Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit

by Charles Brett

  "Hah! Fat chance!"

  Caterina lapsed back into silence before realising that he had done it again – diverted the conversation, albeit in pleasing ways, from what she really wanted to raise. Oh well. Other opportunities would occur before the end of the weekend to ask her other question.

  Thursday: Emilia

  Emilia woke late to hear Caterina disappearing, luggage in tow. Shortly afterwards her phone rang. It was Ana, suggesting lunch on Saturday, also mentioning that Felipe had rethought during the previous evening and asked her to SMS everybody to tell them not to turn up on Thursday. In effect, today was a free holiday. Ana had been puzzled by his generosity but not unhappy. Emilia agreed to meet Ana in the Glorieta de Olavide at about two thirty on Saturday.

  The good news was that if Ana had sent text messages to everybody that should mean Alberto would be unexpectedly free. She called him from bed, without pausing to think further.

  "Alberto, why not come to Malasaña for lunch and afterwards we can go see a movie or whatever we fancy?"

  "Come to Davide's place?"

  "Yes, and later we can go find somewhere to enjoy ourselves."

  Alberto agreed a touch doubtfully. He was not certain that he wanted to see Caterina or Davide. On the other hand they did provide him with a measure of protection from Emilia.

  The trouble was that he felt as attracted to her as she seemed to be to him. Hiding this from her was going to be difficult but if they were out in a bar or such like he should be safe. He reconsidered. Actually, in a cinema he could not be so sure. He had the clear sense that Emilia was someone with extravagant appetites. In some circumstances that would have suited him well. Played right this could be so much more satisfying than going out with any of his local contemporaries. The real question was: could he play it right? She didn't behave how he expected.

  For her part Emilia was delighted. She had no intention of going out for lunch. Checking the kitchen she saw more than enough to feed the pair of them, including the best jamón serrano, fed on acorns according to Ángela who was not due at the piso today or Friday, which Emilia loved. Spanish jamón she had heard of even in Australia. The reality was so much better than its reputation, which was already stellar. Now all she had to do was mix a salad, make sure there was chilled cava and beer and wine and get ready.

  A pleasant feeling of anticipation suffused her. Leisurely she prepared. She had only just finished when the doorbell rang. What good timing.

  Alberto was in a good humour when he arrived. Even better, Emilia was simply turned out. He had feared that she would be dressed to kill. But, with Caterina and Davide around and it being the middle of the day, that was probably an erroneous cause for concern.

  She was shorter than he remembered, probably owing to an absence of heels. She was neither thin nor too fleshy. Despite lacking the overt good looks of, say, Ana or Caterina, Emilia was without doubt sassy and sexy. However simple the dress, it revealed more than enough of strong yet shapely legs to allure.

  Without Davide and Caterina present she might be tough for him to stay away from, which he was sure was the best policy. Make her want him and hide that his objective was to start something special with her for the long term. Maybe he could escape Spain's employment misery by accompanying her to Australia. This was tempting, though it would upset his parents in the extreme. Anything, however, to escape the misery of crisis-hit Spain was worth pursuing.

  Emilia recognised the pleasure in his eyes. She congratulated herself for going for the simple approach, tempted as she had been to vamp herself up – as she would probably have done back home. Europe, or at least Spain, was improbably proper. She only needed to visualise Ana.

  Refocusing, Emilia smiled at him, "You'll be delighted to hear that Davide and Caterina have gone to Marbella. We've the place to ourselves. I've prepared a light lunch, nothing much and not special. What would you like to drink?"

  Her charm was manifest. Yet Alberto was suddenly terrified. He was expecting to be in control. In seconds, and how he couldn't fathom, she was in taking the lead. He was alone with her. This wasn't what he'd planned.

  "A beer, if you have one," he spluttered.

  Grinning to herself in amused anticipation, Emilia fetched him a bottle, followed by pouring herself a glass of white wine. The cava could wait for a more appropriate moment to celebrate.

  "What would you prefer to do? Have a drink on the terraza and eat later or eat now? We've the whole piso just for us."

  "Which is exactly what I didn't want or expect," Alberto voiced to himself, fortunately failing to engage his vocal chords. Doing his best to act cool and relaxed, he chose the terraza. That at least was safe. Unfortunately, as they opened the doors, a light rain, resembling an autumn mist, descended. While Emilia did not seem to care, he started back.

  "Maybe we should stay indoors."

  "Don't be a wimp. This isn't rain. I've heard you Spaniards are terrified of the threat represented by a drop of moisture in the sky appearing fifty kilometres away. Come on out! We can shelter under the sun umbrella if you're scared of getting wet. If you feel cold, wrap your arms round me. I'm usually hot enough."

  "I bet you are," he responded as suavely as possible, all the while feeling that it would have been much safer to stay at home.

  There was nothing to do but follow her outside.

  Saturday: Madrid

  Alfredo sat at his desk in his Madrid offices. It was unusual for him to be there on a Saturday, but not unknown. For the first time in a long while he was nervous. As an officer of the courts what he had done was morally unacceptable as well as illegal. Hopefully he had arranged everything with his usual care, and in such a way that there could be no trace back to him. He wondered when he might hear more.

  His phone rang. It was reception for the building, on duty seven days a week. Apparently there was a delivery. Was he expecting anything? Yes. Could reception sign for it before he came to collect it? If reception couldn't sign, redelivery would not occur until Tuesday at earliest.

  That made up his mind. Though not ideal to have a record of a delivery, the acceptance signature and name would not be his. Waiting until Tuesday was a risk too far in the other direction. He authorised acceptance and took the lift down.

  After carrying the box upstairs, Alfredo realised that somebody had been clever. He grinned at the wooden box of wine. What a shrewd deception. It even felt like the right sort of weight. Nobody could suspect something as ordinary as an innocuous wine delivery.

  Back in his office he lost no time in opening the box, using the Leatherman multi-tool that he liked to keep in his desk. Levering the top open he again marvelled at the originality, and the care taken. The wine box did not look as if it had ever been opened before, though it must have been.

  With the wooden top prised off, he found, nestled above six bottles of a decent Rioja Reserva, two laptops encased in bubble-wrap. One was larger and heavier than the second, which was silver and slim. Even better, the power bricks were included. He could power them up. Were either the 'right' one? He had no idea.

  As he was about to do this a different thought occurred. Should anyone walk in they might find it strange that he had three laptops on his desk, something which might be remembered. After all, Alfredo was not exactly known as a paid-up member of the technology cognoscenti, though privately he liked to think he knew rather more than he ever admitted.

  No, best that he to go home. Perhaps he could also enjoy one of those bottles of Rioja as well. He stashed the laptops back inside the wine box and replaced the lid, effectively hiding the contents.

  He took the lift direct down to his parking space. Placing his precious goodies in the boot, or trunk as he remembered the Americans preferred, he drove himself back to the smart surroundings of La Moraleja where he and his wife cohabited though rarely coincided.

  Upon arrival, he used his electronic control to enter the gates and garage. From here he took the wine box direct to his study. This
was deliberately unlike the one in El Rollo. He had made a conscious decision that the latter be a place for contemplation, relaxation and learning for, after all, that was where he expected to spend his retirement.

  His study in this house was a working place, full of papers and documents, as well as a strange collection of past technologies that he could not bear to throw out, from a cassette Walkman to a CD Writer to a Compaq desktop (still able to run Windows XP even though well more than a decade old). His wife only tolerated clutter in this one particular room. A couple more laptops adding to the three already there were not going to make much difference.

  He plugged both 'acquisitions' in. The bigger one took what seemed like minutes before coming up with an OverPayment Recovery Service logo and login screen. He had no idea what to do, but on balance decided this was less likely to be the machine he wanted.

  He switched it off and moved to the slim, silver Asus. It impressed, being both light and elegant. What's more, it showed its login screen in seconds. This was anonymous except for a small line at the bottom of the screen asking that, if found, the owner be contacted at the following email address or by telephone. He saw that the phone number started with 0061. He turned to his own laptop and started Google. Yes, yes, yes! This must be it: 0061 was the code for Australia.

  He felt an immense rush of relief. He possessed the offending machine. Now all he needed was to access it. That would be more difficult. It was such a pity he could not consult Alberto himself, who was known in the family to be able to make most computers talk if not sing. But the risk was that Alberto might recognise it, except that he had mentioned not knowing any of the details. Yes, perhaps he could ask Alberto. No. Alberto might say something to Emilia who could inadvertently let the cat out of the bag to Caterina.

  This needed carefully thinking through before making a decision. Perhaps he could wrap it up in some words like a client had left it behind and needed a particular file? No, that wouldn't work. Why wouldn't the client know the password details?

  That could wait. What he did have to do was talk to Marta and find out what she knew and what was on her smartphone. That promised to be an awkward call. He grimaced. Could it wait until after lunch? No, he decided it couldn't. Better sooner and before any post-lunch befuddlement on his, or her, part.

  He dialled Marta's number. The phone continuously rang.

  Just as he was about to give up Marta answered.

  Saturday: Emilia

  Emilia wandered up Fuencarral, taking her time. Without Caterina around she had started to enjoy Madrid. It was a city with life and taste. She watched the people around. To her eyes one could divide people into two or three groups (excepting children of all ages).

  There were the young, who were mostly scruffy but wore their clothes with a care uncommon in her home city of Sydney. There were the oldies, meaning anyone over forty. They were invariably smartly-turned out, if in ways that dated them. She particularly liked the care the men took and could see Davide's uncle's influence at work.

  Finally there were those in whom she was more interested, aged from about twenty to her own age. They were the most difficult to generalise about. The range of what they wore was smart, fashionable and astonishing. They made home seem dull by comparison.

  For herself, she had made an effort (how could she not after what Ana had worn before), just in case. She thought herself rather smart until she compared herself with the fashionistas around who made her less sure.

  Following her phone's map instructions, Emilia turned right down the calle Olid and soon came to a large open plaza with lots of trees in the middle. As advised by Ana, she did not walk into the middle but wandered around the edge where there were cafés and restaurantes, nearly all with tables and chairs outside. Ana had not been sure which to choose but mentioned it would be one with decent food.

  Some two-thirds round Emilia saw Ana standing waving at her. Thank God Ana was not dressed to the nines, but just wore faded blue jeans and a bright jacket over a man's shirt. Emilia headed over to greet Ana with the customary kisses on each cheek.

  "I hope you like this place, Emilia. The sun's out. We've a decent table and can enjoy the last of autumn."

  "This is an amazing place. How do you know it? I guess that's a stupid question, being a Madrileña you naturally would know it."

  "Not if you're unfamiliar with this part of town, which is called Chamberí. You might only ever drive underneath. My grandmother introduced me to it when I was a child. She had friends who lived nearby. There was originally a dilapidated market here, riddled with druggies and other disreputables. In recent times, especially after they put the road with the car park beneath and created the gardens above, it has come up in the world. Now it's popular again, as you can see. Anyhow, what'll you have? Café? Un vinito? Una cervecita?"

  "Given the time, I think a white wine would go down well."

  "Excellent idea. Let's order a bottle. I should warn you, and I hope you won't mind, but I asked my cousin Inma to join us. I thought we could have a girls' lunch."

  "No problem." Emilia was in fact intrigued and delighted to meet the infamous 'dyke' about whom Caterina had gone from being so anti to so pro. She would be an interesting addition, just as the opportunity to be with Ana should prove fascinating. After all, they had already slept together, albeit innocently.

  "So, Emilia; what do you make of Madrid, ORS and Caterina's little accidental discovery?"

  "To be honest, Ana, I am beginning to like Madrid a lot. I wasn't sure at first. It's great living in that piso. Yet with Davide and Caterina it's also a bit stifling."

  "In what way?"

  "I'm not quite sure how to put it. Perhaps partly because I feel like a permanent raspberry – no, I mean gooseberry. Davide and Caterina somehow never manage to put themselves together. That leaves me like a spare prune, unsure whether I'm wanted in the fruit salad or surplus. Over time this drains. In addition, it's hard to play, to enjoy myself when I must consider their precious desires, which even they don't understand. The truth is that it's a relief they've disappeared for a few days. However, I shouldn't complain. Without Caterina's connection with Davide I wouldn't be here."

  "I understand. And what's Caterina's connection with Davide?"

  Emilia burst out laughing before saying, "If I could explain I'd be the first to tell them. I don't think they have a clue. They hover round each other in some form of inept dance that never seems to come to fruition, or consummation – if you see what I mean?"

  Emilia, although knowing this was not quite true, raised her eyes to Ana's face.

  Ana slowly rocked her head back and forth, saying, "That sort of explains the tension. I like Davide. He is simpático, without you needing to make any obvious effort. Caterina just puzzles me."

  "You're joining an un-illustrious club of the thoroughly baffled, regarding Caterina that is. But they do have something in common: Rome. That's also where they met Inma. I wonder if she'd tell us what Davide and Caterina won't. Can I ask?"

  "I don't see why not. She can always say 'no'. Oh, before she arrives, I've a spare room in my apartment for if you ever need to escape. Just give me a call sometime and invite yourself. It's not far from here, or Malasaña."

  Emilia and Ana looked at each other. A mutual understanding was in the air, just as Inma appeared and greeted Ana.

  Ana, having stood to kiss Inma, stepped back and said, "Yet again you look totally fantastic, Inma. That's some combination, which can only be Italian." Inma wore tight white trousers with a jacket. "It displays you to perfection; much better than those brown dresses you used to wear, if you don't mind me saying so."

  Inma smiled in a self-deprecating way. She was still not really used to compliments after all those years in Opus Dei. To avoid responding she turned to Emilia and introduced herself.

  Feeling almost daring, Emilia shook Inma's hand as well as kissing her on both cheeks. Ana was right. This was superbly-wrapped sex appeal – and in the mi
ddle of the day. Not feeling quite certain what to say, she followed up on Ana's unanswered question.

  "That jacket? Did you buy it here? Where, if you don't mind me asking? It looks so soft yet so perfectly fitted. As Ana said, it looks great on you."

  It was true. She had not believed that anyone over forty could possess a figure this carefully wrought – except for fading Hollywood film stars after an excess of plastic surgery. But Inma did not have their unnatural look. Unwittingly, she sucked in her breath in both appreciation and admiration.

  Inma saw this but took no notice before saying, "I bought it in Rome when I was inadvertently there. It was where I first met Davide. You might even say, seeing that we're all girls, that it was my coming-out jacket."

  "Tell us more," encouraged Ana. "This sounds fascinating."

  Emilia nodded in agreement.

  Saturday: Alcobendas

  Pedro arrived at the ORS offices in his own car. He was not happy at having his Saturday disturbed. He found Lucas waiting for him at the entrance along with a junior Nacional Policía officer.

  "Okay. Tell me. What's happened?"

  Lucas gestured that they should go inside. He led the way to the ORS offices. Immediately Pedro saw the problem. Someone had broken in. The door to reception had been jimmied until the frame had given way. It was obvious when you looked but equally as easy to overlook if you did not pay attention. Given that there were no other occupants on this floor except ORS (the offices opposite being empty with a large 'to rent' sign visible), there was no reason why anybody else should have taken notice.

  They entered reception where they found a second CNP officer sitting outside the once opaque glass door to the conference room. This had been smashed. They went in and looked around. There was the usual conference room furniture and a projector, but there was no sign of the two laptops. Worse still, there were no power cables for the laptops. Ensuring they did not touch anything, Lucas and Pedro checked carefully.