Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  Floyd informed Eduardo he would call his contact at Interpol, and advised against Eduardo walking around with a detonator in his pocket since there could be more bombs.

  “I’ve turned it off.”

  “Shit, man,” Floyd said. His voice went up an octave. “Don’t touch any buttons on it. You could blow this place.”

  “It’s off, Floyd. Why don’t we turn the phone over to the head police officer?”

  “If I personally give it to Interpol, I might retain a bit more control on the results of forensic findings,” Floyd said. “If someone is after Nikki, we need to know who and why.”

  “I need to warn her about the bearded man,” Eduardo said.

  “Stay here until I call Interpol,” Floyd said. “The place is crawling with police, so your fellow is probably long gone.”

  “In this confusion,” Eduardo said, “he could be waiting. He’s dangerous.” He looked down the street and saw the police were evacuating nearby stores. They were probably running searches through apartment buildings, and he thought Nikki would be safe.

  Eduardo took a deep breath. He looked at the people in the courtyard, some with obvious injuries, all of them looking frightened. Catalan police, wearing vests printed with the words Mossos d’Esquadra, were lining the uninjured against a stone wall of the basilica. Then he noticed Milena, Floyd’s wife, sitting on one of the three metal benches permanently installed near the basilica’s stone wall. Her arms were raised with her hands resting on her head. Another mosso d’esquadra was walking among the people in the patio area asking them to raise their arms up.

  Floyd dialed Javier de la Mata, his Interpol contact, on his mobile phone. Eduardo stood close to Floyd, making sure no one would overhear the call.

  “Look, Javier, I’m at Sagrada Família.”

  “My god, get away from there. It’s under attack,” his contact said over the phone in a voice loud enough even Eduardo standing two feet away could overhear.

  “I know. We were attending a wedding and we’re lucky to be alive. In fact, the reason I’m calling is that I need advice who to give a phone to.”

  Floyd listened and then spoke again. “The phone may belong to one of the terrorists. A light-skinned African with a heavy beard. You might want to get that intel to the appropriate channels.”

  After talking a bit longer on the phone with his Interpol contact, Floyd hung up. He took a few steps away and approached one of the paramedics to ask for an empty plastic bag. Then he rejoined Eduardo and opened the bag.

  “Drop the phone in here. Javier is going to pick it up. Then later, we have an appointment to talk with him. We’ll meet at a coffee shop,” Floyd said, handing the plastic bag to Eduardo. “I’ll try to get a safehouse for you and Nikki.”

  “How long will it take him to get here?”

  “He said about twenty to thirty minutes,” Floyd said. “And put the phone in your pocket until he arrives. In the meantime, be vigilant about Nikki. I don’t want to over-react until we know more. Ask Nikki to keep an eye on my wife. That should keep her here.”

  “I’ll warn her though,” Eduardo said as he placed the bag into the pocket of his pants.

  Floyd winced. “Careful not to trigger that damned detonator.”

  “Relax, it’s turned off. It should not be a danger,” Eduardo said. “Though, I admit I’m not comfortable with it in my pocket.”

  “I’m going below to check on the situation inside the church,” Floyd said. “You stay up here. I’ll come back when Javier arrives.”

  Eduardo assessed the scene. Forty or so people stood in the courtyard like zombies. These people would not have been near the altar. A few of them may have been hurt in the panic as they rushed out of the church, into the hallway, and up the stairs to the open space outside. Most of the emergency personnel had gone inside the parish church, but one EMT knelt as he administered first aid to an elderly gentleman stretched out on the ground.

  Eduardo spotted the one person he needed. Nikki knelt next to a metal bench examining an older woman. He went straight to her. As he gently touched her shoulder, Nikki stood.

  She embraced him.

  “I’d like to cry, but that won’t help matters,” she said as she clutched Eduardo.

  “No harm in crying,” Eduardo said.

  Nikki gestured to the seated woman. “She said bombs went off at the altar. If that’s true, I fear for Tía Carmen’s life.” Nikki’s voice faltered, and she started crying. “And Paula and Fadi. They could all be injured or dead. I can’t believe this. Why?”

  “Don’t give up hope. We’ll pray they survive.”

  “This is unfathomable,” Nikki said. “How can people be so evil?”

  Eduardo saw a man collapse. He yelled for the EMT to assist him. Acting quickly, Eduardo found a palpable radial pulse.

  “Apply high flow oxygen,” Eduardo snapped.

  “Get gloves out of my bag,” the medic said.

  Eduardo slipped the gloves on and opened the man’s tuxedo jacket. Blood covered the cummerbund, which acted as a pressure dressing, slowing abdominal bleeding. He tore the man’s shirt off, popping all the buttons. Next, he ordered the EMT to bandage the man’s abdomen and apply pressure to the puncture to stop the bleeding as Eduardo performed a head-to-toe exam. When he found a wound on the front left thigh hemorrhaging bright red blood, he applied hard, direct pressure. When he could not get the bleeding to stop, he asked for scissors and a tourniquet. The EMT handed them to Eduardo. First cutting the pant leg to see the injury, he placed the tourniquet on the limb and watched the blood flow stop. Then the EMT handed him a cloth, which the doctor wrapped around the man’s leg. Once the bleeding had subsided, Eduardo removed the tourniquet.

  “Get him to the hospital,” Eduardo ordered.

  As more medics brought a gurney, Eduardo continued to apply pressure and talked to the man in a reassuring voice. The medics placed the man on the stretcher, secured him, and rolled him toward a waiting ambulance.

  Nikki had watched Eduardo tend to the patient. Now he stood up and took her into his arms.

  “Sorry about the blood,” he said.

  Nikki put her arms around his shoulders and squeezed her body tightly into his as if seeking protection.

  “Please listen to me,” Eduardo whispered in Nikki’s ear. “I need to warn you about an African with a heavy beard. He may have set off this bomb. I ran after him. I’ve got his phone. It may have triggered the explosion.”

  “You ran after a terrorist? You have the phone he used to detonate the explosives?”

  Nikki pulled away from Eduardo with tears filling her eyes.

  Eduardo assured her there no reason to worry about the phone. He’d turned it off. Besides, Floyd had arranged to turn it over to the man from Interpol.

  “Is the terrorist in custody?”

  “He ran away. The police were busy with two shooters by the time I realized he was the one who may have set the bomb off. By then he’d disappeared.”

  “Have you reported him?”

  “Floyd has called it in to Interpol. But I’m asking you to be alert for an African with a beard. He may have been on the train to Burgos with us.”

  Nikki collapsed into his arms.

  Gently grabbing her chin, Eduardo turned her face toward his. He gazed directly into Nikki’s eyes. “I’m asking you to be cautious, that’s all. If you see a man with a heavy black beard, be prepared to scream or hide. He’s dangerous.”

  Nikki sighed audibly. “Why is this happening?”

  “I wish I knew,” Eduardo said.

  For a few seconds, Nikki remained in Eduardo’s arms. Then she pulled away again. Scanning the courtyard, she said, “These people need you more than I do.”

  Eduardo knew it was true. “And Floyd asked me to see if you’d look after Milena,” he said, directing his gaze to where she sat. “You could probably also help out the medics.”

  Eduardo analyzed the
situation as if it were an emergency room. In triage mode, he put patients into groups based on the severity of their injuries or emotional state. The EMT who had helped him a few minutes earlier continued to work with him after securing the cervical brace on a woman. The young man relayed messages to ambulance leads about five more people the Colombian doctor had stated needed immediate transport to a hospital.

  Floyd returned and asked Eduardo to take a break. “Javier is here. Let me introduce you so you can give him the African’s cell phone.”

  Eduardo and Floyd walked past the guards, out to the street and located Javier standing near the street corner beyond the barricade.

  After returning to the courtyard, Eduardo approached Nikki. She glanced at him as she opened a package of gauze to hand to the EMT tending to a middle-aged woman.

  “Can you check on Carmen and Paula?” she asked, looking at her husband through teary eyes.

  “Of course, Nikki, but you must stay in the courtyard. Floyd wants to make sure you are around in case Milena needs anything,” Eduardo said. “I’ll go downstairs and try to find Carmen.”

  “And Paula and Fadi,” Nikki said.

  Eduardo choked up, but he turned to the EMT to gain control of his emotions. “After cleaning this woman’s wound, please take care of the one in the blue dress sitting on that bench. She has blood down the front of her dress. I’ll be back.”

  The EMT nodded.

  Two officers exited the arched stairwell passing Eduardo on his way in. He deduced they had performed a preliminary walk-through and search in the crypt church. Both men talked on their cell phones, possibly reporting early information or requesting backup.

  Nikki saw a man in a black tuxedo running toward the stone-carved doorway. In his haste, the man bumped into a police officer. Nikki rushed toward him.

  “Mr. Massú,” Nikki shouted as she moved out of the way to let a stretcher get past, “Mr. Massú, my husband is down there checking on Fadi and your wife.”

  Massú turned to face Nikki.

  “Is this a terrorist attack?” he asked. His face was contorted into an expression of horror. Without waiting for an answer, he rushed into the stairwell.

  Floyd came up assisting a man with a blood-stained jacket. Nikki indicated she would take the injured gentleman to an EMT for triage.

  “Where’s Eduardo?” Floyd asked.

  “Downstairs. I asked him to check on Carmen. You may not have noticed, but that was Fadi’s father who just went down,” Nikki said.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Floyd said.

  In the crypt church, the police had stopped Eduardo near the back row of pews. The odor of burned flesh overwhelmed him as he evaluated the scene. He turned as Massú arrived.

  When the officer prevented Massú from advancing toward the altar, the man became agitated.

  “It’s my wife. My son. They are up there. They need me. Coño, hijo de puta, let me through.” Massú tried to push past the officer. “I will kill the bastards who did this.”

  “It’s dangerous to get closer. We must wait here,” Eduardo said, holding Massú’s arm. “Police are determining if more bombs are in there which could detonate.”

  “But those people taking photographs. They are desecrating the dead,” Massú pulled away from Eduardo as he pointed to three people outfitted with masks and gloves taking video and still photographs of the scene. Eduardo figured they were plainclothes crime scene investigators. “If they are allowed in, you can’t stop me.”

  “You must wait here,” Eduardo said emphatically. “They are gathering evidence. Law enforcement must get it before it’s contaminated by outsiders.”

  Eduardo was relieved that Massú had not noticed the body bags lined up on one side of the altar, where debris from the explosion had been cleared. Surely the priest performing the ceremony was killed, he thought.

  The investigators continued to photograph the scene. Others, wearing Tyvek suits and gloves, were sifting through debris, collecting evidence, and placing it in plastic bags.

  Two police officers walked past Eduardo. One of them held a shepherd-like dog on a short leash. Floyd came back into the church, right behind the canine unit. He walked up to Eduardo.

  “Get back outside,” Floyd commanded. “It’s dangerous in here.”

  “I came to check on Carmen and Paula.”

  Floyd did not hear Eduardo. He turned to Fadi’s father, who was still belligerent, and reintroduced himself.

  The dog stopped and reacted at the first flower pot near the rear of the sanctuary. Within seconds, the second officer accompanying the canine unit ordered Eduardo, Floyd, and Massú to leave the crypt, explaining that the canine had discovered an undetonated bomb.

  “I’m not leaving as long as those photographers and those men in space suits are here,” Massú said in an agitated voice.

  “If you don’t leave, I will have to arrest you,” the officer said.

  “You miserable son of a bitch, I am not leaving,” Massú said to the policeman, taking a threatening stance.

  Eduardo and Floyd grabbed Massú and escorted him out.

  Once outside, Eduardo watched Massú walk toward the edge of the patio near the fence and take out his cell. Seeing Massú about to tap something on the phone, Eduardo resisted the urge to tackle him and knock the phone away. Instead he only winced and held his breath. When nothing happened, Eduardo exhaled.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Barcelona—Sagrada Família

  Saturday Late Morning of Third Week

  “Hóstia, ¡llegamos tarde!” Selena cried in her husky voice. She sounded as if she were in excruciating pain. “Fuck, we’re late!”

  Olani nearly collapsed. Her stomach felt a heavy tightness take control. The imposing basilica of Sagrada Família soared in front of her as she exited the underground metro station at Carrer de Provença, half a block from the church. People flowed in the street, like a river with turbulent water. As she scanned the crowd, she wondered if this was the imminent attack Rosa Gebarra suspected her husband to be orchestrating. If so, then Taiwo would have been a part of it.

  Pedestrians ran, spilling like rats into the side streets and disappearing into a warren of alleyways. Dozens of police directed screaming tourists away from the basilica. Empty police cars barricaded Avinguda de Gaudí, a street which dead-ended, like the tip of an arrowhead, at the northeast corner of the famous church.

  Olani’s heartbeat matched the chaos around her. As she surveyed the area, she spotted a group of onlookers huddled against the walls of buildings outside the taped-off crime scene. She touched Selena’s arm as she rushed to join the group. Selena followed. A mosso d’esquadra motioned for them to put their hands on their heads. Olani inquired what had happened.

  “An attack in the underground church on the west side of the basilica,” the officer said. “On this side we are merely evacuating the tourists from the main church.” He warned her to stay away from the other side where bombs could still explode.

  Four mossos d’esquadra monitored street activity as their colleagues continued to evacuate those people left behind in the pandemonium. An elderly woman hunched over her walker struggled on the handicapped ramp leading away from the Nativity portico to the street. One small girl in a pink and green dress stumbled and fell to the ground. Blood dripped down her face and onto the front of her dress. Seeing the blood, she screamed hysterically. Her father picked her up and carried her to the edge of the park where he set her down, took his handkerchief, wiped her face and held the cloth to her forehead to stop the bleeding.

  Olani walked, with Selena following, toward the convergence of Avinguda de Gaudí with the streets of Provença and De la Marina. From that vantage point, Olani noticed the panicked crowd subsiding. The curious among the hundreds of tourists who earlier had flocked the landmark now stopped their exodus and returned to the edge of the park to catch a glimpse of the ongoing crisis. The bravest among them were standing at street corners, their faces re
flecting hesitancy. Yet they were intrigued to observe, from the safety of distance, the consequences of the explosion and the ensuing panic. One couple who had been standing with their arms raised, hands resting on their heads, disregarded police instructions. The woman took out a cell phone. The couple turned their backs to the basilica and took several selfies. That started a trend. Others took their mobiles out and snapped photos and recorded videos of the scene.

  Medics placed a gurney carrying an injured person into an ambulance. The driver climbed in and slowly pulled away from the curb of this pedestrian street in front of the Nativity entrance.

  Both women stood on the east side of the basilica. Except for the lone ambulance which had left moments before, Olani could not see the injured or the medics working frantically on the west side by the parish entrance.

  “Let’s go to the west side,” Olani said in a whisper. Then she ducked behind Selena as if to hide. “That’s Taiwo. Over there. The one with the beard.”

  “Here? Can’t be. Are you sure?”

  “The one standing at the corner of the park. On this side of the police line,” Olani said. Standing behind Selena, her body as tight as a shadow, her fingers ran up her face and pressed her cheekbones as if her head needed to be held in place. Her hands moved down her neck, her arms crisscrossed over her shoulders to her elbows. Her fingers pressed hard against her elbows.

  Selena finally spotted a man with a full, black beard.

  “Why is he hanging around?” Selena asked, sounding as if she were in a daze. “He must have set off a bomb. I tell you, that rumbling noise I heard underground came from an explosion. It sounded like the roar of an earthquake. It was loud enough to hear on the train.”

  The police asked groups of curious people returning to have a look to move back again for safety and to raise their arms again to make sure no one was carrying a weapon.

  “I’m going to report him,” Olani announced. She moved away before Selena could react.