The dawn broke in the rich light of a beautiful new day, the sun a golden eye looking over its beloved Barcelona. Armando Santiago praised God for His many blessings and then had his driver take him to La Sagrada Familia, where he could meditate in peace.
Armando had the driver park the limo near the edge of the grounds across from the grand structure—an unfinished Roman Catholic minor basilica that combined the best of Gothic design and Antoni Gaudí’s Art Nouveau aesthetic. Clusters of pointed, honeycomb spires rose from the castle-like building, ornately decorated with powerful scenes and symbols of God’s glory. Gaudi had died in 1926, when the structure had been only a quarter finished, and many of his plans had been destroyed during the war… but the dream had never died, the work starting and stuttering to a halt again and again in the decades since. The structure would be finished, the engineers now said, by 2026, and fully ornamented by 2032.
And I may yet live to see it completed, Armando thought, walking the trail toward his favorite spot, which offered a fine view of the Nativity façade. The east-facing façade was the basilica’s oldest, constructed between 1894 and 1930 and dedicated to the birth of Jesus. The sun’s steady morning light would illuminate its three porticos—Hope, Faith, Charity—wonderfully, and Armando loved its choir of angel children. His own father had lived to his mid-nineties; if God saw fit to grace him the same, he had another decade of life to witness His works.
There was someone already sitting on the small bench he liked, dappled in shade from one of the park’s many carefully maintained trees. A man, gazing at the church. As Armando walked closer, he recognized his son, and felt his fine mood evaporate.
He arrived at the bench and looked down at Santiago, annoyed. “Are you here to ruin the one place I come to find peace?”
“You won’t take my calls,” Santiago said. “How much peace does one man need?”
Armando sighed, recognizing the stubborn look in Santiago’s eyes—didn’t he see it himself, when he looked in the mirror? He steeled himself for the conversation and sat, joined his son in gazing at La Sagrada Familia.
“I understand why you walk here,” Santiago said. “A tribute to Barcelona, to Spain, to the world and to God.”
“But it was never finished,” Armando said. “Do you know why?”
“The war broke out.”
“And we sold the weapons Franco used to kill thousands of our own people,” Armando said. The military coup that had ignited the Spanish Civil War, that had erupted over religion, class, rights and resources, had ended with a fascist in power. A fascist that had found support from his own father, Maceo Moncada, Santiago’s grandfather.
“We did what was necessary to save our House,” Santiago said. “Besides, you were a child. I wasn’t even born.”
Armando sniffed. “Convenient, how you ignore the history when it doesn’t serve you.”
“You want to erase our history,” Santiago said. “But we’ve done great things, too. Built hospitals, museums, universities… You can’t give it away. Tell me it’s not too late.”
How I’ve failed him. Armando had indulged his son, spoiled him with expensive gifts bought to assuage his own guilt at not spending more time with him. Was it any surprise that Santiago had never learned to control his impulses? When Armando had finally embraced his faith, he’d tried to help his son, to lift him into the light, but Santiago had already been set into his ways, ever hungry to chase fever dreams of stolen gold and vain glory. He’d already spent millions searching for Magellan’s treasure, wasting his precious, God– given life to enrich himself alone. But no more.
“I’m making the arrangements,” Armando said, firmly. “You can’t change my mind. This scavenger hunt of yours is over.”
He stood up and started walking back toward the limo, regretful, and frustrated that his morning ritual had been interrupted. Santiago walked after him, a silent, unhappy escort. His son would be forced to make something of himself, finally. Perhaps he, too, would let God’s grace into his heart, once he saw the good that their blood money could do, the suffering that could be eased.
They had almost reached the limo—his son’s Gullwing was parked right behind it—when Santiago finally spoke. “Father.”
Armando turned.
“Do you really have no faith that I can stand on my own?”
His son looked sorrowful, even chastened. Like a child, always starving for validation.
“Faith is being certain of something we cannot see,” Armando said, and looked up, into the bright sky. “Him I have faith in.”
The driver hadn’t got out, so Armando opened the door himself, seeing a Aash of his son’s despondent face reAected in the dark-tinted window. There would be more calls, more attempts to make him change his mind, but his
firm was already drawing up papers and he would sign them as soon as they were ready.
He got into the car, pulling the door closed behind him—
—and there was a woman in the back, sitting behind the empty driver’s seat. She was young, attractive, but with a feral look in her eyes.
“Who the hell are you? Get out of my car!”
The driver’s door opened, and Santiago slipped inside, pulling the door closed.
“Santiago, what are you doing?”
His son looked into the rearview mirror, his dark, unhappy gaze meeting Armando’s.
“Forgive me, Father,” Santiago said, quietly.
The woman leaned in, holding a curved knife. She moved quickly, lightly drawing the blade across his wrinkled throat. Wet heat poured out of him before the pain set in, and it was terrible.
The last thing Armando saw was his son looking away.
* * *
Nate woke up late, and remembered why he didn’t drink all that often. Red wine was deadly; his head ached, and his mouth tasted like alleys smelled. Thankfully, Chloe’s safe house was stocked with good coffee and ibuprofen, and after a shower he felt almost normal. Sully didn’t look any worse than usual, though he was quiet. Chloe was positively cheerful. If she felt any after- effects of their binge, they didn’t show. And while she was friendly, she seemed ready to forget that they’d both totally leaned in the night before. Nate mentally crossed his fingers that another opportunity would come up under better circumstances, and just enjoyed her company.
They all looked over some church photos Chloe had dug up online, and Nate learned for the first time what a Aying buttress was—basically a support beam, not nearly as interesting as it sounded. Chloe had fed the nuns a line that she and her Catholic friends wanted a private moment to study and sketch the architecture, and had promised a hefty donation for the opportunity.
In the late afternoon they packed their kits, Sully handing out Aashlights and earpieces, everyone changing their clothes—dark colors all around. Nate and Sully loaded their own stuff into Chloe’s SUV, along with an equipment duffel. Chloe ran back inside to use the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone.
“You two were getting pretty friendly last night,” Sully said.
“It’s fun plotting your demise,” Nate said, refusing to be needled.
Not even a smile; Sully had his furrowed brow thing going on. “I told you to watch it with her.”
“I get it, you’re jealous,” Nate said.
Sully still wasn’t smiling. “I’m not jealous, I’m greedy. So is she, so is everyone. Never forget that.”
Well, aren’t we feeling paternal today?
“I can handle myself,” Nate said. “Have my whole life.”
Sully wheeled on him, a serious look in his eyes. “This is different. The kind of money we’re talking about makes it different. First, it’s just the thrill of the hunt. Then you get your first taste. Some trinket you dig up that looks worthless, but you get a hundred grand for it. Suddenly, all you can think about is more, how do I find more? Your brain rewires itself. Friends, family? Out. Everyone else? A threat.”
He closed the Hyundai’s back hatch, firmly. “Everyone thinks they’re different, that it won’t happen to them. No one’s different. Not me, not you, not your brother, no one.”
“What about Sam?” Nate asked, sharply. “What are you trying to say?”
Sully shook his head, finally breaking eye contact. “Why do you think he drifted away? Stopped calling? All I’m saying is, that’s what gold does.”
Chloe came out and hopped lightly down the stairs, wearing a snug black jumpsuit kind of thing with a burgundy light jacket, and a big grin. She looked amazing.
“Let’s go get it, mates,” she said, and Nate’s pulse picked up. All personal stuff aside, they were going to find the missing lock for their keys, maybe see something that no one had seen for centuries… and they could very well walk away stinking rich. He decided that if they found the gold, he’d work on Sully, make sure Chloe got a share. Not because he liked her, but because it was only fair; without her key they had nothing.
Feeling good about pretty much everything, Nate got into the SUV, and Chloe started for the church, through the lengthening shadows as dusk gathered around the ancient city.
* * *
It was dark by the time they got to the cathedral, the last tourists headed off to dinner and drinks or whatever. The soft glow of multiple candles and dim lights glowed behind the high, stained-glass windows that lined the apse and ran down both sides of the imposing structure. Chloe parked in the nearby lot and they walked over, across the empty plaza; she led them to a small door on the connected side church, reminding them to let her do the talking if any was necessary. Not a problem for Sully, his Spanish was rusty—and besides, people were more likely to trust a pretty face than his ugly mug.
The door was unlocked, and they walked in through a short entryway, stepping out into the main cathedral just past the narthex at the front. In traditional Gothic style, the nave was one tall, giant room, lined with pillared aisles that had been gated off, displays of statuary and candles and art in the alcoves behind the scrolling black metal fencing. Dozens of wooden pews faced the curved apse at the east end, where the main altar stood. The vaulted, arched ceiling had to be fifty feet high at its peak.
They walked slowly toward the apse, Chloe and Nate both wearing awed expressions as they studied the ornate brickwork, the soaring aisle arches. Their footsteps, soft though they were, echoed in the massive space.
A tiny, elderly nun stepped out of the transept, up by the choir, and eyed them suspiciously before disappearing.
“Nuns,” Nate whispered. “It had to be nuns.”
“Let’s split up,” Sully said. “Act natural, find where the keys go.”
They fanned out, Nate turning back toward the narthex, Chloe moving to one of the alcoves. Sully pulled Elcano’s journal out of his bag, Aipping to the pages he’d marked that had drawings on them. Besides the tree, there were some faint sketches of what looked like a pinecone, though it was hard to tell. A couple of the stained-glass windows had trees or greenery represented, maybe there was some kind of clue there. Except Nate had said that none of the glass was original, the place had been bombed a bunch of times…
They wandered through the opulent room, rustling echoes of their movements whispering back at them. There was a lot to see, and Sully reined in his natural impatience, determined to be thorough. He could feel that they were in the right place, had known it since the kid had said the name. If he had to search every goddamn inch of the cathedral to get a step closer to the gold, he’d do it with a smile.
* * *
Nate headed back for the narthex—basically, the front entrance area—studying the arcade of the south wall, tables and stands of religious artifacts surrounded by Aickering candles. The alcoves were gated and locked, but there were bolt cutters in the equipment bag. Nate hoped they wouldn’t have to use them, that they’d find what they needed without damaging any part of the amazing cathedral. Well, that and the idea of being beset by angry nuns freaked him out a little.
There were a few souvenirs available for purchase by the front entry, crosses and keychain Mary statues, a stand of postcards. Nate started to walk past, but one of the postcards stopped him.
Whoa. The card was a sunny shot of a familiar beach, with Benvinguts a Barcelona! written across the top. Benvinguts meant welcome, he remembered; he’d looked it up years ago, when he’d gotten the exact same postcard from Sam.
Nate opened his bag, pulled out the plastic baggie of postcards. He found his own copy, read the brief inscription on the back: Wish you were here, bro. S.
His hands shook a little as he put the card back with the others. There were probably a thousand shops that sold the same shot, but Nate was somehow sure that Sam had been here, probably right where Nate was standing now—in front of the spindly postcard stand, surrounded by walls that had first been laid out before the Spanish Renaissance. The thought shook him, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he felt a connection to his brother, a shared experience separated only by time. Sam had breathed the same cool, silent air, his feet had been pressed to the same bricks; he’d probably been unhappy about the nuns, too. That idea of connection was what Nate had always dug about history—the realization that others had walked before him, lived and experienced and died, leaving clues to their lives and who they were, stories and hints and evidence of their achievements. Valuable evidence.
Sam’s not dead, though. Not dead, and if he’d been here, he’d figured out the pine tree. Sully hadn’t known about the cathedral, though… Had Sam taken off on his own, to track the gold? Maybe… Or maybe Nate just wanted it to be true.
“Hey, I got something,” Sully said, voice carrying easily through the stillness. He was up in the choir area just in front of the sanctuary, where the main altar stood.
Nate shook himself and headed over, Chloe joining him from the north side of the church. Sully had crouched next to one of the pews, was staring down at the ancient stone Aoor.
They reached him just as Sully pushed one of the long wood benches out of the way, the wood scraping loudly over the bricks. Like an evil jack-in-the- box, the same tiny old nun popped her head out from a door off the transept, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry, Sister,” Nate said, automatically. “He dropped his rosary.”
The nun understood English, it seemed. She scowled at him but disappeared again, without Chloe needing to intervene. He heard her shuffling away, and shivered.
Sully was brushing his fingers over the stone. Chloe and Nate crouched down to either side. There were letters, etched into the rock—small, faint, but there. A list of them. Initials?
“JSE,” Chloe said softly, reading the top line. “Juan Sebastian Elcano.”
Beneath the captain’s initials were more letters, in sets of two or three.
Seventeen more sets.
Sully sounded slightly awed. “The Eighteen were here, alright.”
There was a deliberate zigzag cut into the rock next to the initials, nearly disguised by a break in the surface. Nate ran his finger over it, noted its position, then looked up toward the sanctuary.
“Stairs,” he said, even as he spotted the railing, to the right of the altar. The crypts were off limits to tourists, but Sister No-Fun wasn’t currently at hand, probably off terrorizing children. If they were gone when she came back, maybe she’d assume they’d left.
Together, they hurried toward the stairs, all of them walking lightly, quietly, eagerly.
* * *
Sully led them into the crypt, the air getting cooler with each step down. By the time they’d reached the bottom of the steep, curving stairs, Chloe was glad she’d worn a jacket.
The crypt was a large, six-sided room, bigger than her living room and kitchen combined, with a higher ceiling than Chloe might have expected. There was a large, gated alcove on the east wall, a kind of chest inside with gold-painted shelves on top, Aowers and religious paraphernalia placed all around; statues and carvings were inset along the other arched walls, another gate protecting a lavish embroidery and a figure of a priest and a child. Stands of candles burned in every corner. A handful of wooden prayer stools sat in front of the eastern gated alcove, where a shelf of votive candles Aickered. Chloe had read that Saint Joseph Oriol was buried at Santa Maria del Pi—he’d been a priest here—and wondered if his bones lay nearby. If they were, in fact,
inside that decorated chest… A reliquary? Or is it an altar?
Nate had taken his torch out, was shining it around the room. Hadn’t he and Sam been raised by nuns?
“Thoughts, altar boy?” Chloe asked.
“Caelum,” Nate said, and pointed at the ceiling. Chloe and Sully both looked up. The stone arch overhead had the word engraved along one rib.
“It’s Latin for heaven,” Nate continued. “The journal says, ‘Trust in your fellow man, for one will go to heaven, the other to hell.’ So, I’m thinking hell has to be around here somewhere.”
They spread out, Nate walking along the wall, Sully studying the Aoor.
Chloe went to the tall Madonna-and-child statue to the left of the alcove, set behind a red velvet rope, and peered at its base. If Caelum was up, she reckoned they should be looking low for the corresponding clue.
Nate had stopped at one of the pillars, was muttering to himself. “A skeleton with angel wings… Somewhere between heaven and hell… Like purgatory…”
She glanced up in time to see him touch an old etching in the pillar, a small rectangle of stone about chest high—and something unseen clicked, off to Chloe’s right.
“You heard that, right?” Nate asked.
Sully, squatting in the middle of the room, pointed to what he’d dusted off —an arrow etched into the rock, beneath layers of packed dirt. He brushed his hands on his pants. “Just a wild guess, but this arrow points that way.”
They all stepped closer to the gated alcove on the east wall. Surrounded by Aowers and candles, a painting of Mary set into the top of the gold shelves… But there was a slight gap between the picture and its setting, as though the blue-and-white-gowned Virgin had turned to look at the stairs.
“Does Mary look a little off to you?” Nate asked.
Sully had already pulled the bolt cutters out of the equipment bag.
Grinning, he held them out to Nate.
“I’m not gonna do that,” Nate said, holding his hands up like Sully was offering him poison.
“Scared of a little old nun?” Chloe teased, taking the cutters and stepping to the gate. A padlock hung in the fence’s middle, and she snapped it on the first go, grabbing the broken lock to keep it from clanging. She and Sully pulled the doors open, and Nate stepped to the chest and its shifted painting.
He gently pushed at the painting—and the entire picture turned, run through with some kind of pivot device. The painting that swung around was of the devil, some Medieval depiction—a demonic, horned monster bent over a cauldron of Aame. As the picture slid into place, there was another click—
—and on the front of the chest, a pair of thin wooden diamond-shaped panels dropped away, disappearing into the painted façade. Each revealed a narrow, notched hole. Chloe had to resist the urge to jump up and down, shouting in triumph.
“Holy shit, you found them,” Sully breathed, but Nate didn’t comment, only reaching into his backpack for the cross. Chloe had unshouldered her bag and had her own key out in a Aash. They both crouched in front of the chest. The crosses weren’t identical, hers was set with blue stones rather than red, the design a bit sleeker—but both crosses slotted perfectly into the keyholes, the bars of each sticking out like handles. Chloe and Nate exchanged a look of pure delight.
“Wait,” Chloe said, remembering her trip into the Mayan temple a few years back, and the thing with the spear-pit in Tibet… plus every good treasure story she’d ever heard, and she’d heard quite a few. Booby traps abounded. It had often struck her that pirates of every age liked to dream up deadly obstacles for those who came looking to steal their treasure. Maybe it was a guy thing. “Left or right? Which way do we turn?”
Sully took the journal out of his bag, opened it to the translated pages tucked inside. He scanned them quickly.
“Here it is… both of you turn your keys clockwise, at the same time.”
Chloe nodded, looking at Nate. He leaned back from the chest, extending his arm.
“Just in case,” he said, and she nodded, doing the same. Behind them, Sully took a couple of big steps to the right.
“On three,” Nate said. “Two… One… Turn.”
Chloe turned her key, felt it go loose, like some pressure had been removed —
—and half a dozen metal arrows shot out of the chest with lethal force, Aying in every direction. Chloe heard one whiz past her ear, and Sully let out a squawk.
Jesus! Wide-eyed, Nate looked at her, then back at Sully, who was pulling one of the rusted arrows out of his pack, his face suddenly pale… and a bit guilty looking, wasn’t it?
“You said clockwise,” Chloe hissed. “Very confidently.”
“It was fifty-fifty, so I made a guess,” Sully said.
“A guess?” Chloe glared at him. “That could have been our heads!”
“Clearly, you should turn the keys the other way,” he said, quite matter-of– factly.
“Clearly,” she said, scowling. She looked at Nate, saw the same dark thoughts in his gaze. She hoped he was paying attention to who he’d teamed up with.
Though I suppose I’m one to talk…
They repositioned themselves, grasping the keys again. “Okay,” Nate said, and she nodded. “Turn.”
Chloe turned the key to the left, felt the shift of some mechanism thrum through the cool metal in her hand—
—and the entire chest slid forward, unhitching from the wall, and settling to the ground with a loud thunk. Behind it, Chloe could see the edge of a narrow open passageway, hidden behind the chest. Cold, stale air wafted into the crypt.
She grinned at Nate, who grinned back. They both stood, Nate nodding to the right. He pushed and she pulled, the heavy altar scraping over the Aoor as they wrangled it out of the way. Chloe barely felt the weight, adrenaline coursing through her.
The revealed passageway was a stone arch festooned with a thousand spiderwebs. Chloe could just see ancient, grimy steps that led down into the darkness. In the keystone of the arch, a horned devil beckoned them in.
* * *
“This is it, we’re getting close,” Sully said, and took a step toward the stairs, feeling like a kid at Christmas. But Chloe stepped into his path, blocking him.
“Hang on,” she said, and then to Nate, “what did the book say?”
“One of us goes up, the other goes down,” Nate said.
“Exactly,” Chloe said, giving Sully the stink-eye. “I’ll go down.”
“I’ll go with her,” Nate said.
What a surprise. Sully considered arguing the point, but decided it didn’t really matter.
“Fine, you can both go to hell,” he said, and then held out his hand to Nate. “Give me your cross.”
“Why would I do that?” Nate asked.
Well, duh. “’Cause I’m probably gonna need it up there. You have her cross.”
“Okay,” Nate said, holding out their key. “Give me your phone.”
Sully started to ask, but the kid just made a hand-it-over gesture. “Just trust me, will you?”
Sully took the cross, relieved to have it back in his hands, while Nate took his phone and started tapping at it. “Oh my god, you have so many apps open, do you never close them?”
Sully scowled. Chloe watched him, her expression not entirely friendly. Nate pulled out his own phone, did some more tapping, then handed Sully’s phone back. “Here. Now we can track each other. Try to stay on top of us.”
Sully looked at his phone, where a green GPS dot glowed on a tiny grid.
Nearly overlapping it was a purple dot that must have been his phone. Huh.
Nate and Chloe had pulled out their Aashlights, Chloe scooping up the equipment bag. The cool blue LED beams pierced the dark of the stairwell, lighting up at least a few centuries’ worth of cobwebs. They both started forward.
“Have fun in the haunted tunnel,” Sully called, but neither of them answered. In a few steps they were out of view, reAections of blue light playing up the webby walls and into the crypt, throwing warped shadows.
Sully considered pushing the chest back into place, but already the little green dot on his phone was moving away, east. By the time the nuns came down to blow out candles, they’d all be elsewhere.
He went up the crypt stairs, imagining the look on the nuns’ faces when they saw that their priceless painting of Jesus’ mom had turned into Satan, or that a portal to hell had opened up beneath their feet. Chuckling to himself, he hurried through the empty nave to the nearest exit.