Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  “Carry on,” Rafael said.

  El Saraway started to speak but his voice broke. He looked away and pursed his lips and then looked back at Rafael. “One thing led to another. My business demanded a lot of travel. I was still opening markets in Latin America, calling on customers in various countries. My wife and three children lived in Medellín.”

  El Saraway’s eyes went moist.

  “I never thought he’d hurt them. He burned the house down. Killed my family. All of them. My mother also lived with us. We had household help and they died, too.”

  “Arenas burned your house down to kill people inside? Where were you?” Rafael asked.

  “In Brazil. Sao Paolo. For years I did not know who set the fire. The police told me it was arson, but never gave me a name.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “In 2010. Arenas had been jailed a few months for his illegal activities and had just been released. His business partner, a guy by the name of Manuel del Campo, got him out. Paid bribes to high level officials. Then Arenas moved to Mexico. He and his partner continued their illegal businesses.”

  “How do you know he killed your family?”

  “I hired a private detective to look into the arson. I had moved from Colombia to Spain. I could not live in Medellín after I lost my family. The pain was unbearable. So I worked even harder than ever to keep my mind busy.”

  “You have a place in Ibiza?” Rafael asked.

  El Saraway explained that Spain fit his growing European business, and Ibiza’s climate suited him. As a widower, he no longer needed a social life, having almost become a hermit, except for his business contacts, which he administered through his worldwide network of managers.

  “Do you fly overseas?” Rafael asked.

  “Haven’t for several years. I charter a small plane for my personal use and I fly back and forth between the Reus Airport and Ibiza. No passport is required for domestic travel.”

  “Do you have a passport?”

  “No. I could always get one if I needed it. My business is big, but very simple. If I need to speak to my managers or even customers in person, I fly them here.”

  Rafael found it difficult to believe an entrepreneur with a worldwide business didn’t travel, but saw no reason to contest the issue at this point. “You also keep an apartment here?”

  “A hotel room. The Majestic. Though I’m staying at the Sofia Hotel right now.”

  Rafael questioned him about paying cash for everything at the Majestic.

  “Nothing illegal about paying in cash. I do it to protect my identity. Fell into that habit when I was keeping my whereabouts secret to prevent Arenas from finding me.”

  “Why did you move to the Sofia?”

  “I’ve been following the trail to Arenas. I had to get out of the Majestic to avoid having him find me first.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “My detective got his hands on the arson investigation five years ago. Arenas himself committed that crime. Killed my family. He could have no idea of the pain he caused me. You see, he has no children. His wife could not conceive.”

  “So how did you locate Arenas?”

  “Four years it took me to find him. My detective informed me over a year ago that a female investigator from the States had put an end to a lot of his easy money. Del Campo, his business partner, is serving a prison sentence since the Colombian government closed down their little drug scheme.”

  “Who is the woman?”

  “Nikki Garcia.”

  “The Nigerian you followed that led to his arrest said he worked for you. He called you the ‘man with the falcon.’ Why would he say that?” Rafael coughed. The allergies caused by the vegetation on Tibidabo were still bothering him.

  “No way did he work for me,” El Saraway said emphatically. He squirmed in his seat. “My investigator discovered Arenas moved part of his operations to Ibiza last year. Even before that, Arenas had a presence smuggling weapons through there to European and Middle East markets, including Syria. My detective thinks his customer in Syria was ISIS.”

  “Why Ibiza? Because you were there?”

  El Saraway replied that he did not think Arenas knew of his hideaway in Ibiza. Most of his excursions on the island, he explained, were to exercise his falcon. Arenas, he surmised, used Ibiza as a place to bring in boats carrying weapons and explosives, warehouse and sort the goods, and reship them. But El Saraway did not think Arenas spent time on the island.

  “When was the last time you saw Arenas?” Rafael asked.

  “It’s been years. Until he showed up at Tibidabo today.”

  “You never answered why the Nigerian called you the ‘man with the falcon.’”

  “From information my detective gave me, I kept an eye on the coming and going of Arenas’s boats from the isolated coves he uses. They are small ocean-going vessels. I saw the Nigerian with Arenas’s people twice. He must have seen me with Shaheen, my falcon, and assumed the man he met worked for me.”

  “So you knew about the Nigerian?”

  “My detective and I followed him. In Ibiza and here in Barcelona. We knew he was a hired killer. And dangerous.”

  Impressed with the detective’s work, Rafael made a mental note to arrange a meeting with El Saraway’s detective. Interpol had issued a red notice for Arenas, yet he’d escaped arrest. The man even arrived in Spain without detection, a fact Rafael would investigate.

  “My detective followed Ms. Garcia from Mexico to Spain. It was a strange coincidence, bizarre in fact, that she was related to the young bride who was killed at Sagrada Família.”

  Rafael thought of inquiring about Sagrada Família but decided to pose that question later. Instead he asked about El Saraway’s friendship with Fernando Massú.

  “He was my business partner starting about 1993 when my business expanded into Spain. We were both young and he worked for me, became my partner, and then left to start his own company. Back then, he and Jamila, that was his wife, took me into their circle of friends. Jamila helped me find a place to stay in Barcelona. I’ve kept the hotel room at the Majestic for three decades. Basically since Fadi was born in 1990.”

  “So you knew them since before Fadi was born?”

  “That’s right. Over the years we were friends, yes. Jamila was a good woman. She introduced me in 1995 to the beautiful woman I later married.”

  “We have you on CCTV with Massú at the Tarragona airport the day of the wedding. What did you know about the planned bombing of Sagrada Família?”

  “Nothing at all. And I regret knowing nothing about it. If I had, I would have told the police. Fadi and Jamila would be alive.” El Saraway’s voice was choking up.

  “Did you suspect anything?”

  “About the bombing, no. Fernando Massú acted strangely the morning of the wedding when he picked me up at the airport in Tarragona. At first, I thought his son’s wedding had him nervous. He’s a conflicted individual.”

  “Conflicted? Explain yourself.”

  El Saraway described a temperamental man who could be a generous donor to an organization founded to create better understanding between the Middle East and the West one day, and the next preach about conspiracies of Western governments to obliterate the Middle East. He had the capacity to behave erratically with people, being naturally suspicious and paranoid that everyone was out to get him.

  “Give me an example.”

  “Paula, his future daughter-in-law. Some days he extolled her virtues. Other times, he criticized her greed and ambition, saying she converted to Islam to ingratiate herself with him to get his money.”

  “Was there any truth to his accusations of Paula?”

  “I’ve known her for a couple of years. She seemed like a gentle soul, a bit too idealistic. On the other hand, Fadi was like a son to me. I knew him from infancy. When he was a child, he wrote poetry and I spent time reading with him. He was like Jamila, a steady heart and fun loving.”

  “Like a
son, you said. Is there any chance he could be your biological child?”

  “No, none at all. But in Tarragona, the morning of the wedding, Fernando Massú accused me of double-crossing him. Said he had proof Fadi was mine.”

  “What proof?”

  “I don’t know. I never knew what he was talking about.”

  “Will you voluntarily submit to a paternity test to see if Fadi is your son?”

  “Yes, of course. But I can assure you he is not my son.”

  “So what happened when he accused you?” Rafael asked.

  “He got so furious about twenty kilometers outside of Tarragona, he stopped the car and ordered me to get out.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course. He was rabid. I thought he’d kill me. In fact, as I stepped out, I was not fully out as he took off. It knocked me to the ground. I was lucky I did not get dragged by the car. Even now, I have bruises on my face and body,” he said, pointing to a laceration on his right cheekbone.

  “He drove off and left you there?”

  El Saraway nodded.

  “For the record, can you answer out loud?” Rafael asked.

  “Yes, on the side of the road. I walked back to Tarragona to take the train into Barcelona. I missed the wedding. When I arrived at the train station, I heard the news of the bombing.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around four p.m. Well after the bombing.”

  “Did you spend the night of the attack at Massú’s house?”

  El Saraway looked perplexed. “Massú did not even answer when I called his mobile phone. I called his house. Berta, his housekeeper, told me Massú wanted me to stay away. She also informed me about Jamila and Fadi. Though I’d heard on TV that the couple, no names, getting married at Sagrada Família had been killed. I was sick about it all. Too reminiscent of my own family tragedy.”

  “Let’s go back to your detective. Why did he follow Nikki Garcia to Spain?”

  “The old adage ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ I told him to follow Nikki thinking it would bring Arenas out of hiding,” El Saraway said. “I knew Arenas well enough to know he would eventually feel he had to show up to handle Nikki himself. Just as he burned my house down and let my family die inside. He’s obsessive.”

  “How did you find Arenas in Barcelona?”

  “Again, my detective. We knew Arenas was closing in on Ms. Garcia. He would have killed her husband, too. In fact, I personally followed Ms. Garcia a few times, but I think she became aware of it, so I hired two more people to help my detective. In addition to locating Arenas through her, I did not want more bloodshed.”

  “Not a clandestine operation you should have done on your own,” Rafael said.

  “Maybe not, but Arenas has eluded law enforcement for years. My idea was to turn him over alive to the police whenever I found him.”

  “Still you should not have taken the law into your own hands.” Rafael said.

  “My mission is now accomplished,” El Saraway said.

  Rafael noted the man’s expression of satisfaction.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Barcelona—Barcelona Hospital

  Thursday Late Afternoon

  Floyd came through the main entrance to the Barcelona Hospital. The smell assaulted his nostrils. He coughed, pulling out his phone to send Nikki a text. When he glanced up from his phone, he saw her checking her messages.

  “The nightmare is over.” Floyd said as he caught up with them. He embraced Nikki and patted Eduardo on the shoulder. “How are you, Eduardo?”

  “Ready to take my board exams so I can practice medicine in Miami,” Eduardo said. “Safer job.”

  “He suffered a concussion, but they found nothing to suggest serious problems,” Nikki added.

  “If you both feel up to it, Javier wants to take us to dinner tonight and update us on the interrogations of Massú and Sonia arrested yesterday. Wants to explain how Sonia masterminded the bombing with help from her father. Apparently, Massú wanted revenge on his wife for having been unfaithful to him.”

  “But how could Massú kill innocent people?” Nikki asked. “Including Fadi. He may not have been the biological father, but he raised Fadi.”

  “Evil people do evil things,” Floyd said.

  “How about dinner tomorrow instead?” Eduardo asked. “We’d prefer to see Carmen this evening and see how she’s getting along.”

  “Good idea,” Nikki said. “Javier may also have more information to share by tomorrow.”

  “Turns out El Saraway was a modern-day vigilante,” Floyd said. “Those photos he took of you were used by the two people he hired to help his detective protect both of you. And he did protect you.”

  “Protect us?” Nikki asked. She was wide-eyed. “You must be kidding. He could have contacted us and saved us a lot of stress.” She made a mental note to contact Charlotte about the cryptocurrency as soon as she returned to the hotel.

  First to step through the hospital’s revolving door, Nikki turned back to look at the men. The late afternoon sun pleasantly cast long rays through the glass in the turnstile. The sunlight hitting the glass prompted rainbow-colored patterns to fall on Eduardo and then Floyd as they came through the turnstile. That’s a much better image than my nightmare coming to life this afternoon at the chapel. Thank God we’re safe now. The rainbow, she thought, must be a good omen. She touched her tree of life necklace. It must have helped her overcome the dangers at Tibidabo.

  Nikki heard Floyd say he had a limo waiting. “The driver can drop you off at Carmen’s and take me to the hotel. And I’ll call Javier about scheduling dinner for tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Barcelona—General Directorate of Police

  Friday Morning—Week Four

  Once again, Rafael walked into the interrogation room. This time instead of having Alberto present, he brought Omar.

  Rafael looked at the muscular, middle-aged man waiting to be interrogated and glanced up at the monitor, signaling the recording to start.

  After names were stated, Rafael asked the man his citizenship, his address, and his passport number, though Rafael knew the police had taken the document.

  “I’m Emil El Aremi from Lebanon,” he said in perfect South American Spanish. Then he stated his six-digit Lebanese passport number and his address as 176 Dekwaneh, Apartment 36 in Beirut.

  “That’s unusual,” Rafael said. “I have facial recognition information that you are a wanted drug trafficker and gun smuggler, a Colombian national, living in Mexico.”

  Arenas’s eyes scorched Rafael’s face.

  After more than two hours of questioning, Rafael informed Arenas that if he would cooperate by turning over the names of his Russian gun suppliers and delivering names, sources, and everything else he knew about the Sagrada Família plot, a judge might grant him some mercy. But Rafael would have to verify the information before a judge would consider any leniency.

  “Let’s start again,” Rafael said. “What is your name in Colombia, South America?”

  Arenas turned to look at his attorney, who nodded.

  “Cristóbal Arenas.”

  “Are you aware the paternity test we took yesterday came back a positive match between you and Fadi Massú?”

  “I did not kill him,” Arenas responded.

  “That’s not what I asked. Did you know Fadi was your biological son?”

  Arenas looked aghast. “My son?” he asked. His voice trembled. “But I don’t have any children.”

  “When you provided the bomb-making material to Sonia Ussam and her group of makeshift terrorists, did you know Fadi was your son? That they planned to kill him?”

  Arenas’s head slumped ever so slightly.

  “Did you know Sonia Ussam used a radicalized young man who worked for her and convinced him and his friends to bomb Sagrada Família on the day of Fadi’s wedding?”

  “I supply customers what they pay for. No questions asked.”


  “When you provided the bomb-making materials, did you know she planned to eliminate Fadi so she could inherit the Massú wealth?”

  “Of course not. I had no idea she was going to kill Fadi. Or Jamila.” Arenas raised his voice and glared at his interrogator with hatred. “I did not know what she was planning.”

  “So you knew he was your son?” Rafael asked in a very calm voice to counteract Arenas’s outburst.

  “Many years ago I wondered if he was my son, but Jamila denied it,” Arenas said. His manner was much more subdued.

  “But you sold Sonia the explosives, and you also put her in contact with the Nigerian who detonated the bomb that killed Fadi and his mother.”

  Arenas continued to glare.

  “Answer me. Did you provide Sonia the explosives for the attack at Sagrada Família? And did you put her in contact with the Nigerian who set off the explosion?”

  “Yes. No. Not directly. She needed a computer expert with knowledge of explosives.”

  “Did you receive an invitation to the wedding?”

  “No, they did not invite me,” Arenas spat out the words with venom.

  Rafael calculated that Arenas’s line of business made him unworthy to have at the wedding.

  “How did Sonia get your name for the explosives?”

  “Though they excluded me from their social life, for business reasons, I was contacted. Massú gave her my phone number. She called.”

  “What did you know about the plans of the attack?”

  “I knew nothing.” Arenas stared back at Rafael with an empty look instead of hatred.

  “How did you get the explosives to her?”

  “By boat. My captain, the fellow you have also detained, brought them to Barcelona. Sonia sent one of her flower shop terrorists to pick up the delivery.”