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He listened as Halliburton explained how Columbus was first buried in a convent at Valladolid. Then in 1513, his daughter-in-law requested that the remains be brought to the Seville cathedral. In 1537 the family was granted permission to bring the body back to the New World, and Columbus was interred inside a newly built church in Santo Domingo.
1537.
He knew the significance of that year.
That was when the same daughter-in-law—the widow of one of Columbus’ sons—acquired control of Jamaica from the Spanish Crown.
Columbus stayed on Hispaniola until 1795. When Spain lost control of the island to the French, the remains were transferred to Havana. In the early 20th century, at the end of the Spanish-American War, when Cuba gained independence, the bones were brought back to Seville, where they have remained.
“With just one problem,” Tre said. “They might not be Columbus. Toward the end of the 19th century, some workers digging in the church at Santo Domingo found a lead box full of bones. On the outside was written, RENOWNED MAN DON CRISTOBAL COLON. That made everyone believe that the Spanish might have dug up the wrong grave back in 1795.”
“I’ve been to the church in Santo Domingo,” he said. “There’s a monument to Columbus and a tomb.”
“That contains those bones from the lead box. The government did all that in 1992 to celebrate the five hundredth anniversary of the first voyage. But there’s also a magnificent tomb in Seville. They’ve run several DNA tests, but nothing has ever been solved. Those bones were moved so much, scattered around, he could be in all of those places. Or none of them.”
“My family is searching for Columbus’ grave,” Simon told him. “We think that the bones were secretly transported to Jamaica and hidden in his lost mine. That location was apparently one the family trusted, since the Admiral himself located it.”
But he’d not believed the Simon then, and still did not now. This wasn’t about finding some grave. No way. Simon was after something else entirely, something important enough to draw the attention of American intelligence agents. He could not care less about the bones of Columbus. That man had been an invader. A destroyer. His arrival meant the deaths of tens of thousands of Tainos, and eventually led to slavery, which wrought even more pain and suffering. Maroons had rebelled against all of that, becoming the first Africans to win their freedom in the New World. If there was a lost mine, it definitely belonged to them.
“What is it, Béne?”
The engine’s angry chorus waned and they began their descent. Out the window he spotted Cuba and the green bastion of mountains that skirted the coast. La Sierra Maestra. He knew that slaves had used its harsh terrain for cover as they escaped the cane plantations. They’d not acquired a name like Maroons, but they were the same nonetheless.
Halliburton was glancing out a window, too. “That’s where the Cuban revolution started. Castro and his men hid in those mountains.”
He knew coffee was grown there. A strong blend that only mildly competed with his prized beans.
“I want to find that mine,” he said, his voice low. “If there be nothing there, fine. But I want to find it. I need you to help me do that.” He faced Tre and asked, “Will you?”
“Sure, Béne. I can do that.”
He saw that his friend sensed the urgency. He also saw something else. Apprehension. He’d never seen that in Halliburton’s eyes before. He hated that his friend might be afraid of him, but he did nothing to ease that feeling.
He would tolerate no more lies, no more mistakes.
Not from foe or friend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
TOM STARED AT THE GUN AND ASKED, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
The man Alle said was named Brian marched toward them.
“I knew you were the problem,” Alle said.
“Your daughter tell you what a great actress she is?”
He kept his gaze on the weapon. Strange. Two days ago he hadn’t feared death. Today was a little different. Not that he definitely wanted to live, it was just that, at the moment, he didn’t particularly want to die. Abiram’s two messages and Alle’s betrayal both raised questions.
And he hadn’t been curious for a long time.
“What’s your involvement here?” he asked.
“He works for a man trying to stop Zachariah,” Alle said.
Brian faced him. “You and I need to talk.”
———
ZACHARIAH LED THE WAY AS HE AND RÓCHA CREPT DOWN THE passageway, past centuries-old tombs of cardinals and priests. They came to the junction where Brian had fled and he spotted a corridor, maybe ten meters long and hewn from rock that ended at another right angle. One fixture illuminated the passage closer to his end than the other. He heard voices from around the far corner and signaled for quiet as they eased to a point where he could peer around. He was counting on the fact that Sagan, Alle, and Brian would not expect him.
“You and I need to talk.”
Jamison’s voice.
Before that he’d heard both Sagan and Alle. Her reference to him sounded almost like a defense. Maybe he’d confused her enough by his revelations about Jamison to have a second chance. He risked a quick look and saw Brian, fifteen meters away, back to him, holding a gun, facing toward where Sagan and Alle stood.
He and Rócha retreated.
He motioned to his left and whispered, “I have been here before. That passage where they are standing will intersect with this one. There are several turns, but it is a big circle. I am going down here to wait.”
Rócha nodded in understanding.
Then he explained what else he wanted done.
———
ALLE KNEW ONLY ONE THING. SHE HAD TO GET AWAY FROM BOTH her father and Brian. They both seemed to believe that Zachariah was the enemy, but the only person to so far place her in danger was standing right beside her, holding a gun.
“What are you going to do?” she asked Jamison.
“We’re getting out of here. Mr. Sagan, I assume you came down here for a reason?”
She watched as her father remained silent. Finally, she said, “He has a way out.”
“I thought as much. That’s why I followed. Let’s take it, then I’ll explain everything.”
Her father seemed unconvinced and even more irritated with her.
“I suggest we go,” Brian said. “People upstairs may be coming this way.”
“No. They won’t,” Sagan said. “I took care of that. The gate is locked for the night.”
“Then let’s get out of here. I assure you, what I have to say is important.”
Her father stepped in front of her and faced Brian. “We’re not going anywhere. If you want to shoot me, go ahead. I don’t give a damn.”
“I know what happened in Florida. That you were about to kill yourself. But you didn’t. You’re here. We were watching, along with Simon. I sent a man to the cemetery to spook you, in the car, when you visited your father’s grave, but you didn’t back off. I’m not your enemy, Mr. Sagan. I’m an American intelligence agent, working for a unit known as the Magellan Billet. We’re after Zachariah Simon and need your help.”
Alle caught movement over Brian’s shoulder.
Rócha appeared, holding a gun.
Her eyes went wide.
Brian saw her surprise and started to turn.
———
TOM SAW THE MAN AND IMMEDIATELY LUNGED TOWARD ALLE, his body covering hers, both of them pounding the floor.
Two pops echoed.
Brian’s body lurched, his arms went skyward, his grip on the gun was lost and it clattered to the floor.
Another pop.
Blood seeped from Brian’s lips. Then the body went limp and he collapsed into convulsions.
Tom rolled twice and reached for the gun on the floor, slipping his finger around the trigger. He swung his arm around and fired, the retort loud off the stone.
The bullet ricocheted and, instinctively, he covered his head.
>
When he looked up, the man at the end of the hall was gone.
And so was Alle.
———
ZACHARIAH KEPT WALKING, HEADING FOR WHERE THE CORRIDOR intersected another. He heard shots and hoped that was the end of Brian Jamison. Béne Rowe surely had other people working for him, but the loss of his chief lieutenant would eliminate Rowe’s most valuable eyes and ears in Austria. He’d read Abiram Sagan’s note, which was explicit, but not as much as he’d hoped considering the Levite would be passing on all that he knew. Had Sagan changed it? After all, it was typewritten. How hard could it have been? Especially for a man accused of falsifying news stories.
His original plan was no more.
He now needed a few moments alone with Alle.
A loud bang, then more pops came from the catacombs.
One problem was surely gone.
