For a moment, she imagined Gregory Evans's face when he saw them appear, because she still didn't know exactly where he was staying. She didn't know what his reaction would be upon meeting Antonia. She supposed he wouldn't be pleased to discover that someone else was involved in the search for Iacobus's diary, especially since Geovanna had demanded absolute discretion, but that was a matter she would resolve when they arrived in Murcia. Now, the most important thing was to bring the three of them together, reach an agreement, and discuss how they would unmask Clarice and Viana's killers.
He looked away from the road for a few seconds to observe Antonia, who was sleeping peacefully with her head tilted to the side. Nicolas felt a pleasant flutter in his stomach when he noticed a lock of copper hair covering her earlobe. He was surprised by his own reaction, silently admiring her. This woman made him feel alive, yet repressed and awkward like a normal teenager, since, at his age, he could have been her father. Because, although scrupulous in her dealings, Antonia possessed the knowledge of Athens, the courage of Artemis, and the irresistible sensuality of Aphrodite. The three quintessential virtues of an ideal woman. He tried to think of something else, since there was no point in continuing to gaze at the young woman with the eyes of a slaughtered lamb. Such admiration, not without a certain Epicureanism, could be misinterpreted and lead to serious problems with those truly responsible for his mission.
They allowed her to accompany Antonia, as long as it was part of her alibi. Any mistake would result in the team's dissolution. As if sensing someone was watching her, Antonia stirred in her seat. She woke up and glanced at her watch.
— Good heavens, it's already two-thirty! — he muttered sleepily.
— Didn't you think about getting some sleep?
— We should have left Madrid in the morning — he said, was his only answer.
The young woman grabbed her jacket from the back of the vehicle. She felt cold all over her body.
— It's easier to tell at night if they're following us — she said hoarsely, as soon as she had put her coat over her shoulders.
— Then we're in luck... — he smiled slightly and added — It's been over ten minutes since we've seen any lights in the rearview mirror.
— Better this way.
Colmenares pressed the radio button to tune in to a news station. Then he turned up the temperature on the digital air conditioner.
— Where are we going? — she wanted to know.
— We have just left the Honrubia detour behind.
— You'd better stop at the next service station, where there's an inn. We need some sleep.
Nicolas thought it was an absurd whim, leaving Madrid at midnight to stop halfway, but he refrained from commenting because, in reality, he was looking forward to lying in bed and sleeping for ten hours straight. After all... what was the rush to get to Murcia?
Half an hour later, near Sisante, they left the highway and entered a rest area, where there was a gas station and a small but presentable three-star hotel.
Nicolas maneuvered his Audi deftly and found a vacant room very close to the entrance. The car's headlights illuminated the main facade of the hotel café, including the few customers still enjoying a hot drink at the far end of the counter overlooking the exterior window.
By mutual agreement, they decided to chat a bit, sitting over a cup of coffee, before bed. After they settled in at one of the tables, a waiter, more sleepy than enthusiastic, served them. He then brought them a pair of steaming cups and the bill. The lawyer stepped forward to pay, preventing Antônia from doing so.
— I know it's none of my business, but I'd like to know what's so special about the crimes in Madrid..." Colmenares was direct, blunt. — The procedure is neither common nor the most orthodox.
Antonia watched him stoically. Such indifference shook Nicolas's pride, making him feel increasingly like a mere figment of the case. He wasn't stupid; he knew they needed him as a smokescreen to divert attention from Gregory Evans and conceal his new investigative partner's true purpose. This, however, wasn't an obstacle to him learning the truth, since he was also risking his own life by stepping in, traveling to Murcia to contact the detective, who must surely be on the killers' list.
— I'd like you to be honest and tell me what the words written in blood on the wall mean, and also what the manuscript contains — he insisted persistently. — I know you broke into Clarice's house and copied the file from her computer. There are things I need to know, and only you can help me.
— Like what?
— For example, the social repercussions of the problem proposed in the cryptogram and the reasons why the judge classified it as a judicial secret.
— I can't answer that... — she regretted having to deny his request. — I'm not authorized.
— Do you remember...? — He wrinkled his nose. — I was the one who warned you about Geovanna's intentions, as well as about the manuscript. You shouldn't have left me out.
— My bosses don't share this opinion. Transcribing this text isn't the end of the journey, it's just the beginning.
— I bet you know these guys better than anyone... I mean the bastards who ruined Geovanna's life.
Antonia hesitated for a few seconds. In truth, she wasn't sure about anything.
— We may be facing one of the most inaccessible secret societies in the esoteric world," she said in a lower voice — and also the best-kept mystery in the history of humanity. That's why Central sent the best. And I don't care if you think I'm presumptuous, because it's the truth. My knowledge of the art of alchemy, Kabbalah, mysticism, and other occult sciences has been showcased at several international conferences and congresses, to which I have been invited as a speaker. You should read some of my books to understand what I'm talking about.
Nicolas knew by hearsay, thanks to Hijarrubia, Dr. Sala's true resume. The ruse devised to introduce her to the auction house worked while she was working as a librarian, although it would continue to work for Gregory Evans.
— Geovanna told me about a cult: The Widow's Sons— the lawyer pointed out.
— It's not a sect, but a society that originated from a legend. They believe they are the heirs to a knowledge based on the art of construction. Some call them Freemasons, but in reality they deny their existence, even though they know they are the true guardians of the essential secret. It follows that this brotherhood has no sympathy for modern masters, whose lodges are advertised online and who write books revealing false mysteries of the order.
— Does the government perhaps fear that any of its representatives are involved? — Colmenares figured this might be an indiscreet question, though the answer was no less so.
— Who knows... — she was succinct. — But what really worries the Central is the power that the device described by the bricklayer could imply.
— I don't know what device you're referring to. I could probably answer if I had read the text.
That comment seemed to bother her.
— You'll know in due time... — Antonia drank the last sip of her coffee, ending the meeting. — Now the best thing we can do is sleep.
Nicolas silently agreed, realizing he had overstepped his bounds.
Then she stood up, imitating her traveling companion. They left the coffee shop together, after saying goodbye to the attendant, heading toward the hotel entrance arm in arm.
No matter how hard they tried, they were far from being a couple in love.