A Rip in the Veil (8 page)

“I’ll just…” John pointed in the direction of his office. “I have a backlog of e-mails to get through.”

“Oh, no you don’t; we talk to him together.”

“Yes,” the receptionist nodded, “he specifically said he wants to see you both.”

“Bloody hell.” John threw a glance in Diane’s direction. “Well, come on then, let’s get this over with.”

The man who was waiting for them swivelled when they entered. Where Sanderson had been big and bulky, along the lines of a rugby player gone to seed, this man had the looks of a ballet dancer or a fencer, thin and graceful with startling blue green eyes in a tanned and well cared for face. His skull was shaved, and his upper lip was bisected by a hairline scar, creating the impression that his thin mouth had two cupid bows, one overlapping the other.

“What happened?” he said. “Where’s Diego? He’s been gone for two nights! And I’ve tried to contact you, but —”

“I’m sorry,” Diane said, “but who exactly are you? Mr Sanderson has never mentioned that he has a partner.”

The man’s scarred mouth twisted. “Why should he? But trust me, I’m his partner, both in life and in business.” His voice was like smooth chocolate, cultured and without an accent. He regarded them with what could have been amusement, if it hadn’t been for the assessing look in his eyes as they rearranged their faces into expressions of commiseration. “I’m Hector, Hector Olivares. So, what happened?”

His eyes never left John as he retold what had happened, from the moment they got to the crossroads to when Sanderson disappeared. Afterwards, Hector tented his hands in front of him and stared out the window with an unfocused gaze. Hector cleared his throat, turning those disconcerting turquoise eyes back to John.

“Where exactly did this happen?”

John frowned. “How exact?”

“As exact as you can make it.”

John went over to Diane’s desk, indicating that Hector should come along.

“There,” he said after a while, pointing at a zoomed in map on the computer screen. “It’s a very odd crossroads, with the little track bisecting the road at an exact ninety degree angle.”

Hector nodded, mouth setting into a grim line. “Yes, they’re always very exact, the time nodes.”

“Time nodes?” Diane scoffed. “What would they be?”

Hector raised his brows at her tone and directed himself to John.

“Time nodes are points at which every now and then the fabric of time rips apart, through earthquakes, freak weather or volcanic activity.” Hector made a dismissive gesture. “The volcanic activity generally precludes anyone actually falling through the holes. You burn to death instead.”

“Of course,” he added in a tone as casual as if he were discussing the price of milk, “there are other ways to travel from time to time, but they require magic – black magic – while the time nodes, well, they’re natural cracks in time.”

“Natural?” John croaked. Was he supposed to guffaw? Call the closest mental asylum?

“Don’t worry,” Hector said with a crooked smile. “It only happens to one in a million or so.” He tugged at the sleeves of his dark cashmere jumper and walked over to the window. “
Porqué?
Why did this happen to you? I told you to be careful.”

“Be careful?” John said. “He knew this could happen?”

Hector levelled a dark look at him. “Diego didn’t fully believe me.” Hector sighed and turned away. “And now he’s fallen into somewhere else.”

“And Alex?”

Hector looked as if he couldn’t care less. “She’s obviously dropped through time as well.” He put a hand on John’s shoulder in a brief pat. “Don’t expect her to come back. They never do.”

“Well,” Diane cut in, “first of all Mr Olivares, we don’t know what has happened to either Alex or Mr Sanderson, and secondly, I must say I find your theory entertaining but totally incredible. Time nodes – really!”

Hector shifted his shoulders under his jumper; one moment he was a slight, somewhat effeminate man, the next he looked as dangerous as a starved tiger. Diane stood her ground.

“And anyway, how on earth would you know one can fall through time? Unless you’ve done it yourself, of course.” She threw John a triumphant look, as if saying
See? Got him
.

“Oh, I have,” Hector said. “Several times, as a matter of fact, flung from one time to the other.” Something dark settled over his face. “And all because of Mercedes Gutierrez Sanchez, time travelling witch that she is.”

“Mercedes?” John took Diane’s hand in his; he didn’t like this, not at all. He tried to laugh, but somehow it got stuck halfway up. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it? Is it really?” Hector shook his head. “What would you know?”

Hector left shortly after, having wheedled a promise out of them to drive him out to the crossroads the day after, insisting he had to see the place where Diego had disappeared.

“I’ll pay you of course,” he’d said, bowing with certain irony in Diane’s direction. “Just as we’ll pay for the work you did for Diego – assuming you’ve got something to deliver.”

John sank down onto the sofa and stared at Diane. “Please tell me you still believe there’s a perfectly rational explanation to all this, please, please, tell me you’re laughing your head off at what that rather sinister man just told us.”

“Of course I am,” she said, “but he was very matter-of-fact, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was. And what was all that crap about Mercedes flying through time?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” she said with a teasing grin. “I’ve thought for years that there was something very strange about her. I suppose dropping through time nodes would have a disruptive impact on your sanity,” she said sarcastically.

John gnawed at his lip. “She was pretty ageless, wasn’t she?”

Diane shrugged. Good genes, she told John – and a skilled hairdresser.

*

The silence lay like a smothering blanket in the car as John drove it back towards the crossroads the next day. Hector sat in absolute stillness, hands folded over crossed legs, and studied them from his position in the backseat. Diane was keeping up a constant conversation with John, no doubt in an attempt to distract him, but as far as Hector could see it wasn’t working very well, John’s shoulders tense under the red wool of his sweater.

He wondered how much of the previous night Diane had spent verifying his identity, and mentally he tipped his hat at her; Diane Wilson was thorough and not easily intimidated, and those were qualities he appreciated – particularly in people working for him. He met her eyes in the rear view mirror, sharpened his gaze until she looked away. Hector went back to regarding the speeding landscape. In the front seat Diane was saying something in a low, intense tone, and without turning his head he tuned in.

“…so of course there must be some sort of explanation,” she said to John. “It’s just that we haven’t found one yet.”

Good luck to them. He’d spent most of his extended life attempting to unravel the logic behind his own fate. He’d thought he’d found it when he met Diego, a divine compensation of sorts for all the previous fruitless years. He gnawed his lip. The only reason Diego had hired Diane Wilson’s company had been to get at Alexandra Lind, an opportunity to get her alone and browbeat her into telling them what had happened to Ángel. Now it had all gone wrong: no Alexandra Lind, and no more Diego. Hector fisted his hand and caressed the thick gold ring that adorned his ring finger.

Hector took his time studying the barren surroundings. There was nothing here, nothing that would help him learn where Diego had ended up. Ignoring his audience of two, he walked out to stand in the exact centre of the crossroads, and there he crouched to lay his palm against the warm asphalt.

“
Adios
, Diego.” Poor bastard, he’d never cope in a world without fast food and modern amenities. He straightened up and rubbed at his bruised thigh, courtesy of that panicked jump out of the studio window a couple of days ago – stupid thing to do, he’d been far too distraught about Diego to make much of a cat burglar. Still; he had to try. He needed one of those paintings, and even more now that Diego was gone from his life.

He turned to look at them, two rather apprehensive young people standing very close together.

“Strange isn’t it? First Alexandra goes missing – is apparently held somewhere against her will for some months – and on the day she reappears, her mother vanishes, never to be heard from again. Unfortunately.”

It had been one of the happier days in his long, long, life, the day Ángel called him to tell him he’d found her – not the witch herself, but her daughter, an Alexandra Lind. Was he sure? Yes, Ángel had yelled – well, he was almost sure, like ninety-nine per cent sure. So what did Hector want him to do? Well, that had been easy. At last; a golden opportunity to snare the witch once and for all, and if the daughter was somewhat battered as a result, well, so be it – blame it on the mother, not on him. Hector’s brow creased together; damn Mercedes! Somehow she’d evaded his elegantly baited trap, and in the process taken Ángel with her. How?

“You don’t really like her much, do you?” Diane said.

“Who? Mercedes? No, her I don’t like, but then why should I? She’s a witch. This is all her fault, she’s the one who started it, dragging me out of my time.”

“Oh dear.” Diane made a tut-tutting sound. “And why, one wonders. What did you do to her?”

“That, Ms Wilson, is none of your business. Let’s just say that she has utterly destroyed my life, and for that I would dearly want to make her pay.” She made a derisive sound that Hector chose to disregard. At times it was better to ignore than punish – the aftermaths could be so tedious. He did one last, slow turn, bidding Diego a mental farewell. And now who would share all his secrets? Hector sighed; years of companionship left one very vulnerable to the darker sides of solitude.

“We might as well drive back,” he said. “There’s nothing to see here, is there?”

“What were you hoping for? A neat little sign post saying
Time Node
? An open hole to another dimension in time?” Diane’s voice was loaded with sarcasm. “You know, something – anything – to corroborate your rather weird story.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Hector sank his eyes into her.

“Yes, I suppose I am – or delusional, take your pick.”

“I am not delusional,” Hector said through gritted teeth. This young woman was beginning to annoy him. He forced himself to un-claw his fingers.

“None of this time travelling stuff is true!” Diane said.

“No, of course it isn’t,” John broke in. “There must be a logical explanation.”

“Of course,” Hector sneered. “I can’t wait to hear it. How will it explain the dry car in the middle of the downpour? Or her rusted phone? Or my poor Diego?”

“I don’t know,” John mumbled.

“No of course you don’t, because there isn’t one.”

“There must be,” Diane said.

“There isn’t; trust me.” Hector turned to look at a deflated John. “Get over her, she’ll never come back.” John moaned, and Hector gave him an irritated look; what did he have to whine about? It wasn’t him who had been thrown out of his time, was it?

She’d tricked him. Hector shoved his hands into his pockets. Fucking witch! Hector pressed his lips together to contain the rage that roared up from his belly, clogged his throat and filled him with the desire to rip someone’s heart out. Now.

He turned his back on them, struggling to calm down. The landscape rose and fell in soft swells around him, muted greens creating a soothing backdrop to the odd purples and pinks – so different from his homeland, a land of dusty heat, of faded browns and dull yellows.
Sevilla, mi Sevilla
… And the year was 1480 or thereabouts, and he was young, an up and coming man at the court of
La Reina Isabel
, handpicked by Her Most Catholic Majesty to help in that most sensitive of tasks – cleansing the new-born Spain of all heretics.

He followed them back towards the car, sunk into his memories. So much power; a bright future stretching before him, a life of wealth, of influence, a servant of the Inquisition, a man who came and went unhindered through the gates of the Alcázar of Seville – and then Mercedes ruined it. Witch! To stand there and curse him, to tell him she would make him pay and for what, hey? For doing his job! Was it his fault her father was a false convert? Benjamin ben Isaac became Benito Gutierrez only to avoid expulsion from Seville – everyone knew that. Well; not until he, Hector, told them so, nodding gravely as he described how Benito settled the prayer shawl around his shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“I said, do you want us to drop you off somewhere, or is the office fine?” Diane twisted to look at him. “Are you alright?”

Hector strangled a guffaw. Alright? Of course he wasn’t alright! He was living a life he shouldn’t be leading, in a time he shouldn’t be in. Damn you Mercedes! He stretched his lips into a smile, told Diane the office was fine and sat back.

He’d lied. Benito was no false convert, and nor was his pretty youngest daughter, Dolores. But what was Hector to do, trapped in a mess that threatened to explode in his face? He had no choice! His biggest mistake had been to let Mercedes live – he should have dragged her before the Inquisition as well, and then she’d have been yet another woman roasted to death on the central plaza, and he could have gone on with his well-ordered, happy life.

His hands knotted together. Instead… She’d yanked him out of his time, the witch. Years – endless years – thrown from one age to the other in his desperate attempts to get back, to go home. Mercedes had cackled with laughter when she told him she’d cursed him – never to die, always to roam, unless he made it back to medieval Seville. He crossed himself; please let me die, strike me with a heavenly bolt and obliterate me, hang me upside down and slice me open, throw me into an erupting crater, but please, please let me die – don’t leave me to rot to pieces.

He cleared his throat, met John’s brown eyes in the rear-view mirror and busied himself finding a piece of gum. A painting; he needed to get his hands on one of Mercedes’ paintings. That was how it all began, with a picture the size of a postcard, and he’d looked at it, unable to tear his eyes away from the growing funnel of bright, bright light. So much noise, so much pain…he shuddered.