The Sentinel: 1 (Vengeance of Memory)

by Mark Oldfield

  Some of Galindez’s energy started to drain away. ‘That’s what worries me.’

  ‘You’re still worried about the line in the diary, aren’t you? The quote from Ortega y Gasset.’

  ‘Exactamente. What if I’m wrong and Guzmán had a conscience after all?’

  ‘It’s possible. But surely if even the Centinelas thought he was difficult and unreliable, it isn’t all that likely he was the strong sensitive type, is it?’

  ‘I’m sure he was the opposite. I want people to know exactly what Guzmán did. What the Centinelas did. I want people to have closure.’

  ‘Are you sure this isn’t about you looking for closure, Ana María?’

  ‘I want to know what happened to Guzmán. And to Alicia Martinez – so she’s not forgotten, not just a name scratched on a cell wall.’

  Tali groaned with exasperation. ‘Stop being so emotional. And stop worrying about proving Luisa wrong. Just do your investigation the way you think is best. You’re the one who believes in the value of solid evidence. You’ve got to come up with some, querida.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ve still got the bodies from Las Peñas to examine.’

  ‘Fine. But, por el amor de Dios, Ana María, do it another day.’

  The screen went blank as Galindez logged out. The manila folder waited unopened on her desk. Guzmán and Teniente Peralta could wait, she decided. But something else couldn’t.

  ‘Give me five minutes? I’ve got to pop downstairs to see someone.’

  Tali shrugged. ‘Wake me when you’re done.’

  The lift murmured quietly as it descended. The crime lab was in half light. Galindez walked through the familiar banks of equipment, passing shelves laden with bottles, jars, test tubes – the sterile paraphernalia of science. A light came from a table at the far end of the room where a woman in uniform was dusting items for fingerprints. She stood up as Galindez approached. A tall woman – almost 1.8 metres, high cheekbones, dark skin – the best of her Dominican mother and gypsy father. A sergeant’s badge on her sleeve.

  ‘Holá.’ A soft low voice. ‘How are you, Ana?’

  ‘Bien.’ Galindez thought she might as well lie. She was getting lots of practice lately.

  ‘No more trouble with hidden cameras in your girlfriend’s bathroom?’

  ‘No, you did a good job,’ Galindez said. ‘Listen, I’m in a bit of trouble. That’s why I need this favour.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help…’

  ‘No. This is something I have to do, Sarge. I can’t involve anyone else.’

  The sergeant went to a locker and brought out something bulky, wrapped in a towel. She placed the bundle on the table. ‘You’re sure you want this?’ Galindez’s look told her she did. The sergeant lifted the corners of the towel, uncovering a dark object nestling dull and oily on the white cotton. ‘Glock Nineteen. Fifteen-round magazine. The gun’s clean. No serial number. Will that do you?’

  Galindez lifted the pistol, feeling its weight. ‘It’s great, gracias.’

  The sergeant looked at her. ‘Be careful, Ana María. Whoever these people are, they’re not amateurs and, from what you told me on the phone, everywhere you’ve gone, they already knew in advance. There’s only two of you and they knew. See what I’m saying?’

  ‘I do.’ Galindez tucked the pistol into her waistband, covering it with her shirt. ‘Gracias, Mendez. I owe you one.’

  ‘You know how it is, Ana María,’ Mendez said. ‘We look after own.’

  Outside, there was a band of light on the horizon. Tali leaned against Galindez in the cab, dozing fitfully. Galindez wanted to tell her that if things hit the fan, she could handle it. But maybe it wouldn’t come to that, she thought. Maybe.

  The cab stopped outside Tali’s building. She’d slept all the way. Galindez had spent the journey fretting about what Mendez said. Tali opened the door to her apartment and flicked the light on. The room was still scattered with some of the equipment Mendez left after searching the place for bugs.

  ‘I’m wrecked,’ Tali said, ‘do you want a drink or shall we go to bed?’

  Galindez found it difficult to speak, knowing that once she’d said what she was about to, she couldn’t take it back. ‘Sit down, Tali.’ Her voice had an edge to it.

  Tali sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘Pasa algo?’

  ‘Sí. I’m worried. Everywhere we’ve been since starting this investigation, someone – whoever someone is; Sancho, the Centinelas or whatever – always seems to know where we’ll be.’

  ‘Is that surprising? We know they’ve been following us.’

  ‘But they didn’t need to follow us, they knew. So how did they know?’

  Sudden understanding flashed in Tali’s eyes. ‘Qué coño dices? You think it’s me? Puta madre, Ana, you think I’ve betrayed you to them?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be difficult. You wouldn’t even have had to talk to them. You could carry a tracking device – they’re tiny.’

  Tali stood up angrily, ‘Do you want to search me? Go ahead.’

  ‘I don’t need to.’ Galindez went over to the boxes Mendez had left and opened one, taking out a small scanner. ‘This will pick up a tracker six metres away.’

  Tali’s face was a mixture of hurt and anger. ‘Do it then. All I’ve ever wanted was to help you on this project.’ Her fists clenched.

  ‘I can’t carry on if I suspect you,’ Galindez said. ‘God knows I don’t want to, yet there’s only you it could be.’

  Galindez felt her hand tremble slightly as the small scanner came to life. The machine twittered softly and a red light started to flash as she pointed the scanner at Tali.

  ‘Well?’ Tali snapped.

  ‘It’s detected a bug. But the noise should increase when I point it at you.’

  ‘There’s nothing to detect.’ Tali frowned. ‘Or maybe you want to cut me open to see if I swallowed it? Would that satisfy you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Galindez turned the scanner away from her. ‘I didn’t want to believe it. Jesus, Tali, I’m being paranoid and stupid. I’m sorry. But look, the machine is definitely picking something up.’ She turned the scanner in her hands, trying to see if there was another control to adjust. The machine gave a high-pitched screech and a yellow light alternated with the red. ‘That’s odd.’ She frowned.

  ‘Ana,’ Tali said, ‘it went off when it was pointing at you. Aim it at me again.’

  Galindez turned the scanner towards Tali. The noise diminished and the yellow light went out. Galindez pointed the machine back to herself. The screeching and flashing began again.

  ‘Oh my God. It’s me. Mierda, can you forgive me?’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ Tali said sadly. ‘When you can’t trust anyone, everyone’s a suspect.’ She took the scanner from Galindez. ‘Come on, let’s find it. What do I do?’

  ‘Just press that button and point the machine at me. No, wait. We need to find exactly where it is. It’s got to be hidden in my clothes. You’ll have to scan them individually.’

  Galindez undressed, taking off an item of clothing and passing it for Tali to run the scanner over it. Each time, the machine didn’t respond. The noise and lights only increased when the scanner was aimed at Galindez.

  Galindez paused, shivering slightly. She unfastened her bra. ‘Here, maybe it’s hidden in the wiring.’

  Once more, nothing happened. The noise diminished, then screeched once more when Tali turned the scanner back toward Galindez. ‘Christ, Ana, where the hell is it?’

  ‘This is crazy.’ Galindez stepped out of her pants. Tali took them from her. There was no reaction from the scanner.

  ‘Try my watch – that’s all that’s left.’ Nothing happened.

  ‘No other jewellery?’ Tali asked. ‘No, I can see you haven’t.’

  ‘Only these studs in my ears.’ Galindez took one out and handed it to her. The machine stayed silent. Galindez removed the other stud. The machine suddenly erupted as Tali passed th
e scanner over the stud, squawking and flashing in robotic excitement.

  She turned off the scanner. ‘That’s it. Remind me, where did you get those?’

  It was hard for Galindez to think, naked and miserably guilty at having suspected Tali. And then she remembered. The break-up gift. ‘They were a present from Luisa.’

  ‘Joder, that’s right. So she’s involved with the Centinelas?’

  ‘I’d never have thought it,’ Galindez said. ‘She’s always got her head buried in her theoretical work. But she’s determined to prove the innocence of a lot of people who were involved in atrocities. Maybe that’s it, she’s trying to whitewash the Franco years for the Centinelas.’

  ‘And her rivalry with you would give her extra motivation,’ Tali said. ‘You’ve been intruding on her favourite subject: Comandante Guzmán.’

  ‘Absolutamente. So she’s been trying to track me. Dios mio, that gives me the creeps. She could have followed me all over Madrid. She’s been huddled over a computer map, knowing if I was at work or the archives or…’

  ‘Or even at my place.’ Tali nodded. ‘Are you going to have it out with her?’

  ‘Eventually. But I can play games too: she can only track this bugged stud, not me. So, if the stud ends up in a bus or under the seat of a taxi, it might take a while before she realises what’s happened.’

  ‘I like it, Ana. Hey, you realise she’ll know you’re here tonight?’

  ‘I guess so. Probably wondering what we’re up to.’

  ‘In that case, it would be a shame to disappoint her. And besides,’ Tali pulled Galindez towards her, ‘you’ve got some making up to do to me, Dr Galindez – after those wild accusations.’

  ‘Well, Tia Carmen always said never go to bed on an argument.’

  ‘She was right – and we don’t have to worry about being spied on now.’

  Outside, the light of the pale dawn dappled the street, spilling over the dirty car parked across from the entrance to Tali’s building. The driver checked his watch and lit another cigarette. He turned the volume control on the car radio, hearing a swirl of white noise and then above it, the sounds of movement and of voices in muffled intimacy.

  The man opened the glove compartment and slid out an iPad. The screen blinked into life on his touch as he operated the software to activate the camera in Tali’s apartment. The small screen filled with a grey, clear picture, produced by the combination of light-enhancing technology and Chinese military-grade micro-components used in the hidden camera. Almost undetectable and incredibly small, the camera had lain dormant while Mendez and her team searched the apartment and removed the equipment they found planted there. The equipment they were intended to find. He watched the two women with little interest. It was nothing he hadn’t seen them do before. If it had been down to him, he wouldn’t have bothered with such extensive surveillance. But it wasn’t down to him, so he did what he was told. In his rear-view mirror he saw another vehicle draw up behind him and flash its lights. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble and the sharp edges of his piercings. He started the engine and drove off, leaving the other car to slide into position to continue the surveillance.

  20

  MADRID 1953, BAR DOMINICANA, CALLE DE TOLEDO

  Guzmán hurled himself to the ground as the machine gun opened up. Bullets exploded around him and he heard their impact on glass, metal and flesh. Shouts and screams competed with shrieking ricochets. Under the truck, Guzmán crawled towards the cab, while overhead the vehicle shuddered as it was riddled by the heavy-calibre machine-gun fire. A pause in the firing – maybe a jam in the belt or perhaps they were reloading. Directly above him, the truck’s engine noisily leaked steam in a dozen places, oil and fuel lazily slopping onto the icy ground. Guzmán pulled himself out from under the front. Now the vehicle was between him and the machine gun. Crouching, he looked up into the cab and saw the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, the windscreen a spiderweb of bullet holes spattered with his blood.

  A rifle shot exploded from across the street. Guzmán turned and saw the body of a civil guard in a doorway, enveloped in his cape, a colleague standing over him firing repeatedly at the machine gunner. Then the machine gun erupted again and the man disappeared as a storm of bullets hurled him through the glass door of the shop. A rattle of rifle shots. Those guardia who had not been cut down by the burst were now returning fire, an act which brought yet another sweep of the big gun, its hail of bullets shattering windows and tearing through anything and anyone in their way.

  Guzmán crouched low. A blast of gunfire tore through the vehicle, showering him with shards of glass and metal. He took a look down the side of the truck. The pavement was littered with dead guardia civiles. Scattered equipment and tricorne hats were strewn crazily in the snow. The window of the Bar Dominicana was destroyed and Guzmán caught a glimpse of the whores fleeing to the back of the room. Something moved amongst the corpses heaped around the café’s doorway. Peralta. Guzmán was surprised. He thought the teniente had been killed outright. Peralta was lying behind two corpses, pistol clutched in both hands, firing careful shots at the machine gun. His aim was woeful and Guzmán knew that once the machine gunner saw Peralta’s muzzle flash he would turn his attention to him.

  Crawling would have only made Guzmán an easy target so he ran, firing as he went. He jumped over the first corpse and fired into the rear of the truck ahead, seeing the man with the machine gun belt topple backwards into the truck.

  ‘Fire at the gun.’ Guzmán’s voice echoed loud in the darkness. He saw Goldtooth struggling to free a jammed cartridge from the machine gun. The remaining guardia across the street commenced a rapid fire on the truck, the bullets exploding windows and lights, screaming off metal into the night. Guzmán stood, firing fast and steady at Goldtooth. Bullets whined around him but Goldtooth stayed on his feet, still trying to free the jam. Suddenly and noisily, the truck changed gear and lurched forward. Guzmán ran after it, trying to get a glimpse of someone to aim at. The truck accelerated and Guzmán fired his last shot straight at the running board. With a screech of tyres, the vehicle rounded the corner at the end of the street and was gone.

  Guzmán turned back to the piles of bodies behind him. Peralta was on his feet, reloading his revolver with a ponderous attention that infuriated Guzmán.

  ‘Teniente, call the comisaría for medical help and reinforcements. Rapido.’

  He began examining the fallen guardia for signs of life. It was messy work but he had done it many times before. By the time he had finished there were thirteen dead and three badly wounded. Only four were left on their feet.

  Guzmán found the sarge lying with his head against a kerb stone. A dead guardia civil lay across the sarge’s legs. They must have been cut down as they tried to make for the relative safety of a shop doorway.

  ‘Ambulances are on their way.’ It was Peralta. The teniente knelt beside Guzmán and helped roll the dead guardia off the sarge.

  ‘Poor sod,’ Guzmán said, ‘he’ll be missed.’ He paused. ‘Though I don’t know who by.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s dead, sir,’ Peralta said, feeling a pulse in the sarge’s neck. The sarge groaned and his eyes rolled open.

  ‘You lucky bastard,’ Guzmán said.

  ‘Like a black cat, me.’ The sarge struggled to sit up. ‘What hit me?’

  Guzmán checked him cursorily. ‘It ought to have been about twenty fifty-calibre bullets, Sargento, judging from the bloke who fell on you. He took your share.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ The sarge put a hand to his head gingerly and brought it away covered in blood. ‘But I cracked my bloody head open.’

  ‘No damage done, then,’ Guzmán said, losing interest. He turned to Peralta. ‘Come on, we can get a quick drink if there’s anything left of that bar.’

  MADRID 1953, COMISARÍA, CALLE DE ROBLES

  ‘Immediately, yes.’ Carrero Blanco’s voice was curt. ‘Get over here to the office of the capitán-genera
l as soon as you can. General Valverde has offered me the use of his office. I’ll expect you within the hour.’

  Guzmán hung up the phone. He was unshaven and bleary eyed.

  ‘Upstairs?’ Peralta asked.

  ‘The top.’ Guzmán slurped his coffee. ‘An immediate meeting. I’ll get a shave and you can drive me. Then take the car and go home for a few hours.’

  ‘I’d rather do something useful,’ Peralta said. Guzmán frowned. ‘Although, I could do with a bit of sleep, sir,’ Peralta added quickly.

  ‘You’ll need it.’

  The wind moaned through the streets in spiteful gusts. No more snow had fallen, but it was bitterly cold, the winter turning the city to a faded charcoal sketch.

  Peralta negotiated the busy streets carefully while Guzmán sprawled in the back seat.

  ‘Just don’t worry,’ Guzmán said again, annoyed at having to repeat himself in the face of Peralta’s continuous fretting. ‘You shot all three in self-defence. That isn’t too much to remember, is it? The sarge and I will say the same thing – although it’s unlikely anyone will ask after what happened to the guardia civiles last night.’

  ‘What do you think the newspapers will say, jefe?’

  ‘They’ll say you drove into that tramcar and killed us both. Look out, coño.’

  Peralta swerved out to overtake the tram, narrowly avoiding going straight into it.

  ‘Four years of war, twelve of years of hunting Reds and the only thing that’s ever scared me is your driving,’ Guzmán snapped.

  ‘Sorry, jefe.’

  ‘Will you tell your wife about the shooting?’ Guzmán asked.

  Peralta nodded. ‘We tell each other everything.’

  ‘I hope not. Who was it said a man who talks to his wife talks to the world?’

  ‘Some cynic by the sound of it,’ Peralta said, vainly trying to lighten Guzmán’s mood.

  ‘Might have been Cervantes,’ Guzmán reflected. ‘Christ, it could even have been the sarge. Never mind. Just be careful what you say to her.’