The Galician Parallax (39 page)

Paco then moved on to another classroom where the addicts were within the twenty to forty-year-old ranges.

‘These are the ones you’d be interested in. They’ve reached the top of the class, hooked on cocaine.’

Sergio noticed that some looked foreign. It was at that moment that he snapped back to the present.

‘What about the prison lot?’

‘That’s where I come in.’

For years the centre had been negotiating with the prison authorities to allow them to introduce rehabilitation programmes direct into the penitentiaries. Because of security, it took many months for the autonomous region of Galicia to recognise Project “Hombre” as a bona fide institution and allow the staff access to the prisoners. The main proviso was that the inmates had to request help before they could start any treatment. As Paco went over the programme Sergio began to focus on the real reason why he was here. In a rare, subtle manner he changed the subject.

‘There was a successful drug raid on a warehouse in Pontevedra last month.’

‘Yes, we all read the news.’

‘Well, my boss has asked for an independent check.’ Sergio seemed lost for words. ‘What I mean is…’

‘
Amigo
. Are you asking for help?’

‘Not exactly. Remember the discussions we had a few months back right after the Madrid attacks, when you went on about al-Qaeda toppling the government and then going after the Brits? Well, let me throw some extra facts at you and see what you think.’ Sergio began with Don Simmons’ apparent suicide and the arrest of the two Algerians a couple of days later caught with a heavy load of drugs. He rounded up with, ‘Then comes a suspicious tip-off of a major shipment of cocaine at a warehouse in Porriño. The stuff was hidden in pineapple tins imported from Ecuador.’

‘And you think Simmons was somehow dealing with these guys who are now in jail that in turn were paid off to keep their mouths shut. Unfortunately they were caught at a roadblock by your mob in Orense. Next we see the Madrid trains blown up…’

‘And the same goddamn lot push the panic button soon after. And we then send in the troops to clean up on the warehouse that was the original source of supply. Brilliant.’

‘So now what?’

‘Need to start checking from the beginning; Don Simmons’ activities, those goons in prison…’

‘
Amigo
, you’re moving into British territory.’

Sergio grinned, ‘I know, might take a bit of persuasion but… no problem.’

The prosperous southern province of Pontevedra during the tourist season was taking a battering as the weather forecasts were not favourable over the next few days and hoteliers were complaining of a drop in bookings due to last-minute cancellations. Despite the exceptionally high temperature of the mid-summer month, it was pouring with rain. Cruise-ship activity had not altered but problems had risen in the commercial sector of the docks due to stevedore strike action on the one hand and the backlog of half a dozen ships waiting to unload their multiple cargos of containers and heavy industrial material on the other. On the export side huge blocks of granite from the Porriño quarries were accumulating on a daily basis to be shipped abroad thus adding to the confusion. Two of the ships were handled by the Mauro Shipping Agency and most were anchored just off the Cíes Islands.

Stan was in the port director’s office discussing the situation with most of the authorities as pickets paraded around the cranes at the quayside carrying Communist banners with “Che Guevara” and “Hammer and Sickle” emblems, chanting anti-government slogans and other obscenities. A couple of riot-police vans stood by with at least two dozen agents ready to intervene should the workers turn violent. It was the first time Stan had been subjected to maritime industrial action in Galicia.

‘How long will this go on for?’ he asked the port manager who was also busy sorting out two other angry and upset agents. They were now at the main office building opposite the trouble area. ‘I’ve got the
Sea Pleasure
coming in tomorrow and if this goes on, I’ll have to divert her to Corunna.’

The cruise ship was on her return voyage to Southampton and should she need a rearrangement of her berthing facilities the instructions would have to go out within the next six hours. The containers could wait another couple of days but a passenger liner had priority.

‘Sr Bullock, this could go on for the rest of the day…’

Before he could finish, Stan was out of the door heading back towards his office. He was taking no chances. As he walked down the steps of the building a familiar figure, Lieutenant Quiroga, was waiting down at the bottom of the staircase.

‘Bad time to meet, Sr Consul. Sorry about all the trouble.’

It was well past midday and after three hours of haggling with all the shipping lot Stan was exhausted.
Wonder what he wants now
, he thought. On reflection Stan thought,
What the hell. He might even brighten the rest of my day
. He politely greeted the officer.

‘I’ve still got an emergency on my hands, Lieutenant…’ Stan suddenly had a thought. ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch in say… an hour’s time? I’ve got a couple of urgent matters to sort out thanks to that bloody bunch.’ He pointed nonchalantly at the pickets that had now moved on towards the regional government’s local HQ opposite the port offices.

‘I’ve got all day, Sr Consul. Just tell me where.’

‘Wow. Quite a place, Sr Consul.’

‘It’s quiet and we can talk at ease. Not like most of your noisy eating-places.’

Once they’d settled in a corner table at a fair distance from the next table and Sergio had finished studying the menu from cover to cover, Stan opened the dialogue with the obvious, ‘Still checking out the suicide case, Lieutenant?’

At that moment the waiter arrived to take orders.

‘I think I’ll start with the basketful of ham croquettes, followed by… veal cheeks with strawberry sauce, mash potatoes and crunchy bacon,’ said Sergio.

After taking notes the waiter asked Stan, ‘And you, sir?’

‘Make it croquettes for two and a sirloin steak for me.’

Sergio was about to talk when the waiter asked about the drinks. ‘You choose, Lieutenant.’ Sergio couldn’t contain his laughter. ‘How about the house’s best plonk?’

Stan smiled back.

‘OK, you win.’ Addressing the waiter, ‘A Campillo will do, just the Crianza.’

Sergio turned serious. ‘My orders come from the top, Sr Consul, and this time it’s a matter that could involve your country, not just the death of Mr Simmons.’

Having taken a first sip at his wine and downed a couple of pipless black olives Stan’s mood was relaxed and he’d forgotten for a moment the harassing morning down at the docks. He managed to reroute the cruise ship as well as obtain berthing facilities for her in Corunna.
To hell with the pickets
, he’d thought. Stan then tried to recap mentally on their last meeting and although he was fuzzy on the details he remembered vividly the lieutenant’s theory of murder versus suicide and some obscure Arab terrorist plot and how he’d interrupted the conversation at that very point deeming it as totally absurd.

‘It’s still the same theme though, isn’t it?’

‘Sr Consul, please listen to me carefully, this is no bullshitting matter.’

The basket of croquettes arrived. Stan picked one up to sample. Sergio paused for a second.
You certainly enjoy Galicia, Sr Consul
, he thought. He continued.

‘This time my superior has asked me specifically to check out certain activities that have been going on in Galicia related mainly to drugs and my own investigations took a turn. They now point, at least to kick off with, at Simmons’ murder…’

Into his second croquette Stan paused and raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, murder, the man was murdered I can assure you, but the issue goes deeper. It could involve the British Government.’

Although Sergio was still speculating he made it sound obvious enough for Stan to finally take note. He had rehearsed his argument carefully. He had to make an impact. During their last meeting he had bombarded Stan with overwhelming detail that ended up confusing the very person he needed to help with his investigation. He had to follow a very thin line to convince the consul to cooperate otherwise his British link would be severed.

‘Just to confirm once again, Simmons was running a yachting business that was based in Falmouth. In the last few months before his death he visited Galicia regularly and stayed for a couple of days at the very hotel that he was found hanging from the ceiling lamp.’ Sergio paused to drink some wine. ‘This is real good, Sr Consul.’

‘Go on Lieutenant, I’m listening.’

‘Remember the huge drug raid on a warehouse last month?’ Stan nodded. ‘My superior was in charge of the raid.’

‘So?’

‘Well, he’s suspicious that our guys were actually meant to have uncovered the large cocaine shipment.’

‘I’m losing you again.’

‘Sorry, Sr Consul.’ Sergio sipped some more wine. ‘Someone tipped us off on purpose.’

Stan became irritable. ‘I’m still not with you.’

Sergio plodded on as calmly and convincingly as he could.

‘This is no gimmick, so again, please listen. We suspect that whoever tipped off the location and the shipment were the same lot that might have murdered Simmons. Why? The warehouse belonged to a well-known drug dealer who acts as a wholesale distributor on behalf of a large cartel operating between Central and South America, specifically Colombia, Galicia and Europe and… the United Kingdom. I suspect that some of the drugs were being smuggled into England through this yacht-charter outfit, Maiden Voyages, as I had mentioned last time.’

Stan kept silent. His mind wandered slightly back to the mayhem at the docks but then reverted to the present discussion. Slowly this barrage of criminal information coming from a young member of the civil guards was having an effect.

‘Lieutenant, I still don’t see where I come in on this saga?’ Sergio had purposefully steered Stan to the key question he just asked.

‘As I said from the start, this is a highly undercover investigation. No one else on the force is aware except my boss, Colonel Lobeira. All I need is some initial checking on this Maiden Voyages outfit and this is where I hope you can help.’

Before Stan could answer Sergio added, ‘I know what you’re probably thinking; no, we can’t bring in Interpol or Scotland Yard at this stage.’

As they finished their meal and the round of coffee was on its way, Stan agreed to contact some of his old colleagues back in Falmouth. Sergio’s excitement began to build up. He pulled out another “ace” he had tucked up his sleeve.

‘Sr Consul, amongst the items found in the warehouse were some used yacht fenders tucked away in a corner. Seemed out of place. It may not bear any relation but could have something to do with this yachting lot.’

Stan smiled. ‘OK. You win. I’ll see what I can find out. By the way, how do I…’ he suddenly remembered that he had Sergio’s mobile number. ‘I’ll call you if I come up with anything.’

As they parted company, Stan began to reflect on the day that Joan Flashman turned up to sort out the remains of Don Simmons’ body and how strange she had behaved throughout the handling of the whole affair. He now sensed that she must’ve been hiding something that may have confirmed Lieutenant Quiroga’s suspicions. He didn’t mention it to the lieutenant during their lunch.

Back at the office, Yolanda greeted him with the normal rhetoric of an envious wife. ‘Had a good lunch then?’

Stan was too deep in thought to take any notice of her comments.

The al-Qaeda movement was not only spreading throughout the world, its strategy of promoting independent splinter groups able to act on their own, totally divorced from Osama bin Laden’s HQ, was working. A simple video from the “chief” on the Internet sparked off the necessary campaigns in the Western world. In 1991 a small Islamic Fundamentalist Group called Abu Sayyaf began its campaign against the wealthy business hierarchy in the Philippines with kidnappings, bombings and many other violent acts of terrorism. Their attacks spread out into other areas. In 2001 they kidnapped twenty people on one of the island resorts and murdered several hostages including an American citizen called Guillermo Sobero. Later, in October of 2002 they claimed responsibility for an attack on a military base in Zamboanga killing a US serviceman. But their most deadly attack took place on the 27 February 2004 when they sank the Super Ferry 14 with over 800 passengers on board just off the island of Corregidor. More than a hundred people died or went missing including many women and children. The news spread across the world but was soon forgotten as other international horrors substituted the media headlines including the Madrid attack.

However, one faction of the movement, continents away, had taken note of the attack; the successful sinking of a ferry at sea.

Badi had reunited all the remaining members of al-Qaeda scattered around Madrid to brief them on their next assignments. ‘We have erased all trace of our contacts in Galicia… thanks be to Allah.’

‘Thanks be to Allah,’ echoed the rest of the Arabs.

‘We need not worry about Spain anymore, however, we shall continue our operation from another base.’ Badi explained about the new location they had rented in the heart of the rich district of Puerta de Hierro. ‘Thanks to our influential friends we now have a new and large apartment to work from amidst all the rich Spaniards.’ Once they had taken note of the address, he raised both arms, took a deep breath and said, ‘This is the infidel, my brothers, and this is our next target.’

A map of Europe was spread across the table. A big red circle highlighted Britain from the rest of the countries. Alongside it was a brochure. Habib took over. ‘When the British cruise-ship season is in full swing our brothers from far away will become martyrs and once more claim a “jihad” victory for Bin Laden.’

The dozen or so Arabs began to scream in joy. Once they had calmed down, he continued, ‘There is still much planning to be done and as usual caution is the key to our success.’