Free The Alchemist’s Code by Martin Rua Page A

couldn’t keep hold of my opponent, so I did the only thing that came to mind in that moment. I spat in his face.
    For a split second, he was disorientated enough to enable me to wriggle away. He was fast, though, and turned round almost immediately, but was rewarded for his efforts by a violent blow to the face with the massive glass ashtray, which hurled him to the floor. The blow was extremely hard and he lay unconscious, while I stood there, breathless, watching. I hoped he was not dead, but in that precise moment that was not my first concern. If the place was guarded, someone had certainly seen and heard. I had to get out of there quickly and track down Anna, who was perhaps the only one who could help me find Àrtemis.
    She’d said that I could get in touch with her, but I had no idea how. I began to rummage around in that pokey little office but there was nothing there, only piles of those cards with strange symbols and dates, two rather dated computers, a phone and little else.
    As I hunted for clues to help me find Anna, I hurriedly searched the man lying on the ground. I moved his arms apart in order to open his jacket and noticed a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. A disturbing tattoo. One which I knew very well.
    *
    A sword and a swastika. The symbol of the Thule Society – the band of fanatics of Arianism and racial purity which had formed the theoretical and mystical basis of Nazism.
    I had to get out of there. It was too dangerous to stay, so I left the office and headed for the entrance of the store. As I went, though, my eye fell upon a door to the left. I opened it, and found myself in a filthy, smelly bathroom. I turned on the light and looked around. Staring at my reflection in the mirror for a moment I had another flashback: I saw myself in that cramped place, slipping something into a crack in the crumbling wall.
    The vision only lasted a few seconds, but that was long enough for me to realise that it was a fragment of memory. Hurriedly, I inspected the wall until I found the crack. I slipped a finger inside and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. On it were a telephone number and the words:
    â€¦hide it well. When the time comes you will find it useful. Anna.
    That girl had tried in every way to make me open my eyes and, apparently, after one of our meetings I had felt that I should follow her advice. I put the note in my pocket, but as I was about to open the bathroom door I heard footsteps outside.
    They were here!
    I opened the door a crack and saw two men bent over the one I had laid out with the ashtray. There was no time to think, and, with the strength of desperation, I ran for the door. The two were behind me just as quickly. There were never many people about in that part of Naples, and it could quite easily have turned out to be my grave, but after running at breakneck speed I got to my car, started the engine and set off.
    I drove around aimlessly for a while, hoping they weren’t following me, until I came to Via Chiatamone, and as I was passing an antique shop, I suddenly slammed on the brakes right outside it, in the middle of the road.
    The Églantine. The real one.
    The cars behind me began beeping their horns, so I set off again and a few metres further on came to a car park. The guard was a big man in his sixties with a uniform that was too tight for his body, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw me.
    â€œMister Aragona! What a pleasure! How are you?”
    Another flashback, another name.
    My face broke into a smile and I returned the greeting.
    â€œHello… Giuseppe. I’m fine thank you.”
    â€œI didn’t think you were in Naples.”
    â€œI’m… I’m back.” I parked and walked back to the exit, where Giuseppe was waiting for me. I looked around with wild eyes, terrified at the thought of seeing the cronies of the fake Bruno emerge at any moment. The idea of going to the Églantine was probably not a