The Armada Legacy

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Nico hammered the Subaru through the darkening streets, scattering pedestrians and sounding his horn at other cars. ‘Goddamned historians,’ he muttered. ‘They’re all the same.’

Ben looked at him. ‘You’ve known a lot of historians?’

‘Sister married some museum curator. Another real fuckhead. Left her for another guy. You believe that shit?’

‘Just drive the car,’ Ben said.

The Subaru’s suspension bottomed harshly at the base of a jarring cobbled slope, then with a screech of tyres Nico flew round a corner and they were speeding along the quiet road that circled the village. The church bell tower could be seen from anywhere in Montefrio, but as they drove on there seemed to be no road leading to it. ‘I can’t get close to the damn thing,’ Nico said, glancing up from the road at the mound. ‘Maybe we need to stop someone and ask, huh?’

‘Let’s just find Cabeza and get back to the house, all right?’ Ben said impatiently. ‘We’re wasting time here.’

‘This is no good. I’m gonna turn ar—’

‘No, wait. Pull up there,’ Ben said, pointing to the left, where the Subaru’s headlamps had picked out a path running up between the trees. Nico swerved across the road and skidded the Subaru to a halt on the dirt. Ben was the first to jump out of the car. He gazed up the path and saw that he’d been right: at the top of the sloping path, some three or four hundred yards distant, the church bell tower stood outlined against the early evening sky. This was the way. But something else about the dirt path perplexed him.

‘Cabeza doesn’t have a car, does he?’ Ben asked Nico, looking at the dark blue Audi that had been left empty, all four doors hanging open, where the trees narrowed on the path ahead.

‘Not unless he’s gone and borrowed one,’ Nico said.

Frowning, Ben walked over to the Audi and laid his palm on the bonnet. It was still warm. He looked down and ran his eye along the scuff marks in the dirt where the wheels had locked under hard braking. He pictured Cabeza on foot. Pictured the car coming after him. Gazed up the path at the church silhouetted in the half-light. His thoughts were disturbing. ‘You’re sure this place is as safe as you said?’ he asked Nico, who was walking over to join him.

Nico looked at the car and shook his head. ‘Come on, man, it’s a village. People live here.’ But Ben made no reply, because he was already heading through the trees and up the slope, his trot quickening to a run.

‘Shit, the bastard might be right,’ Nico muttered to himself, and followed. ‘Shit, shit.’

As Ben climbed the rough slope he could see where some of the stones had been recently dislodged. That hadn’t been done by idle walkers. A few yards further up he found a clear shoeprint in the dirt and paused to examine it. It was still fresh and moist to the touch, and deeply indented at the toe by someone moving in a particular hurry. Then a short distance further up the path Ben came across something else. At first it looked like a patch of shadow, or a dark rock. On closer examination it wasn’t. He picked it up off the ground and showed it to Nico as the Colombian caught up with him.

‘I never saw that movie,’ he said, ‘but that looks like a pork pie hat to me.’

‘That’s Cabeza’s hat, all right,’ Nico breathed. ‘Then he did come up here.’

‘Not alone,’ Ben said, glancing down the hill at the Audi parked near the trees. ‘Looks like there are four men after him. Maybe your safe house wasn’t so safe after all.’

‘But how—?’

‘You might want to call your friend Morales in Bogotá,’ Ben said. ‘Check to see if he’s still answering his phone. If he isn’t, you’d better hope Serrato’s people don’t have him.’

Nico suddenly looked anxious. ‘I left the SIG back at the house. Think I oughtta go back for it?’

‘No time for that now,’ Ben said.

They ran on. The last glow of the sun was far below the western hills and the darkness was gathering fast, making it impossible to spot anything more in the way of tracks on the firmer ground approaching the top of the slope. The dark church walls were fully in view now, surrounded by what little of the Moorish castle its Christian conquerors had left standing. Ben led the way through the craggy remains and up to the church entrance. The heavy door lay wide open.

Ben stepped inside. The air felt chill. Only the faintest of light was shining into the church through the doorway and the few small arched windows, just enough to make out the shapes of alcoves and columns and the great curving vaulted ceiling high overhead. Pools of black shadow lay everywhere and seemed to be spreading and deepening with every passing second. He wished he had the mini-Maglite with him, and cursed himself for leaving it in his bag at the house.

He advanced slowly, with Nico behind. Their footsteps rang softly off the stone floor. Ben nudged Nico’s arm and put a finger to his lips. Nico nodded. They moved deeper into the shadows, treading lightly. Gradually, as their eyes became used to the darkness, Ben could make out more detail. It had been a long, long time since the church had been used for worship. What looked like a small museum exhibit sat to one side. Other than that, the place was completely empty.

‘There’s nobody here,’ Nico whispered impatiently.

‘Shh.’ Ben thought he’d heard something moving, but it was hard to pinpoint where the sound had come from in the shadows.

‘Come on, man,’ Nico said in his normal voice. ‘Let’s g—’

His words were cut short by an explosion of noise far above their heads, a furious beating sound that echoed dizzyingly all round the walls. ‘Jesus!’ Nico said, flinching and covering his head with his hands.

But as Ben looked up and saw the flapping shape in the dim light of a high window he realised the noise was a startled pigeon trapped in the dome of the ceiling and trying to find a way out. ‘It’s just a bird,’ he said. But was that all he’d heard a moment ago?

Nico breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Scared the crap out of me. Look, we need to get out of— hey!’

Ben hadn’t lowered his gaze from the ceiling, or he wouldn’t have seen the dark shape tumbling down from a great height. It was much larger than a pigeon, and it was plummeting straight towards them. Just in time, he hauled Nico backwards out of the way.

The falling object landed at their feet with a crunch that resounded through the church. Ben had heard the stomach-churning sound of cracking human bones before. The dark gleaming mess that had suddenly covered the floor was blood, and the shapeless heap lying in the middle of it was a corpse.

Ben took out his Zippo lighter, thumbed the flint striker and crouched down to shine the flickering orange flame over the dead man’s face.

‘Cabeza,’ Nico said after a beat.