The Dead: Vengeance of Memory

by Mark Oldfield

  ‘Unattainable. That’s what she is, sir.’ Ochoa’s eyes were starting to close.

  ‘Thanks for those words of encouragement,’ Guzmán muttered as he pushed his way through the crowd around the bar. The air was warm, thick with the smell of cooking. Above the clamour, he heard someone shout his name.

  ‘Comandante, over here.’

  It was Miguel Galíndez, his face flushed and sweaty, sitting at a table strewn with empty bottles and dirty plates. ‘Sit down, Comandante, and have a drink.’

  ‘I’m going in a minute,’ Guzmán said, raising his voice to make himself heard. He saw one of the bottles was almost full. ‘I’ll have a glass of that.’

  ‘There you go, boss.’ Galíndez sloshed red wine into a glass and handed it to him. ‘I hope we’re OK now, sir? I should’ve apologised for the other day, I realise that.’

  ‘Forget it.’ There was something Galíndez wouldn’t forget, he thought.

  A figure emerged from the crowd and sat down next to Galíndez. Guzmán peered unsteadily at her over the top of his glass as he drank. The wine tasted sour.

  ‘Sorry, Comandante.’ Galíndez made an attempt to fill his glass and splashed most of it over the tablecloth. ‘Let me introduce you. This is the missus.’

  Señora Galíndez smiled. ‘Nice to meet you, Comandante.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too, Señora,’ Guzmán said with polite formality to the woman he usually referred to as Lourdes.

  ALICANTE, 25 OCTOBER 1965, LLANTO DEL MORO

  Suddenly, the street was alive with men in dark suits, shepherding the protesting villagers down the street towards the church hall.

  ‘May I ask what’s going on, sir?’ Villanueva said.

  Carrero Blanco gestured at a white Ford Cortina parked by the church. ‘See the man by that car? Go and introduce yourself. Maybe you can help with his operation.’

  Villanueva stumbled as a man in a dark suit pushed past him. ‘What operation?’

  ‘I don’t answer questions, Inspector.’ Carrero Blanco turned away and went into the comisaría with several of his men. Quickly, Villanueva sent Alberto after them with instructions to provide refreshments.

  As Villanueva approached the white Ford, a man in his shirtsleeves was unloading things from the boot. As he got closer, Villanueva saw they were rifles. Other weapons too, pistols and a sub-machine gun.

  The man came round the car. Big and muscular, another hard-faced man, though not like the men with Carrero Blanco. This was a different hardness. Frighteningly different. He crushed Villanueva’s hand in his powerful grip. ‘Guzmán, Brigada Especial.’

  ‘The school bus is late,’ Villanueva said, after he had introduced himself. ‘I need to go and see if the kids need a lift back to the village.’

  Guzmán looked at him curiously. ‘Haven’t they told you yet?’

  Villanueva shook his head. ‘Told me what?’

  All his life, Villanueva would remember that moment, standing in the shade of the church, listening as Guzmán told him, quickly and concisely, what had happened. As he took in the information, Villanueva had a sudden clear insight: things were never going to be the same again in Llanto del Moro.

  CHAPTER 18

  MADRID, OCTOBER 2010, MONASTERIO DE SANTA EULALIA

  ‘Keep still or I’ll break your arm.’

  Sancho knelt astride her, pinning her face down on the dry soil, unable to move without provoking a firestorm of pain in her arm.

  ‘I’m going to let go of you now,’ he growled. ‘Then we’re going to have a little chat.’

  He released his grip on her arm and moved away from her. Galíndez sat up slowly, grimacing at the pain.

  ‘Keep rubbing it, the pain will soon go.’ Sancho sat with his back resting against a tree trunk, keeping his pistol pointed at her. ‘I suppose that was you who fired that shot in the chapel?’ He sighed. ‘That wasn’t a smart move, I have to tell you.’

  ‘It was Guzmán, he recognised me.’ She started to push hair away from her eyes but froze as he raised the pistol, pointing it at her face.

  ‘Best not to make sudden moves like that, Ana.’

  She put her hands back in her lap, slowly. ‘Are you going to hand me over to that Mexican psychopath in there?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Sancho snorted. ‘But you know what? Whoever sent that woman here killed her just as if they’d put a bullet in her head. Though a bullet would have been quicker. How did that make you feel, by the way, seeing as it was your fault?’

  ‘Why was it my fault?’

  ‘It’s not rocket science, babe. You’ve been to see Inspector Villena, haven’t you? That made him curious, so he sent her here to spy on the Centinelas’ meeting. Unfortunately for her, she walked straight into a trap.’

  ‘How do you know I’d been to see Villena?’

  ‘Ramona called me right after you ran away from her S&M bar. She said she’d given you Villena’s card.’ His lips creased into a lewd smile. ‘I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing, by the way.’

  ‘I just wanted to ask her some questions, that was all.’

  ‘Oh yeah? She said you’d been there before.’

  ‘I’m not discussing it with you. You’re a murderer and you work for the Centinelas so that’s enough to think about without you trying to take the piss out of me as well.’

  ‘It’s not a problem, I’m prepared to spend any amount of time winding you up.’

  She carried on kneading her injured arm. ‘Why?’

  Sancho shrugged. ‘Because I can’t stand you. You’re sanctimonious, opinionated and you keep fucking up my investigation.’

  ‘That investigation stopped the moment you joined the Centinelas.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sancho said. ‘That was when it started. Anyway, what did Villena tell you about me?’

  ‘That you were a good undercover cop who’d infiltrated the Centinelas and then disappeared.’

  ‘That was it?’ He waved the pistol at her. ‘Didn’t he say he’d sworn to get me back no matter what it took?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘And you bought it, of course? What kind of detective are you?’

  ‘I’m a forensic investigator, if you must know.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for my fucking inaccuracy, Dr Frankenstein.’ He put the pistol on the ground by his side. ‘What did you make of Villena?’

  ‘He’s a little strange. At first, he threatened me, though he said that was because he was so keen to get you back.’

  ‘You want to know about Villena? Four years ago, he asked me to work undercover, collecting information on the Centinelas. After a few months, I reached a point where we almost had a case against several members of their central council.’ He paused, suddenly troubled by the memory.

  ‘Go on,’ Galíndez said, impatiently.

  ‘They sussed me. They grabbed me off the street and brought me here. For some reason, they didn’t kill me. Instead, they decided to turn me so I’d work for them.’

  ‘And you agreed?’

  ‘I refused. I thought, what was the worst they could do?’

  ‘And what did they do?’

  ‘The worst.’ His face was blank. ‘They threw the lot at me.’ He reached down and tugged his shirt up. ‘See?’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ She turned away, her hand over her mouth. ‘How did they do that?’

  ‘Hot irons, electric shocks, things much worse than anything we did to you. Beatings, kickings, brainwashing-type stuff. There was only one problem.’

  ‘I know. You haven’t got a brain.’

  ‘Don’t steal my punchlines, babe. Anyway, after a few months, I reached a stage where they thought I could be trusted. And once they started trusting me, I began collecting information on them again.’

  ‘So that’s what you meant about your investigation starting when you disappeared?’

  ‘See? You’re not so stupid after all. Anyway, it’s time for me to go back to being a cop now.’ He started to ge
t to his feet.

  ‘Wait,’ Galíndez said. ‘How did you come to be working with Guzmán?’

  Sancho shrugged. ‘He was hired to help the Centinelas search for something. They ordered me to help him.’

  ‘What were the Centinelas looking for?’

  ‘Something to do with a code. I don’t know all the details, but there was a sword involved. They thought it might be somewhere called the Western Vault. We couldn’t locate the vault, but when we started looking for the sword, you know what? Everything led back to one person.’

  Galíndez frowned. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘You. That’s why Guzmán tortured you. You’re lucky I was able to get you out.’

  She stared at him, outraged. ‘You handed me over to that Bulgarian madman so he could kill me.’

  ‘Well, yeah, if you’re going to be picky about it. But I knew you could take him. Why do you think I got him to take you to a room with two bolts on the door? I knew you’d work something out – particularly since I’d cuffed your hands in front of you.’ He grinned. ‘See? I had faith in you, sweetheart.’

  She shook her head, trying to take it in. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘Because the alternative is that I leave you here and the Centinelas get hold of you.’

  ‘You tortured me. I thought I was going to die.’ Her eyes glinted with anger.

  ‘So cross me off your Christmas card list, but honestly, right now we’re better sticking together.’ He picked up his pistol and shoved it into his belt. ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘Parked near the bar at the bottom of the hill.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to work our way down the hillside. We can’t risk using the road. Just be careful not to trip and break something.’

  Galíndez took an elastic band from her pocket and tied back her hair. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

  ‘I won’t, babe, believe me.’

  She followed him through the shadows onto the steep hillside, moving slowly, trying not to slip on the dry shifting soil. After a few hundred yards, Sancho stopped and signalled to her to take cover behind a clump of stunted bushes. Somewhere below, they heard the rumble of engines. As they watched, a row of vehicles slowly came up the road, coming to a halt near the bar. Doors swung open and men jumped down onto the dirt road. In the beam of the vehicles’ headlights, Galíndez saw dark uniforms and ski masks.

  ‘Special forces,’ she whispered. ‘Villena must have sent them after the Centinelas.’ She heard his gruff laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Villena’s inside that monastery right now. Who did you think gave the woman cop away?’ He reached out and gripped her arm, hard. ‘Who do you think betrayed me to them? Those guys down there aren’t looking for the Centinelas. They’re looking for us. Or, more accurately, they’re looking for you.’

  ‘Are you saying Villena’s one of them?’

  He sighed. ‘Give the woman a cigar.’

  ‘But why send a policewoman to spy on the Centinelas, if Villena’s a Centinela himself?’

  ‘God you’re dumb.’ Sancho sighed. ‘It’s not the first time this has happened. They do it to show the initiates what happens if they don’t toe the line.’

  Hidden among the harsh dry shrubs, they watched the policemen hurrying up the dirt road towards the monastery.

  ‘Now’s our chance,’ Sancho whispered as he started to get up.

  ‘Wait.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Look over there.’

  He turned his gaze away from the policemen and peered down at the darkened road near the bar. Lines of light moved through the darkness in careful, methodical movements. After a couple of minutes, the lights started to move up the road.

  Sancho nudged her. ‘Look, those cops down there are joining the others. If we can get to your car, we’re out of here.’

  He led the way, stooping low, trying to avoid making noise. It took a while to get to the bottom of the hill and as they reached the road, Galíndez paused to wipe sweat from her eyes before carrying on.

  ‘You start the car,’ Sancho whispered. ‘I’ll cover the road in case they come back.’

  She did as he said, keeping low, holding the Glock two-handed as she scanned the darkness around her. She reached the car and slid the key into the lock, wincing at the sound. She opened the door and then froze, listening intently to the silence. Further up the road, she saw Sancho lumbering into a clump of bushes and swore, realising he was too far away for her to attract his attention without shouting. Angrily, she made for the bushes, wishing they’d stuck together.

  She tensed as she heard someone running towards her, their boots crunching on the dry ground. As she raised her pistol, Sancho burst from the bushes. ‘Get back to the car and start the fucking engine.’

  Before she could move, the brilliant beam of a flashlight silhouetted Sancho from behind. She saw Villena’s acne-scarred face, the raised pistol in his hand.

  Galíndez raised the Glock, unable to shoot with Sancho between her and Villena. She called a warning but her voice was lost in the sound of the shot as Villena fired. Sancho grunted and fell face down onto the parched ground.

  For Galíndez, time seemed to slow. She heard Sancho shouting, his voice thick with pain, telling her to go to the fucking car and get out of there. A few metres away, she saw Villena lift the flashlight as he aimed his pistol at Sancho again.

  She fired three times. The shots rolled over the hillside in dry staccato echoes as Villena staggered back, his flashlight clattering on the parched ground. Keeping the pistol aimed, she moved towards him, saw his dazed expression turn to a snarl as he recognised her.

  As Villena raised his pistol again, Galíndez squeezed the trigger. Villena pirouetted back, collapsing like a broken doll into the undergrowth. Behind him, another black-clad figure came out of the shadows. Galíndez fired once more and the man sank to his knees and pitched forward onto the baked earth.

  Ears ringing, she hurried over to Sancho. ‘Get up, for Christ’s sake.’ She seized his collar, pulling with both hands. ‘Stand up, damn you, you’ve got to get to the car.’

  Sancho groaned. ‘I’m hurt bad, doll, you’d better leave me.’

  ‘Like fuck I will.’ She shoved the pistol into her belt and struggled to get him to his feet. ‘Jesus, you’re built like a gorilla.’

  He grunted as he leaned against her for support. ‘I knew you liked me.’

  It seemed an eternity before they reached the car and even longer as she struggled to manoeuvre Sancho into the passenger seat. As she got behind the wheel, she saw clusters of flashlights raking the undergrowth further up the road. She started the engine, suddenly aware her hands were wet.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Sancho muttered, fumbling with his seat belt.

  Galíndez accelerated down the dirt road, sending a rain of stones and dry soil rattling against the bodywork. ‘I’m getting you to a hospital.’

  ‘No, you’re not. The medics will report a gunshot wound to the police straight away.’

  ‘Where then?’ When she glanced at him, she saw the black glint of blood.

  He clutched his side as a spasm of pain lanced through him. ‘Do I have to do all the thinking?’

  She saw the lights of the motorway ahead and floored the pedal. ‘My sports kit’s on the back seat. Use it to stop the blood.’

  Painfully, he followed her instructions and pressed a rolled-up sweatshirt to his side. He grunted as a fresh dart of pain shot through him and spat blood. ‘Sorry about that.’

  Galíndez shrugged. ‘That’s OK. You can clean it up later.’

  ‘Listen,’ Sancho said, ‘I could black out at any time, so listen. The information I collected on the Centinelas is on a USB stick. It’s got the names of their central council, the civil servants and the police who’re on their payroll. The whole fucking thing.’

  Ahead, she saw the lights of Madrid approaching. ‘You’d better hand it over to the guardia or security services.’


  ‘You think? The way things are, the minute I give that memory stick to someone, it’s going to be like a curse. They’d be dead in days. Talk about a poisoned chalice.’

  ‘So who are you going to give it to?’

  Sancho put his hand to his mouth as he coughed again. Blood ran though his fingers.

  ‘You.’

  MADRID 2010, PENSIÓN PARAÍSO, CALLE DEL CARMEN

  Rain was falling as Galíndez pulled up outside the pensión and the wet cobbles gleamed with the light of the street lamps. Señor Espartero was waiting by the door and hurried down the steps as Sancho staggered from the car.

  Sancho’s eyes widened. ‘What the fuck? You’ve brought me to a circus?’

  Espartero gave Sancho a fierce stare as he drew himself up to his full height. ‘Considering the condition you’re in, señor, you’d be wise not to reject any offer of assistance on the grounds of stature.’

  ‘Exactly my thoughts,’ Galíndez muttered, struggling to keep Sancho on his feet. ‘Let’s get him inside.’ She leaned against him, using her weight to keep him on his feet. ‘Put your arm round my shoulders.’ Sancho draped his arm around her as she helped him across the pavement to the steps of the pensión.

  ‘Why have we stopped?’ Sancho asked.

  ‘Put your hand on my shoulder or I’ll leave you in the gutter.’

  ‘Sorry, babe, I was just trying to get a better grip.’

  ‘I said my shoulder. Now.’

  ‘You’d never make a nurse,’ he groaned, moving his hand back onto her shoulder.

  Ten minutes later, Sancho was propped up in the one comfortable chair in reception, resting his feet on the coffee table. He looked round at the dusty surroundings, the pile of ancient magazines by the window, the curtain of glass beads behind the desk.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

  Señor Espartero executed a neat bow. ‘I like to think of it as home.’

  ‘I’m not moving in.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Espartero said, ‘though I offer good rates for the economy rooms.’