The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller by Paula Wynne Page A

the right hands.’ Doctor Robson threw his jumper back over his shoulders.
    ‘And mortal, deadly, in the wrong hands!’ Marina exclaimed.
    Kelby frowned. ‘I’ve lost track here. What are we talking about now?’
    ‘Haven’t you heard of rizado before? Not even from your brother?’
    Kelby’s jaw dropped. ‘My br-brother?’ She stammered, ‘What’s he got to do with this?’
    Doctor Robson came around and knelt beside Kelby. His hand rested on her arm. ‘Kelby, many of the people interested in rizado are extremely dangerous.’
    Marina nodded in agreement. ‘With the speculation out there, rizado will be attractive as a big money spinner to many diablos . Do you know what this could be worth to the pharma sector?’
    Kelby’s gaze swung across the table between brother and sister. ‘I can imagine! But I’m confused. Why me? I don’t know about the pharmaceutical sector.’
    ‘The world is full of evil, perverso .’
    ‘Wait! You said something about my brother. What’s he got to do with this?’ Kelby touched her phone and her screen-saver image of the man and child lit up. Gary and Annie. The two most precious people in her life.
    They glanced at the phone, but Kelby clicked it off.
    Doctor Robson’s grip on her arm tightened. ‘Kelby, we came to you because we think your brother was murdered.’

21
    26 April 2010, Andalusia, Spain
    Gary Wade puffed up the steep incline. Slivers of sweat trickled out of his cycling helmet, down his nose and through his panting lips, leaving him with a salty mouth.
    His good leg cramped and strained to reach the top. Strange how his other leg spun around effortlessly, despite it only being half a leg.
    He had set himself a fifty kilometre ride for the day. Nothing too severe, yet not too gentle either with a manageable gradient and a couple of climbs to get his heart monitor beeping. Strapped across his chest, it sent his distance, speed and heart rate, as well as the route’s incline and decline, to his watch.
    On the four-hour ride, he’d set a good pace, keeping in high gear as often as possible but still enjoying the countryside rolling past him.
    Gary glanced over his shoulder. Around them green rolling hills meandered through the Guadalhorce Valley between Malaga and Marbella.
    As usual Mark had shot ahead. His friend may be better up hills, but boy, oh, boy, Gary would punish him on the straights.
    Now Gary had committed to do the charity cycle for Help for Heroes , his school friend was a good buddy to join his training programme. They’d always been fit, but this trip around Andalusia would make his legs stronger.
    As he powered up the hill, he grabbed a few mouthfuls of water. A few sips were better than large gulps. He unzipped his cycling top to allow as much air as possible to cool his overheating body as he made the ascent. Gary concentrated hard on his breathing. Nearly at the top.
    He glanced at the tall ladder of bizarre limestone formations towering over the landscape. Despite its steep rock faces, El Torcal plateaued on top into a vast labyrinth of rocky crevices. Sierra del Torcal was next on his fitness hit list. They were hiking it tomorrow before they returned home for the charity ride.
    Mark had planned a perfect send-off in the mysterious monastery Abadía de Torcal, clinging to the cliff edge, which now served as an exclusive spa retreat. Their famous hot stones treatment apparently worked miracles. He couldn’t wait to feel the effects on his gammy leg.
    It had long been his dream to climb the 1,300 metre elevation to check out the spectacular pinnacles and spires in the geological curiosity. Another field-test to spur the new leg into catching up with his body and mind. El Torcal wouldn’t beat him. No-one would. Never. Not even the Afghan who’d launched the rocket that blew off his leg.
    His first prosthetic was a basic model from the UK’s National Health Service, which allowed him to stand and walk, but was nothing special. The