Target three, p.6
Target Three, page 6
“We have a few different questions, madam.”
All this was said in Spanish, hers in high-class Castilian, his with the rougher tones of the dockside Mediterranean bars where he had learned the language, and a few tricks in knife fighting as an educational bonus.
Inez Domingo stood, apologized to the elderly customer, and got him out of the store. She locked the door, flipped the sign from open to closed, and turned to them.
“So, what do two Interpol agents want to know about my poor friend’s murder?”
Jacob suppressed a smile at her assumption that Jana was his partner. He knew that Jana wouldn’t have to produce an ID. Civilians were always a bit overwhelmed when faced with the law and never asked awkward questions.
“We were wondering if Señor Vasquez had anything in his collection that would attract organized crime,” Jana probed.
“Organized crime? What would … oh, I see. You mean forgeries. No, he was always honest in his dealings.”
Jacob wasn’t a hundred percent sure of that, although he had no evidence to the contrary.
“Anything of special note that got stolen? We have an itemized list, but we were curious to hear your insights.”
“Many of the prints and maps were quite valuable. Señor Vasquez kept detailed records, so we know exactly what’s missing, and the total retail value is worth more than 30,000 euros.” Her gaze fell. Tears welled in her eye. “Killing such a kind and brilliant man for 30,000 euros. I don’t know what this world is coming to.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Jana said. “We were interested in one particular item, a map of the coast of Venezuela from the late eighteenth century signed by a mapmaker named Joaquino.”
The antiquarian bookseller looked up in surprise. “That thing? That’s the least valuable item that was stolen.”
“Why’s that?” Jacob asked.
“Because it’s a fake.”
That’s what the pirate said.
Jacob feigned surprise. “Really? How do you know?”
“It’s a copy of an earlier map purportedly showing a shipwreck full of treasure. There is no such shipwreck according to the records. And it’s not even an original. It’s a copy of the fake. I suppose you’re investigating Señor Barrado’s murder down in Malaga, yes?”
“We are.”
“The police asked me about that since men both collected old maps and had some stolen. He had a copy of the same map. It was a fake too.”
That really did catch Jacob by surprise. “Really? How can you know?”
“For a long time, it was purported to be the real copy and many sources name it as such, but recent research has shown that not to be the case.”
Jacob smiled. So, the pirates didn’t have the real one? God, he hoped not. Good news was rare on a mission.
“Has this recent research been published anywhere?”
“No, but it was the subject of a speech at the Royal Spanish Cartography Association a few months ago.”
“Who gave this speech?”
Señora Domingo got a look like she had just sucked on a lemon. “David Pérez. He’s a wealthy collector living in Brunete. He, too, has a copy of the treasure map, and he proved convincingly that his was the real copy. Vasquez and I both attended the meeting, and we were both swayed by his arguments.”
“Is Señor Pérez reputable?” Jana asked, picking up on the bookseller’s negative body language.
“Well, he’s a good scholar, I’ll give him that,” Domingo grumbled. “But he’s a snake. He earned his fortune developing real estate. There was a huge real estate bubble here in Spain a few years ago. He was responsible for a lot of it. Bribing corrupt mayors of small towns for rezoning, ignoring environmental laws, duping speculators into investing in housing estates that would never be profitable, tricking regular people with promises of luxurious housing developments that would never be finished. He wasn’t the only one doing this, but he was the worst. The country was left with vast unfinished estates that ended up as ghost towns. Those foolish enough to invest lost everything. The newspapers say it led to tens of thousands of bankruptcies.”
“Did he ever stand trial?” Jacob asked.
“Ha! People like that never stand trial. It was all buried behind shell corporations and legalese. He and his cronies crippled this country’s economy for years.” She looked at him, a sudden worry crossing her face. “But I don’t think he murdered my two colleagues. Please don’t think that. Pérez is a corrupt, greedy bastard, but he is no murderer. Besides, he has the real map. Why would he steal the fake ones?”
“Good point,” Jacob said. Unless Pérez is running some sort of scam with that talk of his to deflect suspicion. He sounds capable of it.
“I think we should talk to him in any case,” Jana said. “Do you have his contact information?”
“Certainly. I’ve done some business with him, although I prefer not to. I’ll give you his number and email.”
“His address, too, please,” Jacob said.
As she fetched the information, Jacob checked his phone to find Brunete. It turned out to be a small town thirty kilometers east of Madrid. Good. Maybe they could get this done quickly.
When the bookseller returned with a piece of paper with Pérez’s contact information and address, Jacob and Jana thanked her and left.
“This man sounds like he’s going to be uncooperative,” Jana said as they headed down the busy street. “How are we going to convince him to part with his map?”
“We’re not,” Jacob said. “We’re going to steal it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jana didn’t like the idea of stealing a map, not even from a scummy businessman like David Pérez. Lives could be on the line, though, and that was the only consideration Jacob thought of.
They had argued, and he had won. With relentless logic, he had explained that taking a photo of the map—assuming the real estate developer would let them—wouldn’t be enough. What if there was some detail they couldn’t see except under ideal light? What if there was something on the back or covered by the frame? What if they needed to accurately measure portions of the map and compare it to a modern chart?
And they couldn’t ask to borrow it, not with someone like that. He’d only think it was more valuable and demand a price they couldn’t afford.
Jacob was right. Damn that man.
Jacob Snow was like a robot, his mind working on only one task—to finish the mission. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.
God, how she hated that attitude. She had gotten her fill of it from her father.
They drove a rental car along a country road near the town of Brunete, the last golden glimmerings of the setting sun playing off a castle sitting atop a rocky eminence. A few farms and holiday homes stood scattered across a landscape of gentle hills. Pérez’s mansion stood a couple of kilometers ahead.
She had called the businessman saying she was a collector from the United States passing through Madrid and was interested in seeing what items he had for sale. A secretary had answered the phone and at first tried to get rid of her.
“Señor Pérez doesn’t like doing business on a Sunday.”
Yeah, a real religious guy. Jana wasn’t dissuaded. She had persisted, saying she was flying back to New York the following day, and at last, after a long time waiting on hold, the secretary had relented.
She noticed Jacob kept glancing in the direction of the distant castle.
“What is it?” she said, searching the open fields and a nearby olive orchard for movement.
“That castle. The walls look like they’ve been hit by artillery rounds.”
Jana shook her head. “My God, do you ever switch off?”
“No. That’s why I’m still alive.”
Just like Dad. On his rare visits home when he’d take her to the beach or a fun fair, those eyes were always roving, searching, checking. Looking at everything else but her. She wasn’t a threat, so she didn’t get Dad’s attention.
No, this irritating man sitting next to her got all of that.
“That really looks like small-bore artillery damage,” Jacob insisted.
“I suppose it is. This was a battlefield during the Spanish Civil War when Franco’s fascists advanced on Madrid.”
“Oh,” Jacob said, losing interest and looking back at the road. “I wonder if our collector friend is a fascist.”
“We’ll soon find out. It’s just another kilometer. Time for you to get out.”
The plan was for Jana to go in posing as a buyer and string Pérez along while Jacob broke in, found the map, and took it. Inez Domingo had given them a clear enough description that they could spot it. The problem was, if it was kept with all the other maps, Pérez and Jana might be sitting in that same room.
If that was the case, they’d have to figure out a workaround.
Jacob parked the car on the gravel shoulder of the narrow country lane and got out. By the time Jana had eased over to the driver’s seat, he had already disappeared into the bushes.
“Good luck to you, too,” she grumbled and got the car into gear.
Her anger at him was tinged with concern. He still moved stiffly from his injuries and was obviously in discomfort. Would he be able to manage the physical demands his half of this job required of him?
He needed to angle through the field and find a way inside the mansion, which from Google Earth looked like an old-style, stone hacienda with extensive grounds surrounded by a wall. Street View didn’t cover a place this rural, so they had no other intel.
Jana drove the final kilometer to where the road dead-ended at an iron gate flanked by a smooth, stone wall ten feet tall. A security camera pointed down at her. She couldn’t see more cameras around the perimeter, but she bet they were there. A metal stand with a buzzer and intercom stood in front of the gate. She opened the car window and pressed it.
A male voice came over the intercom. “Ms. Anderson?”
“Yes.”
Jill Anderson. That was the alias she had picked for herself. She wished she was better dressed for the part. She hadn’t brought any fine clothes or jewelry on this trip and had only managed to buy a reasonably suitable outfit in Madrid at the last minute.
The gate clicked, then swung open automatically.
“Come through the main drive and park next to the fountain.”
She drove slowly through the gate and found herself on a broad front lawn. The grass was a bit brown, and the bushes needed tending. Spain had suffered a drought in recent months, and Pérez hadn’t been watering his massive yard. She doubted it was due to any concerns for the environment. He probably just didn’t care.
The hacienda appearing before her was a different story. A massive, two-story stone structure with columns in front of the main door and two large wings, it looked to date to the nineteenth century and was well maintained. A circular drive ran around it, with a splashing fountain of white marble showing Poseidon riding a dolphin flanked by Nereids.
As she parked beside it, Jana did a double take. The fountain was Roman. Here and there it had been restored where pieces had been lost in the past two thousand years, but the bulk of it was original. Jana couldn’t even begin to calculate how much Pérez must have spent to buy it.
Jana got out, the front door of the hacienda opened, and a pair of immense Dobermans shot out, snarling and coming straight for her.
She shrieked and grabbed the door handle, ready to jump back inside the car. A sharp whistle from the doorway brought the Dobermans up short, barely ten feet from her. Another sharp whistle, and they paced back to the front door.
A man stood there, who Jana recognized from an Internet search as David Pérez.
He had the refined features of old money, with swept-back salt and pepper hair, an erect bearing, and powerful hands. Jana guessed his age at about fifty, but his body was that of a younger man. He obviously took care of himself. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a personal trainer and a full gym somewhere on the grounds. Google Earth showed an Olympic-sized swimming pool in the backyard.
“Ms. Anderson, how good of you to come,” Pérez said in a cultured English that spoke of a British public-school education. “I am always eager to meet another aficionado of early cartography.”
Now came the tricky part. Jana actually knew relatively little about early maps. She decided to stick to her specialty and hope she could carry the conversation that way.
“I was just admiring your fountain. Second century, I believe?”
Pérez raised a heavy eyebrow. “Ah, you have a love of the Classical civilizations as well. Yes, second century. It came from a villa in southeast France.”
“Most impressive,” she said, taking a few steps toward the front door and then hesitating. The Dobermans stood flanking their master, gazing at her with a hungry look.
“Oh, I do apologize.” He snapped his fingers, and they disappeared into the house. “Don’t worry about them. They only attack on command, or if they discover an intruder.”
“Not a problem. Oh, pardon me, my phone is buzzing.”
She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Jacob, saying only: “Dogs.”
Then she put her phone away, her hands shaking a little, hoping he checked his phone before making the final approach.
When she turned back to Pérez, she caught him looking her over, and not in a way that a man usually looks over a woman. He was taking in the details of her modest dress, mid-priced shoes, and lack of jewelry. “Jill Anderson” did not look like a rich collector.
Then again, Americans had a reputation in Europe for being underdressed. Jana hoped her knowledge would carry her through.
“Was it one of the villas outside Lugdunum?” Jana asked, coming up the steps and shaking his hand. He had a firm grip and, surprisingly, his palm was calloused.
“A little more to the south, but on the main road from Lugdunum to the coast. Come. May I offer you tea or coffee?”
“Thank you, no. I’m afraid I haven’t much time.”
They entered a spacious front hall, the walls adorned with old portraits, a traditional Virgin and Child that looked seventeenth century, and a floor of Italian marble.
“Yes, you mentioned that. Then let’s get straight down to business. This way.”
He led her through an open doorway to the left, through a sumptuous but soulless living room of antique gilded furniture, and into a spacious study. The walls were covered with maps of all descriptions and periods, and a long row of map drawers took up one side. A large worktable, fitted with more map drawers, stood at the center of the room.
“So, what is of interest to you? My personal assistant didn’t give me many details. Most of my collection is negotiable, except for a few items.”
“I’m very interested in early maps on archaeological subjects, and I’m also looking for a gift for my brother. He’s fascinated with maritime history, especially of the Caribbean.”
David Pérez’s face lit up. “Ah! That is a special interest of mine. As you can see from the walls, I have quite the collection of maritime maps.”
Jana studied them, making impressed noises she did not have to feign. She noticed that most of the nautical maps were of the Caribbean Sea and Barbary Coast from the seventeenth to early nineteenth centuries, a high time for piracy.
“You seem to have an interest in pirates, Señor Pérez.”
The millionaire real estate developer laughed. “In every man, a little boy still lives inside, and as a man of my means, I am able to indulge myself.”
Jana smiled. “I think you and my brother would get along.”
Pérez inclined his head. “Come this way. I’d like to show you something that your brother would appreciate. It isn’t for sale, but you can tell him about it.”
Jana knew she had hit the jackpot. She had met many collectors in her life, and they could never resist showing off the best of their collection. Pérez led her back through the main hall, through a large dining room featuring a huge, oak table, and into a more modern living room in the east wing, with comfortable furnishings and a pricey home entertainment system.
And there, above the sofa, hung the map that everyone was making such a fuss over.
Jana recognized it instantly thanks to the bookseller’s description. She studied it for a moment as Pérez proudly told her about it.
“This map was drawn in 1768 and purports to show the wreck of the Santo Santiago, an infamous pirate ship of the time. They had attacked a colony ship called the Nueva Esperanza and plundered it. They didn’t kill the people on board, but reports say they took absolutely everything that could have been of even the smallest value, even their food. The colony ship was lucky to make it back to port before everyone starved. Shortly thereafter, the Santo Santiago sank as well. As you can see, the coordinates are quite precise.”
“Santo Santiago. Saint James. An odd name for a pirate ship.”
“The crew hailed from northern Spain, through which the famous pilgrimage route of the Camino Santiago runs. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and they often call on Divine intervention. Even pirates.”
“Are you going to look for it?”
“I’m researching the possibility right now. It’s a major undertaking and requires a great deal of groundwork. Still, it is a dream of mine.”
“How did the Santo Santiago sink?” Jana asked.
“It’s unclear. Not by a naval ship, otherwise there would be an official record. The cartographer who made this map, Teo Joaquino, had an accompanying text to go with it, but sadly that has been lost to time. I’ve searched every archive and private collection I could access. There is simply no record of how the Santo Santiago went down.”
“A storm?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps by a rival. It happened sometimes. We know that another pirate ship, the Vengeance, was in the area.”
Jana’s skin prickled. Jacob had shown her the transcript of the intercepted conversation, and it appeared the modern pirate ship was also named the Vengeance. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
