She looked into her bag. From her purse she could fit her money and cards into her trouser pockets. Other things – tissues, a long-forgotten packet of chewing gum, a small torch for emergencies – could all be left behind. She squeezed a number of keys into another trouser pocket. Then there was her phone and the charger. No better time, she thought, to get rid of it. After pressing a few buttons she made certain that all her contacts and information were stored on the SIM card, then she switched it off, took the SIM out and pushed it back into her pocket. For a second she thought about smashing the phone as though it, rather than her own carelessness, had betrayed her. But she held back, simply letting it drop. After one last glance inside, she let the bag slump on to the floor. A shame: she had liked it.
She stood in her little space, watching the people coming and going. And waited.
Number 1 reporting.
We hear you. What is your position?
I lost her.
What?
In Atocha. She got off the train just as the doors were closing. It was too late. I couldn’t get out.
Which train?
It left just a few minutes ago. Line 1 heading south.
We’ll find the footage.
I got off at Menéndez Pelayo, came straight up to re-establish radio connection.
Get back down and catch the next train back to Atocha.
Understood.
Number 2.
Sir?
Have you seen the subject come up from the platform?
Negative.
Then get downstairs immediately. We need eyes on her.
On my way.
We’ve got live feed of all the Atocha security cameras here. Between us we’ll find her.
It was the same woman, this time with her leather jacket back on. She was turning this way and that, standing on tiptoe to peer above the heads of the commuters. Alicia slid further into her corner and watched as her tail crossed the central reserve between the two platforms, carefully looking at almost every person there, an expression of frustration on her face. She took several seconds to scan the area, but although Alicia could see her, she was shielded from view by a new wave of travellers pouring in from a recently arrived train. When the woman peeled off to inspect the platform, Alicia took her chance and slipped out into the flow of people, stepping on to the escalator and rising up towards the top.
With a simple movement of her hand, she pulled the shawl from around her shoulders and brought it over her hair, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
Number 2, report … Number 2, can you hear me? Report in. I can’t believe this. Where the hell has that woman got to? Number 2! Number—
Number 2 here, sir.
What’s going on?
Lost her, sir.
What?
No sign of her.
That can’t be!
I’ve checked everywhere, sir. Even the toilets, the tunnel entrances. She’s not here.
That’s impossible. She must be there. We’ve checked the footage at this end. She hasn’t left the station. Go back and find her. Liaise with Number 1. We must find her at all costs!
And if, I mean, when we do find her, sir?
…
Sir?
End it.
Out through the glass doors again and into the open air. It was properly dark, now, easier to walk the streets without being seen. The street lighting was less intense in Madrid than in Valencia. All that lobbying about light pollution. It had its advantages.
She headed up across the square towards the Retiro park, where the streets were shaded by mature trees, and even darker. There she would find a spot to sit, to rest, and to make certain she was on her own.
And then, only when she was sure, she would move on to her destination. She had about another hour. The timing was just right.
FORTY-FIVE
The shutters at the Romanians’ plumbing shop had been partly raised – enough to see the glass door behind them. No lights were switched on but it was a sign that they were there and expecting him. Cámara stood in the little mirador opposite, underneath the mulberry tree, listening for any sounds, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He had taken up Corporal Rodríguez’s offer of the camp bed, but had been unable to doze off, instead lying silently with his eyes closed, trying – and largely failing – not to think. Rodríguez had returned and offered him something to eat, but Cámara refused, only drinking water from the bottles and getting up once or twice to use the toilet next to the single cell at the back of the building. When the time came, Rodríguez helped him prepare, then led him out a side door so as not to be seen. He wanted to come with Cámara, act as backup, but Cámara refused. The more people involved, the greater the risk to his plan. And although he trusted Rodríguez to a degree, he could not vouch for him: the wrong move at the wrong time could prove disastrous.
At the last minute, just as they were leaving, Rodríguez pulled a listening device out of a drawer: a tiny wire with a microphone and a battery pack.
‘Just a suggestion,’ he said.
Cámara thought for a second, then nodded. He slipped off his shirt and they stuck it to his chest with a piece of tape. Once he was dressed, they tested it, his voice and movements clearly audible on the office receiver.
‘I’ll be recording everything,’ said Rodríguez.
Now, as Cámara stared at the open shutter, choosing his moment to go in, he could feel the wire nestling in his chest hairs, rubbing against his skin. It felt like a parasite living off his flesh, one that could endanger the life of its host.
It had gone midnight, and the village was silent and asleep. Unlike the city, this was a community of early risers, people whose rhythms were dictated by the land and their animals. The only sign of life was a single street lamp fifty metres away, staring at the ground like a Cyclops, with the bright flickering of insects darting about the light beaming from its singular eye.
Cámara took one last, long breath and stepped forwards.
The shutters were stiff, wouldn’t rise any higher. He bent almost double to get under them, then pushed against the door. It yielded instantly, swinging open silently into darkness.
Cámara hesitated. He sensed, rather than saw, other people inside: a warmth from their bodies; a crackling, almost electrical spark in the air, and a smell that he recognised but could not identify.
‘Step inside,’ said a man. ‘And close the door behind you.’
The sound of the voice gave Cámara a rough location and distance for at least one of them: somewhere on the opposite side of the room, several metres away, certainly beyond striking distance. The voice was deep and steady; he tried to detect any signal that its owner might be drugged – a sharpness, perhaps, or acceleration in speech – but could sense none. So much for the first one, but the second would also be present somewhere, perhaps much closer, ready to land a blow, and he had to proceed cautiously.
He took a quick step inside, closed the door audibly behind him, then slipped as silently as he could to his left, crouching low, pressing his knuckles against the gritty cement floor and scrambling several metres to the side.
There was a crash, the sound of cracking glass, followed instantly by a stifled, urgent grunt of pain. Cámara heard mumbled, angry words, oaths sworn in a language he did not understand. He dashed several more metres away from the door, using the backs of his hands to feel his way in the dark, trying to avoid a second attempt to knock him out.
He heard heavy footsteps, the sound of someone being pushed to the ground, and the door being opened. Then the shutters were pulled down, the door closed again and the lights inside were switched on. In an instant, Cámara raised both his hands.
The Romanians were by the door. One, the larger of the two, was on the floor, lying on his side and nursing his hand, which had blood pouring down the back from a wound. The other, slightly smaller than the first but no less menacing in appearance and stature, was on his feet, one hand on the light switch on t
he wall next to a crucifix, the other nestling a revolver which he was waving about, trying to locate Cámara in the room. As soon as he spotted him he raised the gun and held it with outstretched arm, fingers tensing as though about to pull the trigger. And then he saw, his eyes widening at first, mouth opening with fear and surprise. Eventually his hand dropped.
‘What?’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’
The larger of the two glanced up from the floor, saw what was happening, and quickly forgot his injured knuckles, hauling himself quickly to his feet.
Cámara’s hands were raised to shoulder height, and the grenade that he gripped in each one was clearly visible, as was the cord tied to each clip which passed up into his sleeve.
‘Just in case you haven’t worked it out,’ he said clearly, ‘yes, these are real grenades from which the pins have been removed. And yes, if I drop them for whatever reason – let’s say because you try to hit me again, or perhaps shoot me – then we shall all, in this small, confined space, very certainly die.’
The Romanians stared aghast.
‘Do you understand?’ asked Cámara with deliberation.
The larger one – Dorin, Cámara surmised from the description Jimmy had given him – nodded. Bogdan simply stared in anger.
‘Now,’ continued Cámara, ‘that’s three times you’ve tried to kill me. And three times you’ve failed. Don’t you think it’s time to change tack? And isn’t it a little short-sighted? Getting rid of me won’t change anything. It would only make my people more determined in their plans, and bring greater problems for you. Believe me.’
Dorin’s eyes were darting from side to side. If either of them was on something, Cámara reasoned it was the larger of the two. Bogdan, meanwhile, stared at him with a bovine stillness, his eyes boring into Cámara like drills.
‘What we need to do,’ said Cámara, ‘is begin a conversation. Here and now. Nothing else is going to settle this. You’ve tried violence, and I know that is your preferred method. But I think you will have to agree that so far it has failed. And,’ he glanced at the grenades in his hands, ‘I don’t think it’s going to work now either.’
He nodded at them.
‘What do you say?’
He could see the wheels turning in Bogdan’s mind as he tried to work out how to play this. It was time to pull out another card, to keep him in a state of confusion.
‘I know that you might be hesitant about speaking openly,’ said Cámara. ‘And I agree. It’s always better to be cautious in such circumstances. I myself took precautions before coming here.’
He nodded at the grenades.
‘And I don’t just mean these.’
Bogdan gave a questioning look.
‘Now I’m going to hang on to these,’ said Cámara. ‘But as a gesture of goodwill, what I’m going to do …’
Still clutching the bombs, he brought his hands in front of his chest and using only his forefingers and thumbs, undid the top two buttons and exposed the wire stuck to his skin. With a jerk, he pulled it off, ripping it out of the battery pack stuck to his waist, and tossed it on to the floor at the Romanians’ feet.
‘Is get rid of this,’ he said.
Dorin crouched down and picked up the wire. Bogdan stared Cámara darkly in the eye.
‘My people,’ said Cámara, ‘like to have some kind of insurance. Which I’m certain you’ll understand.’
For an instant, he thought of Rodríguez back in the Guardia Civil office, cursing him.
‘But we need to get off on the right foot,’ Cámara went on. ‘If we’re ever going to continue working together.’
Dorin held the wire in his thick paw. The blood was drying now, leaving a bright red streak across his skin. Dark splashes on the floor by his feet showed where drops had fallen. The glass in the door was reinforced with mesh, yet he had managed to leave a deep, fist-sized dent in it, with shattered lines radiating in all directions.
But Bogdan was still holding a revolver, and he was clearly the decision-maker, a dull intelligence flashing in his eyes that was absent from his companion. After a pause, he lowered the gun to his side. As he did so, Cámara buttoned up his shirt again and let his hands drop, palms facing forwards with the grenades in full view.
Bogdan nodded. Dorin seemed to read his command and knelt down, placing the wire on the floor in front of him. Then he located a loose brick lying at the side of the room, lifted it above his head and brought it crashing down, smashing the listening device with blow after blow, and using – Cámara noticed with interest – his left hand to do so.
The act of destruction seemed to go on for too long, Dorin letting out pent up anger and pain as he brought the brick down again and again, sending splinters and brick dust flying about. At the sound of Bogdan’s grunt, he stopped, kicking the remains of the shattered wire away, panting for breath, his eyes on the floor, as though in shame at having lost control.
Bogdan patted him on the shoulder. Then he turned to Cámara and spoke.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Now we can talk.’
FORTY-SIX
‘I should say that we are starting from first principles,’ said Cámara. ‘Nothing that has happened in the past has any bearing on what happens now. No grudges, no prejudices. And I have the authority to strike a new deal right here. That’s why they sent me.’
Bogdan nodded; Dorin was silent.
‘José Luis’s killing changes everything,’ continued Cámara.
He watched for any sign – a reaction – in their eyes. But there was none.
‘Clever that,’ he said. ‘Using the bees.’
‘José Luis was the problem,’ said Bogdan, his voice deep and bitter.
Cámara nodded slowly.
‘On that we are agreed,’ he said when Bogdan failed to expand.
‘Everything was fine,’ said Bogdan. ‘The whole set-up, running smoothly. Everyone happy. He was the one trying to cut us out, deal with you directly, not through us.’
‘We were impressed by your organisational skills,’ Cámara improvised. ‘The system has been working without a glitch. The material has been delivered as and where it was supposed to be.’
‘We’re not idiots!’ Dorin suddenly appeared to be granted the gift of speech, spitting the words out in a rapid tumble. ‘We have friends.’
He was certainly high, Cámara thought. Or so nervous that it made little difference.
Bogdan threw a reprimanding glance to his side and Dorin fell silent.
‘The locals, it’s true,’ he said. ‘They’ve been welcoming to us.’
‘What happened with Enrique?’ said Cámara.
Bogdan’s expression darkened.
‘Old man. Got a place beyond Sunset,’ Cámara went on.
‘That was years ago,’ said Bogdan.
‘Two years,’ Cámara butted in.
Bogdan paused.
‘OK. Two years. This was never brought up before. Why are you asking now?’
Cámara frowned.
‘We need to clear the air. Of everything.’
Bogdan gritted his teeth.
‘Enrique was spreading rumours around the village.’
‘To everyone,’ screeched Dorin. ‘Even to the priest!’
Bogdan shot a hand out to his side to silence him.
‘I hear Enrique is good friends with Father Ricardo,’ said Cámara.
‘As is everyone,’ said Bogdan. ‘As are we. We go to mass, just like most people here. But we are foreigners; it is not always easy for us. People are too ready to believe bad things about us. We need to protect our reputation.’
‘And Enrique was spreading rumours about …?’ Cámara asked.
‘No,’ said Bogdan. ‘Not about that.’
‘About the shop,’ said Dorin. ‘Blamed us for his wife’s death.’
‘Her shop went out of business,’ explained Bogdan with a shrug. ‘Shortly after, she died. She was old. She was going to die anyway. But Enrique blamed us.’
/> ‘Said we were pushing prices down deliberately.’
Cámara nodded.
‘So you went to have a chat with him,’ he said.
‘We made him stop,’ said Bogdan. ‘No more talk.’
‘Left a nasty scar on his face.’
‘He brought it upon himself.’
‘Has he said anything since?’
‘Not a word!’ spat Dorin.
‘And I suppose he keeps his distance from you now.’
‘He wouldn’t dare take a step in our direction.’
Bogdan eyed Cámara.
‘How come you know so much about this?’ he asked. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘I paid Enrique a visit,’ said Cámara. Bogdan looked suspicious.
‘My job,’ explained Cámara, lowering his voice, ‘is to clear up any mess. You understand? Which means I have to know what people around here know and don’t know.’
He cleared his throat.
‘And I’m happy to see that when it comes to Enrique it looks like you did a thorough job. I don’t imagine he’ll be causing trouble any time soon.’
‘We saw you at his place,’ said Dorin. ‘Followed you through the woods.’
‘Then you trailed me down to the Molino,’ said Cámara.
‘We lost you for a bit,’ said Dorin. ‘Thought you’d head back to Sunset. But we found you in the end.’
With his simplified, drug-damaged brain, he seemed to desire approval, as though Cámara should praise him for his tracking skills. Cámara nodded to him.
‘I’m so glad you didn’t manage to kill me,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.’
Dorin’s mouth broke into a curled, sneering grin.
‘Enough of this shit,’ said Bogdan.
‘Yes,’ said Cámara. ‘Now, as we said, with José Luis gone, everything is changed.’
‘We don’t even know if Sunset will close,’ said Bogdan. ‘Everything could fall apart. No Sunset, no market, no business.’
‘Paco’s still there,’ said Cámara.
Mention of Paco’s name brought silence to the dank little room. At length, Bogdan nodded.
‘Your distribution network is still in place,’ continued Cámara. ‘Sunset is popular, makes a lot of money. You think whoever takes it over is going to close it down?’
Fatal Sunset Page 24
