THE ENGLISH WITNESS (17 page)

I spoke for the first time to confirm that
it was true, and received an approving nod from the priest.

“And tell me,” the speaker continued. “Is
your anger so great that you’d take a personal risk – a serious personal risk –
if it would help bring justice and closure?”

Again I confirmed what the man had said,
wondering how I had got myself into a situation where my life was seemingly on
the line.

“Then you may consider us friends, or at
least allies. But lives will depend on you holding to what you’ve said, and if
you feel that you can’t go ahead then you should leave now and take your
chances.”

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” I answered
without hesitation. “I want to get even, and as the padre knows this is my only
way home.”

“Then you should get some sleep. Heaven knows
you won’t get much until this is over. There are beds in the next room.”

I lay on a bunk in the darkness, wondering
where I was. Nobody had attempted to blindfold me, but there had been no need.
Within minutes of leaving the lights of the city behind I’d lost all sense of
direction. My senses told me that we were on high ground, but the short
distance I’d walked from the van to the open door had given me no further
clues. Nor did I have any idea who these vaguely sinister people were. All I had
to rely on was Ignacio’s assurance that they were trustworthy—as long as I kept
my word.

Things were different when we left the next
morning. It was broad daylight, and I was blindfolded for the short walk to the
car and most of the journey. When the blinkers were at last taken off I could
see that we were coming into San Sebastián. A few minutes later, I was dropped
on the seafront and instructed to make my way down here to the youth hostel on
foot.

The plan was for me to attract attention,
and so I clowned, got mildly drunk and acted drunker. All that day and all the
next I made a point of annoying as many of the staff and guests as I could. And
towards evening the first stage of the plan paid off; I heard the sound of a vehicle
scrunching its way onto the forecourt. Peering out through a window, I saw a
man getting out of a black car and I realised with a tingle in my arms and chest
that I’d seen him before.

This was only one part of the plan,
though. I was sure the man would be only too happy to get me into the car and
take me straight to his boss, but there was no advantage in that whatsoever. The
boss had to be drawn out onto our terrain, and for that to happen he had to be
angry enough to bypass his subordinates and come after me in person. I had to find
ways of provoking him, making his subordinates look incompetent. And that
involved a level of risk I’d never have thought myself capable of running.

I crept round while the driver was inside
the building and shoved a sharp knife through two of the tyre walls. Then I sprinted
across to a low wall that used to stand down there and crouched behind it. When
the man emerged from the hostel and bent down to inspect the damage, I aimed Antonio’s
air pistol and fired, giving him what must have been a deep and painful wound in
the calf muscle.

He was tough. He made no sound. He simply
lowered himself still further, and for a moment his hand went inside his jacket.
I braced myself to run, but then he withdrew his hand, eased himself into the
car and drove it with the two ruined tyres flapping towards the safety of the
hostel building. Parking sideways-on to the entrance, he used the vehicle as a
shield while he scuttled into the building.

It took over two hours for the man’s
cronies to send another car. I was lurking half way up the approach road, and
as it swept past I noted down the make, model and registration number. Running
to a nearby payphone, I passed the details on to one of the men from the
planning meeting and knew the drugs police were about to get an extremely
promising tip-off.

Finally, we had to ensure that I didn’t
slip down Adolfo’s list of priorities. And so, even as I spoke to one
conspirator, another was phoning a national newspaper to offer them an
exclusive on the ”real” story behind the sensational murders in Valencia. We thought
Adolfo’s network was good enough that he’d hear of the impending revelations
before the day was out. And when he made his move on me, my new friends would make
their move on him.

JACK

“How long do we have to keep this up?” whispered Julio when Jack walked
off in search of a restroom or a deserted corner that would serve the same purpose.
“I was the one giving him the benefit of the doubt at first. But the longer he
goes on, the less sure I am that I believe a word he’s saying. And the latest
stuff sounds like pure teen fiction. What do you think?”

“Strangely enough,” replied Miguel, “I
think we’ve been wise not taking him in to HQ. There’s enough that rings true
to suggest that we’d be putting his life in danger—and maybe ours too. I can
see where you’re coming from, but the longer he goes on the more I actually believe.
The early part of his story, anybody could have dreamed up. But this latest
stuff is too complex and internally consistent to be pure invention. I think
he’s authentic, quite apart from the way verifiable facts are beginning to stack
up. We need to stay with it. Look, he’s coming back.”

But Jack had put himself through enough
for one day. At his request they took a taxi back to the Old Quarter, and once
the driver was out of sight they walked to a run-down hotel in Gros—one that
Julio promised was discreet and never more than a third full. As with the car
there had been no pre-booking. They paid cash, and Miguel added a generous bonus
to the modest room charge.

They left early the following morning
without giving the day staff time to react to their presence. Jack had clearly
not had enough sleep, but of all of them he seemed the keenest to find a
comfortable place to sit and resume his story.

Julio was less enthusiastic. He seemed to
feel they had taken an unnecessary risk coming into the city at all, and
particularly spending a night there. The thought of sitting for perhaps two or
three hours in a bar, where they might be recognised, seemed reckless to him.

In the end, Jack broke the stalemate by
suggesting that they cross the river to the secluded university campus. Once
there, sitting on a bench in the open air with coffee purchased from the bar,
they found themselves surrounded by milling students and staff. “This could be
a long session,” Jack warned, ”but there’s a pretty clear shape emerging in my
head and I don’t think you’ll get bored.”     

JAMES

From the viewpoint of a smoke-filled room in the middle of nowhere, the
plan had seemed simple and elegant. Now, in the heart of the city, it looked
much harder to pull off. My protectors would have to stay well back to avoid
being spotted, but move into position very quickly once Adolfo appeared. And if
the traffic was heavy, he might shoot me on the spot rather than risk an
abduction attempt.

As it turned out, there was a more serious
hazard; Adolfo was both smarter and angrier than we had bargained for. I was
awakened in the small hours of the morning by raised voices. I lay there in my
bunk, trying to work out what the argument was about, when suddenly there was a
loud thud and the shouting stopped. Two or three others propped themselves up
in bed, but one by one they settled down again.

I knew immediately what the disturbance
was about. I thought of creating a diversion – maybe letting off the fire alarm
– but I already felt responsible for several deaths, and if people started
milling around in a panic there would probably be more. Besides, my best chance
of survival lay in stretching things out. I went and stood just inside the door
from reception and called out, “Hey, I’m in here. Give me a minute.”

A vaguely familiar voice came from
outside. “You have exactly one minute to get your belongings together and come
out. Otherwise I am coming in, and that will be the worse for you and others.”

I had to tell myself not to believe that
he was offering me any hope. I knew he would use all kinds of promises and
threats to ensure my cooperation, but that whatever happened it was going to be
the worse for me unless my allies came through very quickly.

“Come now,” called the voice after a few
seconds. Leaving my possessions on the bunk, I cautiously stepped out into the
foyer and gazed into the face of Pepe, my generous Navarrese taxi-driving
friend from the train. He still looked a reasonable and pleasant man, and this
was probably his most effective weapon—but the unusual looking pistol in his
hand came a close second.

“Excuse me, Pepe,” I said. “I need the
lavatory. Would you mind waiting for a moment.”

He looked annoyed. “My name is Adolfo,” he
said curtly. “And from now on you will speak only when I tell you to.” Even so,
he gave a little twitch of his gun towards the restroom door.

       I had
no idea how long I could delay our departure, but I waited about three minutes
before making a great rustle of paper and flushing the lavatory twice. I felt
curiously at peace. I simply had to keep stretching things out and trust other
people. Delaying tactics came easily to me, trust less so.

Eventually I emerged from the washroom and
walked over to my erstwhile friend. He inclined his head towards the exit, and
I walked slowly towards the main doors. He kept a vice-like grip on my wrist as
he led me to his car, a black SEAT saloon that I recognised in the faint wash
of artificial light as an unmarked police vehicle. I was ushered into the rear
seats and fastened in place with a pair of handcuffs attached to the floor by a
length of chain. He said nothing, simply slamming the door on me and getting
into the driver’s seat. He fished the keys out of his pocket but before he
could insert one into the lock there was a sharp sound like a stone hitting the
outside of the car.

I knew my allies must be nearby, and I
guessed it was a signal. But what could they possibly expect me to do when I
was chained up in the back of a car? There was only one move I could possibly make.
As Adolfo put the car into gear, I risked speaking again: “Do you mind if I lie
down? I’m so tired.”

“Go on, lie down, sleep,” he answered. “I
don’t want you nodding off tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss.”

With that I lay down on the bench seat,
and no sooner had I done so than the rear windscreen burst in and showered me with
pebbles of glass. Then I was thrown violently around as the engine noise rose
to a howl and Adolfo let up the clutch in a roar of gravel. The rear end of the
car fishtailed from side to side as it picked up speed, and then we were
tearing up the main avenue towards the city centre. My heart sank lower still
as I heard gunfire coming from behind us. I guessed that Adolfo had positioned
his men in such a way as to prevent anyone from following.

He drove round in a wide circle before
heading out of the city to the south.

As the dawn light grew I examined the
chain securing me to the floor, but it was made of steel links attached to the chassis
by a large bolt, and I pulled until my head throbbed without having the
slightest effect. I recognised the outlying town of Hernani as we passed
through it, and I briefly wondered why I had not been blindfolded before
realising with a chill that this was meant to be a one-way journey.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway
of a handsome farmhouse on the side of a hill. There were other isolated
estates dotted around the steep landscape, but none of them close enough for
anyone to hear a cry for help. I began to feel a sense of grim inevitability. Then
Adolfo braked sharply, and although the car was not travelling fast I was
thrown face-first against the seat in front of me.  I looked through the
windscreen, and standing in the beam of the headlights facing the car was Father
Ignacio. He stood there for a moment longer with a hand stretched out towards
us, and raised his voice.

“You cannot have him, Txema.”

Adolfo angrily wound the window down, and
shouted back, “Out of the way, old man, or I’ll drive straight over you. God knows
you’ve got it coming.”

“In the name of God, Txema, this must
stop. You need rescuing as much as the boy does.”

“Don’t talk to me about God, you disgusting
hypocrite. How many kids have you men of God put through hell? Who was there to
tell you that
you
couldn’t have
me
? You did more than anyone to
make me what I am, you and your wretched kind.”

“We’ve talked about the past, Txema, and
we’ll talk again. We’ve both been in bondage to evil, and we’re both in need of
absolution. Let the boy go. Begin to free yourself.”

Understanding of this exchange would come
later, but for the moment I was distracted by the odd dance that the priest had
begun to perform in front of the car. With clenched fists held together in
front of him, he was dancing round and round in a tight circle. As he did so,
he kept turning in such away that he constantly faced the centre. almost as if
his hands were tied to an invisible pole in the middle of the drive. But I
could see his eyes on me as he kept turning his head in my direction, and I
knew for sure that this was another message that required action on my part.

Round and round went the priest, round and
round without saying anything, until Adolfo lost patience. He gunned the car
forward, and I both felt the impact and heard the sickening crack as the fender
struck the old man in the legs and scooped him onto the bonnet. Inertia brought
his head within inches of the windscreen, and for a moment I thought he would
come through it, but as Adolfo braked sharply for a second time the priest slid
forward off the bonnet and onto the ground.

My captor leapt from the driving seat
pulling out the pistol from somewhere in his clothing. “No!” I shouted.
“¡No
le mate
!” But it was too late. Adolfo stood at the front of the car and
straightened his arm diagonally downwards towards the ground. There was that
whip-crack sound I had heard before, louder at such close quarters, and the arm
jerked slightly. For over a minute he just stood there looking down at his
victim who, I could tell from the harrowing sounds, was taking his time to die.
“Nothing changes,” said the killer at last, before walking off up the drive.

He was gone for four or five minutes,
during which time I struggled to work out what the late priest had been trying
to tell me. From the position of his hands he had looked as if he was praying. Had
he simply been telling me to pray? That didn’t sound like the man I had known,
for all that he was a priest. And why was he dancing round in circles?

I looked down at my own hands and held
them together as if I was praying. I had to straighten my fingers to do so, and
immediately I realised that Ignacio had not been miming a prayer; his fingers
had been clenched like mine. That was it! He must have been acting out my
position in handcuffs. But he was twisting round and round. Why would he want
me to do that? Would twisting the chain work where tugging on it had failed?

I immediately began turning round and
round. It was exhausting in the confined space: sliding my bottom along the
seat for half of each turn, then rising to a crouch with the floor bracket between
my legs for the second half. It seemed to take forever, and as the chain
twisted on itself so the length shortened, dragging my wrists downwards and
making it ever harder to turn.

At one point I heard Adolfo coming back
and thought my time was up, but he was simply bringing a wheelbarrow to remove
the corpse. He had no difficulty scooping up the priest’s remains from the
ground, and then he disappeared into the darkness beyond the pool of light from
the car’s headlamps, pushing his macabre load ahead of him. I set to work on
the chain again, and soon had it at the point where it wouldn’t turn any
further without real pressure.

My wrists were raw and bloody by this time,
and only the certainty of impending disaster kept me pushing as some of the links
began to twist. I could never have straightened one of them by so much as a
millimetre, but I was able to open one of the seams sideways far enough that
the adjacent link could slip through.

I carefully opened the door and slid out,
closing it quietly on the first catch so as to delay the moment of realisation as
long as possible. Then I crouched behind a wide flowering shrub for a few
seconds while I got my breath back and decided which way to go.

It was the second time I’d found myself a
fugitive out on the steep, damp highlands. But the air was noticeably colder
than when I’d fled from the inn on the Alzaibar road. My best chance lay back
in the relative civilisation of San Sebastián, but I had no idea how to get
there or how to raise help if I ever arrived. The loss of Ignacio was a terrible
blow. Already I was starting to speculate on the meaning of Adolfo’s bitter
words, but, whatever secrets the past held, he’d cut short his own life to give
me a chance of escape. And with him gone, I had no idea how to make contact
with anyone else.

In the end I was able to free my hands with surprising ease, the same
way I’d broken the chain in the car. By swivelling one of the bracelets round
and round my wrist, I was able to twist apart one of the links that held the
two together. It was an agonising process as my wrists were already raw, but the
fact that Adolfo had attached one of the cuffs loosely enough for me to turn it
at all was something to be thankful for.

The problem of transport was solved by taking
a bulbous old Vespa from a woman working in a nearby orchard. She saw me as I
straddled her scooter and shouted through the trees, but at first she made no
attempt to move towards me. Then there was a moment of panic as I kicked the
engine over five or six times without success, and she began a lumbering jog
towards me. Then at last the engine fired, and I pulled away in a puff of
blue-grey smoke with the owner still shouting after my receding back.