The Galician Parallax (41 page)

Sergio started to laugh. Paco didn’t see the joke.

‘I’ll have to get the consul involved again. He’ll love it.’

‘You’re going to spoil me, Sr Consul, my salary doesn’t go this far,’ said Sergio as he continued plucking away at an entrée of local prawns, the number one Galician seafood delicacy.

No sooner had Paco confirmed that Paddy was still in A Lama prison sharing common ground with the Algerians than Sergio called Stan for an urgent meeting to work out a plan of action.

‘They want to shut this place down as their license runs out, typical town council stupidities.’

Sergio was too intent in combining his food with the superb view of the Vigo Bay. By the time they were halfway through a shared rack of roast lamb, delicacy of the day, Sergio kicked off the subject matter on hand. Referring to Stan’s session in Baiona he asked, ‘What does it feel like to be a detective, Sr Consul?’

‘So far so good; what’s next?’

Sergio turned serious, no different to their last meal together.

‘OK, this is the next step, but first a question: were you ever involved with a Brit called Patrick Nolan charged with attempted manslaughter about four years ago?’

‘I recall my father-in-law mentioning it, as he was consul at the time. He’s now retired. It’s probably in the consulate records somewhere, why?’

‘Doesn’t matter. The point is this Brit is in A Lama jail. He got seven years and still has a couple to go. He may be a vital ally if we can persuade him to co-operate. Remember I told you some time ago about two Algerians in jail for drug possession and how they could be connected to Don Simmons’ murder?’

Stan nodded. Apart from mentioning that they were in the same jail, Sergio expanded on his plan to obtain information from the Arab inmates that could help unravel some of the mystery. He was convinced that Paddy was their best bet.

‘Need to get to them and thought this Brit could be used as an insider contact; what do you think?’

Stan poured the remainder of the 200 Monges red wine into his goblet and took a large swig. Sergio crossed his fingers.

‘Let’s see if I can work this out. They’re somehow involved in Don’s murder and mixed up in the drug trade. On the other hand you also suspect they’re connected to the al-Qaeda movement in Spain.’

‘Continue, Sr Consul.’

Before answering, Stan called over the waiter, lifting up the empty bottle of wine. ‘Bring another one, please.’ The waiter took the empty and returned to the bar.

‘Without arousing suspicion, you’d like someone to brainwash them and this Patrick Nolan could be the guy.’

Sergio gently clapped his hands. There was a pause as the waiter brought the second bottle, uncorked it and poured a sample for Stan to taste and approve. As soon as he left Stan began to smile and wave an approval finger at Sergio.

‘I could arrange a routine consular visit and during the interview test the waters and see if he’ll play ball.’

‘I need to come with you. He knows me; I saved the guy’s life, although it’ll scare the shit out of him. It may take some time, that’s why we’ve got to move fast.’

‘OK, I’ll work on it. By the way, what are these Algerians’ real names?’

Sergio picked out a paper napkin from the holder and as he wrote mumbled, ‘Ghazi Mansouri and Marzuq Khelil, resident in Orense.’

It was the second time that Stan was stretching his responsibilities as HM representative and overstepping diplomatic boundaries. He had sent a formal request as usual to visit a British prisoner, granted a certain day and time by the prison director, this time without advising Madrid. Two days later he phoned Sergio.

‘Set for next Tuesday, 11 a.m. See you there.’

Mr Billson had contacted Teixugo as soon as he could, regarding Stan Bullock’s surprise visit in Baiona and the gist of the consul’s information passed on by Jerry Fulton. A nervous Teixugo, after checking with Sr Perez that there were no new developments on the warehouse raid, immediately called his “confidant”, suspecting that the yacht club visit could be a spur of the original investigation of the tip-off. The General naturally refuted the information as complete nonsense, but promised to check it out. Thus, the secret investigation conducted by Colonel Lobeira, added to the urgent phone call from Teixugo to General Saavedra of the civil guards harping on about a second investigation by the British Government into Don Simmons’ death, inadvertently began to pay dividends on Sergio’s bet. It was only a matter of time before the players began to move.

Due to this latest unfolding in Galicia, Teixugo decided to call for the annual meeting of his drug barons to be held in Madrid. The organisation had been working for years without any major hiccups and the safeguard system had always worked whenever a raid or a sudden drug arrest took place anywhere in Europe. The warehouse affair and now the possible involvement of the British Government were of grave concern. He fell short of calling a full-scale conference with the other Galician drug lords, whom he assumed could be in the same situation. He wanted to discuss it first with his immediate partners. The Hotel Asturias in the heart of the Madrid tourist belt was ideal. Its clientele were mainly old people’s excursions from other parts of Spain. This time round, both the Bermudez brothers from Colombia were present as well as Mr Billson from Manchester although they had booked into other hotels in the city. Teixugo was the only resident guest. He’d booked one of the small conference rooms for the meeting.

‘Haven’t been to Madrid for years,’ said one of the Bermudez brothers. ‘It’s certainly changed; full of foreigners.’

The others managed a smile or two. Teixugo opened the session with the usual review of progress and the list of “losses” over the past year. At least ten fast launches had been “hit” by the civil guard coastguards, one large fishing vessel registered in Venezuela with a huge load of cocaine and hashish and dozens of retailers throughout Galicia was the total sum accounted for.

‘Only one of the launches was destined for my organisation’s warehouses, the rest, including the trawler, were not ours, yet we did have a serious mishap. One of our warehouses was raided and a large shipment was confiscated.’

‘No wonder you’ve withheld payment on the last quarter,’ said one of the Bermudez brothers. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

Mr Billson stepped in. ‘Because we’re in danger of being exposed thanks to this yachting caper we got involved in.’

‘Not so fast, Mr Billson, there’s no danger to our network, as yet. Besides, it was your idea in the first place, remember?’

‘But what’s it got to do with the warehouse raid?’ asked the other Bermudez brother.

Teixugo looked at Mr Billson. ‘May I?’

Mr Billson calmed down and nodded approval.

‘Two peculiar events have happened since the July raid on the warehouse. The first is that I’ve always been warned beforehand of any major haul taking place on my patch. That’s what I’ve paid “heavy insurance” for. There was no warning this time. Second and very close to home is that one of the Maiden Voyages’ yachtsmen committed suicide a few months back.’

The first Bermudez brother said, ‘Maybe something failed in your security; it does happen, you know.’

The second Bermudez brother added, ‘But what has the suicide got to do with the raid? I don’t understand?’

Mr Billson stood up. ‘Because it looks like the suicide was not a suicide but a murder case.’ Looking at Teixugo, he said, ‘Do tell us.’

‘My personal suspicion is that the Spanish al-Qaeda cells that have been active in Galicia have finally penetrated our system. We all knew that they used drugs as money to finance their terrorism. I didn’t really care as long as it didn’t affect my… our business but unfortunately I think it has.’ Addressing Mr Billson he added, ‘And your Mr Donald Simmons was probably the cause.’

The two Bermudez brothers were completely confused.

Badi was gleaming. He was now able to present the full plan right down to the details of the next attack in Europe. All members of the group had gathered for a second briefing.

‘Brothers, our Filipino HQ has given us a target and a date. It has been set for April of next year and the liner is called
Prince of Waves
. She is destined to leave Southampton on a cruise down to the Mediterranean and back with several ports of call.’

He confirmed that two crew members, Desiderio Bello and Mesias Silvestre, would join the ship on its initial run in March giving them enough time to become familiar with their task and the layout of the ship.

‘The
Prince
will dock in Vigo as her last port of call on 15 April, and this is when two other “brothers” from Manila who shall already be in Spain will complete the operation. Their names are Domingo Asunción and Jacinto Tejada.’

The audience rejoiced in a round of heavy applause.

‘We still have a great deal of work to do.’

Badi stood up.

‘Praise be to Allah.’

The full Madrid terrorist group stood up, then kneeled and started their prayer session.

‘Praise be to Allah.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing,
amor
?’ said Yolanda as she hugged her husband before he shot off with Lieutenant Quiroga to visit the prison. Stan had briefed her with the events so far and how he now felt bound to help the law in their fight against the drug trade.

‘If I tell Madrid at this stage they’ll go mad, I know it. Once I’ve helped the lieutenant unravel some of the unknowns, we’ve agreed to pass the whole thing over to the higher-ups to take over.’

Stan knew he was lying although he did know at the back of his mind that sooner or later the British Government had to be advised. Of what, he was not quite sure, except that it had to do with security and safety of Britain and the British public.

‘Don’t try to be a hero,
amor
, that’s all I ask.’

Yolanda was nevertheless uneasy.

It was Stan who had come up with the idea of passing Paddy off as an IRA sympathiser. When Stan first suggested it, he had said that posing as a supposed terrorist supporter could give him greater access to the al-Qaeda inmates.

‘They’re all in the same boat together, you know that.’

Sergio, although much younger and less experienced, was nevertheless a shrewd cop. He thought it over.

‘Agreed but with one proviso, we need to play the patriotic bit as well as the danger involved. In fact, they both go together otherwise our Irish friend may not even cooperate.’

There was no indication of any connection to the IRA on Paddy’s criminal record file. The couple of sleuths took a gamble hoping that the inmates in general were only aware of Paddy’s jail sentence and not his political inclinations. Stan arrived just before Sergio at 11 a.m. He knew the procedures as he’d been here before. As he was presenting his credentials filling in the registry, Sergio turned up in his uniform. As a civil guards’ officer he had no problem in tagging on to the consul except that he was requested to hand over his 9mm pistol. This caused more paperwork and signatures.

‘I’ve been in and out of jails all over Galicia but this is my first full visit to a penitentiary,’ he said as he greeted Stan.

Minutes later they were walking through a standard-type metal detector before proceeding towards a safety cage that had a double iron-gate automatic system of entry and exit. They passed through the first one and once it was shut, the second was opened. They were now in a large courtyard that separated the administrative sector of the prison from the main building housing the prison cells. Sergio was taking it all in, eyes darting in all directions from the barbed wire fencing surrounding the perimeter to the high tower with armed security guards. He stopped to check a beautiful array of rose bushes.

‘I wonder who does the gardening, Sr Consul.’

As they reached the other side, the same checking routine took place. Another prison guard welcomed the visitors and after signing off on another registry and passing through a second metal detector they were led to yet another iron cage similar to the main one.

‘When you leave the cage turn left and you’ll find the main interview hall. Choose a cubicle on the right-hand side. The prisoner will turn up in due course.’

There was no one about and the place was freezing cold, despite the outside summer temperature. Half an hour went by and there were no signs of the prisoner, guards or any other visitors. The lieutenant felt uncomfortable.

‘It’s eerie.’

Stan managed a half smile. He’d been through the routine before. He was about to comment when a man suddenly appeared from a door at the far end of the enclosed section of the room. He was alone. He looked around until he caught sight of the visitors. Slowly he made his way to the desk opposite the cubicle separated from the other side by a bulletproof glass pane. He sat down and just stared into space. He was dressed in a casual manner in jeans and a blue sweater. Sergio had not seen him since the ordeal at the fish market, yet the scars down the side of his face confirmed his identity. Stan broke the silence. He switched on the intercom and introduced himself.

‘My name is Stan Bullock. I’m the British Consul,’ pointing at Sergio he continued, ‘and this is Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga from the civil guard HQ in Corunna.’

Paddy looked at Sergio. He still said nothing. Stan was getting nervous. He wasn’t expecting such a strange, muted reception.
It’s as if the guy’s not all there
, he thought. Paddy was still staring at Sergio. Suddenly he began to smile. Sergio got the message.

‘It’s me, Sergio, remember?’

Paddy immediately reacted. He got up and hurriedly leaned forward placing both his hands against the glass. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. Stan couldn’t believe it. Sergio was also shedding a small tear as he spoke into the intercom.

‘It’s been a long time,
amigo
.’