by Kathryn Lane
“I did not know,” Nikki said, stuttering.
“Of the family, only Fadi knows.”
“If you have converted to Islam,” Nikki asked, “why are you getting married in the Catholic church?”
“For mother. She would be devastated if I didn’t. And in memory of my father. He would want me to marry in the Christian tradition.”
“You should not do this if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Paula said. “I’m just nervous.”
“Okay,” Nikki said as she continued to digest the news. She picked up the gown from the floor. “But you won’t have a Christian ceremony if you don’t hurry and get dressed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barcelona—Sagrada Família
Saturday Midmorning
Arriving three minutes before the wedding was scheduled to commence, the bride and her party, including Floyd and Milena, cleared the minimal security check at the entrance to the parish church courtyard. Most of the guests were already inside, with only three tourists milling around the small courtyard. Paula’s uncle Carlos Azar, her late father’s brother, waited in the courtyard next to Jamila Massú. Carlos was dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo accented by a cummerbund with a paisley design in red and midnight blue. He might have just popped out of the pages of Vogue. He looked like the perfect escort for a bride. Paula approached them, kissing Jamila and then turning to her uncle, kissing him on both sides of his face and latching her hand through his arm. Jamila turned to Eduardo, spoke briefly with him, and stepped closer to Paula and fussed with her veil.
Together Paula and her uncle led the family toward the carved stone arch of the crypt church.
“I hope security is not this lax throughout Sagrada Família,” Floyd whispered to Nikki. “They must have cameras somewhere, but I can’t see any.”
Eduardo and Nikki searched the walls of the basilica for outdoor cameras but saw none. “Maybe inside those windows. Surely, they record videos of outdoor activity,” Eduardo said. “Perhaps cameras are hidden among the figures and vegetation on the façades.”
“Let’s hope so,” Nikki said.
“I did see closed-circuit television out on the streets,” Floyd said.
The wedding party disappeared through the passageway with stairs leading into the crypt church. From the dimly lit arched stairwell, they proceeded to the landing, which ended across the hall from a large archway where the altar was visible. A barricade obstructed the floor under the archway to prevent parishioners from entering the sanctuary. The wedding party followed the bride and her uncle, who turned left into the hallway. They walked the circular hall to the apex at the rear of the church, the intended entrance for worshippers.
As they stopped in front of the main arch, a waiting priest approached them and pulled Carmen, Carlos, and Paula aside to coordinate last-minute details. Paula wiped tiny beads of perspiration from her forehead.
Milena glanced toward the altar. “The flowers are nice,” she whispered to Nikki. “But not nearly as lovely as the ones for your wedding.”
Nikki gazed down the aisle and saw the display of red roses and white lilies with palm fronds set in pots on metal stands lining the center aisle. A profusion of white and red flowers was arranged on the altar against the greenery of the palm leaves.
“Beautiful, yes, but not as splendid as my aunt could have done.”
“I’ve never seen palms used for weddings before,” Milena said.
“Most likely an Arabic tradition,” Nikki said. “Like the roses.”
An usher led them down the aisle. He seated Floyd and Milena first, in a row midway to the altar. Nikki and Eduardo were seated in the second pew, where Paula’s other Spanish relatives congregated. Carmen and Mrs. Massú were seated on the front row. Fadi stood by the altar. He kept looking around. No sooner were the two mothers seated than the organ music started.
Nikki held her breath as her cousin proceeded slowly down the aisle. Paula had asked her father’s brother to walk her to the altar. Nikki hardly knew her cousin, yet she felt emotional as she watched her walking to “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,” a composition by Handel. She thought it an unusual selection the couple made for their Catholic ceremony. Experiencing mixed feelings, Nikki couldn’t help but think how Carmen’s sentiments might play out once she discovered her daughter had married at Sagrada Família as a conciliatory attempt to keep peace with her mother. Would Carmen be understanding of her daughter’s conversion to Islam? Nikki wondered. I think Carmen will accept it just fine if she knows it was Paula’s true desire to convert. That she was not pressured into it.
“Do you see Fadi’s father?” Eduardo asked as he leaned toward Nikki and whispered in her ear.
The question made Nikki glance at the guests near them. Not seeing Mr. Massú, she turned to look back at the altar where Fadi waited for his bride. His mother had moved close behind him between the altar and the first pew. Mrs. Massú frowned and seemed to be searching for someone, most likely her husband, among the people gathered.
“Oh my god,” Nikki said. “He’s not here.”
“They’ve started the service without him. Mrs. Massú told me her husband was running late. She asked me to make sure he found the entrance to the crypt,” Eduardo said.
“They should have waited for him. Didn’t Paula know?” Nikki rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“I’ll go look for him,” Eduardo said.
“No, let me go,” Nikki whispered as she placed her hand on his arm and held him back. “After I find Mr. Massú, I’ll ask one of the ushers to direct him to the altar. Then I’ll visit the restroom. Too much coffee this morning.”
Nikki left the pew before Eduardo could react. She hoped guests would be watching the bride and not notice her. She slipped into the hallway and toward the stairs with determined steps. How could a man be late for his own son’s wedding? What could possibly be so important he couldn’t arrive on time? Since she had only met Mr. Massú briefly at her own wedding reception, Nikki hoped she would recognize him. She put on her sunglasses upon emerging from the crypt into bright sunlight. Searching the immediate courtyard, she only saw a lone beggar, a girl about fifteen, leaning against a pillar buttressed against the main church.
Una gitana. Poor girl. Nikki opened her purse and walked a few steps out of her way to hand over five euros.
“Que Dios la bendiga,” the teenager said in a soft voice as she glanced at Nikki. “May God bless you.”
What a shame the girl must beg. Nikki hurried on toward the two apathetic security guards who had checked her handbag earlier.
She told the men she had to look for a lost guest and would return shortly. One of them nodded. On the street, Nikki looked up and down for Mr. Massú, to no avail. She crossed into the park and was immediately the object of hard-sell tactics from a tall, lanky man. She thanked him and rushed past, then doubled back toward the café where she, Carmen, and Eduardo had eaten dinner the night before. She scanned the parked cars along Carrer de Sardenya for a gray Ferrari, the one she had seen among her wedding photos. She proceeded the full block but did not see the sports car. Deciding to give Massú a few more minutes, she went into the café to use the restroom.
Inside the parish church, Eduardo grew increasingly uneasy as mass started and Nikki had not returned. From where he stood in the pews near the altar, he could see through the archway to the marble stairs leading to the parish courtyard on the street level. Anxious to see Nikki return soon with Mr. Massú in tow, he glanced toward the stairway every ten or fifteen seconds.
Blood drained from Eduardo’s head and his stomach tightened when he saw a bearded man leaning against the wall at the midpoint of the stairs. He knew that face. Yes, that face had been on the train to Burgos. On the train, the man had worn a conductor’s hat. Here he wore a baseball cap, but it was the same face.
Turning to avoid being recognized by the man on the stairs, Eduardo eased out of his pew, hoping to escape the
bearded man’s attention. He quickened his pace when he was out of the line of sight from the stairwell. Still out of view, he crossed to the far side of the circular hallway and followed it to the staircase.
At the bottom of the steps, Eduardo looked up and glowered at the bearded one standing more than halfway up the staircase. They stared at each other for a split second.
The man turned and started running up the final few steps toward the street level. Eduardo followed, taking two stairs at a time. Emerging from the basilica, he saw the suspicious character running through the exit to the street. Beyond the exit, the man stopped momentarily to check if he was still being followed. He took his cell phone out of a pocket and started running again, holding the phone in his hand. The security guards posted at the gate chatted as Eduardo sprinted past them. The bearded man had put more distance between them. Eduardo kept running, and the guy stopped to look back. Then he pointed his phone at Eduardo.
Nikki stood in front of the café scanning the street, not knowing where else to search for Mr. Massú. With no way to contact Fadi’s father by phone, she turned back toward the church. She did not want to miss too much of the wedding ceremony.
An explosion came from the direction of the basilica. Nikki’s heart skipped. She stared down the street in disbelief. People emerged from cars and buildings, responding to the blast. They spread like ants abandoning an anthill.
An eerie, surreal silence spread over the street. When she heard noise again, it was her own heartbeat. People on the sidewalk rushed for cover into buildings or crouched between cars. Paralyzed for a split second, Nikki’s stomach plunged as the image of Eduardo as she’d last seen him flashed through her psyche. She raced toward the church. She thought of Carmen, Paula, and Fadi. Floyd and Milena, too. She had to get to them.
On the side street next to the park, Eduardo tackled the bearded man and brought him to the ground moments after the blast. As the man fell, his mobile phone tumbled out of his hand and bounced onto the asphalt out of reach. The man stretched, trying to grasp it, but it was too far out of range.
A car sped toward Eduardo. He jumped onto the sidewalk out of its way. The bearded man leaped up from the asphalt and scrambled. The oncoming car veered to avoid hitting him.
Eduardo, still running, grabbed hold of a tree in the park to help him stop. He lunged behind the tree for protection. As soon as the car had sped by, three police vehicles traveling in caravan style followed.
The bearded man ran in the opposite direction, away from the basilica, his phone left abandoned on the street.
At the intersection the car, which he now saw was a light blue Mazda 3, veered to the right, skidded, and smashed into a group of three policemen, striking two of them and knocking them to the ground like bowling pins. Police on the sidelines fired at the driver. Without stopping, the car swerved and picked up speed as it disappeared down Carrer de Sardenya.
Sirens sounded and lights flashed as two police vehicles parked near the basilica started their engines to chase the Mazda.
Leaving the security of the tree, Eduardo moved toward the street. He looked in both directions for the bearded man. There was no trace of him. Turning back to the basilica intending to report the man to the police, he noticed the officers had dispersed, taking positions around the basilica with their weapons drawn. People poured forth from the church, scattering into the street.
Eduardo stepped into the street to recover the abandoned phone before its owner could return. He picked it up using a handkerchief and held his breath. Surprised to find it intact, he turned it off. Consciously trying to avoid leaving his fingerprints, he wrapped it securely in the handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket. He took out his own phone and dialed Nikki.
“Where are you?” Eduardo was relieved to hear Nikki’s voice, though she sounded anxious.
Sirens’ piercing dissonance fell heavily on Eduardo’s ears, almost making him dizzy. “By the park. Where are you?” Eduardo yelled into his phone so Nikki could hear him over the din.
“In the courtyard. With Floyd. It’s a mess.”
Firetrucks and ambulances crammed the streets, edging into whatever space they could find. Eduardo ran toward the parish courtyard, passing between two parked ambulances. The drivers and first aid personnel were opening the rear doors and removing stretchers and trauma kits.
By now, police were setting up barricades at the intersection closest to the parish entrance when another speeding car, a small yellow Honda Beat, smashed through one side of the barricade. The car jumped the curb onto the sidewalk and charged ahead on the park’s concrete path, aiming for victims who had escaped the church. People dispersed at the sight of the oncoming car. Police shot at it. The flattening of the two rear tires slowed the Honda before it hit anyone. Then it halted.
A man jumped from the passenger side. He used the Honda for cover as he opened fire, with what sounded to Eduardo like a semiautomatic, on people running in every direction. In the chaos, people who had poured out of the basilica to find safety outside were running again, desperate to find shelter.
Eduardo joined emergency personnel who ducked behind an ambulance for cover from the shootout between police and the terrorists. He heard bullets zing overhead.
Eduardo’s stomach tightened. Fear gripped him. His palms were sweaty. He felt paralyzed for a few seconds. Two rounds hit the ambulance. Eduardo crouched closer to the tire, clinging to it as if it were a shield. He held his breath as more bullets pounded the ambulance. He knew that if the rounds penetrated both walls of the van, he and the others could be wounded or even killed. The heavy vehicle might not protect them from the terrorists in the park or even from a ricocheting police bullet. He swallowed hard.
As soon as the gunfire subsided, Eduardo peered around the tire toward the park. On either side of the Honda, a cluster of police stood, probably over the lifeless bodies of the terrorists. People littered the ground. He could not tell if they were dead or injured or protecting themselves. Then a few moved, some crawling to safety behind a tree or sculpture, and in a manner of seconds, others stood and sprinted toward the side streets. One man ran with a child in his arms.
Eduardo raced to the courtyard entrance. The very security guards who had been so derelict in their duties earlier now prevented him from entering. Floyd appeared.
“This man is a medical doctor. We need him to evaluate the injured. He can triage who needs to be taken to the hospital immediately.” Floyd spoke in English. Eduardo wondered if the guard would understand.
“No authority,” one of the guards said.
“Call the officer in charge,” Floyd shouted.
As both men waited with the guards, emergency personnel rushed past them carrying trauma kits and stretchers. Plainclothes security personnel placed orange traffic cones on the sidewalk and strung yellow crime scene tape around the gate and iron fence, cordoning off the patio and entrance to the parishioner church. Floyd yelled at the guard one more time to call the person responsible for security.
“He gave me this badge!” Floyd said, beating the laminated card clipped to his shirt. “Authority!” The guard muttered into a cell phone. Across the courtyard, Eduardo saw an officer with a cell phone wave at Floyd. The officer jogged over.
“Eduardo Duarte is related to the bride,” Floyd said as he placed his hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, “More importantly, he’s a medical doctor. He can help us. Authorize him to come in.”
The officer requested Eduardo’s identification. He looked over the passport and medical ID and took photos of them with his mobile phone before returning them. Handing Eduardo a badge identical to the one he’d given Floyd, he permitted the Colombian doctor to enter.
“Extra hands are useful today,” the officer said. “Thanks.”
As soon as Eduardo was in the courtyard, he grabbed Floyd’s arm to keep him from walking away.
“Without going into the full story now, I may have the cell phone for the guy who caused this.”
>
“A cell phone?” Floyd asked.
“The detonator.”
“The device that triggered the bomb?” Floyd asked, dumbfounded.
“To turn over to the police.”
“Nope, we’ll give it to Interpol.” Floyd said. “You have it on you? Where did you find it?”
“I chased him, and he dropped it.”
“You chased him? Chased who?” Floyd asked, shaking his head and sounding confused.
“I left the church service when I saw the guy,” Eduardo said.
“You left the church? Where was the guy?”
“On the stairs. I saw him through the side archway. I hustled after him. All the way to the street. He stopped and turned to look back. As he stood there, he did something with his phone. I’m not certain, but I think he used it like a remote control.”
Floyd shook his head. “How did you know he was a terrorist?
“I didn’t. Not at the time. What scared me is he’s after Nikki.”
“Shit, man, how could anyone be after Nikki?” Floyd asked.
“He pointed his cell at Sagrada Família instants before the detonation. At first, I thought he wanted to check to see if I was still on his tail. But in retrospect, I figure he stopped to cause the explosion.”
“I’m confused, Eduardo. Tell me why you think he’s after Nikki.”
“He was on the train. Wearing a uniform, so I dismissed him as an attendant.” Eduardo unconsciously wiped his sweaty hands, one at a time, down the sleeves of his jacket.
“What did the guy look like?” Floyd asked.
“Light-skinned African. With a bushy beard. Could even be Middle Eastern. No, I’ll take that back. He’s definitely African, I’d say.”
“And you’re sure it’s the same person? Beyond any doubt?” Floyd asked.