Free The Columbus Code by Mike Evans Page B

one of them is a priest. I haven’t had a girl friend since middle school.” She smiled at Elena. “Until now.”
    Elena ducked her head and turned to look out the window.
    Maria decided to give her a minute and gazed out the opposite window. They’d left the city proper and were now rounding a long, sweeping curve. A three-story mansion came into view, its sandstone-colored stucco bright in the sun. It was capped with the kind of rich tile roof Maria had come to love about Spanish architecture. As they drew nearer, she saw that a second-floor balcony roof formed a patio for the top floor. Perched on the side of the mountain and bathed in light, the house seemed to tower over the region.
    â€œWow,” she said.
    â€œYes,” Elena responded.
    â€œCan’t you imagine
Señor
Tejada standing on that balcony like the lord of the manor?”
    â€œNo,” Elena said, voice low. “I see him standing right there ready to open the car door for you.”
    The limo rolled to a stop, and Maria grabbed her hair with one hand and her briefcase with the other. Tejada opened the door, leaned down, and nodded. “Welcome to
mi casa
, Ms. Winters,” he said.
    If he said,
Mi casa es su casa
, she wasn’t getting out of the car.
    Since he didn’t, Maria slid across the seat and extricated herself without accepting the hand he offered her. He had the grace to offer the same hand to Elena, who took it like the mistress of protocol she was.
    Tejada seemed far less imperious in his own home than he was on the Catalonia campus. Although he ran the meeting with his usual businesslike crispness in an airy, sunny room that screamed good taste, it was over in half the time allotted and he was offering all of them drinks—Snowden and his minions, the two gentlemen from Belgium Continental, plus Elena and Maria. Maria opted for mineral water and turned to follow the group out to a portico for appetizers. Tejada touched her lightly on the elbow and said, “I would like to show you my home.”
    Maria glanced at the rest of the party but Tejada said, “They have all toured the house before.”
    Snowden nodded at her. Maria narrowed her eyes at him but she could see there was no getting out of this. She considered summoning Elena to go with them, but that would seem rude, even to her. “Lead on,” she said.
    Tejada guided her down a central hallway and into a large, high-ceilinged room with a panoramic view of the city. The lights of Barcelona were beginning to wink in the distance as the sun’s descent purpled the sky. “I never tire of it,” he said gesturing to the vista.
    â€œI wouldn’t either,” Maria replied.
    â€œYou love my city, then?”
    â€œDo you own it, too,
Señor
Tejada?”
    As soon as she said it, she could imagine Snowden snarling at her, but Tejada’s dark eyes sparkled.
    â€œMuch of it,” he said. “The rest . . . no one can possess. It is for all of us.”
    â€œAll of it is lovely,” Maria said. She nodded toward a painting on the opposite wall. “That’s a Picasso.”
    Tejada followed her to it. “
The Old Guitarist
. Quite different from his cubist paintings.”
    Maria put her hands behind her back to keep herself from touching it. “He had a broader range than most people realize.”
    â€œYou are familiar with his work?”
    Maria nodded, eyes still on the emaciated face of the old man as it bent to his music. “I grew up in New York City. We spent many a Saturday at the Met.”
    â€œThe Metropolitan Museum.” Tejada smiled. “I know it well. Several of the paintings I own are on loan there.”
    Maria searched his face for signs of arrogance, but there were none. Pleased, yes, but not proud. Either he was a superb actor, or she’d figured him wrong.
    â€œI see you appreciate fine art,” he said. “Perhaps you will enjoy