Sign of the Cross (28 page)
Authors: Thomas Mogford
He nodded at a second cousin, then turned into Irish Town, where an outpost of the Royal Gibraltar Police Force nestled reassuringly beside two long-established pubs.
4
Spike sat with Jessica outside the Clipper pub, sipping a mug of Earl Grey tea. Beneath the table lay General Ironside, muzzle resting on Jessica’s feet.
‘So you’re clear about tomorrow?’ Jessica said.
‘Two o’clock in Hamish’s room.’
‘Suite.’
‘In Hamish’s suite at the Rock Hotel. Then I head downstairs at two thirty with the other groomsmen to meet the guests. Service starts at three.’
‘Buttonhole?’
‘Sorry. First, I pick up my buttonhole from the florist.’
‘Not that it’ll make much difference. Your face still looks terrible.’ Jessica reached over and put a hand on his. ‘Any news on Zahra?’
Spike withdrew his hand and shook his head.
‘What’s your plan?’
‘Keep checking in with Interpol and Europol. Wait till my dad gets out of hospital, then carry on looking.’
Jessica drank her tea.
‘So are you out on the town tonight?’ Spike said, hearing the forced jollity in his voice. ‘Last day of freedom?’
‘Think I’ll leave that to Hamish.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s his stag do. They’re spending the afternoon checking out the apes on the Rock, then it’s James Bond night at the casino. They’ve been watching the Gibraltar scenes from
The Living Daylights
in his hotel room.’
‘Suite.’
Jessica smiled. ‘I’m spending the night at home. My brother’s over from Madrid. Mum’s cooking us
calentita
. Come by if you’re at a loose end.’
‘I promised to meet Drew.’
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t worry; I’ll be on form for tomorrow.’
She fixed her police hat on her head, then stood. General Ironside followed, stumpy tail wagging. As soon as she passed Spike the lead, his tail fell.
‘He has good taste.’
Jessica blushed. ‘I’ll miss him.’
Spike crouched down to the General, holding a hand beneath his muzzle. His nose twitched as he drew in Rufus’s scent. His tail began to wag once more, and they set off together towards Main Street.
5
Sitting at an indoor table of the All’s Well, Spike thought about the last time he’d been there – Piers Harrington, hunched at a corner table, speaking Serbian. The interior of the pub was busier tonight, ceiling fan whirring unevenly above, bottle-blonde ex-pat butchering ‘Bette Davis Eyes’ on the karaoke as her Costa crim boyfriend gazed proudly on.
‘Drew tells us you’ve been in Malta.’
Spike looked round. Drew Stanford-Trench’s girl had red Pre-Raphaelite hair. As promised, her friend was a brunette. Both had the heavy, hooded eyes that suggested Drew had dragged them into the pub some hours ago.
‘We hear it was rather dangerous,’ the friend said. She smiled, revealing a smear of pink on her front tooth.
Spike moved his chair to face them. ‘Don’t listen to anything Drew says. He has a tendency to exaggerate.’
Stanford-Trench was at the bar, taking receipt of a tray of wine glasses and pints.
‘I don’t mind a bit of danger,’ the darker-haired girl added, brushing a hand against Spike’s knee.
Stanford-Trench slid the tray onto the table. ‘Just had an email which might interest you,’ he called over to Spike.
Seeing Spike cup an ear, Stanford-Trench leaned into the red-haired girl and whispered something. The friend broke off her conversation, watching expectantly as Spike stood up.
‘What did the email say?’ Spike asked once they’d reached a quieter corner of the pub.
‘It concerns
The Restless Wave
and its errant crew.’
‘Piers Harrington?’
Stanford-Trench shook his head. ‘No, Harrington’s home-free, lording it up at his flat in Sotogrande. It’s to do with the yacht owner, Radovic. Apparently he’s a seriously big fish: drugs, prostitution, the lot. A kingpin for the entire Mediterranean region.’
‘I thought Radovic was just an alias.’
‘One of them. No one knows his real identity, but apparently he has a nickname.’
The girls were beckoning from the table now that the karaoke machine was free.
‘She gone,’ Stanford-Trench said.
Spike suddenly wheeled round. ‘What did you say?’
Stanford-Trench took a step backwards. ‘Jesus, Spike. Take it easy. Z-I-G-O-N. It’s Serbian or Slovenian or something.
Ži-gon
,’ he said in an accent, then waved at the girls. ‘OK. Let’s get this done.’
He turned and set off towards the stage at the back of the pub. The brunette beckoned to Spike: her smile disappeared as she saw him move for the door, then she downed her glass of wine and consoled herself with the microphone.
6
Coming out into Casemates, Spike saw a group of men in black tie stumbling over the cobbles towards him, yelling out the James Bond theme tune arm in arm. He turned away to the north-west corner of the square. The Rock rose above, pockmarks visible on its flank, tunnel mouths where the inhabitants of Gibraltar – Neanderthals, Greeks, Romans, Moors, Spanish, British – had bored inside for shelter. He thought back to the legend of the Rock’s existence that every Gibraltarian schoolchild was taught – a mountain that Hercules had split in two to celebrate one of his labours. Torn apart by a demigod, hacked into by men, yet still standing, proud and immovable.
Spike ducked into an alleyway. Darkness and quiet at last; finally he could think. Head resting against damp concrete, he forced his mind back to the fight with Salib, trying to remember his dying words. She gone.
Žigon
. . .
He checked the time. If he moved quickly, he could be over the Spanish border in half an hour, at Harrington’s flat in Sotogrande by 10 p.m. He glanced round, then stopped. A man was backing into the alley, leading a girl by the hand. In the street light gleaming in from the square, Spike made out the profile of the brunette from the pub. A moment later, the couple embraced greedily.
Spike moved towards them through the darkness. As he came closer, he recognised the man’s face. He had a hand wedged beneath the girl’s top, his sweaty blond curls pressed to her neck. A bow tie was draped over his collar.
‘All well, Hamish?’ Spike said as he passed. He sensed a commotion behind as he re-entered the square. The Rock rose to the right, silent and steadfast. As Spike turned towards Winston Churchill Avenue, he walked quickly, driven by something which might even have been hope.
Thomas Mogford has worked as a journalist for
Time Out
and as a translator for the UEFA Champions League. His first novel in the Spike Sanguinetti series,
Shadow of the Rock
, was published by Bloomsbury in 2012;
Sign of the Cross
is his second book. Thomas Mogford is married and lives with his family in London.
Shadow of the Rock
Also available by Thomas Mogford
A Spike Sanguinetti Novel
‘Very original, and brilliantly rendered ... a rare and enviable talent’ William Boyd
One humid summer night in Gibraltar, lawyer Spike Sanguinetti arrives home to find an old friend, Solomon Hassan, waiting on his doorstep.
Solomon is on the run, accused of a brutal murder in Tangiers. He has managed to skip across the Straits but now the Moroccan authorities want him back.
Spike travels to Tangiers to try and delay Solomon’s extradition, and there meets a beautiful Bedouin girl. Zahara is investigating the disappearance of her father, a trail which leads mysteriously back to Solomon. Questioning how well he knows his friend, Spike finds himself drawn into a dangerous game of secrets, corruption and murderous lies.
‘If you want a terrific thriller to enjoy, try
Shadow of the Rock
... it’s ace – an original, pacy, great writing debut’ Susan Hill
‘Evocative, engrossing and entertaining’
The Times
‘I loved
Shadow of the Rock
. Mogford’s sharp prose drew me in from the first page and his intriguingly flawed hero Spike stands out in the memory.’ Sadie Jones
Order your copy:
By phone: +44 (0) 1256 302 699
By email: [email protected]
Delivery is usually 3–5 working days.
Free postage and packaging for orders over £20.
Online:
www.bloomsbury.com/bookshop
Prices and availability subject to change without notice.
www.bloomsbury.com/thomasmogford
Copyright © 2013 by Thomas Mogford
Map by ML Design
“For beauty is but the beginning . . .” from
In Praise of Mortality
by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. Copyright © 1996 by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. Reprinted by permission of the translators.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Bloomsbury USA, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Published by Bloomsbury USA, New York
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Mogford, Thomas.
Sign of the cross : a Spike Sanguinetti novel / Thomas Mogford. — First U.S. edition.
pages cm
ISBN: 978-1-62040-201-6
1. Legal stories—Fiction. 2. Aunts—Crimes against—Fiction. 3. Suicide—Fiction. 4. Malta—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6113.O359S54 2013
823'.92—dc23
2012049779
First U.S. Edition 2013
This electronic edition published in May 2013