinking along the same line as Molina. What was with everyone and the sudden interest in Christopher Columbus? First Uncle David, then
Abuela
, and now Tejada. Maria took a sip of tea. She might as well get comfortable if they were going to entertain her.

“It could reveal the plan to those who should not see it,” Tejada said. Each word was measured and precise. “You know what that means for
us. My orders still stand. You must personally locate Agent Winters and the Conte woman and do what you have to do to get that journal.”

The teacup fell from Maria's hands and shattered on the floor.

“Whatever it takes,” Molina repeated.

“But hear me on this.” Tejada's voice dropped, as if he were whispering into her face. “Bring Maria to me.”