Gunnarr let go of the door and leaned against the wall in front of me. He looked the other way and lowered his head.
"The same thing happened to me. When I saw my father in your office at the museum, I'd wanted to see him again for so long... Nagorno has always kept me up to date with what he had been doing, I've always known where he's been during these four centuries. My father is a good person to have at your side and I missed him so much. But when he took me to that cemetery, I just couldn't. I couldn't forget what he'd done to me. I couldn't let it go, leave it in the past," he ran his hand through his hair, just as Iago did when something was bothering him.
"I looked into his eyes and I knew that he felt guilty, which is why I can't forgive him. Not until he has suffered."
"We're all pretty stupid, aren't we? The four of us," I said. "We're trapped in this web of guilt and revenge, and we're going to end up destroying each other's lives."
"You're right."
"Gunnarr. I'm not going to forgive Nagorno for what he did to my mother, nor am I going to forgive him for what he's doing to me now. And I'm not going to forgive you either, goddamn it, however many stories you tell me about Vikings. You took me from my home, you took me from the arms of my husband, you took me from a job that I love to bring me to this cell and threaten me with death. No, Gunnarr. You and I are not alike. I would never have done that to you, I would never kidnap or kill anyone."
"That's because you think like an ephemeral, you only see your little world. If you saw the whole picture, you would change your opinion. Believe me."
I stood up and walked over to him, without dropping my gaze.
"Then show me the whole picture."
"No... that's a privilege only I have earned and you would have to do a lot to be worthy of seeing it. But I can give you clues, if you're able to see them, sense them, sniff them out. Let's see how smart you really are, stedmor. Open your eyes and your ears, listen to what you see and see what I tell you, especially what's between the lines. The most important truths are in the parts that are left out. The parts that aren't answered have the key to the question. The things we are ashamed of are the things that best define us. Think about what my father doesn't say, and you will get to know him better than he knows himself."
Gunnarr left without waiting for me to reply, leaving me on my own.
Ok, Gunnarr. I'll take up the gauntlet. Let's play.
14
Monte Castillo
IAGO
I waited until nightfall to get the car and drive to Puente Viesgo. It was a weekday and the parking lot at the entrance to the Interpretation Center was deserted. It was a magnificent night; the sky was clear, tinted with a deep indigo color. Thousands of stars that burnt out years ago dotted the heavens above me.
I took the hidden path on the right and started the climb. At my feet, the valley of my childhood slept, and there were only a few lights still on in some remote houses. I didn't need to use the light from my cell phone; the white shadow from Mother Moon showed me the way to the lime tree. As I stepped into the cave, I lit a torch that I had prepared at home. I took off my shoes and shirt; I had the ochre markings painted on my arms and torso. I was Urko once more, returning to my first home.
He was already there. Father was waiting for me next to the panel of the hands, where Dana and I had recited our vows before Mother Rock. He had also painted his past as Lür, the patriarch of the Ancient Family.
We stood facing each other, father and son, catching up with recent events in silence, just looking at each other. Then he came over to me, we held on to each other's arms and we touched foreheads, in the ancient style. The greeting of men who respect each other without fear.
We sat down, leaning against the cave wall.
"I remember the conversation we had a year ago, in this same place, before going to the Amazons. I remember telling you that you would end up turning Adriana into a longeva, that you would succumb when you saw her age..." he said.
"I remember. But I already told you, she doesn't want to, Adriana doesn't want to be a longeva. She's happy living for a few more decades, and I'm going to respect that. What I wasn't expecting was Nagorno's blackmailing. I thought that he would leave her out of our problems. And I certainly didn't expect to see Gunnarr again."
"No, neither did I," he said, letting out a long sigh. If I had have suspected anything I would have stayed with you. Tell me, what do you have there?"
"A damn riddle," I answered, pulling the piece of paper from the back pocket of my pants.
"Let me see it."
My father knew all about the intricacies of cryptograms; he was the one who taught Gunnarr and turned him into a skilled code breaker.
"Let's see, You will reach her by air or sea," he looked up, waiting for my obvious response.
"It's an island, I get that part."
"Yakarta, on the island of Java..." I wondered out loud.
"Isn't it too obvious that Nagorno would take her to his favorite corner of the planet?"
"I wouldn't rule anything out quite yet, not even the most obvious."
"Ok," he agreed, "we won't rule it out, but the place they have taken her must fit in with all the clues. Gunnarr doesn't leave anything to chance."
"Let's keep thinking then: You will find Massacres and Cathedrals. Do you think that's literal or figurative?"
"I don't know. I'll check the records for massacres in cathedrals. But there must be hundreds," I said. "All the bombardments on islands that have destroyed churches, just counting the last two world wars..."
"Try to be optimistic, Urko. If they are cathedrals, we're looking at Christianity. We've just got to look within the last two thousand years of history. Islands with recent pasts."
"Ok, it's our best bet so far. We'll have to look into it," I said. "Let's continue. The next part is interesting: Will there be thousands, will they be beautiful? What do you think that refers to? To a place where there are thousands of beauties?"
"Or maybe not," said my father. What most stands out is the question mark. Is it a question? Why isn't it a statement?"
I threw a pebble towards the back of the cave, frustrated.
"How do we find out? How can we decipher what's in my son's head and what he's trying to tell me after four hundred years brooding over what I did to him?"
"That's enough, Urko. We've got a lot to do and not much time to do it. Let's share out the tasks. Where should we start?"
"I have to focus on the telomerase research; I've got less than twenty days to reverse the effect. You take care of the museum."
"I will, but I'll do the bare minimum over the next three weeks," said Lür. "My priority right now is to find Nagorno, Gunnarr and Adriana. And it won't be easy. If they've hidden her, they will have taken her to a remote place."
"Not necessarily," I sighed, frustrated. "She could be in an apartment overlooking Central Park and we wouldn't know, or in a skyscraper on the most crowded street in Shanghai. Admit it, the possibilities are endless."
"But Gunnarr has given specific details: an island, massacres, cathedrals, thousands and beautiful... those are the clues."
"Or maybe not all of them," I said. Gunnarr is very sly; some may be false and he put them in there for the simple pleasure of giving us a headache."
"Even false clues have their reasons, I taught him that. Even a liar will tell the truth through his lies."
We were silent for a moment. My father studied the piece of paper, holding it up to the light in case his grandson had left a hidden message with invisible citrus ink, although I had checked earlier and I knew that the answer was no.
"Urko, do you really think that Nagoro would kill her?"
"Father, he killed Vega and Syrio, his niece and nephew, just for his thirst of being a father. This time it's different, this time his life is on the line, and Adriana doesn't even share his blood. He's marking his territory, he's letting me know what he's willing to do if I try and kill him again. He knows t
hat I've discovered something to do with the longevo gene. If he survives this ordeal, he wants to know that I won't use it against him."
"Being with Adriana makes you vulnerable, and you know it, You're well aware of that, aren't you?"
"I've always known. Whilst I'm a man with someone to love, with someone I care about, I will be weak against Nagorno's power."
"That's why you haven't tried to have children with her."
"That's right. I couldn't bear to go through what he did to Lyra, killing his family. I can't take it anymore."
My father sighed, with a look on his face that was lost amongst the cracks in the rock.
"I'm not just concerned about Nagorno," he said. "Gunnarr is also in the picture. Is there anything else I should know about?"
"He carved some runes into my desk. Does it hurt, father? Because I want it to hurt. I need it to hurt in order to be able to consider you as my father once more."
"He's obviously proposing a rite of passage to forgive you."
"Yeah, I saw that too. He wants to forgive me, for us to be father and son once more, but he has to hurt me first."
"Do you think that the kidnapping will be enough for him?" he asked, hoarsely.
"Are you asking me if I think that he'll kill Adriana?" I asked.
"Let's imagine that I run out of time and I don't find the antidote for Nagorno, and my brother dies. It's obvious that Gunnarr has orders to execute Adriana. That way we'll be even. As far as Gunnarr's concerned, it's an eye for an eye."
"No, son. I hate to be the one to remind you of this, but knowing how Gunnarr's mind works, you will never be even."
"What do you mean? Don't you think it's enough pain to kidnap and kill my wife?"
"If what he's trying to do is give you the same pain he felt, the element of seduction is missing."
I swallowed hard. I hadn't thought about that.
"If he wants to make you feel the pain and insult you caused him... Gunnarr will carry on from where you left off, doing the same thing that he believes you did with his wife: first he will seduce her, and then he will cause her death."
15
Coffee in Paris
IAGO
The next day I caught a flight to Paris, having once again taken on the identity of Wistan Zeidan. I shaved my beard to leave a goatee similar to the one I had when I met Pilkington, and I had to go back to the brown contact lenses and the thick black frames. I was back to being the headhunter for candidates for the Hooke Awards.
This time it was Pilkington who offered to travel to Europe. When I called him, pretending that his candidacy had a good possibility of winning the award, he told me that the Kronon Corporation was planning on opening headquarters in Europe and he had been planning on traveling to Paris for quite some time now.
I was glad to hear it and it slowed down the countdown I had in my head slightly. I wouldn't have to lose two days on transatlantic flights to go to the Kronon Corporation headquarters in San Francisco, just a couple of hours to the French capital.
Despite the fact that winter was harsh on the region that year, that morning a bright white sun was warming the bridges and lampposts of Paris.
I had arranged to meet Pilkington in a discreet café that I knew well. The first floor had a VIP area with deep red and gold cushions for those customers looking for some privacy. Most used it for reasons less scientific than ours, but I knew that Pilkington would also appreciate it.
I climbed the stairs of the Procope café, gave the waiter an over-generous tip to make sure that nobody disturbed us for any reason whatsoever, and sat on the plump sofa to wait for my confidant.
Minutes later the door opened, but Pilkington wasn't alone. He was with a young woman. A brunette executive, whose face I couldn't see properly until she sat down in front of me.
It's impossible.
That's the only thing I could think when I saw her.
It's impossible.
"My dear Wistan. I do hope that you will forgive our delay, the plane sufferred more turbulence than you can imagine. We just got in to Paris and we haven't even been to the hotel yet to leave our luggage. We left it with the waiter. I trust that there's no problem..."
I wasn't listening to him, I was just looking at her. And she was looking at me.
Is it you? Is it really you?
"And forgive me for not having told you that I wasn't coming alone. This is Marion Adamson, my superior at the Kronon Corporation. She's in charge of supervising my work and she is the highest authority within the company when it comes to telomerase behavior. She knew at the time about your first visit in relation to the Hooke Awards."
I stood up, with all the strength I could muster, and held out my hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Marion."
"Likewise, my dear Wistan."
She looked into my eyes and held my gaze for quite some time. Was she as taken aback as I was?
I studied her face, and found that she was waiting to see my reaction.
Was Marion Adamson a descendant of Manon Adams, the wife I had in the 17th century in New England, who died in that epidemic, the one our son buried behind the farm on the hill in Duxbury?
What if it wasn't her, what if she was an identical great-great-granddaughter?
My mouth had gone dry so I took a sip of the exclusive coffee the waiter had left, and cleared my throat, uncomfortably.
I forced myself to take control of the conversation and carry on with the plan that I had formed earlier, without getting carried away by that... that surprise.
"As you know, Mr. Pilkington, at this time I am deliberating about which institutions to put forward as candidates for the Hooke Awards. Well, as I told you last year, the discoveries of the corporation you represent did not seem to me to be the most suitable for the winning profile, but I must say that once I took a good look at the material you kindly gave me, I changed my mind."
Pilkington, who had been listening to me rather on edge, leaned back against the soft armchair in front of me, looking much more relaxed.
How much does your boss know? I asked him with a look. He silently responded that discretion was required.
"I'm so glad to hear that," he said. "The truth is that you seemed somewhat reluctant to have faith in our line of research, but as I'm sure you've seen over the last year, studies on aging are become an increasingly higher priority for governments and pharmaceuticals, in both Europe and in the States."
"I am aware of that, which is why I wanted to hear your latest findings about telomerase behavior. You see, I find the idea of inhibiting the telomerase as interesting as re-activating it. Has any progress been made in that direction?"
I glanced at the supposed Marion out of the corner of my eye. I saw her grimace slightly upon hearing my words. Just slightly, but enough to know that she was intrigued.
Pilkington looked at her as well, seeking permission to say one thing or another.
She discreetly nodded her head.
"It's true that this year we have focused on the behavior of telomerase," he paused and looked at her again before going on.
"You see, before going any further," Marion interrupted, "and sharing more confidential material with you, maybe we should reach some kind of prearrangement with regard to what the granting of this award actually means."
"I think that you know that promising an award of these characteristics before a jury makes a decision, in addition to impossible, is also illegal," I replied.
"I wasn't referring to a pre-contract in the legal sense, but rather a commitment from you that our proposal will be given particular interest by the members of the jury." Her voice was like silk. She was doing some tough negotiating, but her voice was like silk.
Nineteen days, I reminded myself. Act fast and then pick up the pieces later.
"I can promise you that," I answered, after thinking for a moment. "But I have some very tight deadlines. I'm aware that I'm asking a lot, but it would be helpful if you could send me
all those studies tonight."
Pilkington gulped.
"Tonight?" he repeated. "I'm afraid that we have a very tight schedule for this trip. I'm sure you can imagine the number of meetings we have set up with possible European associates over the next few days."
"Not a problem," Marion interrupted, stirring her basil sorbet. "Tell me the name of your hotel and I'll personally deliver the material."
"Perfect," I agreed. "As soon as we've finished the meeting I'll give you the address."
The truth is that I hadn't made any reservations to stay in a hotel. My plan was to go back to Santander that same night so as not to lose any more of the precious time I had left. But seeing that woman, the spitting image of my wife who died four centuries ago, had thrown my plans off track.
An awkward silence followed that none of us knew very well how to fill.
"Doctor Adamson is American," Pilkington said in the end, "although she mentioned that she has European roots, isn't that right?"
"English and Dutch," said Marion, without taking her eyes off me.
"You wouldn't be one of the descendants of the famous Mayflower, would you?" I asked.
She laughed and leaned back into the sofa.
"I'm aware that all my compatriots claim to be descendants of those Puritans, but in my case it's actually true. My family tree is well documented."
"Was there an Adamson on the Mayflower?" I challenged. "I believe that there was an Adams on the list, but I don't recall an Adamson."
Pilkington looked at me in surprise.
"Are you familiar with the famous list of the passengers on the Mayflower? I didn't know that you were into American history, you really are a box of surprises, Mr. Zeidan."
"I have always been fascinated with the story of the survivors from the Plymouth colony. Those first winters must have been very hard, terrible... The cold, the hunger..."