SPANISH ROCK

by Lex Lander

  ‘Then keep this creep off my back.’

  Kirkland glared. Toby unbent enough to allow himself a flicker of a smile.

  ‘All-righty,’ I said, ‘keeping it in chronological order, let’s begin with my absence. Acting on my own initiative, I went to investigate a report of an unusual build-up of Spanish forces near the frontier.’

  I stuck to the military statistics and left out any theorising. Let the “experts” do the figuring. I also omitted the sundry killings to which I was technically an accessory. It would all come out in the end, this dirtiest of dirty washing, but for now I wanted to concentrate their minds on the tanks and the guns and what they meant for Gibraltar.

  Of the three of them only Sir Gilbert seemed at all troubled by my narrative.

  ‘The reinforced armoured divisions and preponderance of helicopter gunships does indeed suggest something … er … abnormal is going on.’

  Kirkland was mute, tapping steepled fingers against his chin. Toby murmured agreement, blew his nose into a handkerchief with the family crest woven into the corner.

  ‘You all seem very calm about it,’ I said, slightly uptight. I had run a substantial personal risk in following up the twins’ tip-off. From the reaction of these three I might as well have stayed home.

  ‘Spreading alarm with apocryphal stories might be just a blind to divert us from your failings in other areas,’ Kirkland ventured with more than a hint of accusation. ‘Are you sure you’re not exaggerating the numbers?’

  ‘Or mistaken.’ Toby, more charitable.

  I unzipped my pocket and flicked the chip across the table. Kirkland snatched it up.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Proof.’

  The trenches of worry on Sir Gilbert’ s brow deepened.

  ‘You took pictures?’

  ‘Video. How else to convince you I’m not “exaggerating.”’

  Kirkland’s thin red lips formed an arc of dislike.

  ‘Even if it bears out your assessment of the strength of the forces it doesn’t prove Irazola’s the C-in-C, or that it’s anything more sinister than an exercise.’

  ‘Irazola’s C-in-C of the Southern Regional Command. If you have particulars of the regimental units it comprises you can check them against the numbers on the vehicles. Some of the shots are close-ups. In addition to which …’ I let my gaze traverse the three of them.

  ‘Yes?’ Kirkland said irritably.

  ‘You mentioned the Irazola twins. It was thanks to them I was tipped off about this. The only reason they knew about it because their father is commanding the force.’

  Kirkland and Toby glanced at each other; Sir Gilbert merely looked enquiring.

  ‘The Irazola children told you about these manoeuvres?’ Kirkland spoke stiltedly, as if he found the words difficult to pronounce.

  ‘Hard to credit, I guess, but true nevertheless.’

  Kirkland exploded. ‘Hard to credit! My God, Warner, if you aren’t the fucking limit! Are you so gullible, man? Do you really think General Irazola’s own children would rat on him, not to mention betraying their own country? You must be retarded.’

  This wasn’t quite running along the lines predicted.

  ‘They explained that –’ I began, only to have Kirkland chop me off with a hand slapped palm down on the table. Sir Gilbert winced at the mistreatment of Crown furniture.

  ‘Explained it!’ Kirkland laughed. ‘I’ll bet they did.’

  ‘They’re Basques, you see …’

  ‘I don’t care if they’re Buddhists, you raving half-wit!’

  If Toby hadn’t stepped in then I might well have punched Kirkland, Prime Minister’s crony or not.

  ‘Hold on there, Kirkland,’ he said in that steady calming manner of his. ‘I don’t think André has the full picture.’

  ‘Nor have I, for that matter,’ Sir Gilbert asserted with some feeling.

  Kirkland made a gesture that implied disassociation. Abandoning his seat, he walked over to the window and planted himself there, back to the meeting, stiff with silent outrage.

  ‘The Irazola twins are a pair of mischief makers,’ Toby told me. ‘The boy is a notorious adventurer who’s already been in trouble with the police: suspicion of running drugs from Morocco, suspicion of implication in that frightful cinema bombing in Madrid last year and others since, suspicion of helping supply guns to various terrorist factions, and more. If it weren’t for his father’s position and influence he would have been serving a life sentence several times over by now.’

  I could have added multiple murder to that list. Didn’t dare.

  ‘As for his sister, she’s not much cleaner.’ Toby shook his head; a lock of hair parted from the main mass and drooped over his forehead. ‘Numerous affairs, a terminated pregnancy, rabid left winger, arrested several times for assault during demonstrations.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about them. Sounds more like scandal mag gossip than hard fact.’

  This earned me a reprimand from Toby. ‘Gossip forms part of the dossier of every subversive. Surely you were with the Secret Service long enough to have learned that much.’

  ‘Why is the government so interested in a couple of delinquents?’

  ‘Because Spain is a member of NATO. Officers of general rank of all member countries are screened periodically. That means their families too.’ He spaced out the words as if he were addressing a child.

  ‘Don’t say it as though I should have known. Before this I was purely your sister’s boyfriend. Your sleazy little world is foreign to me.’

  Toby’s face twisted in a sardonic smirk.

  ‘Things haven’t changed that much since you were part of our sleazy little world.’

  My experiences in Finland on behalf of MI6 should have warned me of that.

  ‘Got that straight now?’ From Kirkland, without changing his stance.

  ‘Some things I have to know. I’m doing a job for you in Gibraltar?’

  ‘That’s debatable.’

  I shut up. I was fed up of being talked down to, made to feel like a small boy caught raiding the larder.

  Sir Gilbert, who gave the impression of being as ill-informed as me, took up the cudgel.

  ‘I’m not quite so ready to dismiss Warner’s report as you two gentlemen seem to be. I’m responsible for the security of Gibraltar. Any potential threat should be investigated.’

  ‘Waste of resources,’ was Kirkland’s terse dismissal, while Toby murmured concurrence.

  ‘Better to waste a few resources now than wait until we face a full-scale conflict,’ Sir Gilbert countered, to my silent cheers.

  Kirkland returned to the table, incredulity radiating from him. Sir Gilbert regarded him gravely while tapping his fingers gently on the table surface, his gaze steady. Lilliputian he may have been, cowed he was not.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ Kirkland said, ‘that you attach credence to this invasion business?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But nor do I believe in discounting unlikely possibilities.’

  ‘Now look here, Sir Gilbert, we don’t want you mounting commando raids into Spain when we’re about to start talking to the buggers about Gibraltar. Right, Toby?’

  ‘Spot on. Can’t be done, Sir Gilbert.’

  ‘I rather fancy I’m the best judge of that.’

  Kirkland gripped the back of his chair, his knuckles white against the skin; I noticed the backs of his hands were quite hairless.

  ‘Now listen to me, Sir Gilbert. You are not to make any forays into Spain whatsoever and for whatever purpose.’ His index finger jabbed. ‘That’s an order and within an hour I’ll have it made official.’

  The fires of battle blazed in Sir Gilbert’s piggy eyes. While he and Kirkland slugged it out I kept myself amused studying the assorted artwork spaced around the walls – portraits of monarchs past and present, studies in oils of the Rock from all conceivable points of the compass, and of course an election-year portrait of Mother Theresa, parrot-beak nose
prominent. Otherwise forever to be known as Madam Brexit.

  All of it a cosmos away from my old uncomplicated world of drug barons, mob rule, and vendettas. I was almost nostalgic for it.

  Sir Gilbert lost the contest. He was too remote from the seat of power, and Kirkland and Toby too close to it.

  The Great Spanish Invasion of Gibraltar having thus been publicly denounced as mischief-making on the part of the Irazola kids in cahoots with gullible Warner swallowing it as the genuine article, next on the agenda would be the stalled GIBESTÁ project, Operation Sideshow. Censure would be the least I could expect, now that I had nothing of value to show for my week’s R & R in Spain.

  Unless friend Petrov was a card of some value.

  ‘How do you explain the presence of Russian agents here in Gib?’ I said, making it a throwaway remark.

  Sir Gilbert gave a kind of twitch. ‘Russian agents? Here?’

  ‘You mean this Petrov character?’ Toby showed no special concern. ‘We’ve read the police report on the abduction of your … er … friend. A nasty business.’

  ‘Have they been picked up, him and his floozie?’

  ‘Slipped across the border in the small hours. They were on Czech passports, posing as tourists. No reason to detain them at the time. You didn’t see the police until much later, as I understand it. ‘

  ‘I was pretty tied up,’ I said, acknowledging my delay in alerting the police.

  From a personal angle, it was an even greater pity that Petrov had made it into Spain. Thirty minutes alone with the Russian, with him bound to a chair instead of me, would have given me a lot of satisfaction. Inability to conceive would have been the least of his injuries.

  ‘Nobody told me there were Russian agents here,’ Sir Gilbert complained.

  ‘We didn’t know ourselves until an hour ago.’ Toby said, in a consolatory tone.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ I pointed out to him.

  ‘Why the alleged Russian presence, you mean?’

  ‘We don’t know the answer,’ Kirkland cut in. ‘It’ll be investigated.’

  The rays of the evening sun suddenly surged into the room, laying an oblique swath of light. Sir Gilbert’s head was outlined against it, strips of pale pink scalp highlighted under the meticulous comb-over.

  ‘Which brings us to the topic for today, André,’ Toby said, with a modicum of glee, as if relishing the dressing down he was honour bound to deliver. ‘Your progress report on GIBESTÁ.’

  ‘I’ve been away,’ I protested.

  ‘Now you’re back. We know what you’ve achieved so far.’

  ‘Now we want to know what you’re going to achieve.’ From Kirkland. He couldn’t resist stamping his authority all over me.

  ‘What about a drink first?’ I said in my best ingratiating voice. ‘Gin and lemon, if you have it.’

  If I was going to be hammered – which I surely was – I might as well cushion the blows with some Government booze.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bomb number two was to be bigger and louder. It was to be placed so as to demolish part of the Supreme Court, just down the road from the Governor’s residence. It was meant to be a nose thumb at Sir Gilbert who, thanks to a warning from me, would be nowhere in the vicinity when the ten kilograms of HE went boom.

  The afternoon of the day before the planned bombing I paid my ritual call on Linda, now in her third day of convalescence. Her recovery had been faster even than the consultant’s best hopes.

  ‘They build ’em tough in NJ,’ she grinned, when I commented on her vitality.

  On my previous visits our dialogue had been limited, the pain-killing drugs dulling her intellect. Today she was altogether more vibrant. She made no reference to the events that had brought her here, nor to the loss of her child, if that loss had penetrated through the sedatives they were still pumping into her. She was as yet still ignorant of the permanent damage. That unpleasant duty was mine alone. Part of the hair shirt I had to wear for having failed first to protect her and then to save her when – possibly, though not certainly – it had been within my power.

  All this said, I felt I owed her an explanation about my mission, an end to the secrecy. She was now, albeit unwillingly, a part of it. So, without pausing to soul search, I told her as much as I dared. It was a major breach of the Official Secrets Act that, if it got out, would earn me a long spell behind bars.

  Her eyes grew enormous as I unveiled the scenario. Few people can credit the dirty tricks that democratically-elected governments get up to, though Watergate should have dispelled all illusions.

  A hushed ‘Yikes!’ was her gut response to it all. Then a short period of reflection. ‘You mean you’ve been cosying up to this GIBESTÁ lot just to bring them down?’

  Not contempt, just awe.

  ‘Look, honey, this is new territory for me. When I was in the Secret Service I worked overseas, keeping an eye on the Russians, the Chinese, and the Middle East.’

  ‘All right, James Bond, I’m impressed. But why should your lot imagine that this independence movement will weaken their position at these talks you mentioned? Independence wouldn’t mean Gibraltar was pro-Spanish, just neutral. Governments are so bloody neurotic and self-centred. It’s unbelievable.’

  ‘It’s a weakening of the pro-Brit stance Gib has been so famous for, that’s all. The Spanish will count it a factor in their favour and they’ll exploit it, be less inclined to settle for a few cosmetic concessions – which is all our side is prepared to offer.’

  Linda reached for a bottle of Lucozade at the side of the bed, became snarled up in the drip hose. I disengaged her, took over the job of pouring.

  ‘Want some?’ she asked, between gulps.

  ‘Only if you’ve got some gin to lace it with.’

  ‘Warner …’ When the tumbler was empty. ‘When that bomb was planted, the one that didn’t go off, you were, like, it’s nothing to do with me.’ She tugged nervously at the high neck of her unbecoming night-dress. ‘It was something to do with you, wasn’t it?’

  Today was coming-clean day. ‘It was me, period. I’m sorry I had to lie when you asked before.’

  ‘But where’s the sense in it? Are bombs supposed to make people want independence?’

  ‘It’s more complex than that.’ To elaborate would be to invite the bawling out I had so far escaped. ‘Let’s just say there won’t be any more.’

  ‘Hey, on the level? You mean you’re gonna quit?’

  Her incredulity was not misplaced.

  ‘I wish. But this job’s not for quitting, honey.’ I left the bed to stretch my legs. The window was full of the grey upsweep of the Rock, as yet untouched by the morning sun. ‘But I’m done with bombs. I’m going to bring it all to a conclusion some other way. And don’t ask how. There are still limits to what I can tell you.’

  Or want to tell you. I was ashamed of what I was about to do. Shame alone wouldn’t deflect me though. That would take an Act of either God or Government.

  ‘While you were away I met your Michael Vella,’ she said. ‘He came to the hotel looking for you.’

  I remembered Vella complaining about Linda’s reticence.

  ‘There were two of them,’ she added. ‘I forget the other guy’s name. Behaves like a volcano about to go off.’

  ‘Peter Vitali. He represents the hawk faction of GIBESTÁ.’

  ‘Ah. Vella, I imagine, is the chief dove.’

  I wondered what Vella had said to lead her to that snap assessment.

  ‘I liked him a lot,’ she went on. ‘This place could do a lot worse, I reckon. He’s got to be a better deal than your Brits and those pathetic creeps who run the show now.’

  I aimed a pretend sock at her jaw. ‘Marxist.’

  ‘Woman beater.’

  To steer the talk away from the subject of GIBESTÁ I went on to relate how I had failed to convince my principals that an invasion was looming and how they had converted me into believing I was the victim of a
hoax.

  ‘No way was that a hoax!’ Linda said, with a vehement headshake. ‘Listen, I may not go a bundle on Julio’s kids, especially Elena, but I’d stake my reputation they weren’t just goofing off. What happened that day, after you conned those guys in the jeep to chase you?’ She gnawed at her lower lip. ‘I heard shooting before you took off. Did anybody get hurt?’

  I returned to the bed. Springs creaked when I sat. It was a very old iron bed, old enough possibly to have seen service during the great siege of 1727.

  ‘Not on our side. And it wasn’t my doing.’

  ‘You didn’t need to tell me. You’re no killer.’ She leaned forward to land a smacking kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘Lady killer, maybe. Ow!’ She sank back fast into her pillow rubbing her stomach tenderly. ‘Ooh, that hurt.’

  ‘Shall I call the nurse?’

  ‘No panic. Just a twinge. They warned me to stay still.’ She grinned roguishly. ‘Never could get the hang of it though. What happened to the Irazola kids anyway?’

  ‘We split up.’ It came out too fast to be natural and earned me a probing appraisal. She was shrewd enough not to pursue it.

  ‘So don’t tell me. Tell me something else though, Warner …’ Head tilted, eyes bright and quizzical. ‘What’s in this screw-up for you?’

  ‘It’s a job and I’m being paid,’ I said. ‘If I’m going to be hundred percent honest with you, I was also in the market for some action. I was running a bar, and it wasn’t really my thing.’

  ‘A bar? You’re right, it doesn’t sound like you.’ She chewed on that for a few beats. ‘Did you do anything between quitting the spy game and running the bar?’

  What had she said? You’re no killer. Goes to show you’re no judge of character either, Linda.

  ‘I got religion.’

  She spluttered with mirth and was still gurgling when a nurse backed in toting a trayload of lunch and ordered me off the premises.

  * * * * *

  For all its stout aspect the door of Michael Vella’s apartment was no challenge to a housebreaker: an ordinary Yale-type cylinder lock vulnerable to a strip of plastic carved out of a bottle of wash-up liquid. A light downward pressure along the curved edge of the catch whilst nudging the door panel with my knee and I was inside. A breeze. It still brought me out in a sweat.