Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  “Reus? How many days before?”

  “Yes. Let me check.” She pulled up a calendar on her phone. “Two weeks ago tomorrow.”

  “Twelve days before the bombing. Did he mention which airline?” Rafael asked.

  Rosa shook her head. “He mentioned a small plane.”

  “Ryanair maybe?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Do you know the names of people he flew with?” Rafael asked.

  “Hardly ever did he mention anyone by name. Unless it was someone in the neighborhood.”

  “Is there anything else you should tell us?” Alberto asked.

  “I’ll call if I think of something,” she said as she reopened the door for them.

  Descending the dank stairwell, Rafael detected once again the rancid odor of fried fish emanating from one of the apartments. His body tensed as if that would keep the offensive scent from saturating his clothes.

  “He may have had a regular job, but he could take time off work, apparently,” Alberto said.

  “Interview the owner of the flower shop,” Rafael said. “And Hassan’s colleagues. See what you can find out. Call me with your findings. Also get a search warrant for both Paula’s home and Fadi’s place. The initial police report I read had the bride living with her mother.”

  “Search warrants for the victims’ homes? Is that all?” Alberto asked.

  “I want to see who they were in contact with on social media, email, telephone.”

  At street level, Rafael’s phone vibrated. When he reached the car, he saw it was an email from his former boss Javier de la Mata, now an Interpol agent. Javier had already provided him with information on the Sagrada Família case and in this email, he forwarded photos taken of one of the alleged terrorists, Hassan Farooqi, the husband of the woman Rafael had just interviewed. In the picture, Hassan was standing next to a Ferrari and two other people. The involvement of a florist had already been mentioned in the news though names were still being withheld from the public.

  Rafael studied the photograph. The detective immediately recognized Fernando Massú, father of the bridegroom. The young woman was the bride who had also died in the attack. Rafael typed a quick thanks to his old boss. The Interpol man could not resist trying to get to the heart of a crime. Rafael smiled at the thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tarragona

  Monday Early Morning

  As he drove toward the Costa Dorada airport of Reus, Rafael enjoyed the sun-bathed Prades Mountains in the distance. He mentally organized his schedule for the day. First on his agenda would be the visit to Reus Airport, where he would screen security videos. Instead of screening them in his office, he wanted to do it onsite in case he needed to check details at the premises.

  Later he would drive into the center of Tarragona, about ten kilometers east of the airport, to make an unannounced call at the mosque. After that, he would walk to El Serrallo, the fisherman’s district, and treat himself to cassola de romesco, not exactly a breakfast dish, but he knew a restaurant that served it in the morning. His mouth watered for the vermouth that traditionally accompanied the rich nut sauce and clam casserole. He could not imagine a more perfect brunch before he hit the road back to Barcelona.

  Rafael’s mind filtered through the bits of evidence already gathered on the bombing of the basilica. The day of the incident, he had tried to interrogate Fernando Massú in the crypt church after the man had identified the bodies of his wife and son. He was visibly outraged when Rafael had started the interrogation. As the counterterror agent continued to question him, Massú’s anger had changed to grief. Once the grief set in, the man seemed unable to comprehend the events that had taken place. Consequently, he became somewhat incoherent.

  Rafael had seen heartache before and Massú’s grief had seemed genuine. But it made it impossible to get a meaningful statement from him. So Rafael had ended his questioning. He would follow up later, he’d informed the man.

  The father of the bridegroom had been conveniently away from the church at the time of the bombing, and that bothered Rafael.

  His phone rang. It was Teresa, a young agent from his antiterrorist team in Barcelona.

  “Regarding the suspect Hassan Farooqi, whom you believe may have flown through the Reus Airport,” Teresa’s voice said over the speaker in Rafael’s car, “I have not found tickets in his name during the window of time you told me to check. Could he have used a different name?”

  “He may have flown by private aircraft,” Rafael said. “I’ll check on it at the airport. Widen your search to include five previous days and call me if you find him.”

  With his limited information, Rafael hated to draw conclusions. Yet he could not stop thinking about Massú arriving late to his son’s wedding. Late as a result of picking up a friend at the airport. The thought kept bouncing around his mind.

  Rafael called security to notify them of his pending arrival. A few minutes later, he maneuvered his car into a parking spot and walked to the front door, pulling the folded search warrant from his jacket pocket as he entered the building.

  The director of airport security met Rafael by the entrance and ushered him to the second-floor office where they could run the security videos for him. Rafael handed the warrant to the director, who instructed a young female technician sitting at a wall of monitors to start the videos showing arriving passengers.

  “Start thirteen, no, let’s make that fifteen days ago.”

  As the young woman worked with Rafael, she moved the digital film forward until he asked her to slow it down whenever he spotted people to scrutinize. After half an hour, she switched to departing passengers and then to the general hallways. Every time Rafael thought he had seen Hassan in the airport, arriving, departing, or in the corridors, it turned out on closer examination not to be the alleged terrorist.

  “Would you run videos from the front of the terminal?” Rafael asked.

  “Starting fifteen days back?” the technician asked.

  “That’d be perfect.”

  The technician switched to another screen and scrolled the video back by the days Rafael requested.

  After forwarding through several days of footage, Rafael became impatient, thinking Rosa may have given him the wrong airport or erroneous information. He continued to watch the monitor.

  “Wait. Stop,” Rafael said. “Back it up a bit. Right there. Get a look at that car partially in the frame.”

  “Nice Ferrari,” the director said.

  “Not what I was expecting, but this can help,” Rafael said. “Can you pick up where it parked? Maybe to see who gets either in or out.”

  As the technician searched three other monitors and ran portions of video to locate the Ferrari, the director picked up a phone and asked a clerk from his office to bring espresso for them.

  “The Ferrari has parked where we can’t see it,” the technician said as she continued searching. After fifteen minutes of reexamining the videos, she picked up a partial roof, rear window, and a door opening as a man wearing a skullcap appeared to get out.

  “Stop it right there,” Rafael ordered. The three people in the room were staring at a man carrying a hooded hawk on his shoulder. “Please make a still photograph of that screen.”

  “Any other stills?” the technician asked.

  “Yes, the one from the other camera where we can see the Ferrari arriving. Enlarge the license plate if you can,” Rafael said, thinking the forensic lab could enhance the video to identify the passengers. “I’ll also need a copy of the video covering the entire time the car and the man carrying the falcon can be seen.”

  A knock on the door alerted them to coffee being delivered. The clerk came in and set a round platter with three cups of espresso, small spoons, and packets of sugar on a desk. Rafael immediately helped himself, adding three packets of sugar to the tiny cup.

  Once she printed the still photos, the technician walked to the printer to retrieve them. She handed them
to Rafael for his review. She opened a drawer and removed a thumb drive where she proceeded to download the video. After completing the task and handing the external drive to Rafael, she lifted her cup and took a sip. Placing it on her desk, she began running more film.

  “Check the footage for this past Saturday,” Rafael requested.

  Within minutes, she had found the Ferrari again.

  This time, the cameras had picked up Massú and the man with the falcon on his shoulder leaving the airport. Rafael had assumed that Massú had meant the Barcelona airport when he said he’d been picking up a friend. Apparently it was Reus. The Ferrari had left the parking lot testing the car’s ability to speed.

  “I’ll take that video and stills of the Ferrari and the men getting in.”

  “Is that all you need?” the technician asked.

  “No, I came looking for someone else. Maybe that person traveled by private aircraft,” Rafael said.

  “That’s a different section of the airport,” the technician said. She changed to another camera feed and loaded the footage.

  The monitor was gray with fuzzy lines until the video started running. Before joining the technician at the monitor, Rafael sipped his espresso and placed the cup back on the platter.

  After a few minutes, Rafael asked the technician to stop.

  “That’s what I want. Start running it again,” Rafael said as they watched about three minutes of video. He instructed her to make stills from the point these individuals come into view all the way to where their backs turn the corner toward the parking lot.

  The technician prepared copies of the additional videos and stills. She compiled a nice packet for the detective, which she placed in a box.

  At the mosque in Tarragona, Rafael felt he was getting the runaround. The imam was gone, god knows where. And no one knew when he might return.

  “Who runs the services while the imam is away?” he asked.

  “Several men take turns leading the congregation,” a young man at the mosque informed him.

  Rafael thought about speaking to a couple of those men, if he could find them. He reconsidered as he knew it would be a futile exercise. They would all plead ignorance beyond leading the congregation in prayer. Besides, he had more important interviews to carry out.

  Rafael’s stomach growled and his palate could almost taste the clam casserole and romesco sauce he had promised himself. His mouth watered at the thought of a shot glass of vermouth to complete a satisfying gastronomic outing before driving to Barcelona to interrogate Fernando Massú again.

  Chapter Thirty

  Barcelona—Majestic Hotel

  Monday Midmorning

  Attired in a housekeeper’s uniform and long black wig, Nikki looked in the mirror to make certain she had not left telltale streaks in the makeup that darkened her face and arms. Slipping on a set of glasses with heavy dark frames and lightly shaded lenses Floyd had provided as part of her disguise, she found they sat heavy on the bridge of her nose. Yet they further transformed her appearance, so she kept them on. Her last step included tucking the special mobile phone Floyd had provided into her apron pocket.

  Eduardo, in his maintenance coverall, had been watching Nikki. He called Floyd. “We’re ready.”

  “All clear.” Nikki could just make out Floyd’s voice over the phone. “I’ll meet you at the service elevator.”

  “Roger, roger,” Eduardo responded.

  “Roger?” Nikki repeated, chuckling as they walked toward the service elevator in the hallway where the emergency stairwell was also located. “Where did you learn that?”

  “Floyd. He said pilots and short-wave radio operators use it.”

  “Your accent makes it sound sexy,” Nikki said.

  Floyd held the service elevator open for them and pushed a housekeeping cart toward Nikki. Then he scanned the housekeeper passkey and punched floor seventeen.

  “Javier’s had the security cameras turned off on the penthouse floor.”

  “You’re sure?” Eduardo asked.

  “As sure as we can be. He’s also watching the guest elevators downstairs. He’ll call if you need to bail.”

  As the elevator ascended, Floyd handed Nikki two key cards.

  “Door key. Passkey to the safe in the master closet,” he said.

  Floyd gave a spare door key to Eduardo. “In an emergency, exit to the balcony. From there, you can get to the roof. Then you can use the fire stairs at the back of the building.”

  Nikki put on plastic gloves she found on the top shelf of the cart. Eduardo followed suit.

  “Tell Milena how much I appreciate her staying with Carmen,” Nikki said.

  Floyd nodded.

  They stepped out of the elevator into the plain service hallway, Nikki pushing the housekeeping cart. Floyd opened the door to the richly carpeted hall that guests used and checked for people. When he saw no one, he motioned them through. He would serve as lookout in the hallway near the door to the emergency stairs.

  Nikki used the passkey to open the door. With trepidation, she stepped into a dim foyer and pulled the cart in behind her. Without turning a light on, she continued into a living room. She stopped cold when she heard shrieking.

  An angry cat?

  As her eyes adjusted to the unlit living room, the noise increased. Then she saw it. A cage. A huge cage with a bird inside. Its talons hanging onto the metal bars. Not a parakeet or a parrot, but larger. And it was not happy. It clawed at the bars with its hooked beak as it repositioned its talons. Emitting loud, harsh sounds, its dark brown plumage with copper overtones ruffled up in anger like a rabid fox.

  Eduardo rushed around the cart, ready to protect Nikki.

  “Must be a hawk,” he said. “Looks safe behind those bars. Let’s get busy.”

  Eduardo proceeded, as planned, to the master bedroom and bathroom to make sure all was clear. Nikki covered the small kitchen and the second bedroom as well as a guest bathroom. The bird did not stop its shrieking. They reconvened in the living room. Heavy curtains drawn completely closed gave the expensive suite a stodgy and uninviting atmosphere. Shortly, the raptor settled down and simply cocked its head to one side, keeping an eye on them.

  They went to work. Eduardo inspected the contents of the living room and would continue with the rooms on the left side of the penthouse. Nikki took the rooms to the right and entered the master bedroom. First, she checked the bathroom. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she returned to the bedroom. She opened drawers and examined the contents for clues to this man’s identity or what, if anything, he was hiding.

  After kneeling to search beneath the mattress and under the bed, she glanced at the floor and noticed a small rug, about two and half feet in width to four feet in length spread out on top of the plush carpeting. She figured it was a prayer mat. As she stood, she moved to the nightstand. The drawer contained a copy of the Koran and Subḥah prayer beads.

  A charging station occupied space on the nightstand, next to a lamp with a red base and colorful hand-painted flowers. Of interest to her was the tablet currently plugged into the unit. She took the special cell phone from her pocket. Feeling nervous, she pushed the button on the phone and placed it on top of the tablet. Immediately lighting up, it appeared to be downloading information. After a minute that felt like an eternity to Nikki, it seemed to have completed the job.

  Eduardo came in. The cell phone on the tablet showed a green light. She tucked it back into her apron pocket.

  “Mission accomplished,” she said, looking at Eduardo and feeling exhilarated.

  Eduardo took a photo of the setup, where El Saraway probably recharged his phone, camera, and whatever other electronic gadgets he carried in addition to his tablet. Then he returned to the living room. Nikki opened the door to the walk-in closet.

  A rectangular safe was bolted to the wall. She took out the key cards Floyd had provided. The second one opened the safe. Inside she found two large bundles of one-hundred-euro bills held together
with rubber bands. Next to the money lay an unsealed envelope. As she opened it, her eyes grew bigger. She slid her thick-framed glasses to the top of her head to get a better look at the contents. Her heart beat rapidly as she studied photos of herself and Eduardo.

  In the living area, Eduardo stood on a chair he had brought from the kitchen. From that height, he was taking photos of a large screen connected with thick cables to a nearby computer.

  “I have something to show you,” she said.

  Eduardo stepped off the chair and returned it to the dining table. The falcon squawked.

  “I placed the spy camera on the chandelier,” he whispered. “Does it look okay?”

  Nikki looked up and scrutinized the chandelier. She shook her head. “I don’t even see it.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Nikki showed him the photos—taken not only the day they arrived as they sat on the circular bench on Passeig de Gràcia, but also the next day when they were leaving the hotel. She’d already visited the stylist, and her hair was the more becoming light brown. Nikki held the photographs up, and he snapped the clandestine photographs El Saraway had taken of them. Nikki tucked the photographs back in the envelope. She led him to the walk-in closet and placed the envelope where she had found it.

  Eduardo asked her to remove the wads of money for a picture. A receipt fell out. She picked it up and immediately realized it was a 64-character string.

  “Bitcoin,” she said. “He moves money anonymously. Quick, take a couple of photos.”

  As a final step, she placed the bitcoin receipt back into the wad it had fallen from. Then she put the money back in the safe and locked it.

  “Let’s see the kitchen,” she said, turning to look at Eduardo.

  “I’ve already covered it. Plus the small bedroom and the guest bathroom,” he said. “Nothing there.”

  “It’s time to get out,” Nikki said.