The twin-engine buzzed over the open ocean in the dark, fighting a headwind in mostly gentle dips and bobs, though Nate was glad he hadn’t eaten big before the Aight. Nate was crammed into his seat surrounded by zipped, locked duffel bags, the entire back of the plane crammed with them. He had the translation for Elcano’s journal propped on the bag in the seat next to his, the journal itself in his lap, and he started through the pages for a second time, absently touching Sam’s ring while he read.
Sully finally stepped out of the cockpit. He’d been up front with the grizzled pilot since they’d filled up at St. John’s. There’d be another refueling in the Azores, then they’d be on their way to Spain.
“When you said we were Aying private, I had something different in mind,” Nate said.
“Yeah, well, you spend too much time on Instagram,” Sully said. “We’re smuggling a stolen artifact out of the country. You take what you can get.”
“Do I even want to know what’s in these bags?”
Sully gestured toward the front. “Taglin doesn’t ask how I make my living, and I don’t ask him. It’s why we made it in the Navy as long as we did.”
“Real comforting,” Nate said.
Sully opened a mini fridge by the front seat and took out a handful of tiny bottles. Nate went back to the translation, instantly back into Elcano’s story.
Sully plopped down across from him. “Some crazy shit in there, right?”
“This totally confirms the legend,” Nate said. “Magellan found tons of gold in the Philippines. The warrior-chief Lapu-Lapu branded him a thief… Well, that and Magellan was trying to convert them all into Catholics. There was a huge battle. Magellan was killed on the beach.”
There was a drawing of the fight in the journal itself, beside a sketch of Lapu-Lapu. Standard history books told that part of the story, about Magellan’s death. When he landed in the Philippines, Magellan converted a number of the island peoples to Christianity, but the Mactan had resisted. Magellan took fifty armed men to their island to force the issue, where over a thousand unhappy Mactans were waiting. Game over.
That’s where it gets interesting, though. “The captain says from that moment on, they were cursed,” Nate continued. “Out of five ships, one made it back. They hid the gold in Barcelona and told the Moncadas the trip was a bust. Then, one by one, the eighteen survivors started dying.”
“Tortured and murdered by Santiago Moncada’s ancestors,” Sully said. “But none of them gave up the gold,” Nate said. Which was pretty amazing, in and of itself. Magellan had set out with five ships and a crew of two hundred and seventy, give or take. A single ship, the Victoria, had returned with only a handful of survivors. After all they’d been through, beating the odds to be the last guys standing, some Moncada or other had taken them out, one at a time. Elcano had gone back out to sea before they could get to him, finally dying of malnutrition in the mid-Pacific… still believing that he’d make it back to Spain, to retrieve the gold that so many had died to protect.”
“Any bright ideas on how we use those keys?” Sully asked.
Nate shuffled the transcript pages, finding the one he’d already dog-eared. “The captain wrote, ‘The path begins in Barcelona, where the keys turn into pine.’ And there’s a sketch of a pine tree…”
He picked up the journal carefully, opened it, held it up. The stylized drawing didn’t look like a pine tree, too round across the top, but it was labeled as such.
“So, I guess we’re looking for a tree,” he said.
Sully drained the small bottle he was holding, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “That’s your expert analysis? I got that far on my own.”
Oh, whatever. Nate had just read the damned thing for the first time, Sully could give him a minute or two. They had the keys and were on the trail, that was what mattered. Nate went back to reading as the plane gave a sickening swoop forward, and Sully twisted the cap off another bottle.
* * *
After they had refueled, Sully had napped his way to Spain, the plane landing at just after nine in the morning, local time. He woke up with a nasty headache and a big hit to his wallet, after a couple of El Prat workers decided they wanted more look-the-other-way money. Taglin took care of it, but Sully had to reimburse him. Sully texted back and forth with Chloe Frazer during the landing and the subsequent worker negotiations, finally getting her to agree to a meeting an hour out. Lucky for them she was still in Barcelona; she hopped around a lot. She’d ignored the first couple of texts but got interested when he let her know he had his hands on the second cross.
Chloe picked an open, public space for the meet, on the terrace atop the MNAC, Barcelona’s national art museum. At least it was only about twenty minutes from the airport. He and the kid got a cab and headed northeast, Nate rubbernecking at the architecture along the way, a heady mix of Gothic and Gaudí, Sully wishing the cab had a decent air conditioner. Barcelona, as always, was murderously hot.
The cab let them out by the big fountain that fronted the Meseu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. The MNAC was a giant, sprawling castle with spires and domes, real artsy, surrounded by pillars and statues and fountains. They climbed the endless stone steps leading to the entrance, bought tickets, and headed for the roof. Scores of tourists snapped pictures of the view and wandered the maze of pathways that overlooked the city.
The view on the way up was nice, Barcelona laid out in all her shimmering, sunbaked glory, but Sully’s headache wasn’t responding well to the brutal heat. He looked at the kid, expecting to see him awestruck by the grand vista, but Nate had his head buried in his phone.
“How long do pine trees even live?” Nate asked, hitching his backpack up on his shoulder.
“Longer than you’d think,” Sully said. He’d looked it up after he’d had the journal translated. “Up to a thousand years.”
“If it hasn’t been bulldozed, struck by lightning, or turned into toothpicks,” the kid said, still squinting at his phone. “Bad shit happens to trees.”
“You have a point there,” Sully said, and pointed at the terrace bar’s courtyard. “Chloe said to meet her down there.”
They walked down to the terrace that overlooked long slopes of rounded, red-clay tiles, and leaned against a railing. They’d only been there a minute before Sully saw Ms. Chloe Frazer striding toward them. “Okay, there she is.”
Nate was already staring. Even if Chloe hadn’t been attractive—and she was, she was tall for a girl, with a slender, athletic build, and the rich golden skin and nearly-black hair of indigenous India, plus big eyes and a pretty face —it was the confidence she radiated that made people look twice. Australia was her adopted home, and she had fully embraced the adventurous Aussie stereotype, a top artifact procurer and dealer in her own right and not even thirty. Plus, Chloe didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of her, ever, and what was more attractive than that?
On the other hand, she looks kinda pissed. Her expression was grim as she marched toward them, a sultry breeze ruffling her shoulder-length hair. She wore a short dark-red cotton dress, a thin black leather jacket, and boots. A casual, colorful cross-body bag was slung across one hip. Not a high heels kind of gal, Chloe.
“Anything you need in Barcelona, Chloe Frazer can get it,” Sully said. “I didn’t tell her about you yet, but she’ll be cool. Hey, Chloe—”
She stopped in front of Nate. “Who the fuck are you?”
Nate blinked, startled from whatever dumb daydream he’d been entertaining, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “Nate. My name’s Nate. I’m… um, a friend of Sully’s.”
“Sully doesn’t have friends,” she said, assertively. “I should know, I’m one of them.”
Sully raised his hands. “That’s not true, people love me. Now what’s with the spy games? Why couldn’t we meet at the house?” Chloe kept a handful of “safe” houses that spanned the globe, including a nice upstairs apartment in the Gothic Quarter. She did a lot of business in Spain.
Chloe had finally turned her fierce gaze on him. “I was making sure you weren’t followed.”
“Don’t think I can spot a tail?” Sully was offended. “I’ve been on you since the airport,” Chloe said.
“Shit, really?” It was Sully’s turn to blink. “All the way from the airport?”
“Look, whatever,” Chloe said. “You’re here. Question is, why is he here?” Nate was getting annoyed. “Why are you here?”
“Chloe has the other key,” Sully offered, before Chloe decided to take offense.
“What?” Now Nate was glaring at Sully, too. “Did I not mention that?” Sully asked. “No,” Nate said. “You said you had it.”
“I have access to it,” Sully said, and then hit them with the good news. “We’re all gonna be partners on this thing.”
Chloe had shifted around to stand next to Nate, and they both stared at him like he was crazy. They’d warm to the idea, though. Chloe surely still had her key, and they had the second one, it was a no-brainer—
“No,” Chloe said, firmly. “We’re not.” She glanced at Nate. “Word to the unwise—everything out of this one’s mouth is an exaggeration, a half-truth, or an outright lie.”
Chloe looked back at him. “See ya, Sully.”
Without another word she walked away, headed for where the terrace curved around one of the museum’s towering spires.
“C’mon, Clo!” Sully called. “She’ll come back. She has to.”
“She’s right,” Nate said. “It’s like you’re allergic to telling the truth.”
Sully didn’t answer, watching Chloe get smaller, a spring in her nimble step. “I don’t think she’s coming back.”
That doesn’t make sense. One key was useless, she knew that, and without them she couldn’t—
She was rounding the corner, stepping out of sight behind a pitch of red tile, when it hit him like a gut-punch.
“Where’s the cross?”
“In my bag,” Nate said.
“Check your bag,” Sully said, fear lending his voice an edge. “Do it.”
Nate unslung his pack and stuck his hand inside, then looked up in horror. “It’s gone,” he said, then shoved the bag into Sully’s hands and took off running after her. Sully started for the closest set of stairs heading down, blaming his headache for forgetting that, above all else, Chloe Frazer was a thief—and a damned good one.
* * *
Chloe made it out of their sight and broke into a run, cutting east and then north through the labyrinth of rooftop walkways. Late morning was prime tourist time, and there were plenty of strolling bodies on the paths. All the better to lose herself in.
Both keys! She allowed herself a grin and hopped a railing, cut across another walkway, vaulting a short brick wall that dropped to a lower terrace. Sully was a fool. Nothing new there, but the boy he’d brought along hadn’t even noticed the lift. How embarrassing for both of them—
She heard running footsteps above and behind her, and picked up her pace. She’d parked illegally next to the grand Montjuic fountain at the base of the MNAC’s brick stairs; all she had to do was get to her SUV and back to the house, lock the door, and report to the policia that two deranged stalkers had threatened her life.
Gotta get there first, though. Focus!
A vendor pushed his cart into the pathway she was running, near the up escalator that was spitting tourists out on the roof. Chloe zigged around the cart and leapt onto the escalator, feet barely touching the moving steps. She hurtled across and over another railing, risking a look back.
Shit! The kid, Nate, was right on her tail. He charged over the escalator, tourists shouting at him.
Chloe had reached one of the complex’s waterfall fountains and she dropped down to its brick railing, the thickness of a balance beam. Water burbled over the long, low step under her feet, emptying into a shining blue pool a few meters below. She started across, automatically dropping her center of gravity, her steps quick and light.
Behind, Nate landed on the fountain’s lip and started after her, wheeling his arms for balance. When she heard the resounding splash a beat later, she grinned again, and kept going, headed for the descending granite blocks that would take her to ground level. With Nate out of the picture she only had Sully to worry about, and she’d surely left him in the dust. He was in above– average shape, but he had to be pushing fifty and liked his cigars too much to be an immediate threat.
Both keys! Her heart sang.
She dropped down the blocks with ease, saw her souped-up Hyundai still parked off to the left of the Montjuic, windows down, not even a ticket on the dash. She hurtled past the four Ionic columns that marked the lower steps to the ex-palace and down the stairs, gaze fixed on her car, keychain already in her hand.
She unlocked the door, threw herself in and hit the starter, out of breath and sweating, giddy at just how easy it had been—
“You don’t know where you’re going!”
Chloe looked up, saw Nate standing at her window, dripping wet. His thick hair was plastered to his forehead, his expression urgent. He was gulping for air, splattering her windshield with fountain water.
“With the keys,” he gasped. “You’re looking for a tree, aren’t you?”
“Piss off,” Chloe said, and revved the engine. He was blocking her, but would almost certainly move if she hit the gas. Or not, but whatever.
“The Eighteen were willing to wait for years to go back for the gold,” Nate said, talking fast. “They’d never pick a tree as a marker, they would’ve picked something more permanent.”
“You’re full of shit,” Chloe said, just as Sully came huffing and puffing into the scene carrying Nate’s bag, face alarmingly red.
“Okay then, go,” Sully panted. “If you know where to use the keys, you don’t need us.”
He nodded at the younger man, who hesitated, then stepped back from her window.
Go, just go, you’ve got the keys, you’ll figure it out! Chloe shifted into drive, but much as she wanted to, she didn’t step on the gas pedal. Of course it was a tree …
Except. A tree as a marker never made sense to her, either. Sully’s new friend had voiced her own misgivings.
“If it’s not a tree, what is it?” she asked.
Nate had already caught his breath, mostly, though Sully still wheezed like a fish out of water. Knowing Sully, he was hungover.
“At the auction, Moncada called it an ‘altar crucifix,’” Nate said. “I didn’t think about it then, but it means the cross was originally made to stand on an altar. In a church.”
“Which church?” Chloe and Sully both asked at the same time. Apparently, this was news to Sully, too… It seemed that Nate knew enough about Sully to keep some of his theories to himself.
Nate held out his hand to Chloe. “If you want to get the gold, we’re gonna have to trust each other.”
Chloe didn’t trust anybody but herself… But Sully was a known quantity, if fundamentally dishonest, and Nate knew where to go. Getting full access to Elcano’s journal wasn’t anything to joke about, either. A temporary alliance could move her to the head of the pack, and it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have options, farther along.
Sighing, she reached into her bag for the cross and handed it over.
* * *
Nate told Chloe to head for the Gothic Quarter—the Barri Gotic, according to his phone, which he wasn’t even going to try to pronounce—and she took them roughly northwest, past streets of massive, ancient medieval structures mixed with colorful Modernist buildings, shops and houses scattered between. Beautiful… but after he changed his shirt, Nate mostly just scrolled on his phone, learning what he could about their destination. Sully rode shotgun and tried to chat with Chloe on the way, acting like they were old friends, but she treated him more like an annoying little brother, her responses short and sarcastic, delivered in her charming Australian accent. Other than to ask for clarifications on directions, she didn’t talk to Nate at all.
Nate told her to take a turn and Chloe finally snapped at him. “I know the area, so why don’t you just tell me where we’re going?”
“Uh, the… Placa del Pi,” Nate stuttered.
Chloe turned to look at him, her gaze lighting up. “Of course! God, I didn’t even think of it!”
“Think of what?” Sully asked.
Chloe shook her head and stepped on the gas.
“What are you talking about?” Sully looked back at Nate, brow furrowed, but Nate just shook his head too, stiAing a smile. They’d be there in a few minutes, and he had to admit, it felt good to know something that Sully didn’t. Nate saw the church’s bell tower from a few blocks away, a tall octagon of weathered brick rising from a handsome Gothic cathedral. The solid block of ornately decorated church and the few buildings near it were surrounded by gardens and open space. Chloe pulled into a small lot and they all got out, gazing up at the cathedral. A huge stained-glass rose window was set high over the massive arched doorway. Tourists walked around on the dusty brick placa in front of the entrance, snapping pictures in the midday heat. The church had been built in the late 1400s, had been damaged and rebuilt many times over the centuries, but had always been Santa Maria del Pi.
“Saint Mary of the Pine,” Nate said, for Sully’s benefit, although there was a sign right outside the church with the English translation. And the symbol on the bricks behind it was confirmation. Nate saw it and his heart skipped a beat.
“This has to be it,” Sully said. “Kid, you’re a genius.”
“Genius is a stretch,” Chloe said.
Sully pulled Elcano’s journal out of his bag, gently opening it to one of the acid-free bookmarks.
“Look at this,” he said, holding up the journal. The tree that the long-dead captain had drawn was exactly the same as the one on the sign.
Chloe looked convinced, but not necessarily happy about it. Maybe because she hadn’t thought of it herself. Nate had figured it out while they’d been waiting to meet her, though he hadn’t been a hundred percent until he’d seen the stylized little tree.
“I’ll go see when we might have a private look inside,” she said, and started across the wide expanse of cobbled gray brick toward the open doors. A couple of wizened nuns were standing outside, chatting with tourists. Nate shuddered inwardly, focusing on Chloe. She walked like a badass, long strides, head up, reddish highlights from the bright sun cropping up in her dark hair. She had to be in her twenties still, not much older than him. She was pretty—beautiful, even—but it was the way she carried herself that had caught his eye.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sully said. “Chloe Frazer is not to be trusted.”
Nate felt caught out but didn’t look away. She was talking to one of the nuns now, smiling, nodding her head, tucking her hair behind one delicate ear…
Sully’s words sank in, and Nate frowned. “You’re going to cut her out.”
“Didn’t want to cut her in,” Sully said. “She had the other cross, so I had no choice.”
Chloe started back toward them, and Sully clammed up. Nate managed to lose the frown as she approached, but wasn’t sure he liked Sully’s plan. If they found the gold, and that was a big if, there’d be more than enough for all of them. And as far as trust went… yeah, she’d lifted the cross off them, but Sully had ditched him at the auction.
“There’s a midnight Mass tonight,” Chloe said. “Tomorrow’s the earliest we can poke around. After closing, of course.”
They turned back to the SUV, Sully already talking about supplies they needed to pick up, Chloe cracking a joke about having a sleepover. Nate found himself thinking about trust, and it occupied his thoughts for quite a while.