—It's normal— Jonás’ tone was still neutral—. The dead don’t receive calls.
The man leaned back a little, and a huge Adam's apple jutted out of his slender neck. His laughter was strong and full of strength.
—I'm glad to see you, Jonás.
—I wish I could say the same, grandfather.
****
The waiter arrived with two coffees served in huge glasses that reminded Jonás of the ice cream he had taken as a child. As he appeared without saying a word, he left. José María Millán poured two envelopes of sugar into the coffee without taking his eyes off his grandson, who watched him unperturbed. The waiter appeared again with a silver tray containing six portions of some conical confectionery. Along with the tray, he left the account trapped with a clip.
—I've never been very fond of desserts— he picked up one of the cupcakes and held it by the base—. But these "Cuberdon" have finally conquered me. I find it commendable to be a raspberry candy in the "chocolate country" and achieve this level of triumph and mystery.
José María gently bit the top edge of the candy, and immediately a pink liquid stained his lips. He sipped delicately, and when he had emptied it, swallowed the whole cone in one bite.
—How did you find me? —he asked.
They were the only ones who were sitting outside the local, because the cold sharply wind and the thick fog enveloped them with an almost solid mantle. It was still raining, but in such a soft way that it was hardly appreciated.
—I missed you— Jonás replied without the slightest hint of joviality.
—Yes, I suppose a grandfather is yearned for whatever happens
They dissipated the tense silence that seized between them taking both one of the cones of purple colour.
—What are you doing here, Jonás? —there was no kindness in his tone—. I don’t have time for games, and I would consider myself in your place very grateful to stay alive.
—The truth is that I'm radiant.
He took a long drink of his coffee. The hot liquid felt great.
—But I confess that I am a little confused. I would like you to clarify a couple of things.
The old man shrugged and dedicated a gesture to his grandson, inviting him to ask.
—Why?
—Do you remember that day at the Hornillo’s pier? When I explained you Gillman’s story?
—Yes.
José María stirred the coffee and took a short sip, revealing in the aroma.
—Do you remember that I told you how Gillman had been forced to build an iron mass just to pretend, when really the true work, the reason why the pier could carry out its work were some small pulleys and some hidden routes under the "Mountain? —his calm tone reminded Jonás when he was telling him stories as a child and felt a sharp pain in his chest—. Do you remember that I told you that in this world nothing is what it seems?
—Grandfather...
—Well, dear— he cut—. I am that pulley, that way hidden under the mountain that performs the true service and that is not what it appears to be.
—You cheated on me— he replied.
—It was necessary.
—Necessary for what? —Jonás eyes had begun to moisten, and he recriminated himself for it—. I do not understand all this farce.
—Jonás sorry, I never wanted this to come out the way it did. From the beginning the idea was simple, take you to Jurgen, but things ended up twisting.
—Why you wanted me to find Jurgen? —Jonás tried to contain the anger at the calmly that his grandfather showed —And why Jurgen lied to me?
—Jurgen worked with me from the beginning— he admitted—. But I think you deserve a better explanation
—I don’t think there's justification for what you've done
—I'm not looking for justification, dear Jonás— he answered—. I was a journalist of the real ones, of those who leave their lives to tell the news, and that in my time was dangerous. I upset people, and when your grandmother died I wanted to leave everything, I didn’t feel encouraged to continue fighting.
—And what happened?
—I met someone who made me see things differently.
—Carmen Broto.
—Ours was hardly an adventure, a fleeting lunge when visiting Madrid— he recalled, dreaming—. And when that murderer of Billy had killed her I awoke the fury that had been asleep inside me. I devoted myself in body and soul to discovering and documenting every one of the murders of that hitman, the regime and its partners.
—But why didn’t you bring up the documents, the evidence? —Jonás realized the tone of lament in his voice and tried to harden it—. Why all this drama?
—For years, when I returned from Europe I tried to prosecute Chacón, — the old man explained—. I presented the documents to at least a dozen courts, although only the Argentine justice tried that he pays for his crimes, but Billy was very well connected and always managed to get rid, so I tried to do it otherwise. I knew the Gutierrez’s and Billy’s plans, I knew they were preparing a kind of "soft punch". They wanted to take control of the government by sowing the seeds of discord, blackmailing the right people and putting powerful people on their side. Believe me, in this country only a little gas is needed to light the wick and create a good fire.
—I know about the club— Jonás cut—. I know that the Bilderberg club is involved in all this
The old man let out a laugh that bounced off the eaves of the nearby houses and was lost in the thick fog.
—Jonás, dear, I'm the Bilderberg club— he confessed—. In Europe I met people, I paid my income with the money from the accounts I stole from Tiempos Libres, and from that moment I am part of the branch of the club in Spain. In fact, this issue of Chacón was approved at the meeting that the club held last year.
—The accounts? That's impossible, I myself have seen the money in those accounts!
—All fiction, like most of this matter. We needed Chacon to come out of the hole where he had hidden himself; We needed to know with what members of the club Gutiérrez had secretly agreed, and most of all, we needed Hermenegildo to leave his island and stop the force he was creating with his "movement".
—How?
—All this time, all this story Jonás, is like that way that goes into the mountain. I learned of some leaks, and I dropped the idea that I was in the press preparing the final proofs that would imprison Chacón and Gutiérrez once and for all. When he tried to poison me, I knew he could kill several birds with one stone. I simulated my death, I prepared the pencil so that your father could find it and take it to Anabel, I led you to Jurgen, and with that I sent Chacón out of his burrow.
—Why did Jurgen lie to me? We could have caught Chacon at that moment, or before he murdered dad— finally his eyes filled with tears.
—I needed Gutierrez to leave his mansion in the Caldera— he reiterated—. I took it to the extreme, I even gave him to try Chacon's poison, so he could have a heart attack
—But why?
—Because the collection was under his house! —the old man exploded—. It has always been there
For a long time, they remained silent. The haze seemed to thicken as the tension between them grew, but no one spoke until Jonás raised his arm to order two new coffees.
—They killed my father, I played my life and that of my friends on several occasions, I almost died in two different fires and crossed half the world to be shot in the stomach, and you say that all this was drama? We were your puppets and you the puppeteer?
—As I told you once, things are never what they seem— he teased—. Otto and I really stole the money from the blacksmiths and plotters of Chacón and Gutiérrez who had as a covering the association Tiempos Libres. When Ramonet needed help to flee abroad, Gutiérrez provided it to him in exchange for his collection. He arranged a contingent for the transfer, but at some point, the collection disappeared, and it was never known what had happened to it. Otto and I bribed the team to d
ivert the plane and hid the collection in a little house that Otto owned in Caldera de Taburiente. We thought that this remote place would be ideal. In that way, leaving Tiempos Libres without money and possessions, we thought we would end them. When the regime ended and Skorzeny was assassinated, I had to go into exile in Europe and Hermenegildo appropriated a holding company through Caccola that we didn’t know it existed, and from the only property that had been left without owner or claims, Otto’s land.
—And unknowingly he had all these years the collection under his feet
—Exactly, that's why I needed him to leave, but Hermenegildo as well as being a murderer was a true psychotic and hypochondriac. That island was his fortress, his refuge.
—So, you decided to devise all this pantomime and lose your son, and almost your grandson to recover the damn collection— there was no reproach in Jonás’ words, just pain. You were right about not being what you seem.
—It's not what you think— through the darkness and fog Jonas could not see his grandfather's face, but he noticed a note of mourning—. I was consumed. All my life I fought for the truth, for unmasking guys like Billy the kid, and they always got away with it. Since I joined the club, we decided who governs, who directs, who stays with this monopoly or who we take it from, and it was necessary to act.
—You're sick, grandpa— he syllabized—. I guess you put that bomb that killed Gutierrez and fifteen other people. I suppose you also sent Jurgen to murder that candidate and to take the blame to implicate Billy.
—I also killed Chacon before he put a bullet in your head in that flat— he spat with rage—. Besides, Jurgen's was his idea. I think that boy is the only person who hates Chacon more in this world than myself. Once Herme had left Taburiente, I decided to tackle all the problems at the root. The club was losing part of its authority because of some members who think they have the right to make deals behind our backs. Some of those members provided Chacón with incriminating evidence against government people who are our allies. It is in our interests to maintain our dealings with the current government, so I forced Gutiérrez's candidate to confess that he had been threatened, put Jurgen as an accomplice of Chacón, and discredited the movement that Gutiérrez had begun. I ended up with all the threats in one movement.
The old man let out a smile that Jonás could see even in the middle of that veiled darkness. Suddenly, in the hands of his grandfather something appeared that Jonás felt unreal. Both observed each other, analysing the possibilities. Jonás sensed how the barrel of the weapon was slightly wobbling due to the tremor in his grandfather's hands, and he did not know if it was due to the emotion or remorse that caused those shakings.
—Jonás, you're the closest thing I've had to a family since the post-war period, and I swear I had no intention of getting you involved in this way. You only had to get to the places where I could not. You must be a hero!
—But now you're going to kill me, right?
—You never had to come— there was almost pain in his tone—. We don’t have to do this Jonás, you can be part of all this with me
—The conspiracies and secret clubs that drive the world don’t go much with me— he finished his coffee and leaned toward his grandfather, who tensed his finger on the trigger—. Nor am I a murderer. Grandfather, tomorrow an edition of El Interventor will go on sale where the truth will be revealed. Even if you kill me, everything will come to light.
The old man grimaced in disgust, drained the coffee, and raised the gun. Jonás thought the canyon was as big as a subway mouth. José María tried to stand up but his legs failed, and he fell back into the chair.
—Oh, I forgot to tell you something, grandpa— Jonás left something on the table that at first was veiled by the darkness of the night—. Don’t worry, in the end you have taught me something.
The old man observed what his grandson had left, and he felt that it was difficult to focus his eyes. Immediately, a deep pain exploded in his chest and it was difficult for him to breathe.
—Well, it seems that in the end you're going to have that heart attack! —he got up while his grandfather dropped the gun and put his hands to his chest—. I love you grandpa.
When he turned, the mist took him in its arms as if it was a loving mother. As he disappeared through the streets of the Belgian capital, tears poured abundantly down his icy cheeks and he felt his heart tearing to pieces. The last thing José María Millán saw in this world was a small vial of empty Zitromax completely empty, and he felt a deep pride towards his grandson.
ACNOWLEDGEMENTS
I want to thank first, to all those who have helped me to get this novel forward. Thanks to Raquel Moreno Orea, who has been there from the first words to the last ones (reviews included), and who almost knows the novel more than myself. To the printing company Victoria de Mula, for the patience they have shown in teaching me how the press works inside, especially Juan Caballero and Iván Caballero, true artists of the trade and with a patience without limits. To Mariano Vicente, for his extensive knowledge of the history of Spain, and for agreeing to read the first draft of this manuscript in a disinterested and animated way. And as always, Cristina Gutiérrez, who puts an image to the follies of my mind.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANTONIO JESUS FUENTES GARCIA
Born in Murcia in 1978. He studied image and sound and works as a publicist. His great fondness for cinema has led him to make small incursions as a screenwriter. He currently has three published novels and a short story (unpublished) finalist of the Gabriel Sijé prize. He is currently working on his fifth novel.
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