Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  The band started playing. Eduardo took his fiancée into his arms.

  “That’s Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March,’” she said, surprised.

  Eduardo twirled her around as he hummed the march. The band played a shortened version, and when it concluded, Nikki and Eduardo collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing. Eduardo found her lips and kissed her passionately.

  “That was beautiful,” Nikki said, catching her breath. “I guess a good jazz ensemble can play at a wedding. You arranged that, didn’t you?”

  “Of course,” Eduardo said, kissing her again.

  Nikki pulled slightly away and admired the space around her. “Such a gorgeous setting. Our personal story makes this a perfect venue for us. I feel like a princess.” She lifted her arms in a dancelike stance as she pirouetted around Eduardo.

  “You are my princess. My Star Wars princess,” Eduardo said. “We’ll return tomorrow to leave a deposit.”

  “And what about our castle?”

  “The entire rooftop is our castle,” Eduardo said. “The reason we’re getting married here.”

  They sat, barefoot, on a tiled step to listen to the concert. Nikki leaned her head onto Eduardo’s shoulder. As the concert ended, he retrieved their shoes and set them on the step below where Nikki sat.

  “My Cinderella, it’s time to put your glass slippers on.”

  The next morning, Eduardo and Nikki enjoyed an early breakfast buffet and cappuccino at the Majestic while they planned their wedding. They refilled their cappuccinos at least three times while they discussed their ideas. Then they set off for Casa Milà, hitting the street slightly past nine-thirty. They enjoyed walking in the bright sunlight on their way to their wedding venue. With a Casa Milà wedding coordinator they discussed catering, table arrangement, and space for the musicians. “Fadi Massú and I attended the university together. He’s a great guy,” the coordinator said. “When he called to ask that I help you, I told him you were so lucky. We had a cancellation for Saturday night. We had been completely booked.”

  “It works great for us. Fadi and my cousin are getting married the following Saturday,” Nikki said. “At Sagrada Família.”

  “Fadi mentioned it,” the planner said, then changed the subject. “What about flowers?”

  “My aunt is doing them.”

  “I forgot. Fadi told me. Said his future mother-in-law is quite the expert. How about monograms or a special phrase on the cocktail napkins?”

  “Special phrase?”

  “We can print something meaningful to both of you, a romantic saying, the place of your first kiss, or anything you’d like to share.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nikki said. “Like meeting on this rooftop as kids.”

  Later, sipping espresso at a small outdoor café in Parc Güell, Nikki chatted about their upcoming reception. Although other people were sitting at nearby tables, she was so engrossed in conversation with Eduardo, she felt she owned the world. “When we used the tickets Fadi gave us, it solidified my desire to marry on the rooftop.”

  Eduardo took her hand in his to admire the engagement ring he’d given her in Colombia. “You know we have to choose wedding bands.”

  “Tomorrow we can shop for them. Changing the subject,” Nikki said, “We never discussed Carmen’s dinner party. “Did you enjoy it?” She searched Eduardo’s eyes. “More specifically, what did you think of Paula?”

  “She’s sure defensive of Arabs and Muslims.”

  “Her father was Lebanese. Paula was very close to him.” Nikki took the last sip of espresso and put the cup down.

  “I meant the tension between Paula and Carmen.”

  “You noticed?” Nikki asked. “Though Carmen seems to genuinely like Fadi.”

  “Fadi is great,” Eduardo said. “It’s the tension between mother and daughter that caught my attention.”

  “And Fadi is caught in the middle.”

  “Or Paula is influenced by the immigrants she’s working with,” Eduardo said.

  “That’s what Carmen is concerned about. But maybe Paula is simply nervous about her wedding.”

  “Wedding jitters? I hope you don’t get feisty like that with me,” Eduardo said as he took the last sip of his coffee and opened the brochure the ticket office had given him showing a map of the buildings, pathways, and other points of interest in the Gaudí-designed park.

  “The dancer at Tablao Flamenco afterward was beyond phenomenal,” Nikki said. “And she was striking. I loved the dance where she used a fan.”

  “Beautiful, indeed,” Eduardo said, sliding the brochure toward Nikki. “Sultry and exotic. Now help me decide which route to take within the park.”

  They opted for the route recommended in the pamphlet. Encountering an outdoor staircase with a whimsical dragon, Nikki laughed with delight. “Look how perfect he is. Every city should count a genius among its architects. One who thinks creatively in such fun and frivolous ways.”

  “Stand next to the dragon so I can snap your picture.” Eduardo no sooner asked Nikki to stand by the dragon than she moved through various poses, making faces, leaning on the dragon, kissing the dragon’s snout, and backing away with her arms stretched out looking terrified. As Eduardo moved in to take a close-up, Nikki held her hand out to block the camera.

  “That’s enough, paparazzo—I need to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you right here.”

  Nikki entered the restroom. A paper taped to the first cubicle door stated Out of Service in childlike block letters. She chose the second stall instead. When she stepped out and started toward the wash basin, the door to the first stall swung open. Nikki turned and was shocked to see a man with a stocking over his face. Almost simultaneously, two women walked in from the park. The man dashed for the exit. The women screamed. As he rushed past them, he pushed one out of his path, nearly knocking her over.

  Nikki took a couple of seconds to react before sprinting after him, yelling for Eduardo’s help. She pointed to the runner. “Grab him.”

  Holding the camera hanging around his neck with one hand, Eduardo raced after the escaping man. But the young, athletic guy ran through the gates into the street and jumped in a waiting taxi. Nikki and Eduardo tried to glimpse the license plates or cab number, but the taxi disappeared around a corner. Still, they ran to the intersection, hoping to find it caught in traffic. When they reached the corner, only three cars occupied the street. The taxi was long gone.

  Eduardo put his arm around Nikki’s shoulder. She turned to face him.

  “After my experience in Tayrona, I don’t like isolated bathrooms.”

  “But this one is hardly secluded,” he said. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Just a nasty surprise.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  Nikki was visibly upset as she explained about the handwritten notice and the man who had scared her and run away when two women entered.

  Eduardo took Nikki into his arms.

  “It was so reminiscent of what happened in Colombia,” she said, “that’s what scared me. I turned and saw a guy standing there.”

  “Most of the bathrooms here are unisex. Do you think he went in thinking it was unisex?” Eduardo asked, still holding Nikki in his arms.

  “Didn’t you see he had a stocking over his face?”

  “No, I did not,” Eduardo said. “That means he was waiting to assault someone.”

  “His intentions could not have been good. When two women came in as he stepped out of the cubicle, he split.”

  “Nikki, do you think he was there waiting for you?” Eduardo asked. His voice reflected concern.

  “Either me specifically, or some other unlucky woman. He planned to hurt someone.”

  “Who’d even know we’re here? Who in Barcelona would want to hurt you?” Eduardo asked. “This is a threat.”

  “I’m a little spooked is all,” she said. Nikki remembered when she had been at risk in Colombia and later in Mexico. But those situations had been work-related,
and here she was on vacation. “Maybe he’s just a voyeur.”

  “With unisex bathrooms all over this city, wouldn’t it be easier to be a voyeur in one that’s unisex?” Eduardo asked. He studied the sign over the door clearly indicating a ladies’ room.

  “Maybe he was trying to steal a handbag.”

  “Could be, but coincidences don’t happen. That’s the second incident since we arrived,” Eduardo said.

  “Second incident?” Nikki asked.

  “Skullcap,” Eduardo said. “The one who may have taken photos of us.”

  Nikki nodded.

  Before leaving the area, they searched the bathroom but found nothing out of the ordinary and decided to forget about it and see the park.

  Nikki stepped out of her shoes as soon as they left the restroom. “After chasing that guy, my feet deserve a barefoot walk through the park.”

  “Barefoot? Here? Surely your joking, my princess.”

  “Can’t I roam barefoot in Barcelona?” Nikki asked. She smiled seductively at Eduardo and added. “One less item of clothing to take off.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Barcelona—El Raval District

  Tuesday Early Morning of First Week

  The landlord of the small mosque, Taiwo learned in conversation over breakfast with the imam, was a Barcelona-born Muslim who belonged to the congregation of the much larger Islamic Center four blocks away.

  “My landlord turns a deaf ear to complaints about activities at our place of worship,” the imam said, laughing. “He’s told me the Catalonia antiterrorist police suspect my alleyway mosque to be radicalized. They keep me on their radar. But they have no proof of wrongdoing, so all they can do is watch.”

  The imam’s wife approached with second servings of khatchauri. The savory pastry filled with cheese was her husband’s favorite breakfast item. She returned once more to refill their teacups.

  Taiwo mentioned to the imam that before going to sleep the night before, he had researched the area on his mobile phone. He needed to familiarize himself with the part of town he was in and verify the location of several Barcelona landmarks. He pulled out handwritten notes about buildings and other landmarks that might help him navigate the city.

  Taiwo had checked the metro lines and discovered, by studying the online maps, that he was within walking distance of the Ramblas and the historic Gothic Quarter, described online as vibrant areas of the city.

  “Is it true Barri Gòtic still stands today because the Moors captured it in the eighth century without resistance?” Taiwo asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a few restored remnants of ancient city walls come from that era. Mostly it contains museums and famous landmarks,” the cleric said. “Not too far away, El Born contains what the nonbelievers consider priceless treasures, such as the Picasso Museum.”

  “Tell me more about this neighborhood,” Taiwo said.

  “El Raval,” the cleric said, “is known for its many bars, both high-end and low-end. And prostitution. It has a mixed reputation. Slowly, it’s changing. Over the last few years, former cabarets have been remodeled into cultural and educational spaces. Bringing tourists in. Our own people visit the Museum of Contemporary Art.”

  Taiwo gulped the last of the mint tea the imam’s wife had prepared.

  “Breakfast was good. Shukran jazilan,” Taiwo said as he stood. “Thank you.” He took a baseball cap he had laid on the table and put it on his head.

  “Ahlan wa sahlan,” the cleric responded. “You are welcome.”

  “Before I leave, may I borrow your computer and printer?” the Nigerian asked.

  The imam took him to the computer. After bringing a map up, Taiwo printed it, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt pocket, which already held a ballpoint pen.

  Taiwo felt good as he left the mosque. The research he had done plus the information the imam had given him had helped him plan his schedule. He would visit the sites where his job would take him, try to locate his target and her companion, and learn the metro lines.

  By late afternoon that day Taiwo had caught the metro back to Universitat station. From there to his borrowed quarters was a relatively short walk. In less than a full day, he had managed to navigate within the city to all the places he would need to be. Plus, he had identified the woman he was supposed to eliminate. He’d followed her and her companion to that park and had seen them up close. His planning for both jobs was progressing and he was feeling confident his execution would be faultless.

  Tomorrow, his work would take him across the street from the iconic Catholic church, the Basilica of the Sagrada Família, one of the most popular tourist attractions in Spain. It brought in over four and a half million visitors a year. Also known as the only church under continuous construction for more than a hundred years, it was not nearly as big as the Hassan II Mosque Taiwo had visited in Casablanca nor as beautiful as the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, but Sagrada Família packed in the tourists.

  That is the difference, he thought with disdain, mosques attract worshippers, Sagrada Família attracts tourists.

  Tomorrow he would start the new job. Right now he was hungry. As he walked in El Raval, he saw many halal restaurants. He stopped at Habibi, a small one advertising Moroccan food, and ordered lamb and rice to go. When he pulled a roll of money from his pocket to pay for the purchase, a nylon stocking fell to the floor.

  A busboy clearing tables eyed the stocking with suspicion as Taiwo left it where it had fallen. The boy took a soiled napkin and picked it up, throwing it in the trash.

  Taiwo arrived early the following morning for his temporary job. The assignment provided a cover for him. It consisted of selling selfie sticks and Sagrada Família souvenirs to the infidels on the west side of the famous basilica. The vendors were allowed to set up on the sidewalk in the park on Sardenya, across from the basilica. It was the only street surrounding the church that was open to vehicular traffic.

  The large Passion portico, a huge structure supported by six mammoth-sized columns, rose above an entrance that remained temporarily closed. This west entrance as well as the east side Nativity portico built to greet the sun every morning in celebration of the birth of Christ would form grand entrances after the completion of the third one, the Glory façade on the south side. Construction had only recently begun on the south entrance. From the time of Gaudí’s earliest drawings, the Glory façade had always been intended to be the grandest of the three.

  Most tourists who walk on Sardenya or snap pictures of the basilica’s west side never notice a discreet entrance leading to the parishioner church, tucked away in the underground crypt. The Passion portico juts out from the basilica toward the street further minimizing the parishioner doorway made of carved stone. Set apart from the street with a good-sized courtyard enclosed by a decorative wrought iron fence, the parishioner church entrance is totally inconspicuous. For keen observers, two guards stationed inside the narrow gate of the wrought iron fence provide a clue for entry to the parishioner church, also called the crypt church.

  The cleric from Tarragona had prearranged Taiwo’s cover with a young Pakistani who already held a permit to sell his goods in the west park. Street vendors, allowed exclusively on that side of Sagrada Família, consisted mostly of Muslim immigrants from various countries who set up portable tables every morning on the wide sidewalk to display their wares. The goods offered were similar from one vendor to the next, and tourists tended to purchase from the person who struck their fancy.

  A slow morning for sales, a few vendors talked among themselves. One was eating his breakfast as he carried on a loud conversation in Arabic with two other sellers, each holding tea mugs refilled periodically from thermoses. Still other vendors wearing expressions of tedium watched silently as tourists overflowed from the basilica to a small courtyard under the Passion portico. This tight courtyard, fenced in by tall iron stakes, allowed visitors to get a close glimpse of the giant, austere apostles sculptured in raw marble. The fence arou
nd this smaller courtyard also eliminated tourist access from the street to the west entrance into the basilica.

  The hordes of tourists seemed more engaged in viewing Gaudí’s representation of nature inside the basilica’s well-illuminated interior than in spilling over to buy goods from the park’s vendors.

  Taiwo found his idle time useful. He pulled the map he had printed at the mosque the day before and took the pen from his pocket. After adjusting his baseball cap low over his face, he walked the perimeter of the church. Covering the entire city block surrounding the basilica, he stopped periodically to make notes. He also mentally compared written notations he had recorded the day before. From time to time he stopped to search for video surveillance cameras or closed-circuit television. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand whenever he looked up, leaving only his eyes uncovered. He moved to areas he considered lacking surveillance whenever he needed to mark his map with an X to reflect the locations of cameras. For almost three hours, he worked the perimeter and grounds of the basilica. He examined the side streets for cameras. He noticed tourists were funneled through the east entrance, dedicated to handling crowds. As he walked the east side he noticed how security managed throngs of people more efficiently by permanently banning vehicular traffic, leaving the street between the church and the park for tourists and whatever security forces, whether uniformed or plainclothes, monitored the area. The park on the east side, Gaudí Park, took up a complete city block, as did the stone façade and sandstone towers of the basilica. The complex dwarfed the apartment and office buildings in the area. Gaudí Park contained a lake and large shade trees. By contrast, the park on the west side, Park of the Sagrada Família, where vendors set up their tables, was half the size and not as well groomed as its counterpart on the east.