The Columbus Code (41 page)

“Where did you pick up the case, Ben?” Winters asked.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I think the same people who set you up to
bomb
Wall Street have taken Maria. You say you want your chance? Here it is. Tell me where they are.”

As they emerged onto Broadway, the silver SUV nosed to a stop right in front of them. Winters slammed Ben against the passenger side. His head thudded on the glass and Winters leaned in close. “You tell me now. Or I'll leave you in this alley and you can take the fall for everything.” When Ben didn't respond, Winters shoved him again. “Are we clear?”

“I got it in the parking garage. At the law firm.”

Winters frowned. “What law firm?”

“Gump whatever. I don't remember the name.”

“Gump, Snowden and Meir?”

“Yeah! That's it. They told me to meet them there. In the parking garage. That's where I got it.”

Winters stuck his head into the SUV. “Al, you mind babysitting my brother while I borrow your car?”

“I was just going to suggest that,” Al said.

Louis parked himself in a chair across the table from Maria and popped open a can of Coke. He shoved a second one toward her, but she shook her head.

“I don't drink with people who kidnap me,” Maria snarled.

Louis took a sip of Coke but didn't answer.

She'd never been able to figure out whether he actually spoke English. He definitely understood the universal language of fingernails down the cheeks. She noted with some satisfaction the angry claw marks on his face. But she had to hand it to him, though. He hadn't even blinked.

“So what are you, stoic?” she asked.

He stared at her a moment, then turned away.

“That answers that question.” She shifted positions in the chair. “Here's another one. What are we doing here? Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?”

“We are waiting,” Louis said at last.

Maria grinned. “So you do speak. Who are we waiting for?”

Louis took another sip from the can.

“If you tell me we're waiting on Molina, I'm going to beg you to just put that gun to my head right now.”

Louis just looked at her. And from the set of his jaw, she knew she wasn't getting any more information from him.

The room in which they sat was more like a vault, and she'd never known about it. After nine months with the firm she didn't even know it existed. Of course, there was a lot she didn't know—like the fact that Bill Snowden was in league with terrorists. But she couldn't go there, because from that place her mind went straight to Tejada—and she was still finding it hard to believe that he would mastermind an attack like the one her father was trying to stop. Shrewd, underhanded business deals—that she could see. But this . . . from the man she'd almost fallen in love with?

No. Don't go there
, she told herself.
Not even for a moment
.

Trying to appear bored, Maria slid low in the chair and glanced around once more. No windows. No sound. In a basement she hadn't known existed. One door, with a handle like ones she'd seen in banks. No other furniture except the round metal table where they sat. And only two chairs, both with hard plastic seats. Nothing on the stark white walls. Gray concrete floor.

Maria let her head fall over the back of the chair and peered at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Rows of fluorescent lights were no help. There must be a ventilation system. The chill she felt had to be coming from someplace besides her own fear.

After a moment she located a vent, on the ceiling above the door. It was just about big enough for her to crawl through. If she had a screwdriver to take off the cover. If she had a way to get up there. If Louis were unconscious on the floor.

She sat up and watched him crumple the can with one hand. Okay, so much for that idea.

Her only chance was to get out the next time that door opened, and the only way to do that was to divert everyone involved. But
if “everyone” included Molina, she would be out of luck. She'd gotten away from him once, and he wouldn't let that happen again, no matter what instructions Tejada had given him. She could only hope Molina wasn't coming. But then, if it wasn't him, who were they waiting for?

Maria pulled the Coke can to her and rolled it between her hands. “So why the change of plans, Louis? Why you instead of Molina?”

Louis stared at the crumpled can, but did not reply.

“Well,” Maria said, “I'm glad we have this opportunity for a chat because I've always wanted to make sure there are no hard feelings about me not wanting you as a bodyguard. The thing is, I didn't want anybody. I thought I could take care of myself.” She shrugged. “Looks like I was wrong, huh?”

“
Señor
Tejada's orders.”

“I'm sorry?”

“
Señor
Tejada sent me for you.”

Interesting. Maria leaned on the table. “So what's Molina up to, then?”

Louis shook his head. He actually looked—uneasy?

“Whatever it is, you don't like it. Right?”

No answer.

“Or do you just not like Molina, period?” She leaned in further. “I'm right there with you on that one, Louis. I personally can't stand the guy. He's rude, boorish—truculent.”

Louis looked at her quickly and then glanced away.

“Truculent,” Maria said. “It means, like, combative. That doesn't help you, does it? Okay—he turns everything into an excuse to be violent, know what I mean?”

Louis nodded.

“That's why Tejada sent you instead of Molina. Because he knew
Molina wouldn't be able to resist knocking me around, no matter what Tejada ordered.” Maria leaned back in the chair and hugged her knees into her chest. “You, on the other hand, won't lay a finger on me if that's what Tejada told you. I'm right, aren't I?”

Louis nodded again.

“But you can see how I'd be concerned, right? If Molina is coming, I have a problem. You get that?”

“No problem.”

“You're going to protect me from Molina.”

“
Sí
.” Louis nodded. “Yes.”

Maria closed her eyes, hoping Louis would see that as relief. Truth be told, she needed a minute to sort it out. She wanted to ask,
For how long?
But she was afraid of the answer. When she opened her eyes, she said instead, “Just one more question, Louis. How are you going to protect me? Reassure me.”

Louis looked again at the crushed can, and Maria wondered if she'd gone too far. And yet she couldn't stop. “If the two of you were put in a ring with no weapons,” Maria said, “my money would be on you all the way. But that Molina is always armed. I bet he takes a bath with his AK-47.”

Again there was no answer from Louis. But he opened his jacket and revealed a holstered pistol at his side.

“Gotcha,” Maria said. “I feel better.”

Okay, so what about the plan to escape? Knock out Louis with the Coke can, grab his gun, and wait for whoever to show up? Any attempt to do that would just make him mad. An angry Louis? Yeah, all bets were off then.

Louis toyed with the can he'd crushed, rolling it back and forth in his hand. Finally Maria said, “What do you see there, Louis?”

He gave her a sheepish look.

“Really,” she urged. “Tell me what you see. I want to know. If you're like me, you see weird stuff in everything.”

“
Pietà
,” he said.

“Like . . . Michelangelo's
Pietà
?”

Louis' face reddened and he covered the can with his hand.

“I can see that,” Maria added. “I just didn't know you were into art.”

Louis nodded.

“So have you actually seen the original? At the Basilica?”

He turned his head toward the door, and Maria stiffened. She heard it now too. The lock was turning. The anxiety she'd kept at bay surged and she grabbed the Coke can. While Louis sat focused on the door, she arranged the can like a missile in her hand and hurled it at his temple. Without so much as a flinch he slumped face-first on the table.

“Oh, no,” Maria groaned. “What have I done?”

The lock continued to turn, slowly to the right.

Maria flung herself across the table and yanked the gun from Louis' holster and jammed it into the waistband of her pants. She had no idea how to use it but it felt heavy and cold against her skin. She had to be safer now, right?

Then the door came open and Molina appeared. He took in the small room in two short steps and lifted Louis' head by his hair. At the same time, Maria saw the door open.

“Is he dead?” she said.

Molina gave a disgusted grunt and leaned closer to Louis' face. Willing herself to move slowly, Maria picked up the crumpled “
Pietà
” and pretended to be looking for a trash can. Molina was still swearing in Spanish over the unconscious Louis as she made her way toward the door.

Then Molina let out a curse with a different tone and she glanced in his direction to see he was holding the Coke can. A look of realization
dawned on his face. Without waiting to see what happened next, Maria bolted for the open door. But as she reached it, Molina grabbed her from behind. She kicked and screamed and flung her arms from side to side in a desperate attempt to break free, but he only held her tighter.

Holding her up to keep her feet off the floor, Molina backed away from the door and turned to kick it closed. She couldn't let that happen.

With her mouth wide open, she chomped down on his forearm and held on until she tasted his blood. Molina's hold loosened and she got free of one arm. Her feet touched the floor, but still he dragged her back and reached with a foot to push the door shut.

But something else pushed back.

And seconds later, her father stood in the doorway.

Molina was startled by Winters' sudden appearance and let go of Maria. Free of him, she rushed toward her father, but just before she reached him, Molina grabbed her again and pulled her tight against him, his arm across her neck holding her in place. She didn't have to see the gun to know it was pressed against her temple.

“Don't move, Maria,” Winters said. “Just stay calm. He isn't going to shoot you.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Maria choked.

“Shut up!” Molina ordered.

“Make me,” Maria said.

“I love your fight, honey,” Winters said, “but let me handle this one, okay?”

“Let's make this easy,” he said to Molina. “I'm the one you want. Maria was just the bait. Am I right?”

Molina pressed the gun harder against Maria's temple. “You have
la revista
?”

“The Columbus journal?” Winters replied. “Yeah, I have it. Not
on
me,” he added quickly. “I didn't want to carry it with me to Wall Street—seeing how it might have been blown up today.”

“You bring the journal,” Molina growled. “I release the woman.”

“No, Carlos,” said a voice at the door. “Those were not my orders.”

How her father kept from turning around, Maria didn't know, but she knew that voice. And then Tejada appeared.

The arm around Maria's neck went slack and she tried to duck under it. But just as quickly Molina choked her against him again and pressed the muzzle of the pistol against her head once more. “Let her go,” Tejada said. “The father is yours. Give me the daughter.”

“He does not have the journal,” Molina said, breath hot and rank against Maria's cheek.

“He will take you to it,” Tejada assured.

Winters held up both hands. “I'll go willingly, Carlos.”

The journal, Maria knew, was with Sophia, in Spain. The envelope they'd made a production out of taking with them from Málaga contained an old copy of
Don Quixote
from the retreat house.

“No,” Molina said, shaking his head. “She dies too.”

Tejada's glare hardened and he drew a pistol from beneath his jacket. “Let her go.”

“You have not followed Abaddon's plan,” Molina insisted. “Nothing you have done has worked because you have not followed his orders.”

“Abaddon,” Winters said. “Now that's a name I'm not familiar with.”

“Do not speak it,” Molina demanded.

“I will fulfill the plan on my own terms,” Tejada said. “Abaddon is dead.”

Molina gasped in disbelief and his grip on Maria's neck slackened.
Without warning, she pushed his arm away and dropped to the floor.

Just then, a shot rang out.

Maria screamed and covered her head with her arms, as something heavy crashed to the floor beside her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Molina's body lying beside her, his eyes blank with a lifeless stare.

Before she could move, Winters was beside her. Gently but firmly, he slipped his arms beneath hers. “Come on,” he said. “We have to go.”