by Kathryn Lane
A man in a skiff met them in the cove near the catamaran. The captain kissed the newcomer on both sides of his face. Taiwo and Hassan gave the usual greeting in Arabic with their hands over their hearts, to which they received the expected response. The smaller boat had wooden boxes in various sizes and shapes—some long, some rectangular, and a few square ones. The captain organized Taiwo, Hassan, and the newcomer as they moved the cargo from the skiff to his catamaran. Overseeing the transfer of boxes, the hajji took great care to fit part of the load in his small sleeping quarters below deck. The rest of the cargo was placed in the forward holds meant to store and refrigerate fresh fish. On top of these boxes, the captain laid ice the newcomer had brought with him. Over the ice went fresh fish that the newcomer had also brought.
“Insha Allah, God willing you will have a successful mission,” the captain said, nodding at Hassan and Taiwo as he started the engines.
The captain departed. Taiwo and Hassan joined the newcomer on his skiff. Without the load to steady it, the vessel wobbled as the men jumped aboard. The skiff hugged the coast until they came to the town of San Antonio, where the newcomer moored it at a small wharf. The three of them walked to the bus station and boarded a bus to Vila.
Chapter Twelve
L’Hospitalet de Llobregat, Spain
Monday Early Morning
Rafael González, an agent with the tactical unit of the Spanish National Police Corps, Grupo Especial de Operaciones—better known by its acronym, GEO—sat with his wife Lola in the breakfast nook of their condo in L’Hospitalet de Llobregat. A municipality to the immediate southwest of Barcelona, L’Hospitalet was Rafael’s hometown. Often considered a depressed suburb, it was Catalonia’s second most populous city. Yet Rafael and his wife found the more tranquil lifestyle in L’Hospitalet more to their liking than the hustle and bustle of Barcelona. Lola also appreciated the town’s diverse population. Their condo was situated high on a hill away from the busier area along the coastline. Its location about forty minutes from Barcelona gave Rafael easy access by metro to his office.
After learning of Kenny’s murder the night before, neither Rafael nor Lola had slept well. Now they sat in their kitchen reminiscing about how they met. Rafael had served as an antiterrorist agent on the border patrol detail in Melilla, North Africa’s Spanish enclave. Lola, a Christian Yoruba woman, had made his pursuit of her into a ritual. And he liked to savor those memories.
Rafael recalled watching her graceful figure cross the gate into the Spanish city every morning. For months he had waited every evening to watch her return to Beni Ensar. Finally finding the courage to introduce himself, he discovered the svelte woman with the creamy brown skin had a tenacious resolve to protect her independence.
“I remember the day I asked if you were single or married,” Rafael said.
“And you looked scared to hear the answer,” Lola said. “I was not going to mess around and ruin my life. No matter how handsome and nice you were, Rafa.” Now they were the proud parents of twins.
Rafael knew that her search for better work had prompted her to leave her native Nigeria for Beni Ensar. Being one of the few lucky women who had found regular employment as a cook for a Spanish family in Melilla, she was not about to jeopardize her position. He had understood.
“When I proposed, you still insisted we get to know each other before making promises,” Rafael recalled.
They continued to reminisce. When Lola’s cousin Olani, living in Nigeria, had married Kenny, Lola suggested they look for work in Melilla. It was the same year Lola had given birth to twins. Having her cousin move to neighboring Beni Ensar had meant a lot to her. Then Rafael received a big promotion as an antiterrorist operative with the GEO office in Barcelona, which brought them to L’Hospitalet two years ago.
“Kenny was a good man,” Rafael said.
The mention of Kenny’s name brought tears to Lola’s eyes.
“Yes, he was,” Lola said, wiping her tears. “So hard to believe he’s gone.”
Rafael had taken an immediate liking to his wife’s relatives. He had helped Kenny get a Spanish work visa and a visitor visa for Olani so she could visit Lola and help with the twins. That was before Dayo was born.
“I regret not using my influence to speed up the process on their immigration,” he said sadly “Kenny would still be alive.”
“You can’t say that,” Lola said. “You both did the right thing. Kenny wanted the normal process, not to use his wife’s relatives to intervene.”
Rafael reached across the table and patted his wife’s hand. “Yet we are the sponsors of their petitions.”
Lola sighed. “We cannot live the rest of our lives regretting Kenny’s wishes to let the legal process run its course.”
Rafael knew his wife would be happier with Olani around. After she arrived, he’d do what he could to speed up her immigration. She could even live in L’Hospitalet. It’d be good for both of them, he thought. Despite the tragic circumstances, he knew Lola looked forward to welcoming Olani into their home. They had not seen her since leaving Melilla two years earlier.
His wife rose to start coffee. Her movements in the kitchen brought him back to the present.
As a GEO agent, Rafael had encountered many horrific events in his work, but this one hit too close. He still could not absorb Kenny’s senseless death at the hand of his own brother. His mind drifted to the future, specifically how he and Lola could help her cousin. They would not know what or how much they could do until Olani was here.
Rafael took the covered mug of coffee his wife handed him. He kissed her and left the condominium.
As he drove his Renault Clio to the Barcelona airport, Rafael wondered about Olani’s emotional state. Would the widow have used her time while traveling to sort through the details of the tragedy? And would she have a plan for her future? He admired the woman who had boarded a plane in Melilla to fly to Barcelona by herself so soon after her husband’s murder.
When he found her at the luggage retrieval area, Olani dissolved into a flood of tears in his arms. On the return drive to the condo, she did not stop crying. Rafael drove in silence, not knowing how to comfort her.
Upon seeing her cousin, Olani fell into Lola’s arms, convulsing with sobs. Lola embraced her cousin. After some time, Olani managed to compose herself.
Darkness hung in the room like a brooding storm. Rafael sat at the round table in the breakfast nook with Olani, thinking about the questions he wanted to ask. Lola placed coffee cups and a plate of chocolate-filled croissants she had made a day earlier on the table. Rafael seized the opportunity to inquire about Kenny’s murder.
“Taiwo is up to no good. That man killed his brother to steal his passport,” Olani said. “He’s involved in a terrorist plot that will take place in Barcelona. I overheard him say he had a job in Barcelona—the reason he wanted Kenny’s passport. He wanted it so desperately he killed his own brother.”
“You know that as an officer in the Catalonia National Police Corps, I’ll be able to report the murder and his motive. That should suffice for placing him on a watch list.”
“Rafa,” Lola said in an endearing tone of voice as she shook her head. “Watch lists never work. Can’t you track his movement within the country?”
“If he uses Kenny’s passport, we can track him. By any chance, do you have Kenny’s passport number?” Rafael asked.
“I do,” Olani said. She rummaged through her purse, handing the results of her search to Rafael. “Kenny’s passport number, a photo of my husband, and an old photo of Taiwo. Taiwo looks so much like Kenny. Even the beards are similar. Can you make copies for me?”
Rafael nodded. “This helps a lot. At the agency, we have a few other methods I can use, but I can’t really inform you about his movements.”
“Unless Olani is in danger,” Lola said.
“Under those circumstances, yes. I will do everything I can to track him,” Rafael said.
“A Moroccan polic
e officer came to my house the day we buried Kenny. He took all the details and I asked him to inform Spanish security forces of a possible terrorist. I gave him all the information on the passport.”
“He should have entered the stolen passport into the international criminal database,” Rafael said. “I’ll be able to check if he input it on Interpol. If he did, that will flag the passport and anyone using it will be apprehended.”
“I hope he followed up,” Olani said.
“I’ll check if Taiwo is wanted in other countries. Unfortunately, killing his brother in Morocco does not make him a wanted criminal in Spain until Morocco asks for extradition.”
Rafael got up to leave for work when the doorbell chimed.
A stunning woman, their neighbor Selena, leaned against the door frame. She wore a blue low-cut blouse with flared sleeves and a skin-tight, calf-length skirt. High heels made her appear even taller than she might have been. Her long, curly black hair was loosely gathered in the back with several strands falling over her face giving her a savage, wild appearance.
“May I come in?” she asked in a husky voice.
Rafael bowed slightly as he made a sweeping motion with his arm into the middle of the room.
Lola stood and hugged Selena. She introduced Olani, who got up to greet the visitor.
Rafael smiled for the first time all morning and shook his head as he glanced at the three women. They shared similar qualities—tall, lithe bodies, high cheekbones, large black eyes, long, curly dark hair, and creamy brown skin.
“I can’t believe it,” he said.
“What’s that?” Lola asked.
“You three could be sisters,” Rafael said, shaking his head. His smile grew.
Lola and the visitor laughed.
Rafael grabbed a lightweight jacket as he headed down the hall to call the four-year-old twins to drop them off at their kindergarten and day care. Quiet until now, the twins burst into the room like firecrackers. They hugged their mother. She instructed them to say goodbye to the two visitors.
“I’ll see you in the afternoon. Call me at the office if you need anything,” Rafael said, ushering the twins out the door in front of him.
After Rafael and the children left, Olani found herself crying again in her cousin Lola’s arms. Then she straightened up.
“Is Rafa okay with my desire to get justice?”
“Absolutely. If he were not in agreement, he would tell you. As a detective, he does have rules to follow, but I’ll make sure I get as much info from Rafa as I can,” Lola said. “You should—”
“You’ve lost your husband in a tragic accident,” Selena said, interrupting. “I’m sorry you are suffering. Maybe I can help.”
“I’ve lost him. And it’s tragic, but it was no accident. Premeditated murder.” Olani felt tears slide down her cheek. With the back of her hand, she wiped them. “How did you know?”
“I’m Roma,” Selena said. “What many call Gypsy. We have a knack for recognizing the torments afflicting other people. I’m attuned to your suffering. I lost my own husband seven months ago. When you feel ready, I might be able to help.”
“I need help right now,” Olani said, sniffling again. Any avenue that could help her stop Taiwo would be welcome. “Can you tell fortunes?”
“Duikkerin?” Selena raised an eyebrow. “Fortune telling is in my blood. Even though some say I’m not a Romanipen.” A strand of curly hair fell across her eyes, and she flicked it away.
“Not a Romanipen?” Olani looked confused.
“Not a real Rom. My fellow Romani think I’ve slipped away from our traditional way of life.”
“It doesn’t deter from her duikkerin capabilities,” Lola was quick to explain. “But the Rom don’t like the police and they normally don’t befriend police either. They have their own way of regulating their communities and enforcing their laws. Yet Selena is our friend despite Rafa being a detective.”
“Let me see your palm,” Selena said. The fortune teller studied Olani’s right hand, turning it over, looking at each finger and her wrist. Then she took Olani’s left hand and examined it in the same close manner. After her evaluation, she patted Olani’s forearm. “This is interesting. Very interesting.”
“What do you see?” Olani asked.
“You’re determined to find the man who killed your husband.”
“That’s true. If I don’t, the police in Morocco will probably do nothing. And Rafa said if Morocco does not ask for Taiwo’s extradition for killing his brother, he can hide out in Spain with impunity.”
“You will find justice, but only after more challenges and afflictions.”
Olani took a deep breath. “As long as I get justice, I’ll be satisfied.”
“I see that you have a child. A girl. You need to take care of yourself to be there for her as she grows up. Eventually you will remarry. Several years from now. He will be a good man. Like the one you lost.”
The women sat, talking and sipping coffee for hours. When Selena asked to hear more details surrounding Kenny’s death, Olani cried again. Selena and Lola cried with her.
Midday gave way to early afternoon and the women offered Olani encouragement in overcoming her present suffering and suggestions for bringing justice to honor Kenny’s memory. At two in the afternoon, Lola fixed a light lunch of leftovers she pulled from her refrigerator—Spanish tortilla, Manchego cheese, chorizo, and homemade bread rolls. Finished with the early afternoon meal, Lola brewed fresh espresso and served it with Scarlett Royal grapes for dessert.
Selena looked pensive as she bit into a grape, cutting it in half with her teeth. “The closer you are to that malicious man, the easier it will be to find him. You said he’s planning something in Barcelona. My work keeps me in the city at least five days a week, so I keep an apartment there. Come stay with me. We can locate that worthless bastard easier in the city through informal channels.”
“I like the idea,” Olani said with a forcefulness that surprised her. She stopped to think and turned toward Lola. “But what will Rafa say?”
“He’ll worry,” Lola said. “And he may not agree with your decision, but he will respect it.”
“Police officers have legal constraints that can waste time–time that criminals, even the ones on watch lists, can use to commit further atrocities,” Selena said.
“It won’t hurt to get information on Taiwo’s whereabouts through informal channels. Just be careful. Both of you,” Lola said, getting up to give Olani a reassuring hug. “And Rafa and I want you to know you and Dayo have a home with us.”
Chapter Thirteen
Vila d’Eivissa, Ibiza
Monday Midday of First Week
Vila d’Eivissa, known on the island simply as Vila, is built on a hill jutting up out of the sea. The hill is crowned with the cathedral, Santa María d’Eivissa. Whitewashed houses of the old town sparkle in the sunlight, rising from sea level to the cathedral, like parishioners kneeling as they make their way up the hill to approach the seat of power.
Ibiza was surrounded by a calm sea on the morning Taiwo, Hassan, and the newcomer entered Vila through the main gate of Portal de Ses Taules. They stepped right into the main square as they got off the bus.
Taiwo did not stop to contemplate their surroundings. He followed the newcomer who led him and Hassan up the winding, cobblestone street to an open space near high ramparts. The newcomer stopped and leaned against the historic cannon on display. He pulled his mobile phone out and made a quick call.
As they paused, Taiwo wondered how Olani had reacted to Kenny’s death. Spanish authorities in Melilla might investigate, but he’d killed before. Many times. He was a professional and had never been caught.
The newcomer spoke. “Our supplier said to bring you up. He has a request to make of you.”
“Supplier?” Taiwo asked.
“Supplier of services, guns, whatever customers need.”
The men continued walking up the labyrinth of narrow streets
until they arrived at a small open plaza. The newcomer made another phone call. After he hung up, the newcomer took the men to a table at a small outdoor café on the edge of the plaza with a view of the harbor.
Instead of looking toward the harbor, Taiwo sat facing the cobblestone street. He stared at a staircase built between two white buildings. The passageway obviously connected to the next parallel street up the hillside. A tall, robust man walking down the steps was the object of Taiwo’s attention. The man wore a traditional Muslim skullcap but otherwise was immaculately dressed in Western attire. Distinctive in appearance, he reflected restrained grace and strength of character. Yet the most interesting aspect of the personage was not his serene and commanding presence. Instead, it was a thick, one-sided leather vest worn over his left shoulder. A hooded falcon tethered to a vest, in the right country, would thrust him into a position of stature. Taiwo felt a sudden impulse to stand up and bow, as if he were in the presence of a member of the royal family of Saudi Arabia.
Taiwo wondered if this was the same man he had seen standing atop the cliff when the captain had landed at the cove the day before. More than one falconer could live on Ibiza, but the robust figure seemed similar to the one he had seen at a distance.
A younger man walked down the stairway at a fast pace and passed the falconer. The younger one continued toward the newcomer’s table. The distinguished gentleman turned to the right when he hit the street level and disappeared into a shop opposite the café where they sat.
Taiwo knew instinctively that the dark-skinned young man who had just joined them could not be the supplier. He must be an intermediary. The supplier would want to remain anonymous. Upon hearing the young man speak Arabic, Taiwo tried to pinpoint the accent. Although he spoke five languages, he was not fluent enough in Arabic to discern the origin of the accent.