Watcher in the Pine (19 page)

“Yes, but remember, Luis Severino thought he was at home when we arrived in Potes. So he hadn’t made contact with the maquis.” Elena saw her husband’s frown and corrected herself. “With the bandits, I mean. And if he hadn’t met up with them, where would he get the weapon to kill Calero?”

“This is bear country,” Tejada pointed out. “Most people probably have hunting rifles.”

“No, but listen.” Elena frowned, concentrating on presenting her points logically. “Let’s say Anselmo killed Lieutenant Calero. That was when?”

“October eighth,” Tejada supplied promptly.

“So Anselmo was missing for nearly six months before he was shot,” Elena proceeded. “But we know that he didn’t make contact with the–the bandits right away, because we know they were looking for him. They were people whom he knew. And someone like Luis Severino would have been able to find them. So why did Anselmo wait to make contact with them?”

“You have a theory?” Tejada asked, intrigued.

Elena shook her head. “No. It just seems odd. As if Montalbán wanted to disappear
completely
, so that neither side knew where he was.”

“He must have changed his mind,” Tejada said out.

“And as soon as he did, he ended up dead,” Elena retorted.

The lieutenant sighed. “All right. Who do you think wanted him dead then? Us or them?”

“I’m thinking out loud,” Elena apologized. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“It’s a fanciful scenario.” Tejada began to methodically snap the dead branch he had been carrying in half, and in half again.

“But it works either way,” Elena pointed out. “Márquez or Carvallo wanted to kill him so they hunted him down and shot him in the back, and made it look like self-defense. Or the maquis wanted to kill him, so they deliberately drew fire from the Guardia, knowing he was unarmed and likely to get hit.”

“He trusted the maquis,” Tejada said, forgetting to refer to them as bandits.

“So much that he hid from them?” Elena retorted.

Tejada began throwing broken sticks into the river. “I can’t think of any reason anyone would want Montalbán dead.”

“Check the files,” Elena said dryly. “If there’s no reason there, then maybe you can start thinking about why he shouldn’t have trusted the maquis.”

“It would be interesting if he was on anybody’s payroll,” Tejada agreed, thinking of his recent informant, Domingo Santiago. “The only thing is, if he took to the hills for his own reasons, then we’re back to square one about Calero’s killers.”

“Not necessarily,” Elena said. “Maybe he took to the hills for other reasons, but when he saw a chance to even the score with Calero, he took it.”

“It’s possible,” Tejada said neutrally. He had no wish to end up like Lieutenant Calero, and he planned to have a heart-to-heart talk with his prisoners about Calero’s other possible murderers, but he knew that his wife was touchy about prisoner interrogation, and he saw no need to share this information with her. “You know where we’re going. Shouldn’t we be turning off soon?” he asked, to change the subject.

Elena noticed her surroundings, and laughed. “We’ve missed the road. We’ll have to go back.”

Tejada laughed also as they turned around. “I’ve only gone this way when I was driving. Funny how that changes your sense of scale. The monastery really is fairly close to Potes, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s my own stupidity,” Elena said. “At least we’ll get exercise.”

Tejada frowned. “Are you sure—?”

“I feel
fine
,” Elena interrupted hastily.

Tejada was unconvinced, but he knew that Elena was stubborn to the point of foolishness when she thought that he was being overprotective. He contented himself with stealthily slowing his steps and forcing his wife to match his pace, and suggesting that they turn off the highway a little early onto what looked like a shortcut. Elena, who was happy to leave the grim memories of the river, readily agreed, and they headed up a dirt path that was momentarily so steep Tejada regretted his impulse. He was about to propose turning back when the track suddenly leveled out and began run smoothly along the mountainside, gaining altitude so gradually that it almost would have been suitable for a railroad grade. Elena, who had been panting from the climb, took a few deep breaths as they slowed at the crest. “It smells good,” she said with a smile.

“Pines,” Tejada agreed.

They continued along the path single file, Elena in front, moving in what both of them were fairly sure was the correct direction. Elena was just thinking that it was time for the path to rejoin the main road to the monastery when the road suddenly forked. She stopped, dismayed. The lieutenant leaned over her shoulder and made an annoyed noise. “Good shortcut,” Elena said wryly.

Tejada inspected the two paths. “It should be that one,” he said, pointing to the right-hand branch.

Elena frowned. “Why? I would have said the left. And you haven’t been to the monastery before.”

“Because that one has a blaze like the ones along the path,” Tejada sounded smug.

“What ones?”

Smiling at the ignorance of city-bred women, Tejada pointed. “There, the cut on the birch. We passed another one like it about twenty-five meters back. And another before that. The right-hand branch is clearly part of the same path.”

“We don’t know that the same path goes where we want it to,” Elena argued. “And that path looks like it heads up into the woods. The left-hand one should join up with the road at any moment.”

Tejada looked dubiously in the direction his wife was pointing. “The problem with following an unmarked trail is that it’s hard to retrace your steps,” he said cautiously.

“I’ll bet it’s less than a hundred meters.” Elena was insistent.

Tejada knew that she was probably right, but he was annoyed with himself for proposing a shortcut that had turned out to be ambiguous, and a little disappointed that she had not been more impressed with his woodcraft. Seized with a desire both to prove himself right and to show off, he shrugged off his cloak. “Hold this,” he said, moving toward a pine tree that stood at the division of the path. The broken remnants of dead branches hung low to the ground and formed an inviting ladder. “I should be able to get enough of a view to see where both paths lead for a little ways.”

“You’ll break your neck!” Elena protested.

If she had been concerned for his welfare, Tejada would probably have given up the idea. Since she sounded faintly amused, he grabbed two branches as handholds, and tested his weight on two lower ones. “I was always good at climbing trees,” he retorted, censoring the thought that he had not climbed a tree since he was seventeen, and that this was a ridiculously undignified pastime for a man of his age.

He was at least able to make good the boast. His hands were rapidly stained with sap, and flecks of bark rained downward and caught in his clothing, but he managed to gain a decent height within a few minutes. Elena, watching his progress, smiled and unthinkingly began to sing. “I climbed a green pine tree to see if—-” She choked. “If I could glimpse her,” she finished rapidly, embarrassed.

The lieutenant, alarmed by her song, shifted his weight carelessly, and almost missed his footing among the branches. “Jesus, Elena, don’t do that when anyone else is around!” he implored.

“It’s just an old love song,” Elena called back, glad that he could not see her burning face.

Tejada’s laugh floated down to her along with dislodged pine needles. “It’s “Anda, jaleo,” dear, and you know it.”

Elena fell silent, abashed, the newly adapted words of the song echoing in her head. “When the whistle blows, we’ll see how Franco runs.” She wondered how Carlos had learned the Republican version of the song. From prisoners during the war, perhaps. “Can you see anything?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Not much.” Tejada grunted. “There’s a sort of nest of branches above that blocks everything. I’m going to see if I can get around it.”

“Be careful.” This time the concern in Elena’s voice was real.

Tejada was too absorbed to reply. The trunk of the pine was still thick and steady, but the spreading branches of neighboring trees tugged at him from behind, and he was unable to see a way around the nest of branches. It was an odd thing, he thought, as he edged sideways, looking for a free space. The weaving didn’t look typical of a bird’s nest, and it would have to have been a large bird, an eagle or something even bigger. But the branches were too solidly interlocked to be random. It was almost as if someone had started to build a child’s tree house. “Stand back, Elena!” he yelled, suddenly tense. “Move! As fast as you can!”

“Which path?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Worried by the grim note in his voice, Elena hurried down the left-hand path. It curved slightly and then descended to the road to the monastery, as she had expected. She hesitated a moment, and then turned and headed back toward her husband. Tejada was still clinging to the big pine. Little branches were falling to the forest floor. Heart in her mouth, Elena suddenly wondered if he was about to fall. Then she heard a yell. Several larger branches crashed to the ground, and something cloth-covered bounced downward and hung suspended, apparently caught on a crook in the tree. For a heart-stopping moment Elena thought that her husband had fallen, and then she realized that the dangling object was a cloth-covered bag on some kind of rope, and that Tejada was still gripping the trunk. He half-slid, half-fell down the pine. The cloth bag bounced down below him, and Elena saw that his movements were hampered because he was clinging to the rope that held the bag.

He let go of it only after the bag had safely reached the ground, and then tumbled the last few feet to the forest floor, landing on his knees. “What happened?” Elena demanded, as she came up behind him.

He turned his head and looked up at her. “I told you to get out of the way.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t
leave
you,” Elena protested.

Tejada was working at the knot that closed the bag. “Damn it, Elena. Suppose this is some kind of explosive? Suppose I’d dropped it? You have to think about the baby.”

“What about you?” Elena demanded as the knot finally gave way and the lieutenant gingerly folded back the edges of the sack. “You could have been—oh.” She backed up a step as Tejada turned toward her, cradling his booty.

“This,” the lieutenant said flatly, “is not good.”

“No. Could you point that somewhere else?” Elena said nervously, inspecting the gun he was holding.

Tejada set the weapon down and rummaged further. “There are three more here. And ammunition. Shit.” He picked up the gun again, ignoring his wife’s discomfort. “Do you know what this
is?
”

“It looks a lot like a carbine.” Elena attempted to speak lightly, not entirely successfully.

“Looks like,” Tejada agreed. “But it’s a Thompson machine gun.”

“How is that worse?” Elena asked, puzzled by his tone.

“You’ve never seen one of these,” Tejada said.

“They do a lot of damage?”

“That, too, yes. Quite the dream of the machine gunner, to quote the song you claimed you weren’t singing just now. But the main point is you’ve never seen one before.”

Elena made an exasperated noise. “Carlos, don’t be irritating.”

Tejada laughed, although he did not feel particularly cheerful. “If this was a Breda or a Maxim, it would be bad but no big deal. The Reds had teams of guerrillas operating throughout Nationalist zones, and I’m sure a number of former soldiers hid their old weapons before capture. If these were old Soviet arms I’d know how the bandits got ahold of them. But Thompsons are English, I think. Or maybe American. You’ve never seen any because there weren’t any in Madrid.
I’ve
only seen a few because we took some off international prisoners once. And these look like a new model.”

“Expensive?” Elena guessed.

“Very.” Tejada had been fiddling with one of the magazines. Now he succeeded in clipping it to the barrel. “And right now, I’d bet English armament manufacturers have more contracts than they can handle from their own government. Their Ministry of Defense is probably controlling production by now. To make and ship these guns without the English government’s knowledge . . . an arms dealer could name his price. Where the hell are the bandits getting that kind of money?” Elena opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again as Tejada began to rapidly repack the bag of arms. He retied the bag’s neck and then scrambled to his feet, catching her distressed look as he did so. “What?”