by Kathryn Lane
Eduardo pressed a button on his mobile phone to alert Floyd they were on their way out.
Nikki pointed toward the falcon. “Reminds me of Sebastian.”
“Wait, I should take pictures of him,” Eduardo said.
“Hurry,” Nikki whispered. “Let’s leave before El Saraway surprises us.”
“Might need to prove there’s a hawk here.”
The bird cocked his brown-feathered head and looked at them with his pitch-black, beady eye. His yellow beak cracked open and let out a screech as Eduardo snapped like a real paparazzo.
“Man, I liked that crazy crow in Mexico better,” Eduardo said. “Sebastian was a lot friendlier.”
Back in the suite, Nikki dialed Charlotte. At this early hour in Miami, she would be at home. She needed Charlotte to look into something.
“Bitcoin transactions,” Nikki said. “The best way to research it might be to follow the cookie trail attached to the receipt I’m providing. I think you might find cookies for purchases related to falcons and falconry. Such things as specialty food or radio tracking devices.”
She listened as Charlotte explained she would also look at leaks of information from online shopping carts associated with the account Nikki wanted investigated.
“If I can find the blockchains related to this individual’s account, we can see his whole spending history, including money transfers,” Charlotte said. “Leave it in my hands.”
Eduardo had been watching the TV news while Nikki was on the phone. “Won’t Charlotte get in trouble for looking into something like that without a search warrant?”
“Have you forgotten I’m a fraud investigator?” Nikki asked with a glint of delight in her eyes. “Blockchain is public. The beauty of that is we don’t need a search warrant.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Barcelona—Sarrià-Sant Gervasi District
Monday Early Afternoon of Third Week
As Rafael contemplated his next steps, the GEO antiterrorist agent sat on a bench enjoying the tranquility of water lilies floating on the surface of the pond. A figure sculpted in white marble reclined at the far end. Rafael had chosen Jardines Muñoz Ramonet for its sense of peace. Always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, Rafael found it easier in a place lacking the clatter of children, the watchful supervision of mothers, or people walking their dogs. He kept an eye on the minimal movement in the bushes, caused by birds hopping from one shrub to another.
He pulled his phone out and dialed a number.
“Following the trail of the now dead suspect in the photo you sent me of the Ferrari,” Rafael said, “led me to Reus Airport outside Tarragona. Did you get the photos I sent you?”
“I did,” Javier said at the other end of the phone line.
“Who is this man with the falcon?”
“Who?” Javier asked. He sounded annoyed.
“The man wearing the skullcap. Carrying a live falcon on his shoulder. What can you tell me about him?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Javier said over the phone.
“Thirteen days before the wedding, he got out of Massú’s car at Reus Airport,” Rafael explained. “Then on the morning of his son’s wedding, Massú picked him up at the same airport.”
Javier abruptly told Rafael he would contact him later.
Thanking his former boss, Rafael hung up. He knew Javier was a nervous type who could not multitask easily. Or maybe he was in the company of people and could not speak openly. Still eying the park’s plantings, Rafael stood to leave. Wondering why Javier had sounded so abrupt, he took the concrete walkway to his vehicle, climbed in, and methodically started the engine. Turning his thoughts to Lola and their twins, he decided to call his wife before he pulled away from the curb. Once he completed the short conversation with Lola, he drove two blocks to Massú’s stately home in the Sarrià-Sant Gervasi district.
Rafael rang the doorbell. As he waited, Rafael stepped back to observe details of the upscale house. Movement through the opaque glass set in the ornate iron grille design of the door and the sound of a key turning focused his attention back to the doorway, where a slender woman now stood dressed in a starched, light blue dress partially covered with a white apron.
The housekeeper gave Rafael an inquisitive stare.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Massú.”
“He is indisposed.”
Rafael flashed his GEO badge with the stylized silver snake and gold eagle on a black background. He could see she was not impressed with the badge.
“I’ve told you he is indisposed. Surely you’ve heard the TV coverage about the tragedy at Sagrada Família.”
“That’s why I’m here. To ask a few questions. And find those responsible.”
Before the housekeeper could deny him again, Rafael saw the man coming down the staircase a few feet beyond the front door.
“I’ll take it from here, Berta,” Massú said.
In a well-lit living room with large windows and a high ceiling, Massú waved his hand to prompt Rafael to sit on a sofa. A red, yellow, and orange abstract painting with streaks of black splashed vertically across the canvas hung on the wall behind the seat the investigator took. Its bright colors belied the solemn atmosphere prevailing in the room.
“I’d like to start out again with my condolences for your terrible loss.”
Massú pursed his lips and closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back his tears.
“I know this is a bad time to question you, but there will never be a good time to talk about this.”
Massú opened his eyes and with his right hand made a rolling gesture, saying go ahead. Rafael noticed Massú’s hand trembled.
“Who do you think caused the attack on Saturday?”
“If I knew, I would have told you the first time we spoke. I’ve stayed awake at night wondering if this was an international terrorist group, or if it was orchestrated right here in this city.”
“Are you aware Hassan Farooqi, the florist who arranged the flowers for the ceremony, also drove one of the vehicles who tried to kill people on the streets immediately after the bombing?”
“I’ve heard it on the news. Not Farooqi’s name, but the flower shop. I know he worked there.”
“You also know he probably set up the plastic bonded explosives, known as either PBX or C-4 bombs, which were planted in the flower containers?”
“Yes.” Massú wiped his eyes.
“And you knew this young man?”
Massú nodded.
“Who recommended him to do the flower arrangements?”
“Paula,” Massú said, his voice choking on the words.
“The bride?”
Massú nodded again.
“How did she know him?”
“Through her work. She knew a lot of young Muslim men. Fadi worried about that.”
“Your son was concerned about Muslim men she associated with at work?”
Massú picked up a small bell on the coffee table. He rang it vigorously before answering. “Many of them were angry and felt disenfranchised in Spanish society. Fadi was fearful she might be swept up into harm.”
“Harm? In what way?”
“Fadi said more than once that desperate people do desperate things. He worried they could influence his fiancée in negative ways. Paula was very idealistic, you know. But my son obviously never considered an event like what happened.”
Berta came into the room. Massú asked her to bring coffee.
“Are you saying Paula was easily influenced by people with a cause?”
“She was a good woman. Always trying to make the world a better place. She had converted to Islam, you know.”
“When?”
“Recently. A wedding in the Muslim tradition would have taken place later this month,” Massú said. He seemed about to break down, but instead, he continued speaking. “They have taken them all from me. My wife, my son, even Paula.”
“Who killed them?”
Berta returned with a platter holding demitasse cups half full of espresso. In addition, the platter contained a small plate of ma’amoul pastries, green napkins with a gold line around the edge, a sugar bowl, and three small spoons. She set the tray on the coffee table and placed a cup, napkin, and spoon in front of each of the men. She placed the third spoon in the sugar bowl and passed it to Rafael. The plate of pastries she handed to Massú and left the room.
Massú took a pastry, placed it on his napkin, and handed the plate to Rafael, who helped himself.
Rafael nibbled at the shortbread pastry, enjoying the sweet date and walnut filling. He resumed the interview.
“If Hassan was a florist, how did Paula know him?”
“I do not know the answer.”
Rafael took his mobile phone and opened a file. He slid the phone on the coffee table toward Massú.
“This is your Ferrari, isn’t it?”
Massú moved to the edge of his easy chair to take a closer look without picking the phone up.
“Yes.”
“Yet, the florist is pictured here.”
“Fadi took those pictures a couple of weeks before the wedding.”
“The newscasts have asked for information on an African with a full beard. Do you know anyone of that description?”
“No one I can think of.”
“What about a man who is a falconer?”
“Falconer? You mean El Saraway?”
“Who is he?” Rafael asked.
“A close family friend. He has donated significant amounts of money to support schools in Egypt and Lebanon.”
“Schools?”
“Yes, coeducational schools to promote understanding between East and West. I’ve been involved since the attack in New York. Both El Saraway and I have benefited from living in the West. We share a goal to start dialogue between our peoples.”
“Did El Saraway attend the wedding at Sagrada Família?”
“By the time he arrived, the attack had already happened.”
“You also arrived late. Where were you?”
“I went to the airport to pick him up. Unfortunately, his plane was late that morning.”
“What airline did he use?” Rafael asked.
“He chartered a private plane.”
“Do you realize you probably would have been killed if you’d been there on time?”
Massú looked through the windows to the garden. “I do. With my wife and son gone, that would have been best. My loved ones are still undergoing forensic work and I don’t know when they will be released for burial. Under our religious laws, we bury our dead within twenty-four hours. I’d rather be dead than here suffering.”
“Did El Saraway arrive at the basilica with you?”
“No. I dropped him off at his hotel. He arrived after I did. But he brought me home. I stayed at Sagrada Família until the bodies had been recovered. The police asked me to identify them—Jamila, my wife, Fadi, my son, and Paula.”
“Was El Saraway with you when you identified the remains of your family members?”
“No. I talked to you. Don’t you remember that’s when you interrogated me the first time? Right after I confirmed the bodies to the police.”
“So when do you think El Saraway arrived?”
“He was late.”
“Later than you?”
“Let me think. The television reporters must have arrived while I was with the police down in the crypt. A small room at the back of the church. They had—” Massú’s torso slumped. He took his hands to his face and sobbed.
“I’m sorry. Shall we stop and pick up another day?”
“Let’s finish,” Massú said as he took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. “I want to find the bastards responsible for this atrocity. Ask whatever you need.”
“Can you remember when El Saraway arrived?”
“After talking to you, a mosso escorted me back up to street level. Let me think a minute. From the news coverage, I figure the mayor and the police had been interviewed by the news channels while I was inside the crypt church after identifying the bodies.”
“If El Saraway arrived so late, wouldn’t he have already heard about the attack?”
“All I know is when I got back to the street, most of the people who had evacuated the basilica had either been taken to hospitals or gone home. Only the police, television crews, and a handful of victims remained. I felt inconsolable, all by myself. That’s when I called him. He was in the park and I walked across the street to where he stood.”
“You called El Saraway?”
“Yes.”
“So he had just arrived?”
“I don’t know how long he had been there. My brain was a tangled mess. He brought me home. He must have known I was still there and been looking for me. He stayed with me the rest of the afternoon. Spent the night here too. Neither one of us got any sleep.”
“Where is he now?”
“I assume at his hotel.”
“He doesn’t live in Barcelona?”
“No, he flew in for the wedding.”
“And where does he stay?”
“The Majestic on Passeig de Gràcia. He keeps a penthouse year-round.”
“Is he a Spanish citizen?”
“Yes, though born in Egypt.”
“Are you also Egyptian?”
“Lebanese. My family originated in Jordan, but my parents were born in Lebanon.”
“Where does El Saraway normally live?”
“Ibiza, his favorite place. He owns a home in Alexandria and another one in Latin America. He has worldwide business interests.”
“What is his business?”
“Chemicals. He exports various ones from Egypt to other countries, including Spain.”
“What kind?”
“Solvents and liquid fertilizers mainly.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A long time.”
“Mr. Massú, do you suspect anyone of masterminding the attack? Do you know who killed your family?”
“I’ve already told you, if I knew, I would tell you.”
“Do you have any information I should know?”
“You’ve asked a lot of questions about El Saraway. I can assure you he is not responsible for this atrocity. He loved Fadi. Like a son. Yes, Fadi was a son to him.” Massú’s voice trailed off to a whisper and his eyes looked lost in melancholic memories.
“But Fadi was going to marry a Christian woman. Could that have made El Saraway angry enough to carry out an attack?”
“Bomb the church? Kill people? No, he might be eccentric by Western standards, but he is a very good person. He lost his loved ones in a fire.”
“Lost his loved ones? When?”
“A number of years ago. When he lived in South America. He came to Barcelona to start a new life. My wife and I helped him assimilate here.”
“What year was that?”
“Early nineties, 1990 or 1991.”
“What kind of help did you provide? Give me specific examples.”
“My wife helped him find accommodations when he first arrived. That’s when he got the penthouse at the Majestic. At that time there were not as many Muslim people here as we have today. So we introduced him to our friends. And he, in turn, introduced us to people he knew.”
“I thought he did not know anyone here?”
“That’s correct,” Massú said. “He introduced us to people from Latin America. Industrialists who would buy my products.”
“What products do you sell?”
“Plastics and polymers.”
“That will be all. Thank you for answering my questions,” Rafael said as he stood to leave.
Back in his car, Rafael buckled himself into his seat. The ma’amoul cookies and espresso had ignited his appetite and he felt hungry again. Having just eaten
dessert, he considered where to eat a late lunch. He salivated at the thought of another cassola, but as he patted his belly under the seatbelt, he realized a sandwich was all he should allow himself. Plus a quiet café where he could make a few phone calls.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Barcelona—Eixample District
Monday Early Afternoon
Nikki handed the special cell phone to Floyd.
“Great job, guys,” Floyd said. “I’ll call Charlotte after she’s had time to get her day organized in Miami. Hopefully she can access good intel you’ve extracted from El Saraway’s tablet.”
Nikki’s phone rang. She cringed. It was Milena calling from the hospital. “What’s wrong?”
Milena updated Nikki. Carmen had inquired about Paula and the doctor had talked with her about her daughter’s death. Carmen had cried a lot and was now asking for Nikki.
“Tell her I’ll be right over.”
Eduardo walked Nikki to the lobby, escorting her outside to one of the hotel taxis. When she arrived at the hospital, she rushed to the private room where Carmen had been moved after intensive care. Milena was standing next to Carmen’s bed and moved aside for Nikki to approach her aunt.
Carmen embraced Nikki and clung to her with trembling arms. Both women started weeping.
“I hoped against all odds, Paula would be okay,” Carmen said as she tried to control her convulsive sobs. She used a hand to wipe away the tears.
“I’m sorry, Tía. I know how hard this is for you.”
“She tried to do good. At least what Paula considered to be the right thing. I did not always agree with her. But I loved my daughter so much.” Carmen said, her voice quivering. “And I know you understand how difficult it is to lose a child.”
Nikki tried not to think about her suffering when she lost her son. Instead she focused on comforting Carmen in her loss. She found herself wondering if Carmen had any idea about her daughter’s conversion to Islam. Looking up, she noticed Milena fidgeting awkwardly as if not knowing what to do. Nikki suggested Milena return to the hotel. She hugged her and thanked her for helping.