The Hidden Assassins (29 page)

‘We’re not getting anywhere looking for these electricians through conventional channels,’ said Ramírez.

‘While the bomb squad officer was talking, it occurred to me that an explosives expert would have to know about electronics and therefore probably electrics in general,’ said Falcón. ‘Goma 2 Eco is a mining explosive, so perhaps we should sit our witnesses down in front of photo IDs for all licensed explosive handlers in Spain.’

‘Have your witnesses been able to describe the electricians?’

‘The most reliable one is a Spanish convert called José Duran, but he couldn’t describe them very well. There didn’t seem to be anything particular about them.’

‘Witnesses plural, you said.’

‘There’s an old Moroccan guy, but he didn’t even spot that the two labourers weren’t Spanish.’

‘Maybe we should send an artist along to see José Duran while he looks at the licensed explosive handlers,’ said Ramírez. ‘I’ll get on to it.’

Falcón gave him his mobile to extract Duran’s number. Ramírez left the room.

‘I’m concerned that the CNI are either not seeing things straight, or they’re not telling us everything we should know,’ said del Rey. ‘I don’t know why they haven’t let you into the Imam’s apartment yet.’

‘They’re not concerned about what happened here any more,’ said Falcón. ‘This explosion was either a mistake or a decoy, and either way there’s no point in expending energy to find out very little when there’s possibly another, more devastating attack being planned elsewhere.’

‘But you don’t agree with the CNI’s point of view?’

‘I think there are two forces at play here,’ said Falcón. ‘One force is an Islamic terrorist group, who appeared to be planning an attack using hexogen, brought here in the Peugeot Partner and stored in the mosque…’

‘An attack on those schools and the biology faculty?’

‘Let’s see what forensic information we get, if any, from the drawings and the texts,’ said Falcón. ‘And also the content of the translations.’

‘And the other force?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But how does this force manifest itself?’

‘By a breakdown of logic in the scenario,’ said Falcón. ‘We can’t fit the council inspectors and the electricians into our scenario, nor can we explain the Goma 2 Eco.’

‘But who do you think this force is?’

‘What are these Islamic terrorist groups fighting for,
or who do you think they’re fighting against?’ asked Falcón.

‘It’s difficult to say. There doesn’t seem to be any coherent agenda or strategy. They just seem to be meting out a series of punishments. London and Madrid were supposedly because of Iraq. Nairobi, the USS
Cole
and the Twin Towers because they believe that America is an evil empire. Bali because of Australian action in East Timor against the Islamic nation of Indonesia. Casablanca was supposedly against Spanish and Jewish targets. Karachi…I don’t know; it was the Sheraton, wasn’t it?’

‘And that’s our problem here,’ said Falcón. ‘We have no idea who their enemy is. Perhaps this other force is just a group of people who’ve had enough and decided they don’t want to be passively terrorized any more. They want to fight back. They want to preserve their way of life—whether it’s considered decadent or not. They could be the people behind the VOMIT website. They could be an unknown local Andalucian group who’ve heard about the MILA and perceived it as a threat to them and their families. Maybe it’s a religious group who want to maintain the sanctity of the Catholic faith in Spain and drive Islam back into North Africa. Or perhaps we are even more decadent than we know and this is pure power play. Somebody has seen the political or economic potential in terrifying the population. When those planes hit the Twin Towers everything changed. People see things differently now—both good and bad people. Once a new chapter in the human history of horror has been opened, all sorts of people start applying their creative powers to the writing of its next paragraphs.’

Seville—Thursday, 8th June 2006, 13.10 hrs

‘Did you manage to talk to your ex-mentor, Marco Barreda, at Informáticalidad?’ asked Falcón.

‘I did better than that,’ said David Curado. ‘I went to see him.’

‘How did that go?’

‘Well, I called him and started to tell him what you and I talked about, and he stopped me, said it was a pity we hadn’t seen each other since I’d left the company and why didn’t we meet for a beer and a tapa?’

‘Has that happened before?’

‘No way, we’ve only ever talked on the phone,’ said Curado. ‘I was surprised; you’re not even supposed to talk to ex-employees, let alone meet them for a beer.’

‘Was it just the two of you?’

‘Yes, and it was odd,’ said Curado. ‘He’d been all enthusiastic on the phone, but when we met it was almost as if he’d changed his mind about the whole thing. He seemed distracted, but I could tell it was an act.’

‘How?’

‘I told him about our conversation and he barely took any notice,’ said Curado. ‘But then I asked the question about Ricardo Gamero and he was stunned. I asked him who this Ricardo Gamero was, and he said he was a member of his church who’d committed suicide that afternoon. As you know, I used to go to San Marcos myself and I’d never come across Ricardo Gamero, so I asked him if he’d killed himself because the cops were after him and Marco said that the guy
was
a cop.’

‘How do you think he’d taken the news of Ricardo Gamero’s suicide?’

‘He was sick about it, I could tell. Very upset, he was.’

‘Were they friends?’

‘I assume so, but he didn’t say.’

Falcón knew he had to speak to Marco Barreda directly. Curado gave him his number. They hung up. Falcón sat back in his car, tapping the steering wheel with his mobile. Had Gamero’s suicide made Marco Barreda vulnerable? And if that was a weakness and Falcón could get some leverage, would it reveal enough, would it, in fact, reveal anything?

He had no idea what he was getting into. He had spoken to Juez del Rey about these two forces—Islamic terrorism and another, as yet unknown—both of whom had demonstrated a ruthlessness in their operations, but he knew nothing about their structures, nor their aims, other than a preparedness to kill. Had the one movement learnt from the other: declare no coherent agenda, operate a loose command structure, create selfcontained, unconnected cells who, having been remotely activated, carry out their destructive mission?

Talking this through to himself produced a moment of clarity.
That
was one cultural difference between Islam and the West: whenever an Islamic attack occurred, the West always looked for the ‘mastermind’. There had to be an evil genius at the core, because that was the order that the Western mind demanded: a hierarchy, a plan with an achievable goal. What was the chain?

He worked back from the electrician who’d planted the bomb. He’d been brought in by a call from the Imam, who in turn had been given the electrician’s card by Miguel Botín. The card was the connection between the mission and the hierarchy who’d ordered it. Neither the electricians, nor the council inspectors for that matter, had been in the building at the time of the explosion, and both sets of people were as much a part of the plan as the card. This would not be how an Islamic terrorist cell would operate. That would mean, logically, that the only other person who could have activated Miguel Botín was Ricardo Gamero. Why had Gamero committed suicide? Because, in activating Miguel Botín with the electrician’s card, Gamero did not realize that he was making him the agent of destruction of the building and all the people inside.

That would be reason enough to take your own life.

On the day of the bombing, the CGI antiterrorist squad couldn’t move because of the possibility of a mole in their ranks. Only on day two could Ricardo Gamero have got out and demanded to see someone senior—the older man in the Archaeological Museum—from whom he demanded an explanation. That explanation had not been good enough to prevent his suicide. Falcón called Ramírez.

‘Has that police artist come up with a sketch of the man Gamero met in the museum yet?’

‘We’ve just scanned it and sent it to the CNI and CGI.’

‘Send a copy to the computer in the pre-school,’ said Falcón.

‘The witness José Duran is due here any moment. We’ll show him the shots of the licensed explosive handlers, but I’m not holding out much hope,’ said Ramírez. ‘The bomb could have been made up by somebody else and left in the mosque, or he could have been an assistant to an explosives expert and learnt everything necessary.’

‘Keep at it, José Luis,’ said Falcón. ‘If you want a really impossible task, try looking for the fake council inspectors.’

‘I’ll add that to the list of two and a half million hernia ops I’ve still got to go through,’ said Ramírez.

‘Another thought,’ said Falcón. ‘Contact all the Hermandades associated with the three churches: San Marcos, Santa María La Blanca and La Magdalena.’

‘How’s that going to help?’

‘Whatever’s happening here has some religious motivation. Informáticalidad recruits from church congregations. Ricardo Gamero was a devout Catholic attending San Marcos. The Abdullah Azzam text was sent to the
ABC
, the main Catholic newspaper, and it included a direct threat to the Catholic faith in Andalucía.’

‘And what do you think the Brotherhoods in these churches could have to do with it?’

‘Maybe nothing. You’d be too exposed as a known Brotherhood but, you never know, they may have heard of a secret one, or seen strange things going on
in the churches that might give us some leverage with the priests. We have to try everything.’

‘This could get ugly,’ said Ramírez.

‘Even uglier than it is already?’

‘The media are all over us again. I’ve just heard that Comisario Lobo and the Magistrado Juez Decano de Sevilla are going to give another press conference to explain the situation following Juez Calderón’s dismissal,’ said Ramírez. ‘I heard the one at the Parliament building earlier today was a disaster. And now the television and the radio are full of arseholes telling us that since Calderón’s arrest on suspicion of murder and wife abuse, our investigation has completely lost credibility.’

‘How has all this got out?’

‘The journalists have been all over the Palacio de Justicia, talking to Inés’s friends and colleagues. Now they’re not just talking about the evident physical violence, but also a prolonged campaign of mental torture and public humiliation.’

‘This is just what Elvira was frightened of.’

‘A lot of people have been waiting a long time to get Esteban Calderón down on the ground and, now they’ve got him there, they’re going to kick him to death, even if it means our investigation is effectively destroyed.’

‘And what do Lobo and Spinola hope to achieve in this press conference?’ asked Falcón. ‘They can’t talk about a murder investigation that’s in progress.’

‘Damage control,’ said Ramírez. ‘And they’re going to talk up del Rey. He’s due to come on afterwards, with Comisario Elvira, to give a recap of the case so far.’

‘No wonder he was so word perfect with us,’ said Falcón. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea for him to talk about what we’re working on now.’

‘You’re right about that,’ said Ramírez. ‘You’d better call him.’

Del Rey had switched his mobile off. Maybe he was already in the studio. Falcón called Elvira and asked him to give a rather cryptic message to del Rey. There was no time to explain the detail. Falcón picked up the sketch from the computer operator in the preschool. At least it looked like a drawing of a real person. A man in his sixties, possibly early seventies, in a suit and tie, some hair on top with a side parting, no beard or moustache. The artist had included the man’s height and weight as given by the security guard, he was on the small side at 1.65m and 75 kilos. But did it look like the man they wanted to find?

Back in the car he took a look at the lists given to him by Diego Torres, the Human Resources Director at Informáticalidad. Marco Barreda was not one of the employees who’d spent time in the apartment on Calle Los Romeros. Maybe he was too senior for that. He called the mobile number David Curado had given him and introduced himself with his full title.

‘I think we should talk face to face,’ said Falcón.

‘I’m busy.’

‘It’ll take fifteen minutes of your time.’

‘I’m still busy.’

‘I’m investigating an act of terrorism, multiple murder and a suicide,’ said Falcón. ‘You have to make time for me.’

‘I’m not sure how I can help. I’m neither a terrorist, nor a murderer, and I don’t know anybody who is.’

‘But you did know the suicide, Ricardo Gamero,’ said Falcón. ‘Where are you now?’

‘I’m in the office. I’m just on my way out.’

‘Name a place.’

Deep breath from Barreda. He knew he couldn’t brush him off forever. He named a bar in Triana.

Falcón called Ramírez again.

‘Have you got the printout of all calls made on Ricardo Gamero’s mobiles?’

Ramírez crashed around the office for a minute and came back. Falcón gave him Barreda’s number.

‘Interesting,’ said Ramírez. ‘That was the last call he made on his personal mobile.’

‘While I think about it,’ said Falcón, ‘we need the list of calls the Imam made on his mobile. Especially the one he made in front of José Duran on Sunday morning, because that is the electricians’ mobile number.’

The bar was half full of people. Everybody was looking at the television, ignoring their drinks. The news had just finished and now it was Lobo and Spinola. But Ramírez had been wrong, it wasn’t a press conference; they were being interviewed. Falcón walked through the bar, looking for a lone young man. Nobody nodded to him. He sat down at a table for two.

The interviewer, a woman, was attacking Spinola. She could not believe that he hadn’t known about the campaign of terror conducted by Calderón against his wife. The Magistrado Juez Decano de Sevilla, an old-school pachyderm with saurian eyes and an easy, but
quite alarming, smile, was not uncomfortable with his moment in the hot seat.

Falcón tuned out of the pointless argument. Spinola was not going to be drawn. The female interviewer had lost herself in the emotional aspect of the case. She should have been hitting Spinola on Calderón’s ability to perform and his integrity as a judge in the investigation. Instead she was looking for some riveting personal revelation and she had gone to precisely the wrong man for it.

A young guy in a suit caught Falcón’s eye. They introduced themselves and sat down. Falcón ordered a couple of coffees and some water.

‘You people are having a hard time,’ said Barreda, tilting his head at the TV.

‘We’re used to it,’ said Falcón.

‘So how many times has it happened that a Juez de Instrucción has been found trying to dispose of his wife’s dead body during a major international terrorism investigation?’

‘About as many times as a valued member of an antiterrorist squad has committed suicide during a major international terrorism investigation,’ said Falcón. ‘How long have you known Ricardo Gamero?’

‘A couple of years,’ said Barreda, subdued by Falcón’s swift response.

‘Was he a friend?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you didn’t just see him at Mass on Sundays?’

‘We met occasionally during the week. We both like classical music. We used to go to concerts together. Informáticalidad had season tickets.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘On Sunday.’

‘I understand that Informáticalidad use San Marcos and other churches to recruit employees. Did anybody else from the company know Ricardo Gamero?’

‘Of course. We’d go for coffee after Mass and I’d introduce him around. That’s normal, isn’t it? Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he can’t talk to people.’

‘So you knew he was in the antiterrorist squad of the CGI.’

Barreda stiffened slightly as he realized he’d been caught out.

‘I’ve known him two years. It came out eventually.’

‘Do you remember when?’

‘After about six months. I was trying to recruit him to Informáticalidad, making him better and better offers, until finally he told me. He said it was like a vocation and he wasn’t going to change his career.’

‘A vocation?’

‘That was the word he used,’ said Barreda. ‘He was very serious about his work.’

‘
And
his religion,’ said Falcón. ‘Did he feel the two were bound up together?’

Barreda stared at Falcón, trying to see inside.

‘You were a friend he met at church, after all,’ said Falcón. ‘I would have thought you were bound to talk about the Islamic threat. And then once it came out…the nature of his work, I mean. It would seem a natural progression to at least discuss the connection.’

Barreda sat back with an intake of breath and looked around the room, as if for inspiration.

‘Did you ever meet Paco Molero?’ asked Falcón.

Two blinks. He had.

‘Well, Paco,’ continued Falcón, ‘said that Ricardo, by
his own admission, had been a fanatic, that he’d only just managed to transform himself from being an extremist to being merely devout. And that he’d managed to achieve this through a fruitful relationship with a priest, who died recently of cancer. Where would you describe yourself as being on that integral scale between say, lapsed and fanatical?’

‘I’ve always been very devout,’ said Barreda. ‘There’s been a priest in every generation of my family.’

‘Including your own?’

‘Except mine.’

‘Is that something you feel…disappointed by?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Was that one of the attractions of the culture at Informáticalidad?’ said Falcón. ‘It sounds a bit like a seminary, but with a capitalist aim.’

‘They’ve always been very good to me there.’

‘Do you think there’s a danger that people with like minds and with the same intensity of faith might become, in the absence of a balancing outside influence, drawn towards an extreme position?’

‘I’ve heard of that happening in cults,’ said Barreda.

‘How would you describe a cult?’