by Kathryn Lane
Eduardo glanced at the screen he’d brought up on his mobile phone. “Barcelona’s famous nineteenth-century architects ignored traditional ninety-degree corners and built diagonal walls called chamfers at important intersections,” he read. “They are called chaflanes in Spanish.”
The hotel’s chamfered entryway allowed for a wide sidewalk, making the entrance and the street appear more grandiose. Passeig de Gràcia, where they stood, was known as one of the most elegant avenues in the city.
As they resumed walking, Nikki noticed a tall, heavyset man with a wiry beard and wearing a khaki-colored shirt with a starched collar. He walked past them, not acknowledging them at all. Most striking was his immaculately white, crocheted skullcap. Nikki turned slightly and caught a glimpse of the white-gloved porters opening the doors for him.
Once inside the marble-floored lobby, the bulky man turned to look at the couple, glimpsing only their backs before they walked out of his sight toward Port Vell, the marina and old port. He made his way to the concierge’s desk. After retrieving his wallet, he removed a hundred-euro bill and pressed it into the hand of the concierge on duty.
“Pedro, check for me if a woman by the name of Nikki Garcia is registered in the hotel.”
Pedro, the senior concierge, pocketed the money with a rapid movement of his hand. He scrolled down a couple of screens on the computer, shaking his head as he searched. Using the keyboard for a more detailed query, he still shook his head.
“What about Eduardo Duarte?”
More scrolling, then a nod.
“What room?”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot—”
The man pulled another hundred-euro bill from his wallet and pushed it into the concierge’s hand.
“Mr. El Saraway, I’ve already given you more information than I should.” Scanning the lobby, Pedro pocketed the second tip. “I haven’t seen your falcon recently. How is the bird?”
“Shaheen’s tethered in his cage, longing for his daily three-hour hunt.”
Nikki and Eduardo strolled hand in hand down the wide pedestrian median on Passeig de Gràcia.
“I thought I’d go crazy while you were undercover,” Eduardo said.
“You’re already crazy,” she said with a laugh.
“Over you, I admit it,” he said.
Nikki sighed. “I still wake up in the middle of the night worried about all those children.” Some were probably back with parents who love them, she thought, but others might not be so lucky. Especially those whose parents had sold them to the traffickers in the first place. “What do you think will happen to them?”
A bus drove past with its engine revving, drowning out Nikki’s voice. The fumes invaded Nikki’s nostrils and she coughed.
“Father Abelardo will take care of them.” Eduardo said, speaking loudly, as he leaned toward Nikki so she could hear him over the din of traffic. “Right now, we’re here to decompress. Barcelona is the perfect wedding location.”
He stopped and Nikki pivoted to face him. She noticed his eyes light up as he gazed at her. Pedestrians passed them in both directions on the wide median. A woman pushing a stroller while clutching a three-year-old with her other hand maneuvered around them. A newborn inside the stroller cried, his well-developed lungs finally forcing his mother to stop and tend to him.
Over Eduardo’s shoulder Nikki noticed a façade adorned with luminous orange-gold colored tile that transitioned into greenish blue on the upper part of the wall, covered with an undulating roof. “What’s that building?” she asked, pointing.
“Must be a Gaudí,” Eduardo said, checking his mobile app again.
“The same Gaudí who designed the rooftop at Casa Milà?” Nikki asked, childhood memories of the rooftop terrace flooding her memory. As a young girl, she had been fascinated with the whimsical Darth Vader look-alikes Gaudí had created to disguise the vents and chimneys, even though she knew Darth Vader had not yet been created.
“The very same. This is Casa Batlló. Look at the roof,” Eduardo said, using one hand to point and resting the other on Nikki’s shoulder. “Like scales on a dragon’s back. The turret with the cross at the top is supposed to represent Saint George’s sword slaying the dragon.”
“Looks more like a dinosaur,” Nikki said.
Holding hands, they continued strolling down Passeig de Gràcia. The architecture shifted, and soon they found themselves across from stores like Louis Vuitton, Armani, Cartier, and Prada in Modernist buildings. Nikki spotted a large circular planter containing a small tree and suggested they take a seat on its modern curvilinear bench.
Pigeons hopped around on the pavers of the walkway, cooing and pecking at food morsels. Magpies screeched and flapped their wings from tree to tree or swooped down to steal crumbs claimed by other species. Nikki heard one of Barcelona’s famous monk parakeets squawking until a magpie scared it away. Two sparrows, oblivious to Eduardo and Nikki, scratched the dirt surrounding the tree in the planter. She turned sideways on the bench to observe them.
“Birds are so amazing,” Nikki said. One sparrow jumped on the other in an apparent attempt to mate or at least to play. Beyond the planter outside the Prada storefront, a robust, bearded man wearing a white skullcap caught Nikki’s attention.
He seemed like the same man who had passed them as they left the hotel. She continued chatting with Eduardo while obliquely watching the man lingering by the storefront. It was clear that the reflection in the display window allowed him to watch the bench where she and Eduardo sat.
She nervously ran her fingers through her short hair. In her peripheral vision the tall, brawny man wearing the skullcap still lingered. Eduardo continued to read aloud from the app on his phone.
Nikki nudged Eduardo and whispered, “Don’t look, but a man has been standing before a display of women’s clothing for a long time.”
“Probably shopping for the love of his life.”
“He’s wearing a skullcap.”
“A skullcap?” Eduardo repeated. “Why would that bother you?”
“He entered our hotel as we left. Maybe. I’m not sure. One thing is certain. He’s carrying a camera. I think he’s snapped a few photos of us.”
“Now that changes things,” Eduardo said, looking at Nikki.
Eduardo stood to catch a glimpse but the man turned his back to the planter area and disappeared into Prada’s wide doors.
“Let’s follow him,” Eduardo said in a commanding tone.
“No, that’d be too obvious. Besides, you’re right. He has no reason to be following us. Must be a coincidence,” Nikki said. “I’m still feeling panicky after those death threats in Mexico.”
Eduardo leaned toward Nikki and brushed her lips with his. “I don’t want you worrying about what happened in Mexico. Changing the subject, another Gaudí building is up the street a few blocks. As you can see from here, the Modernist buildings—”
“Which Gaudí?” Nikki asked.
“Our wedding venue.”
Nikki’s eyes widened. “Casa Milà is just steps away? What are we doing here?” Nikki jumped up and pulled Eduardo to standing, but he suggested waiting until the following day when the office would be open and they could inquire about renting the rooftop for their wedding.
“I hope we can get it on such short notice,” Nikki said. “Maybe Aunt Carmen has some pull.”
Pedestrian traffic picked up. Buses and taxis added to the congestion of motor vehicles at the end of the day when people headed home or rushed to meet friends. As Nikki and Eduardo walked, she kept her internal radar on high alert, and she sensed that Eduardo was also searching for the man wearing a skullcap. A small fountain provided an excuse to stop and look back to scan the street for him. But the man had vanished.
“You are so beautiful.” Eduardo took Nikki into his arms and kissed her.
“This feels romantic, like the Trevi Fountain in Rome,” she said.
Eduardo pulled three coins from his pocket and handed them to h
er. “Make a wish.”
Nikki threw them, one by one, into the fountain, right hand over left shoulder. When she caught Eduardo’s eye, they laughed and resumed their stroll.
Traffic continued unabated as they walked toward the marina and old port. Motorbikes, most piloted by women, traveling in both directions on Passeig de Gràcia caught Nikki’s attention and she nudged Eduardo.
“Spiked heels on motorbikes?” he asked. “And they are all spiffed up, like they’re going to a party.”
“Maybe. Or a concert.”
They continued walking on Passeig de Gràcia until it dead-ended. Eduardo consulted the map on his phone. “The Barri Gòtic, the Gothic Quarter, is where we’re headed,” he told Nikki.
They wandered along narrower and narrower streets that gave way to cobblestones in a pedestrian-only section. Tables set outdoors by bar owners took up a large part of the street. Nikki smiled at a portly bar patron folding a napkin and slipping it under a table leg to keep it level. People were eating tapas and drinking wine, and the aroma of rich food made her mouth water. She noticed entire families enjoying the atmosphere, from gray-haired grandmothers to babies whose prams were nestled between chairs.
Deep in the Barri Gòtic, Nikki looked up and gasped. A huge church with dramatic wooden doors almost touched the buildings on either side. She stopped to appreciate the massive structure.
“La Seu Cathedral,” Eduardo read from his phone, “is the seat of the Archdiocese in Barcelona. It’s dedicated to Saint Eulàlia, a martyr during the Christian persecution under the Roman emperor Diocletian.”
Deeper into the historic district, Eduardo periodically stopped to read the history of one place or another. On Carrer del Bisbe, he pointed out a covered bridge connecting two buildings facing each other on opposite sides of the narrow cobblestone street.
“The Bishop’s Bridge. You’ll have to make another wish. No coins this time. Just keep your eyes closed, make the wish, turn in a circle, tilt your head up toward the underside of the bridge, and open your eyes.”
Nikki followed Eduardo’s instructions.
“Tell me what you see.”
“A skull with a dagger in its mouth.”
“Oh, no,” Eduardo groaned. “You were not supposed to see that.”
“A superstition?” Nikki asked.
“Maybe an urban legend.”
“I’m not really superstitious, so tell me what it means.”
“Whoever sees the skull and dagger falls prey to an evil spell,” Eduardo explained. “But there’s an antidote that will overcome the curse. It’s a bit farther on.”
“I’m hungry. Let’s eat instead. Besides, I have my tree of life,” Nikki said, touching her pendant. “It works as an antidote to all evil.”
Chapter Six
Beni Ensar, Morocco, North Africa
Saturday Very Early Morning
Taiwo awakened when it was still dark. He could not allow Kehinde to leave for work before he spoke with him. With that intention, Taiwo had slept poorly, waking up every half hour or so to check the time on his mobile phone. Shifting position, he checked the time again, deciding to get up. After placing the phone in his duffle bag, he took a few steps from where he had slept, unzipped his fly, and relieved himself on the plants in the small garden. He returned to the area which had served as his bed, pushed aside the duffle bag he had used for a pillow, and sat directly on the mound of dirt, wishing for a cup of hot tea.
After a few minutes, he heard a creaking sound from the front door. Jumping up, Taiwo turned the corner of the house to see his brother. Taiwo felt heat rise in his chest and face from the wrath in his mind. Without acknowledging the new day, he confronted Kenny.
“I’m not going to ask politely this time. As your older brother, I have every right to your possessions. By law. Hand me your passport.”
“Don’t get this way, Taiwo,” Kenny said, placing his arm over his chest in a reflexive effort to protect himself. “I’ve offered to help you get what you need. I’m willing to take a day off work and go with you to apply for a visa. But my passport—that I’m not giving you.”
Taiwo’s right fist connected with Kenny’s jaw in an uppercut swing. His left followed through with a powerful hook to the side of Kenny’s head. The younger twin wobbled and fell to the ground.
Taking advantage of Kenny’s momentary shock, Taiwo put a foot on his brother’s chest and reached over to extract the passport from his shirt pocket. Kenny, still groggy from the surprise attack, grabbed his brother’s arm. He pulled so hard he threw Taiwo off balance. Then he used his feet to trip his brother, dropping Taiwo to the hardened dirt with such brutal force the air was knocked from his lungs.
Kenny scrambled on top of his brother, but before he could subdue Taiwo, the angry twin ripped Kenny’s shirt open, reaching for the passport. Failing to get it, Taiwo clenched his arms and legs tightly around his brother. He thrust his own body and managed to roll Kenny onto his back again. Taiwo vaulted to his feet and kicked the younger twin in the head, pinning him to the dry, sunbaked dirt with his foot. Taiwo remembered the recoil rope he had tied around his waist. Untying it before Kenny could recover from the blow to his head, he wrapped it around Kenny’s neck and pulled it tight.
“Now are you going to give me what’s rightfully mine?” Taiwo growled in a menacing voice. He knew Kenny was processing his threat, realizing the seriousness of his situation.
Kenny grabbed onto the rope with both hands and pulled as hard as he could, trying to force his brother to the ground again. But Taiwo overpowered him, pushing his knee into Kenny’s chest.
The younger twin kicked, gaining enough momentum to turn over and stand. He dislodged the rope, letting it fall. Taiwo pelted his brother’s head with hard-knuckled fists. Kenny grabbed Taiwo by the arms and threw him to the ground. Kenny looked down at his brother, breathing heavily. The lull gave Taiwo time to recover. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the rope. Taiwo knew he had regained the upper hand. Throwing his twin face-up on the ground, Taiwo pressed a foot hard into Kenny’s chest again. Before Kenny could recover, Taiwo wrapped the rope around his brother’s throat.
“I’m taking your passport, even if I have to kill you.”
Kenny thrashed about, his arms free of restraint, yet unable to escape his brother’s grip.
Taiwo kept tightening the rope. No matter how hard Kenny struggled, Taiwo held on. The younger twin gasped for breath. The older one continued choking him.
When he felt in full control, Taiwo leveraged his legs and used his feet to turn Kenny over without letting up on the rope. With Kenny on his stomach, Taiwo put his foot on Kenny’s lower back and securely grasped the rope from this position. He pulled the rope tighter and tighter until his brother stopped fighting. Soon Kenny’s body went limp.
Taiwo wasted no time. He pulled on his brother’s lifeless arms to drag the body behind the house, the same spot where he’d made the makeshift bed for himself.
After retrieving the passport from Kenny’s shirt pocket, he searched his other pockets, taking his brother’s money and phone. He laid the corpse face down at the outer edge of the soft dirt he’d loosened the night before. He spat on the ground and glowered at the passport in his hand, placing it in his shirt pocket. The other items he slipped into the back pocket of his jeans. He would find a place to bury the phone once he got far enough away from the house.
Taiwo picked up his duffle bag and walked through the gate, closing it behind him without looking back.
Taiwo watched the muted light of dawn slowly brighten, like the universe turning up a dimmer switch. He stood in the long queue of day laborers, mostly women, waiting to cross the Beni Ensar gate into Melilla. The hour difference in time zones between Morocco and the Spanish city meant he had awakened around four in the morning Moroccan time, completed his dirty work, walked to the Beni Ensar border crossing, and arrived at the gate by six a.m. on the Spanish clock. Early, yet a crowd already surrounded the crossing
. He touched his shirt pocket to make sure the passport he had killed for remained there. Soon he would be on Spanish soil, unlike the desperate people pacing near the fence. He knew that some waited months, even years, to get across.
Ignoring the congestion, Taiwo had no desire to engage in casual conversation with laborers standing in line with him. Spitting to release tension, he couldn’t help noticing groups of men standing by the fence. They outnumbered the crowd in the queue. He avoided staring at two such groups. One, a gang of seven would-be refugees paced like vultures holding iron hooks in their hands. Another half-dozen tottered near the fence, scraping and dragging the soles of their boots on the concrete sidewalk, breaking the silence with ear-piercing grating sounds made by cleat-like metal nails the men had hammered through the soles. They waited for an opportunity to climb over a triple-barrier wall topped off with razor wire. Their anger was palpable.
Taiwo spat on the ground again, listening to the wind, recalling Kenny’s suggestion. To take actions like the men desperately waiting for a chance to get into Spain over the triple fence did not suit Taiwo’s impatient disposition. Or his client’s schedule. And taking a swim in the ocean appealed even less. His thoughts were interrupted by a distant whirring. It was a helicopter. He tapped the passport with his fingers once more.
The Spanish Civil Guard and police helicopter surveillance, aided by video camera monitors, mounted a thorough patrol to capture those who miraculously made it to the other side. Taiwo knew the patrol on the Spanish side broke down only when an overwhelming number of men managed to get across. In those instances, a few were allowed to remain in Melilla as political hostages. Their hope to gain access to the European mainland might never cease. The land used to belong to the caliphate. Under Spanish rule for centuries now, the current government in Madrid makes it more and more difficult for these refugees to enter the mainland. He spat on the ground yet again.