****
A storm had broken loose in his mind that threatened to make him lose his mind, but nevertheless he remained silent until they reached the promenade, from where the high facade of Jurgen's house could be seen at the end of the bay. He told himself that he should call Juandi as soon he got to the house and alert him about that memory stick. His friend and Rachel must be safe.
—How should we act now? —asked Jonás.
The German gave him a scrutinizing look and then watched the horizon as he walked along the promenade.
—I'm sorry about your father Jonah, but I'm not going to act in any way— he admitted—. My father left me this pendant to protect me and that it didn’t fall into the hands of someone you know, and until now it has been like that.
—But we must stop those murderers!
—I agree, but before you, others tried before, and with all my respects, now they are breeding mallows. I like my life here, my work and my freedom, and I'm not going to give up on that for putting three old men in jail, who at the most, they will have their penalties forbidden for being very old.
Jonás stopped, trembling with rage. The German stepped forward a couple of steps and turned to look at him. Instinctively he put his hand to the pendant.
—I understand your frustration, but if I get rid of this I am sure that I will end up with my bones on some beach, and my corpse devoured by seagulls.
—Sooner or later they will come for you.
—Yes, and when they do, the pendant will be very well hidden.
The young man quickened his step and passed the German, imprisoned by an internal fury that burned his insides and made his cheeks flush. They arrived at the villa without saying a word, and as soon as Jurgen opened the door, Jonás disappeared up the stairs, presumably to the guest room where the German had prepared a room for him. They spent the rest of the afternoon separated. Jurgen took the opportunity to rest for a while, and Jonás went to the beach in the middle of the afternoon— when the German was asleep— and he had not yet returned.
Jurgen had meditated on what he had told Jonah, and although he would have loved to possess the courage of the young man and go on a mad hunt for assassins and destroy secret organizations, he was not a brave man. He just needed his independence, to enjoy the second chance that life had given him, and to dedicate himself to having as little worry as possible, and that was to keep the memory stick.
It was almost eight in the afternoon, and although it was still at least an hour before it began to get dark, Jurgen began to worry about Jonás. He knew he had gone to the beach, because he was missing one of his swimsuits and a towel, and although the sea was calm, it became quite treacherous when it got dark. He noticed a certain emptiness in the stomach and decided to prepare an appetizer early before dinner to reconcile with the Spanish. He entered the kitchen and placed on one of the plates a smoked salad that he had left macerating two days before and cut some wedges of a great Argentine cheese. He heard the door when he was about to open a bottle of white wine and went out to greet the young man with two glasses. In the hall there were a man pointing a gun and an old man who had just sat on the couch.
—Man, wine! —he exclaimed cheerfully—. You know how to receive visitors well! Come on man, do not be shy, sit down with me.
The youngest made a gesture with the tip of the gun, telling him to do what he was being asked.
—Oh, don’t worry about the bottle— said the old man, taking the two glasses from his hands—. Mauro will take care of bringing it from the kitchen. Sit next to me and relax.
****
Jonás had seen the Jeep approaching down the avenue and two men that had come down from it and who he could not distinguish from the distance in which he was. He had spent the whole afternoon sitting in the mouth of the harbor, where the waves broke gently. From his position he could see the back porch of Jurgen's house, but he could not tell if the German had gotten up from his nap, and if he had, where he was.
The two men who had left the SUV headed towards Jurgen's house, stopping at the annexed houses they passed through. They seemed to look for a specific number. When they reached the at the point of the whitewashed facade of the German, Jonás lost sight of them —since from his position he could see the back, but not the front porch—. Stung by curiosity, he walked along the edge of the beach to the edge of the promenade, which led to the coast, where the white cloth tents seemed to have increased significantly. Beyond the breakwater the sand of the beach bustled with action, and you could glimpse some steaming grills prepared for dinner and several guitars singing melodies. Jonás approached cautiously, stuck to the retaining wall where the sand gave way to the cement of the promenade, and when he was right in front of the German's porch he went to the shore with the towel he had put on his shoulders and head in a protection mode. From there the interior of the kitchen could be seen, although only in part. He squinted so that the sun that was hiding on the horizon did not detract from his vision, but he could not see anything except the hammocks and the porch table. He cursed and approached— avoiding any kind of precaution— until he reached the wooden banister that connected with the stairs. The moment he climbed the first step to enter the house, a man made his appearance in the kitchen. Jonás threw himself on the ground, praying that he would not give him to inspect the porch. He heard him knock on the closet doors and grumble loudly. When he disappeared through the entrance to the living room, Jonás stood up in a hurry and ran as low as he could until he reached the top of the porch. From there he had a better view of the rest of the kitchen and part of the living room, which it could be seen through the opening of the partition. The man who had just left occupied most of his field of vision, standing with a bottle of wine in his hand, which he left with little care on the glass table. Immediately, a wrinkled hand took the bottle, and Jonás knew that those guys were the two men who had come down from the jeep. He had to act quickly.
He threw the slippers over the railing into the sand of the beach, and barefoot opened with all the touch that was able the sliding leaf of the window. The other sheet was open, but if he tried to enter there he would be exposed. If either of those two men had the idea of looking in his direction, he would be exposed.
He entered the house covered with the poor protection offered by a dishwasher, and from there he risked reaching the pantry. In that place, at least, he had a place to hide if they decided to make another trip to the kitchen for something more. He listened to the voices —which from that new position came clear and close to him— and felt an atrocious chill through his spine and settle into his heart when he heard the name of the man trying to find out what Jurgen possessed.
****
He filled both glasses of wine and offered him one. He waited while stirring the golden liquid in the glass and brought it to his lips. He clicked his tongue with satisfaction.
—Come on Jurgen— he said in a conciliatory way—. Or should I say Otto?
—I don’t know what you're talking about— the German restless defended himself—. Leave my house or I'll call the police.
—Oh, don’t worry, can I be familiar to you? I am a policeman! — Jurgen's face changed from fear to sheer terror—. Oh, not here, in this Third World country, or at this moment, but I was in Spain— he clarified—. Do you remember Spain Jurgen?
—I've never been there— he lied.
—If we are going to create a friendship relationship, we must show confidence towards each other —he expressed meekly—. If you want, I'll start, as the young people say, to break the ice.
Jurgen could not take his eyes from that face. Although he was old, in that face did not peek nor the slightest hesitation; those eyes —a little bulging— distilled a self-conceit from that one who knows that he will win the game.
—For example, what could I tell you? —he said pretending to think—. I have a collaborator that we both know, wow, what is called a common friend!
The German frowned, bewil
dered.
—But don’t make that face, if you know her! —he exclaimed amused—. Her name is Anabel.
At that time Jurgen broke down. Until that moment he had imagined who they were or what those men were looking for, but once the suspicion became certain, he collapsed. The old man took advantage of his moment.
—Come on Jurgen! —his indulgent tone became even more pronounced—. We haven’t come to drink your wine, but to talk as people with common friends.
Mauro began to get impatient and showed the Beretta clearly. He began to caress her, as if reassuring her.
—As soon as you give us what we have come to look for, we will go to enjoy this wonderful country of natives, and you can stay here peeling the turkey with those aborigines with whom you have sex.
—Take what you want— the German sobbed—. But don’t hurt me.
—Give me the codes— he asked threateningly.
—I don’t know what you're talking about— he answered hesitantly.
Mauro rushed forward on him with his pistol raised, but Chacon held him up with a wave of his hand. The Italian stared at the old man with a wild hatred.
—Jurgen, my patience has run out. We know that your father sent you here to get away from us, but you see, we have found you, and if in ten seconds you don’t start to cooperate, the efforts he made to protect you will not be of any use.
—You're right— he admitted—. I'm Otto's son, and I also know Anabel, but I don’t know what you're looking for. I hardly met my father, and I know nothing about any codes.
He tried to appear strong, but the trembling in his voice betrayed him, especially before an interrogator of the Chacon’s category. The old man gestured to Mauro, but he did not move. His eyes were fixed on the German, and his face exuded a hatred that that one of the people who yearn to do harm. Chacón got up and faced the Italian without saying a word, and shortly after, turning around and facing Jurgen.
—Go for a walk Mauro— he ordered bluntly—. Jurgen and I must catch up.
Without waiting for Mauro's answer, he took off his belt and waited for the Italian to leave the room to close the doors.
****
Jonás watched as Mauro approached to the kitchen and he barely had time to hide. He went as fast as he could into the buttery and half-closed the door, which hit his body and could not be completely blocked. He prayed that the Italian did not have hungry and wanted to make snack. Through the aperture he saw that the man crossed the kitchen without stopping and went out onto the porch. There he walked restlessly along the balustrade, until he leaned his elbows facing the horizon and pulled out a pack of tobacco. He pulled a chair to the edge and sat down, smoking one cigarette after another as Jurgen's screams echoed through the walls of the house.
Chapter 37
The meeting was being especially boring, and he did not know how to stay awake anymore. He had never been a man of politics —properly said— in fact, he did not even like it, but he had been placed there because of his enormous charisma. He was aware that he was just a pretty face with an irresistible personality, but that had never mattered to him. His father said that you must take advantage of the gifts that God had given you, and just as an intelligent man exploits his mind to triumph, an ordinary person must benefit what is given to him. Since he was little he was aware that he could get others to do things for him, and he had followed his father's advice. He was not overly intelligent or possessed an overwhelming culture, and he was far from coming from a wealthy family, but he had managed to find his skill. He did not enjoy an enviable physic, but his face seemed to have been sculpted by some Renaissance artist, and his incredible capacity for persuasion was added to it.
When the recess was palpated in the environment, his pulse quickened. He had spent almost three hours of tedious budget talks and austerity strategies waiting for that moment, the moment when he was possibly going to become the most famous man in the country. He took a deep breath, as he always did to temper his nerves and composed his best gesture, the one that for years had saved him from a more than certain mediocrity. He adjusted his tie, smoothed his enormously expensive Italian jacket, and stood up. The majority should not recognize his face, because he had tried to remain in the absolute anonymity in the plenary sessions, as had been indicated from above, but that was going to change in the next few seconds. He cleared his throat and composed the affectated smile he had rehearsed so many times. When all the members shut up and paid attention to him, he let go of the bomb. Throughout the building you could hear the exclamations and cries of consternation that echoed in that room.
****
He only had to press the number and wait for a tone before they pick up at the other side. For a few seconds no one answered, and in the line only the breathing of both was perceived, until a raspy voice, like a smoker of Solera, broke the wait.
—Where are you?
—Close to Tejas Negras, Guadalajara— he added.
—Do you have them controlled?
—Totally.
A thick silence that he did not dare to interrupt.
—All right— he conceded—. Keep waiting.
The conversation was cut without waiting for a response or confirmation. He left the phone and continued reading the magazine with the latest models of motorcycles on the porch.
****
After having spent the last two hours engaged in another unsuccessful search for anything that could be related, they decided to stop. Raquel went to take a shower and Juandi put on an apron and hummed happily in the kitchen, fiddling through the drawers and trying to develop his culinary arts. Despite having to seclude himself from the world, he was happy, especially because for him, that could be considered the closest thing to a vacation he had had in the last four years.
He heard the water running in the bathroom and wanted to leave the pots and mess with her inside, but Rachel was a little distant and he did not want to speed things up too much. He had spoiled a few relationships because he did not know how to contain himself, and he wanted to inhibit as much as possible. He had noticed that she wanted to take that first definitive step and he had decided that it should be so. Although they had already gone to bed, he was not going to give the official status to their relationship until Rachel had done it before.
He heard the taps closing and she was singing, presumably while soaping. The giant decided to start cooking as soon as possible if he did not want to be the one that ended up boiling. When she appeared with wet hair and still wrapped in a cream-colored bathrobe, he could not contain himself any longer. He crossed the room with his apron on and kissed her passionately, almost rudely. She looked for him too, more restrained at first, but anxious later. Between stumbles and tripping they reached the staircase without taking the other's lips away. They stumbled up the steps, still looking at each other with ardor, and rushed into the room.
****
Although the rubber soles creaked slightly on the tiles at the entrance, they seemed to float on the wooden deck floor. He smiled amused when imagining his attire, and that was because if anyone who could see it he would undoubtedly think that he was facing one of those modern called hipster, or at least, before an "eccentric".
He walked peacefully around the room and removed the papers with a finger. He took out a next generation mobile and photographed the contents of the table slowly, framing and zooming in when necessary. When he had finished, he lifted his head and sniffed the air. He went to the kitchen and picked up a fork from one of the drawers, alternating between a pan and a large pot that rested on the kitchen countertop and simmering. He touched one of the pieces of meat with the point until he chose one and brought it to his mouth. Exquisite, even though it still lacked some cooking. He looked for a plate and a spoon and poured himself a generous portion, picking up the thick sauce with the spoon and then spilling it with a piece of bread. He would have liked to go upstairs, kill them both in bed while they were distracted by sex, and then pick up the material
, but the orders were different, and although he did not understand them, he complied them. He had always done it, and that had earned him confidence in his work for which he charged exorbitant rates, to which his rivals could not even approach.
He went to the sink and thoroughly cleaned the plate and cutlery to leave them in the exact place where he had taken them. He heard the moans coming from above and felt an irrepressible impulse to end that, but he held back. He walked around the living room again and found women's underwear lying in one of the corners, next to a wet towel. He picked up the panties and put them in his pocket. No one wore panties anymore and he considered that a real affront to men. He liked the traditional, the demure girls and the lace underwear, but they insisted on being more and more shameless and putting on thongs and necklines with the sole purpose of provoking. He reached into his pocket and squeezed the soft silk of the underwear tightly. He was about to change the plans for the first time in his life and go upstairs. He would kill the man and force the woman. Yes, that was a good plan, and he could always say that he had been caught watching and had had to kill them. He put one of the Nike sneakers on the first step and felt the bulge of his gun in his side just as he heard a long moan, topped with a sigh of pleasure. He felt disgusted when he recognized the man's voice and left imprecating in low, furious.
****
She rested her head on his chest and found herself tremendously comforted. She had never felt anything like that for a man before, but she did not want to annoy him. She had noticed Juandi a bit distant, cold, and immediately had put land in the middle. She thought she understood what was happening, since it was not the first time she was going through a similar situation. She had to accept that she was a tremendously brave woman, with a strong and impetuous character, and that plus the fact that most of the men she knew worked for her, it was very difficult for relationships to come to set.
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