‘If you think Jiménez would go along with that plan, you’re very much mistaken,’ Paco said, glancing quickly down at the bowed and still-sobbing country boy.
‘Then I’ll do the job myself,’ the rat-faced private told him. ‘I’ve taken on bigger men than you before, and like you said, I’m the one with the knife.’
‘But how can you be sure that killing me will solve all your problems?’ Paco asked. ‘What if I’ve written a letter to the general, to be handed over in the event of my death, which explains exactly what you did with the collar?’
‘By the time he gets it, the jewels will be gone,’ Pérez argued. ‘So there’ll be no proof that we had anything to do with the theft.’
Paco threw back his head and laughed. ‘Are you forgetting what sort of times we’re living in?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you realize just how cheap life has become? If I tell the general in my letter that you shot his dog, he will believe it without question because—’
‘But we didn’t shoot the dog!’
‘He will believe it because it is what he wants to believe – because that will be easier for him than accepting the truth.’
‘The truth?’ Pérez repeated. ‘Are you saying that you know who shot the dog?’
‘Oh yes,’ Paco replied. ‘I know who killed the dog, and how I can use that information to escape. But I’m going to need some assistance. You told me you’d like to get out of here if you could, Pérez. Well, I can get you out – you and your jewels. But first you’re going to have to learn to trust me.’
He had made his pitch, and there was nothing more he could say to persuade Pérez to join him. So now the matter was in the hands of the man with the knife, who was hiding somewhere within striking distance. If the rat-faced private decided to take him at his word, there was still a chance his plan would work. If not, he was as good as dead.
It would not take a quick mind like Pérez’s long to make his choice, Paco thought. Ten seconds at the most. He started to count slowly. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
He had reached nine when Pérez suddenly emerged from a pew frighteningly close to him. ‘I always said that you were a lot straighter than most of the cops I’ve come across in Madrid,’ the private said. ‘But if you do try to double-cross me on this—’
‘I won’t,’ Paco interrupted. He glanced down at Jiménez, who had remained on his knees during the whole confrontation. ‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk privately, shall we?’ he suggested.
‘Why not?’ Pérez agreed. ‘Do you want me to lead the way, like I did when we came in?’
‘No,’ Paco said. ‘I’ve got to start trusting you some time, and it might as well be now.’
He turned and walked down the aisle. Pérez fell in step just behind him, and Paco’s heart began to beat a little faster because, despite what he’d said about trusting the rat-faced private, he would not have been entirely surprised if he’d suddenly felt a searing pain in his back.
‘That’s far enough,’ Pérez said, when they’d almost reached the church door. ‘Jiménez can’t hear us from this distance, and I’d rather be here than out on the street when I decide whether or not I like what you’ve got to tell me.’
‘There are really three main things that I’m going to need you for—’ Paco began.
‘Just a minute,’ Pérez interrupted. ‘You keep saying “you” like it was only me you’re talking about.’
‘It is.’
‘Then there’s no deal,’ Pérez said firmly.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Paco protested. ‘Things are going to be difficult enough as it is. If you want to take your whole gang out with you, they’ll be bloody impossible.’
‘No, not my whole gang,’ Pérez told him. He made a stabbing gesture over his left shoulder with his thumb. ‘I just want to take Jiménez.’
‘Jiménez?’ Paco repeated, incredulously. ‘Why him?’
Pérez shrugged awkwardly, as if the conversation were taking a turn which he was starting to find uncomfortable. ‘Jiménez would be lost without me to look after him,’ he said. ‘So that’s the deal. It’s both of us, or neither of us.’
He meant it, Paco thought. He’d rather stay behind himself than leave without the dull-witted country boy. Jiménez’s muscle might come in useful at some point in the operation,’ he conceded. ‘All right, he can come with us.’
Pérez grinned. ‘Hey, Jiménez!’ he shouted across the rows of pews. ‘I’ve some good news for you. This policeman here thinks we need you for this job we’re about to pull. I tried convincing him you’ll be a liability, but he just won’t listen. So it looks like you’re in.’ He turned back to Paco. ‘Let’s get down to brass tacks. How do we get out of the village, and what do I have to do to earn a place for Jiménez and me?’
‘We’ll get out of the village because we’ll already have created a diversion which should keep the sentries busy,’ Paco told him. ‘But before we get to that stage, there’s a couple of other little jobs we’ll have to do.’
‘And what might they be?’
‘The first one will be to break into a house on the Plaza de Santa Teresa,’ Paco said.
‘That’s no problem,’ Pérez told him. ‘When I was kid, my old man used to take me out on burglaries with him. I was small, you see, so I could get through the windows people thought weren’t big enough to bother putting bars on.’
‘Can you pick a lock?’
‘Sure. My old man was at the top of his profession, and he taught me all he knew. I can even crack a safe, if I have to.’
‘I don’t think that what we’ll be looking for will be in a safe,’ Paco said.
‘What’s the second thing?’ Pérez asked.
‘The second thing?’
‘You said there were a couple of little jobs we’d have to do. The first one seems like a piece of cake, which has got me thinking that the second one probably isn’t quite so easy.’
He was right, Paco thought. The second job would require more nerve than breaking into a house – more nerve, perhaps, than even the hardened little criminal from Madrid possessed.
‘Well, what is it?’ Pérez demanded. ‘Come on! Spit it out!’
‘Again, it’s only something small,’ Paco said. ‘Something that will only take a minute or two at the most.’
‘And what might that small thing be?’
‘All I want you to do,’ Paco said, slowly and deliberately, ‘is to threaten to take the life of a high-ranking officer.’
Chapter Twenty-One
The sentry standing on guard duty outside Colonel Valera’s house on the Plaza de Santa Teresa was, by turns, apprehensive, bored and resentful. The apprehension came from the knowledge that only two nights earlier, an officer had been killed on this very square – and if an officer was not safe, then a humble private certainly wasn’t. The boredom was natural enough, considering that, apart from the occasional officer making his way to his billet, the square had been deserted for the last two hours. But perhaps it was the resentment which the sentry felt the strongest. All the other lads were out having a good time, and here he was standing outside an empty house, his rifle in his hand. And for what? Was it likely that the Republicans were suddenly about to appear, and attempt to steal his officer’s pots and pans? Hell, everybody knew they were on the run – so why was he wasting his time?
The sight of the two men emerging from the bottom of the Calle Belén and heading straight for his post brought his feelings of apprehension to the fore again. He studied the men carefully. One of them moved with the slow, ponderous gait of a peasant who knows better than to waste his energy when it is not really necessary. The other, while doing no more than keeping pace with his big, awkward friend, seemed much quicker and stealthier in his step.
As they got ever closer to him, the sentry started to relax. He could see now that they were just a couple of privates. He thought he even remembered talking to the smaller of the two at a bar on the Calle Mayor.
The privates drew level with the door, and stopped. ‘What have we found ourselves here, Jiménez?’ asked the smaller, quicker one. ‘Why, it’s a man condemned to stand on guard alone. A man friendless in a world where, without friends, he has nothing.’
They were very drunk, the sentry realized, and he wished that he were in a similar state himself. ‘Go on about your business, the pair of you,’ he said, trying to sound stern – and not quite making it.
‘We have no business,’ the small private said, waving his hands about wildly in the night air. ‘No business at all.’
‘If you don’t move on immediately, then you leave me no choice but to take your names,’ the sentry threatened, again half-heartedly.
The smaller soldier either didn’t hear, or didn’t care. ‘I wonder if we can do anything to comfort this poor, solitary soldier?’ he asked his larger companion. He reached into his pocket and, with all the flourish of a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, produced a bottle of cheap brandy. ‘Might this help take away the loneliness?’ he suggested, offering it to the sentry.
‘I’m not supposed to drink anything when I’m on duty.’
The little man shrugged. ‘So don’t take the bottle, then. It’ll mean all the more for us.’
The sentry licked his lips nervously, and looked quickly around the empty square. ‘I shouldn’t,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m not going to force you.’
The sentry hesitated for another second or two, then reached out for the bottle with his right hand. His fingertips were almost touching it when the big peasant swung the electric torch he was carrying and caught him a blow on the back of head. The sentry’s knees buckled underneath him, and he fell in a heap.
The instant the man was on the ground, Paco stepped out of the shadows. ‘You didn’t hit him too hard, did you, Jiménez?’ he asked.
The country boy shook his head. ‘I’ve stunned animals like that,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t be out for more than half an hour.’
Pérez reached into his pocket again and pulled out a set of skeleton keys which he’d probably had since the days he worked with his father. He slid the first one into the keyhole, and cursed softly when the lock didn’t immediately click open. ‘I should never have let you talk me into this,’ he complained, as he stabbed at the lock with a second key. ‘We could be shot for what we’ve just done.’
He’s panicking, Paco thought. We’re only at the beginning, and already the little bugger’s losing his nerve!
Yet who could blame Pérez? Hadn’t he the right to panic when they were standing there – with an unconscious sentry at their feet – in full view of any officer who decided to enter the square.
The second key was as ineffective as the first, but when Pérez turned the third in the lock there was a muted click, and the door swung open. Paco and Pérez quickly stepped into the hallway. Jiménez followed, dragging the sentry behind him. Once Paco had closed the door behind them the country boy lowered the unconscious soldier to the floor, pulled a short length of rope out of his pocket, and set to work tying the man up.
‘How long have we got to search the place?’ Pérez asked, the panic still evident in his voice.
‘I don’t know,’ Paco admitted. ‘Colonel Valera doesn’t keep me posted on his movements.’
‘What if he comes back while we’re still here?’
‘Then we’ll have to kill him.’
‘And if he’s not alone? If he brings some of his mates back with him for a game of cards?’
‘Then we’ll probably be the ones who die,’ Paco told him. ‘Listen, Pérez, I told you this was risky. But it’s no more risky than marching out to the front line every day, and having some man you’ve never even met try to kill you.’
Pérez’s fear – which had almost succeeded in getting Paco in its grip – had had no effect on Jiménez. The big peasant had continued to work slowly and methodically throughout the exchange. Now he took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and gagged the unconscious man. ‘Good knots,’ he said, admiring his own handiwork. ‘Vine knots. He won’t get out of that in a hurry.’
Pérez shook his head in amazement. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether it’s him who’s crazy or me,’ he said to Paco. He turned to his comrade. ‘Do you have any idea – any idea at all – what we’re doing here, Jiménez?’
‘We’re breaking into the house,’ Jiménez said. ‘We’re going to steal something.’
‘But what exactly is it that we’re going to steal? And why are we going to steal it?’
The big peasant scratched his head. ‘I don’t remember,’ he confessed.
‘He doesn’t remember,’ Pérez said to Paco. ‘There are times when I think we come from different worlds.’
‘You do,’ Paco said, silently thanking whatever gods were on his side that some of Jiménez’s peasant placidity seemed to have rubbed off on Pérez, and the rat-faced private was once again back on an even keel. ‘You know what you’re looking for,’ he continued. ‘And remember, when you’re searching, keep your torches low to the ground.’
Pérez grinned. ‘You’re trying to teach your grandmother to suck eggs now. I’ve broken into more houses than you’ve had hot dinners. Mind you, I’ve never actually done it with a policeman as a partner before.’
‘You check the downstairs rooms, and I’ll go through the top floor,’ Paco told the two privates.
He climbed the stairs and turned the same bend around which he had seen a naked female foot disappear two nights earlier. He thought about how wrong he had been then – how little he had known about what had really gone on in the village since the death of the dog. He had reached the landing. Four doors faced him, and since all were equally unknown, he chose the first.
It was a large room, overlooking the Plaza de Santa Teresa – and was obviously the colonel’s bedroom. Apart from the bed, there was a wardrobe, a chair, and a chest of drawers. Paco went over to the window to check that the square was still deserted, then he opened the wardrobe. It contained a spare everyday uniform, a more formal dress uniform, a riding habit and a couple of civilian suits. There was no sign of any of Colonel Valera’s mistress’s outfits – but, of course, he’d never expected to find even one of them.
He went through the chest of drawers. Underwear, socks and shirts. He knelt down and shone his torch under the bed – and found only the fluff which the maid had missed.
There was nothing left to search in this room but still Paco was reluctant to leave. ‘It should have been here,’ he said softly to himself. ‘If it was going to be anywhere, it should have been here.’
The second and third bedrooms overlooked the back street, and were shuttered, so there was no need to take care with the torch. Not that there was much to see in the full beam of light. Though both these rooms, like the first, contained a chest of drawers, a bed and a wardrobe, there were no clothes, or anything else to be found in them.
He entered the fourth room, which was next door to the master bedroom, and so also had a view out on to the main square. The shutters were open. So was the window – and through that window came the sound of several pairs of footsteps, and voices raised in animated conversation about wild-boar hunting.
Paco dropped quickly to the floor, just as the footsteps stopped. ‘That’s strange!’ one of the men below said loudly. ‘Bloody strange!’
‘What is?’ asked a second man.
‘There’s no guard on duty outside the colonel’s door.’
There were four of them out there on the square, Paco estimated. Four officers, each of them armed with a pistol – while he and his fellow burglars only had one knife and one rifle between them. It didn’t seem like very good odds.
‘So what if there isn’t a sentry on duty?’ asked the second officer. ‘Does it really matter?’
‘Of course it matters. After what happened to poor Julio Anton, I’d have thought Major Gómez would have made it his business to see to it that there was always a man
on guard.’
Paco’s breaths started to come louder and faster – so fast and so loud that he was surprised the men below in the square couldn’t hear them. Any second now, one of the officers was going to suggest raising the alarm – and then his chances of rescuing his darling Cindy would be gone for ever.
‘Are you laughing?’ the first officer demanded suddenly. ‘You are, aren’t you? Well, I don’t see what’s so funny about Anton’s death.’
‘That’s not what’s funny,’ the other officer told him between giggles. ‘It’s funny that you’ve forgotten why Gómez withdrew the sentry in the first place.’
‘Oh, you mean . . .?’
‘Exactly. And we’ve no reason to think that particular situation has changed, now have we?’
‘But there are no lights on,’ the first officer said, as if he were reluctant to give up the thesis that something was wrong without a fight.
‘Would you need the lights on?’ his companion asked, half-stifling another chortle.
‘I suppose not,’ the first officer admitted. ‘Do you know, I think I’ve had too much to drink.’
‘We’ve all had too much to drink,’ the other man said. ‘Why wouldn’t any man who had to face what we do tomorrow have too much to drink? And we’ve not finished yet. I’ve got a bottle in my room.’
The footsteps started up again, and soon began to recede into the distance. Paco lifted his eyes cautiously above the level of the window-sill, and watched the officers cross the square and enter a house opposite.
Snatches of the officers’ conversation quickly replayed themselves in Paco’s mind:
It’s funny that you’ve forgotten why Gómez withdrew the sentry in the first place, one had said.
The officers had known for a long time what he himself had only discovered that morning. But now, finally, he did know the truth – and that truth was that though Gómez had been the man who’d told the sentries to stand down, he’d never been the one who’d decided when that would happen.
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