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32
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Mort was still a bit shaken up from his previous happenings, but he had to continue his job for Balkan.
He entered a small hotel in Portugal, walked up to the reception desk and collected his key. Then he set off in the direction of the elevator.
On the way to the elevator, he had to pass through the lounge. As he made his way through the lounge he saw tourists conversing, elderly couples sipping cocktails, and some other people reading newspapers and such.
Continuing to scan the lounge as he made his way for the elevator, he suddenly stopped, noticing something awkward, yet familiar: a pair of legs in jeans and white sneakers were sticking out from behind the fireplace in the far corner of the lounge. Mort furrowed his brow and made his way over to investigate.
The familiar legs belonged to... the girl. She was snuggled up in an armchair with a book on her lap.
Mort hesitated for a moment, thinking that talking to her may not be such a good idea, but then she looked up from her book and saw him and he decided to stay afterall.
"Hi. You didn't say you were bound for Sintra," Mort said.
"Neither did you."
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"Reading," The girl replied.
"I can see that," Mort said, slightly annoyed at how vague she was being.
"And bumping into people unexpectedly," She added.
Mort nodded, "Yes. Unexpectedly is right."
"Are you on a business trip?" The girl asked. She then gestured to Mort's book bag. "Is that why you always carry that thing around?"
Mort did not answer the question. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and tried to read the cover of her book. The girl handed it to him. "Is this part of your course?" He asked, looking at the book.
"My course?"
"'Winning friends and influencing people'," He read and handed it back to her. "You said you were a student."
"Did I? So I am, in a way." She paused. "I like books. Do you?"
Mort laughed. "You been traveling long?"
She smiled back at him. "A while."
"Mmhmm. I don't suppose you've ever traveled by motor--"
A hotel worker suddenly appeared at his side. "Excuse me, Senor. Telephone call, Senor," The man announced.
Mort was surprised. Who knew that he was here? "For me? Are you sure?" Mort asked.
"Si, Senor. Si, Senor," The man insisted and went back to the reception desk.
Mort followed him without looking back at the girl and picked up the receiver with a puzzled frown. "Yes?" Mort asked, still wondering who could be calling him here.
"Corso?" A male voice said.
Mort was startled upon realizing that it was Balkan on the line. "My god. How'd you find me?" Mort asked, shocked and amazed.
Balkan ignored Mort's question. "Made any progress?"
"Uh... Progress? Yeah. You could call it that."
"Well?" Balkan asked, eagerly.
"I've examined the Fargas copy. It's authentic enough. At least it looks that way. It's like yours. But there are discrepancies," Mort explained.
"Discrepancies?" Balkan asked.
"Uh, the engravings are not identical. It's like keys in different hands, doorways open in one copy and bricked up in the other," Mort explained. "And there's another thing...," Mort began.
"Yes? Yes, go on."
"The ones that differ aren't signed 'Torchia' They're all signed 'LCF.'" Mort explained. There was a moment of silence. "Are you still there? Where are you, anyway?" Mort asked.
"'LCF..." Balkan said, thinking. There was a longer pause. "You must get me that copy, Mr. Corso. Get it for me," Balkan finally replied.
"The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life - he said as much," Mort said.
"Did he?" Balkan asked. There was another long pause.
"Hello?" Mort asked, confused at Balkan's strange behavior. "Hello?"
There was a click and then the line went dead.