The Galician Parallax (6 page)

For a moment, neither uttered another word. A true, proud, young Latin she felt hurt the night Stan rudely walked away from her table at the pub without warning, yet a certain spark of attraction had been fired within her.

Stan finally broke the silence and said half-heartedly, ‘Do I owe you an apology?’

Yolanda ignored his remark. ‘Do you dislike Spaniards then?’

He was caught off guard. The tone of her voice was defiant. Stan had dealt mainly with the Spanish fishermen that were either contacting his agency or were brought in by the navy for questioning suspected of breaching British maritime law. He had even taken a crash course in the language to communicate with them despite the fact that he had never been to Spain. This was the first ever contact with one of their women folk.
And a real cracker
, he thought.

Lost for words he retorted sarcastically, ‘Ever heard of the Merchant Shipping Act?’

Yolanda was taken aback. Her bewildered anger took over again. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!’ She began to walk away.

Stan stepped in her path, holding up both his arms. ‘OK! You’re right.’ He slowly smiled and in broken Spanish continued, ‘Peace offering?’ This time he was honest and Yolanda picked up the message. The ice was broken.

‘What’s up,
hijo
? Why the sudden break from work?’ asked his mother as she was chopping onions and preparing the evening meal. Sergio said nothing. She paused for a second, wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to where he was sitting. He continued to stare into space.

‘Well?’

He looked up at her, a mixture of sadness and anger were written across his face. He still kept silent. Ever since his father had died in a nasty car accident caused by a drunken driver when Sergio was only fourteen, his mind had been set in pursuing a career in the arms of the law. His mother at first was concerned because of his obvious obsession in vindicating his father’s death, yet on graduation day from the academy the tears of joy were there joining all other parents proud of their offspring’s future career in the civil guards.

‘I thought you’ve got what you wanted? What’s wrong then?’

Sergio got up and was about to leave the room without a word when his mother changed her tone, raised her voice. ‘Stop right there! I’ve had enough of your brooding!’ He gave in. A Galician mother, widowed prematurely, was a strong deterrent to the combination of his self-pity and pride.

He turned and embraced her.

‘It’s just that I’m sick of sitting at a computer all day and just turning out statistics and reports for the other guys to take the glory.’

His mother listened quietly as Sergio continued to unwind. ‘I’ve been at it for four years now, even asked to be transferred to active duty. Zero response.’ He told his mother all about the latest case his boss had asked him to check out and how he thought that he was on to something when he was asked to forget they existed.

‘All they can think about is the drug problem.’

It was at that moment that his mother came up with a suggestion that could alter the course of his work.

‘How long are you going to be on leave?’

‘About a week. Why?’

The rain had been pouring down on the village for several days due to unusually cold and wintry weather for the time of year. Although the St Edmond Explorers’ divers had been unable to continue with their diving they kept their work schedule active, piecing together the collection of artefacts that they had successfully retrieved from the eighteenth-century Spanish wreck.

‘We’ve got another couple of months left before the contract runs out,’ said Percy Robertson optimistically. ‘That gives us one to find the coins and another to “you know what”.’

Eric Fuller, who was busy on the computer checking the structure of the wreck for the umpteenth time, picked up on Percy’s comment. ‘I’m not so sure we’ll be able to make it. We’ve covered too small an area. The “Lady” is a monster.’

Nigel McNeill, the leader of the team, burst out, ‘OK then. What do we do? Pack it in, get paid by the Spaniards for finding bugger all, which incidentally amounts to only twenty per cent and go back to oil rigs?’

At that moment, Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga burst through the front door. ‘Everyone on the floor… now… you’re all under arrest!’

Janet Phillips, Conservative MP for Devon South received an urgent phone call from her secretary during a parliamentary recess in London. ‘Ms Phillips, a Mrs Robertson from Torquay has just called saying that her husband and two colleagues were arrested some weeks ago in Spain. They were doing some work for the Spanish Government, doesn’t understand how they got into trouble. Says she can’t get through to them and is pleading for our help, thought you should know right away.’

Janet was not due to go back to Devon for another week, taking advantage of a short holiday before the summer tourist season. Her in-tray was usually full of citizen complaints whenever she returned home from London. She knew this could be serious otherwise her secretary would’ve waited for her return.

‘Do you have any other information, Susan?’

Her secretary filled her in with more details.

Danny Wilton at the British Embassy in Madrid continued to rant and rave about British politicians meddling in consular affairs as he spoke to his counterpart in Vigo.

‘We’ve now got a bloody MP on the act about those guys caught poaching off Muros. Can you check and see what the latest info is, Juan Jose? I’ve even got the ambassador in on the act.’

Juan Jose was taken aback. He had reported the arrests of all members of the St Edmond Explorers a month ago and had visited the civil guards’ station at Noia prior to their transfer to one of the Galician prisons near the town of Teixeiro where they were presently being held awaiting the judge’s decision on a trial. He had been able to obtain an English-speaking lawyer to represent them and as per standard procedure closed the file and left the rest up to Madrid. The families of all divers had already been contacted and informed of the Spanish judicial procedures. Theoretically, no more could be done.

His mother was right. ‘Use that instinct of yours,
hijo
. If you suspect something is wrong, why don’t you check them out?’ she had said that night.

Sergio spent the next week keeping a daily watch on the divers’ activities. It wasn’t until the eighth day that he realised that something was wrong. The divers were about fifteen miles offshore and had not moved for days. In his mind they had obviously found something. It was then that he decided to check out the bungalow where they were staying. Making sure that they were away, despite knowing that he was acting illegally, he took a chance. He broke into the dwelling. Sprawled out on a large table in the kitchen was the evidence he was looking for. There were dozens of items and artefacts taken from a shipwreck from the eighteenth century. The irony was that their poaching had confirmed the discovery of the
Lady of Mercy
. However, none of the suspected treasure of silver or gold had been found.

Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga, at first reprimanded, had subsequently been highly praised by his fellow agents for his personal detective work. The downside was that Colonel Lobeira sent him back to his IT system to continue updating the “drug rogues” database.

What a waste
, thought Sonia seeing the disillusioned look on Sergio’s face as he switched on his networking to enter more information on the latest hauls on the Galician coast.

Routine as usual until the divers’ case filtered out into the British press.

The weather was abnormally mild for the time of year. There was hardly any wind. Low-lying yet non-menacing clouds and a freak “early summer” temperature was a perfect setting for young couples to open their hearts. Stan hugged Yolanda, gently kissing the back of her neck. She cringed but didn’t move, still staring out across the isthmus. The only sound was the ocean gently caressing the rocks below. The ruined walls of the Norman castle in Tintagel embraced them. There were no tourists in sight. They were alone. The spirit of King Arthur was alive as if Camelot had been revisited. Slowly, Yolanda released herself and looked up at Stan.

‘I’m pregnant!’

Sonia couldn’t wait to break the news as Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga walked into the main office turning up for work as usual. With a gleam on her face, she rushed across the corridor from her desk and stopped him in his tracks.

‘The boss is waiting for you.’ Without breaking up her smile, ‘Think he has, you know what!’

Sergio didn’t flinch. Without saying a word, he half-heartedly smiled back at her and pushed her aside. He walked up to the colonel’s office door, knocked and walked in.

‘Not only did you take the law, even our code, into your own hands but you caused an international rumpus! It took a great deal of diplomatic effort in Madrid to calm down the bloody Brits in London.’

The outcome of Sergio’s arrest of all the St Edmond Explorers’ divers at their bungalow in Muros back in June was a partial success based on a risky legal attempt to uncover a felony. According to the authorities the divers could’ve been poaching illegally on the Spanish wreck, as there was no reference in any sectors of the contract with the navy that allowed them to do so. In fact, there was no mention of the wreck at all. Yet it was hard to prove that they had been acting with criminal or lucrative intent. No gold or silver had been found either on the wreck or in the bungalow. Most of the retrieved articles, broken pottery, cannonballs, odd tools and other bits and pieces of ancient artefacts, were well catalogued by historians yet worthless. The European museums were overflowing with many similar samples and in much better condition than those placed in plastic bags and still kept, together with all the confiscated diving gear, by the Galician authorities in one of the court warehouses.

The divers, continually pleading innocence, had eventually been released from prison on bail, pending trial and allowed to return to Britain. The diplomatic trouble started when the British tabloid press got hold of the story, accusing the Spanish authorities of “harassing Brits”, and the divers met up with their MPs to demand more action from the British Government.

‘Not only was it all over the television news broadcasts, they’ve now got the best defence lawyers in Madrid working on the case, whilst our own judges are still awaiting valuation of the junk those idiots brought up from the bottom of the sea!’

Sergio said nothing; he felt no remorse. As far as he was concerned, his instinct was right. The bastards were after gold and didn’t find any.
Not my problem
, he thought. The colonel got up from his desk, walked round, stood in front of his subordinate as he handed him a folder and said, ‘You’re moving out of here.’

Sergio froze. He looked down at the folder, scared of opening it.

‘Despite the revolution, your request for action has come through. It’s all in there. The department is sending you to Villagarcia.’

He was about to leave, when the colonel called back at him. He grinned and gave him a thumb’s up. ‘Now get out of here!’

Juan Jose had no sooner signed off the clearance papers for the departure of the
Princess of the Sea
returning to Southampton from her standard Mediterranean cruise when his personal mobile starting buzzing. It was a call from his daughter Yolanda in Falmouth.
Now what
? he thought. It took a total of fifteen seconds to upset Juan Jose for the rest of the day.

‘I’m going to get married, Father.’

Juan Jose was stunned as it opened up old wounds.

He had hopes for his daughter to take over the family business and continue in their centuries-old shipping tradition. Educated at the
Carmelitas
Catholic School, she had gone on to study for an MBA at the local School of Economics, graduating with honours, eventually joining her father’s agency in an initial administrative capacity.

She was also a 90’s swinger.

The famous
Movida
, or “Movement”, that erupted in Spain, coinciding with the rebirth of democracy, gave rise to a new generation of partygoers that took over from their Catholic suppressed parents, opening up a new era of pleasure unknown for decades. Drugs, sex and all-night booze clubs erupted throughout the country that catered for all ages from adolescence to retirement. The new laws on divorce and abortion broke the back of all taboos that remained from the Franco dictatorship. Parents and bishops alike were outraged but were unable to draw in the reins on their offspring as they plunged into the advancing permissiveness that was enveloping the populous. Yolanda joined in the fun, overlapping work with weekend partying. Although upset, Yolanda’s father had no alternative but to accept the quasi-frivolous attitude by the emerging generations, his own daughter included. But young Yolanda’s joyous lifestyle was abruptly halted when she met Gerardo, another younger member of the Vigo “jet set”, on one of her Saturday night frolics and decided to move in with him. Twelve months of ecstatic sexual and drug activity ended in domestic violence when Gerardo returned home one evening, blind drunk and as high as a kite and savagely attacked her.

‘You’ve been living with the bastard for a year now and you still won’t report the son-of-a-bitch to the police,’ said Juan Jose one Monday morning when Yolanda turned up for work once again with obvious signs of being beaten up.

She said nothing.

‘I’ve had enough! He may be the son of that wealthy lot across the bay but he isn’t going to ruin my family.’

It didn’t take long for Juan Jose’s lawyers to present a lawsuit and open up a court case that eventually charged Gerardo of domestic violence and convicted him to a suspended two-year prison sentence and an indemnity of one hundred thousand Euros. It also caused a ripple of negative publicity amongst Vigo’s elite, as both families were prominent members of the upper crust of society.