Blood Wedding (12 page)

‘I didn’t realize our tapas were that bad,’ said Max.

There was laughter round the room.

‘Well. We have a group calling for the restoration of the Caliphate of Cordova, another for the creation of an independent Islamic state of Al Andaluz. Some groups claim to be following the Sufi tradition – a mystical tradition within Islam. We suspect, but as of now have no definitive evidence, that some groups may even be involved in the hashish trade. There is a small Muslim, largely Sufi group, in Diva, in the Alpujarras. From my knowledge of this group they are colourful but peaceful, though the leader of the group, Ahmed Mahfouz, a powerful orator, is prominent in the anti-war movement. These groups may seem outlandish, but our assessment is that they are not involved with any terrorist group nor are they likely to be.’

Max stopped again. Inspector Sánchez returned, and fell over an outstretched leg as he scrambled back to his seat.

‘As I was saying, rivalries between groups and even between mosques can be strong. We even had the bizarre case of our courts having to adjudicate the ownership of a mosque after one group seized it from another. The building of the mosque, opposite the Alhambra, next to the Mirador de San Nicolás, did create problems. A Christian group, calling itself Covadonga, after the battle in 722 when Christians defeated the Moors, mounted a vociferous and at times violent campaign against the mosque. But that seems to have quietened down now. And we in Granada now see that mosque as a positive asset to the city – though they did have a quite notorious call to prayer when the attack on Iraq began.’

Max remembered that moment well. As dawn broke over the city, a powerful loudspeaker summoned all Muslims to the mosques to pray and campaign against the war.

‘Our assessment is that there are no terrorist cells operating in or around Granada, but of course we must not be complacent. As the US President recently said, complacency will bring us what we thought we knew was coming but didn’t know it was coming until it actually came, and when it came we knew what we should have done but didn’t because we didn’t know it was coming.’

Max stopped. He hoped his joke had gone down okay. There was a polite round of applause, and even a little laughter. Davila, chairing the meeting, frowned, and then thanked Max for a most efficient and comprehensive survey.

‘Would anyone like to ask a question?’

Everyone waited for Jefe Superior Cifuentes to ask the first question. He cleared his throat.

‘Yes. Thank you, Sub-Inspector Romero. That was a very comprehensive report. You said you believe we have no Al-Qaeda or similar cells operating here in Granada. Can you be sure of that?’

‘No. I cannot be absolutely sure, but I do have my ear very close to the ground, and there isn’t even a whisper that they are here in Granada.’

Cifuentes was followed by Comisario Bonila, then General Lopez who emphasized the importance of the Guardia Civil in watching out for potential terrorists in the rural areas. Both congratulated Max. The Inspectores Jefes, all making various minor points and all congratulating Max, followed Lopez. Max felt himself relaxing. It was going fine.

Finally Inspectora Jefe Linda Concha stood up, and walked to the front. She began without the usual polite preliminaries.

‘I would like to make a number of comments on Sub-Inspector Romero’s analysis. It might do as an academic exercise. But it is not serious police investigation. I have not come all the way from the CGI headquarters to be told everything is fine. The days when we might have regarded some of the groups he mentioned as no more than eccentric oddities have passed. Also there is no doubt that extremist Islamic groups have been recruiting among immigrants and students.’

She paused, and moved forward to increase the dramatic effect.

‘Sub-Inspector Romero made no mention of links between the Basque terrorist group, ETA, and extremist Islamic groups. We have good evidence that such links exist, and that ETA have probably acquired missiles from them. The Prime Minister is very concerned about these links. The analysis is complacent and wrong-headed. The threat is serious.’

She dropped her voice lower, and spoke slowly.

‘The likelihood of a terrorist attack here in Andalusia is high. We have to get serious, and change our intelligence gathering and our way of working. All of these groups advocating the establishment of Al Andaluz are potential breeding grounds for terrorists. The radical Islamic groups in the communities, and those around the University of Granada, are very dangerous. Some of the mosques have Imans who have never criticized Al-Qaeda or the call to jihad, and there are quite a few pamphlets circulating here in Granada defending jihad. There is, I repeat, no room for complacency. You have given me no evidence that Granada is taking the threat seriously, and I must have an action plan to show that you are. We have a lot to learn from the Americans in this.’

‘You are quite right, Inspectora Jefe,’ interrupted Davila. ‘We are taking the threat seriously, and I did ask Sub-Inspector Romero not to be bland. But we have to be careful not to antagonize the Muslim population, and to work cautiously.’

‘Inspector Jefe, I am more concerned that we don’t antagonize our Spanish population by failing to prevent a terrorist attack. That is why surveillance has to be stepped up. Having cups of tea with friendly Muslims is just not good enough.’

Max flushed. ‘The Inspectora Jefe forgets that I was giving an overview of the make-up of the Muslims here in Granada. There may be a serious threat. And I certainly would not like to question American intelligence – though so far they have not found any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. We should not be complacent, but we should not exaggerate either. In my experience the Muslims here are not involved in any terrorist threat. They are opposed to the Spanish government’s foreign policy in support of the war. And having tea with friendly Muslims, as you put it, is important as a way of both obtaining information and building goodwill. If we are to win the so-called war on terrorism, then we need the support and trust of our Muslim population.’

‘Sub-Inspector, may I remind you it is not our job to agree or not with our government’s policies. Our job is to support those policies. And the so-called war on terrorism, as you put it, is a real war. There is no harm in having friendly cups of tea, but that can be no substitute for serious police work.’

‘I think Inspectora Jefe Concha is correct,’ interrupted Comisario Bonila. ‘Sub-Inspector Romero’s survey is but the first step. We need a top level planning team to develop a strategic and tactical plan which can be implemented almost immediately.’

Linda smiled, ‘Thank you, Comisario. That is what I wanted to hear. Both Inspector Sánchez and myself will be here over the coming week to help you set up such a plan. We are pleased that Granada sees the importance of the threat we are facing and is willing to take the necessary action.’

‘Inspectora Jefe,’ said Davila, ‘I do apologize for the inadequate presentation. The Sub-Inspector is young and relatively inexperienced. I had advised him to be less bland, and give more emphasis to the real dangers we are facing.’

Max managed to hold his tongue.

‘Inspector Jefe, I am not making any personal criticisms. The Sub-Inspector does have a good knowledge of the Islamic groups, and he could be useful to our planning exercise. I suggest he participates in our planning group. What do you think, Martín?’

Martín, though now looking less green around the gills, had still not said a word. ‘Yes, he could be useful.’

‘I was about to suggest that myself,’ said Davila. ‘I will arrange for Sub-Inspector Romero to be free whenever he is required.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Linda. ‘The Sub-Inspector is fortunate in having you as his commanding officer.’

‘Thank you all for coming,’ said Davila. ‘I will arrange a planning meeting as a matter of urgency.’

They filed out, Comisario Bonila rushing to reassure Linda about how seriously they were all taking the threats, and reminding her of the last time he had met her father.

‘Max, stay behind a minute, will you,’ said Davila.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Max, collecting his materials and returning them to his briefcase.

When everyone had left, Davila turned to Max.

‘Romero, that was a complete and utter balls-up. You made me look stupid. If Inspectora Jefe Concha hadn’t asked for you on the team, you’d be on a disciplinary. Okay. You can go now. But watch your step.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Max. ‘I will certainly do my best to follow your advice and orders.’

He saluted, and left.

Linda was waiting outside on the steps. As he attempted to pass, she moved to stand in front of him.

‘Max. Sorry about that. Trust me, it wasn’t personal. I had to get real action. Look – the PM’s Anti-Terrorist Coordinating Committee is monitoring all the forces, and Granada got flagged up for a kick in the balls. No hard feelings.’

She smiled, a little girl’s
please forgive me
smile.

‘Max, stick with me and you’ll do well. Let’s have a drink. You can tell me what really goes on in these famous monthly coordinating meetings.’

‘I don’t know that much about them. I just prepare the odd briefing memo now and again.’

‘As I thought. An excuse for a coffee morning. A drink then?’

‘Inspectora Jefe, I’m very busy. I have a lot to do.’

‘Oh, it’s not personal. I can help you. I’ve already got your pompous fool of a boss, what’s he called, Davila, eating out of my hand.’

In spite of himself, Max smiled. ‘I really am busy. Still have that murder case in Diva to see to. Leila – remember, the girl who was killed – is the daughter of Ahmed Mahfouz, the anti-war campaigner.’

‘Now that is interesting. There might be some leads there. Come on. You look as if you need a drink.’

‘Well . . .’

‘I remember the first time I had to do something like this. My dad was there, and he really put me down. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying.’

‘Oh, okay. One drink then. The Aben Humeya is on my way home.’

‘This one’s on me. I wouldn’t want you to have problems with expenses. But I must get out of this uniform first. It’s stifling me. Give me a minute to change in the hotel.’

The Santa Paula was cool. The fountain in the middle of the foyer splashed gently. Fifteen minutes went by. Max felt awkward in his uniform. He amused himself guessing which of the couples coming in and out were married or not. He thought you would be able to tell: a glance, a smile, the way an arm or hand was held, a stray hand brushing a bottom. But in the end he gave up: there were no obvious clues.

Linda appeared in a blue silk dress, so plain it must have cost a fortune.

A taxi was waiting outside.

‘The Aben Humeya please,’ said Max.

The taxi passed underneath the mosque overlooking the Alhambra. ‘That’s the mosque I mentioned in my presentation.’

‘Impressive. But I wouldn’t have given permission for it on that site. It would only encourage the radicals.’

As Max and Linda walked down three flights of steps to the bottom terrace of the restaurant, the sun began to set behind the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada beyond.

‘You’re right, Max. This is delightful.’

Max took off his jacket and tie, and placed them on a spare chair.

‘You look better already. No hard feelings now, I hope. Your presentation wasn’t that bad, Max. Too much of the bleeding heart liberal and it wouldn’t have shaken up the departments, would it? And I’m here to get results. A bottle of really cold, white wine, no? Don Darías be okay?’

‘Don Darías would be fine.’

The owner arrived with a bottle, and poured them each a glass. Linda swirled the wine around in her glass, and sniffed it appreciatively.

‘Fine. A touch of peach, wouldn’t you say?’

Max laughed. He was being teased.

‘Okay, give me the low-down on who’s who, and what’s going on.’

So Max told the story of the day when Comisario Bonila’s mistress ran off with a flamenco dancer.

‘. . . then Bonila wanted to haul in the Drug Squad and get the guy’s flat raided. It took his deputy hours to talk him out of it. But not before everyone in the force knew about the mistress – and of course one of the secretaries knew his wife’s cousin, so it all got back to Bonila’s wife and she wasn’t best pleased.’

‘Another bottle, Max? And a bite to eat?’

‘Why not?’

‘I meant to go back to Madrid this weekend. But my daughter’s fine, and wants to stay on with her grandparents. I’ve some reports to finish, and Bonila has invited me to a barbecue on Sunday. Terrified I might give a damning report. I won’t be able to look at him with a straight face now. So, Max, what does a girl like me do on her own in Granada on a Saturday night?’

Leila:
Paula, you said at the end of my last interview that your family suffered a lot because of the Civil War. Would it be too painful to tell me what happened?

Paula:
Oh, dear. I haven’t talked about this for a long time. I think a lot about it. My last wish is to bury my brother, Antonio, before I die. I . . . I . . .

Leila:
Here, take this tissue.

Paula: Gracías,
Leila. Silly old woman, aren’t I? I’m okay now.

Leila:
Are you sure you want to talk about it?

Paula: Sí, sí. Está bien.
I’m sure. If you could help me find his body, I could go to my grave at peace.

Leila:
Oh, Paula, I’ll do what I can. I’ve permission to go through the archives of the Guardia Civil – there might be something there.

Paula:
Where shall we start?

Leila:
Why don’t you start with your family?

Paula. Sí.
My parents were quite wealthy, good Catholics, conservatives, very respectable, you know. We had servants, and an old town house in Granada as well as this farmhouse. The Granada house was lovely. There was a pond in the patio, with a goldfish I called Cleopatra. I went to a convent school of course. I would have liked to have gone to university like my brothers, but in those days girls just didn’t. I do envy you your education – you know so much more about the world than I did at your age.