“With the old Anna, I could have intervened on your behalf, on Gonzalo’s behalf, and could have done more to save Laura and her son, but the woman your mother has become is hard as stone. Believe me, words are like smoke that she just blows away. I warned you, I told you this would happen sooner or later. Your mother will never allow it, will never consent to you being with Elías’s son. You thought you could fool around with him innocently, snoop into his life with no consequences. You flirted recklessly, knowing you were safe, still spoiled despite it all. And you kept going, ignoring the danger you put him in. I mean, you took the man to your bed. Did you honestly think Anna would simply stand back, fold her arms, and do nothing?”
“You have to speak to her. Please,” Tania begged. “She knows where he is, she can bring him back. He won’t pose a threat, he’ll be no danger to her. We’ll leave Barcelona, go someplace far away and never come back.”
Vasili crouched down and began picking up the broken shards of glass.
“It’s a little late for that. Your mother already has everything all planned out.”
Luis’s midnight blue Mercedes exited the national highway and took a minor road that wound its way tortuously along the jagged coastline, passing through small summer towns that, this being November, were curled up like little animals hibernating for the winter. When he stopped in front of a house still under construction, high on a cliff surrounded by pine trees, it was already dark.
For the final stretch, Alcázar had had to follow at a distance with his lights off so as not to be seen. But the road led only to this house, whose foundation had been built into the rock for even more space. The outside looked more or less completed and resembled a cathedral made of steel, glass, and stone, with three terraced stories jutting out of the rock face at right angles, like a giant staircase. Enormous picture windows afforded dizzying ocean views. It was an extravagant dream, albeit unfinished, perhaps due to the dreamer’s fatigue. Luis was an architect with boundless imagination and too much money for his own good. Alcázar let out a low whistle of admiration. He’d never understood how Laura could reconcile a cop’s life with this kind of lavishness.
The Mercedes was parked in a carport. Alcázar saw no lights on in the house, nor could he detect any movement inside. There was no reason for things to get complicated. He opened the glove compartment and took out an unregistered Glock. He’d never killed anyone in his life, and certainly not in cold blood, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of doing it if the situation so required. He wrapped his hand firmly around the butt of the gun and noted that he was not trembling. His heart was not racing, he didn’t feel rushed. For the first time in ages, his thinking was cold and clear. He knew this feeling—the tense focus, muscles primed, breath held, ears pricked, eyes alert. The ritual of the hunter, calm before erupting with devastating force.
He had to admit, he was made for this.
Alcázar got out of the car with the weapon in his jacket pocket. His finger was not on the trigger, but there was a bullet in the chamber and the safety catch was off.
“Do it fast, do it well,” he said to himself, searching the rubble and construction for a way to slip inside.
The moon cast a half-circle glow through the ground-floor windows. Alcázar watched from outside for a while before finding an open slat he could slip through, which put him in what seemed to be a guest bathroom. The tile had been laid but the tub was filled with construction dust and a dead bird. Shame, he thought, noticing the high quality of the abandoned materials.
The first floor was open-plan, and Alcázar estimated it at about sixteen thousand square feet. Although the floor was parquet in some places, in others the concrete slab was still visible. The walls were half painted, and loose wires stuck out where light fixtures and electrical outlets would go. He saw a quivering light coming from behind a column. Approaching slowly, Alcázar avoided the rubble so as not to make any noise. He saw a gray basalt wall with a built-in wrought-iron fireplace that was lit, the dry wood crackling. To the right was a large armchair, a bottle of liquor on the floor beside it. Luis was leaning against the chair back, contemplating the fire, his back to Alcázar.
“What kind of cop are you, Inspector? Certainly not a very subtle one,” he said, turning, his expression downcast, disheveled hair falling across his scowling face. The house was in ruins—the house where he, Laura, and Roberto should have shared their lives—and the sea roared in the background, the storm a sound track to their encounter.
“Were you expecting me?”
Luis smiled, though Alcázar couldn’t see it in the shadows. “I’ve been expecting you since the day I killed Zinoviev. Not only are you indiscreet, Inspector, you’re also very slow.”
Luis moved away from the fire to stand defiantly facing Alcázar. He held up his hands to show that he posed no threat. But he did, and the danger came from his crazed expression, almost like a centrifuge.
Alcázar refused to be trapped by the eyes pulling him in like quicksand. He moved cautiously around Luis, observing him carefully.
“Well, I’m here now,” he said deviously. “Are you going to tell me where Siaka and Gonzalo are, or will we have to fight?”
Luis hesitated before replying. His glance flew instinctively to the staircase, a detail that Alcázar noted immediately.
“They’re off pondering a game I proposed. They’ll make a decision soon.” It was clear he wasn’t trying to deny anything. In fact, he seemed eager to discuss it. “She doesn’t think you’re capable of doing it,” he added.
“Doing what? And who’s ‘she’?”
“Killing Siaka and Gonzalo. That’s why she called me, to tell me you’d be following me here.”
Alcázar realized he was talking about Anna. That affectionate kiss, the irony of her tender goodbye. He’d been so stupid, voicing his theory that Igor was the Matryoshka. Anna must have been laughing at him for years, fooling him into believing that there was a man at the head of the organization she worked for. Why a man? Because Alcázar was old-school and thought, absurdly, that some things could be done only by men.
Luis glanced at his watch. How long was it going to take them to decide?
“How do you think I even got close to Zinoviev? I’d never have managed if she hadn’t put me on to him. And I would never have found out that you were double-crossing Laura, accepting bribes from the very people she was intent on destroying.”
Alcázar gazed at him at length, wondering what was going on in his head, which was twitching in a strange, anxious way.
“Did Laura know?”
“That you were corrupt?” Luis nodded. “She found out just before she killed herself.”
“She could have reported me.”
Luis shook his head. “With you being protected by the most important lawyer in the country?” How far would a report like that go? Besides, Siaka told Laura that you saved her from the Matryoshka’s wrath several times. The truth is, you were protecting her from Anna, even though you didn’t know it. No, she wanted to keep you out of it, despite your betrayal.”
Alcázar recalled their breakfast at the beachside shack the day he went to tell her that Zinoviev was dead and she was going to be accused of his murder. He remembered her look. Laura had known everything—that Luis had killed Zinoviev and Alcázar was tied up with the Matryoshka. Did she know who Anna really was? Did she suspect who fronted the organization? Maybe.
Luis intuited the question in Alcázar’s mind.
“She felt like she owed you something, after that night at the lake in 1967. What exactly she owed you, or why, was something she always refused to tell me, but it was important enough that she wouldn’t betray you even after Roberto died. I’ve always wondered what could make someone like Laura feel beholden to someone like you.”
Alcázar walked over to one of the enormous windows jutting out over the sea. In the distance,
the lights of Barcelona formed a wide band; on the horizon, the positioning lights of cargo ships approaching the shore blinked off and on. Laura had told him that her father loved going fishing at the lake and often took Gonzalo with him. Gonzalo would run after him without a word. She, on the other hand, found all the waiting around boring and never enjoyed those excursions.
“Why would Anna have called to say I was following you? When it comes down to it, she’s the one responsible for your son’s death.”
Luis shook his head energetically. “Anna didn’t tell Zinoviev to kill Roberto, or even kidnap him. He acted on his own. I already told you, she’s the one who put me on to him, and she did nothing to stop me from killing him.”
Alcázar gave Luis a contemptuous look.
“She used you; that’s what she does. She ordered the kidnapping, and now I can see why. She convinced you to kill Zinoviev by making you think he was responsible for your son’s death. And that killed two birds with one stone: She got rid of Zinoviev, who had become dangerous and indiscreet, and got Laura out of the way, because she’d been getting too close to the Matryoshka. Anna would have been content to have Laura accused of Zinoviev’s murder and put in jail, but then you showed up, and it was a bonus for Anna that Laura killed herself. And now she’s brought us both to this mousetrap, to finish it all off.”
“That’s very melodramatic of you, almost like a Russian opera.”
“You don’t believe me? She wants us to kill each other, then she can just wipe up the blood—that’s what Agustín is for.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Inspector. What matters is what happens now.”
“And what’s going to happen?”
“She told me she sent you here to kill me.”
He was insane, completely out of his mind. Alcázar realized this when he saw the twisted, mocking expression on his face just as he was about to pounce. But Alcázar pulled out his Glock and aimed at Luis’s chest.
“Don’t be an idiot, man. You’ve committed enough crimes as it stands.”
Luis leaped at Alcázar and threw a punch, hitting him in the face, although not hard enough to knock him down. Alcázar was shocked; he stumbled but didn’t lose his balance.
“Stop!” he shouted, wielding his gun. But Luis didn’t stop. He was smiling maniacally, as though urging Alcázar to shoot him. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Alcázar aimed at his knee and fired as Luis prepared to attack again. He collapsed, shrieking in pain, holding his bloody leg.
Alcázar pulled out his handcuffs and dragged Luis to a heavy concrete-and-rebar block, cuffing him to it.
“Now. Are you going to tell me where Siaka and Gonzalo are?”
“Fuck you,” Luis mumbled, holding back the urge to sob like a little boy. “Call an ambulance, you crippled me.”
“You’ll get over it—not much need to run in jail; the prison yard is pretty small.”
Just then a shot was fired upstairs.
“What the fuck was that?”
Siaka and Gonzalo stared at each other, perplexed at the fact that they were both still alive. Neither man had a scratch, and the gun that had been on the table now lay on the floor. The time set by Luis, a lunatic playing at avenger, for his “game” had nearly come to an end.
“Time’s almost up,” Gonzalo said, consulting his watch. Luis had been very explicit: In ten minutes he’d come back, by which time one of them had to have fired a shot, leaving the other dead on the ground. Otherwise, he’d kill them both.
“We should have saved the bullet. At least that way we’d be able to defend ourselves when he comes back.”
Siaka was the one who’d fired the gun, a bullet hole clearly visible in the wall a few inches from Gonzalo.
“I thought you were going to shoot me,” he murmured.
“I was, but I missed,” Siaka replied.
Gonzalo couldn’t tell if he’d missed by accident or on purpose. A few moments earlier they’d each been staring at the pistol, hypnotized, refusing to say a word or look at each other for fear of what they might see. And when Siaka finally grabbed the gun and gazed blankly at Gonzalo, the lawyer thought he’d made a deadly mistake by refusing to take part in Luis’s sick coercion. It struck him that convictions served only to let people die feeling smug.
But intentionally or not, Siaka had missed, and they were both alive.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Siaka crept over to the door to listen. Gonzalo saw him tense his muscles, primed for a fight. Siaka was a soldier, a man accustomed to pain—both causing it and suffering it. Fighting and violence were everyday modes for him. He’d withstood Luis’s torture, beatings and blows, for days and was so physically broken that he had no chance of defeating Luis, yet his expression was fierce and determined. Gonzalo wasn’t like that. He’d never have been able to endure even a tenth of the torment that this kid had gone through and was petrified, rooted to his spot as though his feet were nailed down.
“I can’t do it. I can’t face him.”
Siaka shot him a furious look. “All men can do anything they have to; I’ve seen it. If you’re desperate enough, fear turns to rage, I assure you. Think of your kids, or the redhead you told me about. Think of something you want to live for and fight for it. Fight, Gonzalo.”
Approaching footsteps became louder, and a few seconds later the door handle turned. The door barely opened, casting in a sliver of light from the hallway.
The first thing Alcázar’s gaze took in was the pathetic sight of Gonzalo, standing in the middle of the room, a gun at his feet, eyes flicking to the right just in time to warn the inspector of a figure leaping at him with a table leg in one hand. Alcázar had no trouble ducking the blow and came back with a forceful punch to the man’s ribs.
Before Siaka could react, Alcázar kicked, hard, forcing him to double over with a sharp whimper.
“Freeze!” Gonzalo shouted.
Alcázar turned to him. “What do you think you’re doing with that, Gonzalo?”
He’d picked the gun up off the floor and was aiming it at Alcázar, hoping he wouldn’t guess that it wasn’t loaded.
“Step away from him!”
Alcázar glanced indifferently at Siaka as the kid dragged himself out of reach like a squashed worm.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Gonzalo. I’m here to help you. Put down the weapon.”
“I said, step away!”
Alcázar was beginning to lose patience. He snorted in annoyance, touching the barrel of the Glock to his temple.
“Or…what? You’ll spit at me? I’m perfectly aware that the gun had only one bullet, and it seems you wasted it. I, on the other hand, have six left, and I’ll use them if you don’t stop pissing me off. I’m beginning to get sick of all of you.”
Gonzalo had no choice but to relent. Alcázar approached and took the gun from his hands, examining it to ensure that there were, in fact, no more bullets, and then tucked it into his waistband. He sat on a chair and watched Siaka struggle to stand, maneuvering awkwardly with Gonzalo’s help.
“Did they send you to finish us off?”
The plural made him laugh.
“There is no ‘they.’ There never was. There’s only ‘she.’ The charming Anna Akhmatova is not a mother-in-law I would recommend,” he retorted. “Tania’s mother is the Matryoshka, Gonzalo. And yes, she’s the one who sent me here to finish you off—you, him,” he said, pointing to Siaka with the gun, “and your lunatic ex-brother-in-law, who’s bleeding out downstairs.”
“You don’t have to do this, Alcázar. Luis has the laptop.”
“I know that. I watched the security tape of you being attacked after I saw him at your office. And I heard the message Siaka left on your answering machine. You should have come to me rather than try to play the hero.” Alcázar gave him a look of sympathy and clucked his tongu
e. “You always wanted to be like your father and sister, didn’t you? It’s in the Gil blood, you’re like a bunch of suicidal moths crashing into the lightbulb because you can’t stand the darkness. You’d rather die than accept how dark the real world is.”
No, thought Gonzalo, not moths, more like butterflies. That’s what Gonzalo and Laura had been like as kids running after each other playing at the lake house, the afternoon sun setting fire to their laughter and shining through their hair. Brave children who didn’t want to accept the real world, the one beyond their games.
“Don’t go, let’s keep flying,” Gonzalo begged when their father appeared in the doorway, one enraged eye beckoning to Laura.
Had he forgotten? No, he hadn’t. It was all still there, in the back of his mind, a petrified footprint from another life that many layers of earth had not entirely buried. Like Laura’s courageous look as she stroked his cheeks.
“Go to the well, don’t let him catch you.”
“No, not the well. Not the dark.”
He wanted to keep playing, keep flying with his sister, follow her blond ponytail, roll down the hill with her in his mother’s Republican bomber jacket, skinning his knees and elbows on dry pine needles and then having his mother make it better. He wanted to run to Laura’s arms after the nightmare in which he couldn’t remember the word until it was too late, the thing he had to say to save her. And feel the relief of finding her in her bed, asleep, opening her arms without opening her eyes, to hold him as she slept. The two of them, together, forming a single thing. Fireflies who kept their fire till the end of their days. He’d always thought he wanted to be a lean wolf like Elías, like his father, a rebel in search of who knows what absurd idea of liberty. But now he saw that he was always one of those fireflies—that was why he’d been taken with Tania from the start, her wings on fire like a phoenix, reborn of herself, reinventing herself so she could be anything she wanted to. Because that’s what Laura was like.
A Million Drops Page 56