The Exile

by Mark Oldfield

  He grasped one of the ends of the cloth tourniquet and held it tight as he leaned forward to grip the other end in his teeth, pulling the knot tighter, staunching the blood. When it was done, he slumped back, listening to his laboured breathing as he tried to gather his strength. As he struggled to his feet, he heard footsteps echoing around the cavern. The sound of voices.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ Nieves shouted as León dragged her towards the well, gripping her hair tight in his hand, forcing her to walk almost doubled.

  ‘I haven’t even started, señorita.’ León’s head swam with dark thoughts and intentions. ‘I’ve wanted to get you alone for a long time.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow.’

  He saw the damaged section of the parapet of the well and dragged her to it.

  ‘From what I heard back there in the tunnel, it sounded like Guzmán’s your papa?’

  ‘Ask him,’ Nieves said, wincing at his iron grip on her hair.

  León paused to look down into the shaft of the well. ‘Whether he was or not, it looks like they both went down there.’ Without warning, he pushed Nieves to the ground and knelt astride her. She raised her head, her dark eyes glittering with anger and fear as he drew the skinning knife from his belt.

  ‘Keep still.’ León gloated as he slid the blade of the knife under one of the buttons on her blouse, enjoying her fear as he sliced though the fabric, cutting away the button. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said. An almost casual aside. ‘You can take your clothes off or I cut them off.’

  ‘I’d rather die than let you touch me.’

  León chuckled. ‘You’re going to die after I’ve touched you, niña. I’m going to carve you up like I did your mama.’

  Her face froze. ‘What do you mean?’

  León was smirking now he’d got her attention. ‘She was a spy. Guzmán was a bit too friendly with her, so the general ordered me to do the execution. And now I’m going to do the same to you. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg me to kill you.’

  Guzmán listened to León’s taunts, feeling the anger burn in his veins. He killed her? He struggled to his feet. He killed her. As he prepared to slip out through the gap between the big stones, he reached for the Browning. His hand touched leather. The holster was empty. Wearily, he paused, resting a hand on the cold stone. He would have to rely on his fists then. Carefully, he pushed through the big stones and stepped out into the cavern.

  Near the well, he saw León’s dark bulk pinning Nieves to the ground. Heard his threats, his curses. Nieves’s sudden protests as he touched her, mocking her helpless outrage.

  Guzmán walked slowly, his breathing slow and controlled, as the Moors had taught him, heel first, rolling the foot forward, eyes scouring the ground for potential obstructions, his mind focused on maintaining his silent progress. As if from a great distance, he heard León’s greasy chuckle as he sliced another button from Nieves’ blouse. Guzmán ignored it, distracted as he stared at El Lobo’s rifle, lying a metre or so ahead of him on the dirt floor.

  León was breathing heavily. He’d imagined this moment for a long time. A thin string of drool hung from his mouth as he brushed the knife over Nieves’ throat. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got in here shall we, niña?’ He reached down with his free hand to open her blouse.

  ‘Die on your feet or on your knees, León, it’s your choice.’ The metallic rasp of the rifle bolt echoed round the cavern as Guzmán put a round into the breech.

  León moved fast, stumbling away from Nieves as he looked for an escape route. Desperately, he turned back, intending to use her as a shield, but she had moved beyond his reach now, holding her blouse closed as she hurried to put more distance between them. León stared at Guzmán, open-mouthed.

  ‘This must be the only time in your fucking life you’ve got nothing to say, Sargento.’

  ‘We can talk,’ León said. ‘It should be simple to sort this out.’

  Guzmán kept the rifle aimed. ‘You’re dead. How’s that for simple?’

  ‘I’ll tell you where the money is. All five million.’

  ‘Makes no difference.’ Guzmán took a step closer.

  ‘Comandante?’ Nieves’ voice rang in the silence. ‘I don’t want you to shoot him.’

  ‘He was going to rape you,’ Guzmán said. ‘And he killed your mother. He dies.’

  She stood, arms folded tightly across her chest. ‘I said let him go. Please.’

  ‘Why?’ Guzmán asked, suddenly belligerent.

  ‘Because shooting him in cold blood isn’t right.’

  ‘She’s right.’ León nodded, his small eyes flickering around the cave.

  Guzmán went to him. ‘Turn round and walk towards that tunnel.’

  León moved sideways, suspecting if he turned his back Guzmán would shoot.

  ‘Tell me again why I’m not going to kill this dough-faced bastard?’ Guzmán asked.

  ‘It’s not his destiny, Comandante,’ said Nieves.

  León stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, keeping his hands raised. Behind him, the light of the torches played on the rough stone walls, illuminating the first few metres of the tunnel. Guzmán’s gaze moved beyond León, focusing on the big X scratched on the wall behind him.

  ‘Nieves is right,’ he said. ‘Get going. I don’t want to see you again.’

  León turned, unable to believe his luck.

  ‘Fucking run.’ Guzmán fired a shot past him into the darkened tunnel. As the echoes died away, León disappeared into the darkness, his hobnailed boots clattering as he ran.

  Nieves came closer to Guzman. The colour was returning to her face. She was a brave girl, he thought.

  ‘Thank you for not killing him, Comandante.’

  He shrugged. From inside the tunnel they could still hear the sound of León’s boots.

  Nieves turned her head as León’s scream came echoing toward them.

  A scream of surprise, perhaps a tinge of disappointment too, Guzmán thought. ‘I think León’s destiny just caught up with him. Shall I take you home?’

  She looked at him hard. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You knew who my mother was all along and you never said a word.’

  Guzmán wiped blood from the cut above his eye. ‘It was difficult.’

  ‘What was difficult?’ Nieves snapped. ‘Telling me my mother was a prostitute or that you were my father?’ She tossed her hair from her face and he saw the dark anger in her eyes. Her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Why didn’t you help her escape?’ Nieves’ voice was strained. ‘You’d been lovers, she’d had your child. What sort of man are you?’

  ‘She was supposed to go back to Lauburu Farm with you,’ Guzmán muttered. ‘I paid a local drover to take you both. Something went wrong. In the end, she stayed with her comrades and the drover took you.’ He shook his head. ‘There was nothing I could do. I wasn’t there when they were killed or perhaps I could have stopped it.’

  Her dark witch’s eyes were radiant with fury. ‘Maybe you didn’t want to stop it?’

  Guzman scowled. ‘Of course I did. Why do you say that?’

  An impenetrable silence. He saw her face darken, as if the shadows were growing around her. Her mouth a thin, tight line, stretched into a vicious smile.

  ‘I’m just thinking, Comandante,’ Nieves said. ‘My mother was your prisoner.’

  ‘I think we established that.’

  ‘And yet you met her in the army camp where she was working?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘So that was the Republican Army.’

  ‘So what?’ Guzmán grunted, disturbed by her expression.

  ‘When you captured her, she was an enemy agent and you were a Nationalist officer. That means you changed sides.’ Her eyes glowed, triumphant. ‘You were a traitor.’

  ‘Things like that happen in wartime.’

  ‘I doubt they happened to people who end up as secret policemen with credentials fr
om Franco giving them all sorts of privileges. ‘If I report it to the policía in San Sebastián, do you think they’ll take notice?’

  His face hardened. Better people than her had tried to use his secrets against him. ‘No, of course not. They’ll think you’re a little farm girl with a grudge.’

  ‘But I bet there’d be someone who’d do some checking, just because it seems so odd.’

  That was true, Guzmán thought. There was always some busybody who might follow up something like that just for the hell of it, hoping that maybe it would make a name for them. He tried to stay calm. He had to, because otherwise it would be too easy to let the voice in his head guide him. It was loud now, urging him to do what he’d done to the few people who’d discovered his secret over the years. Kill her.

  ‘You should go,’ he said quietly. ‘For your own good.’

  ‘You won’t hurt me, Comandante.’ She tossed her hair from her face. ‘Don’t they say blood’s thicker than water?’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ Guzmán grunted. ‘Go now.’

  She looked him in the face, sensing the threat. ‘All right. I’ll go.’

  He watched her walk towards one of the tunnels. She stopped and turned back.

  ‘You came to our house as a guest and never said a word to me about my mother. I never knew how she died. You could have told me.’ Her eyes shone. ‘You should have told me.’

  Guzmán was accustomed to having the last word. He had no words now.

  Nieves gestured at the cavern walls. ‘Mari punishes liars.’ Shaking, she lifted her hand and pointed at him. ‘Betiko madarikatua zara. You are forever cursed. May those you care about die, and may you live long in solitude and despair.’ She hurried away into the tunnel, her slight figure soon lost in shadow.

  He listened as her footsteps faded into the darkness and then went over to the gallery and took down one of the torches to guide him back.

  He emerged near the derelict fortifications on the hillside. Below, he saw Nieves, walking quickly into the valley, suddenly obscured by the great boulders and gnarled trees littering the hillside.

  He walked back to the village alone, sullen and angry. Everything in this region was complicated. Even with El Lobo dead, he still had problems. He’d realised that as soon as he’d examined the crates of weapons in the old fortress. He’d expected to see the Çubiry label on them, not the crest of the fucking Military Governor. For his own lunatic reasons, Mellado had supplied arms to the resistance. That was something that needed to be dealt very quickly, before Mellado could do some real damage.

  But now, as he neared the village, there was one last task to carry out. Gutiérrez had sent him a file to the pensión. He needed to read that to see if there were further orders for him. And there was a bonus: Capitán Viana – or whoever he really was – was coming after the file.

  He was in for a surprise.

  28

  MADRID, JULY 2010, GUARDIA CIVIL, OFICINA DE ASUNTOS EXTERNOS

  ‘Here we are.’ Isabel slowed the car as they approached headquarters.

  Outside the building, several uniformed men in dark sunglasses stared at the passing traffic, sub-machine guns held at the ready.

  ‘Don’t pull up here,’ Galíndez warned, ‘they’re worried about suicide bombers.’

  Isabel found a parking space further along the road. She turned to Galíndez. ‘How are you feeling, Ana?’

  ‘I just wish it was over,’ Galíndez said. ‘And I’d be a lot happier if I could speak to Capitán Fuentes and Mercedes. I don’t understand why they haven’t been in touch.’

  ‘It must have been a shock,’ Isabel said. ‘It’s not every day you come home to find your house looking like a war zone.’

  ‘That’s what everyone says.’ Galíndez nodded. Her face clouded for a moment. ‘But a thank-you card from the boss wouldn’t have hurt.’

  ‘It’s the least they could do, since you saved the girls’ lives. And you’re suspended again. It’s not fair.’

  Galíndez shrugged. ‘A temporary suspension is routine after an incident involving fatalities. Once this meeting’s over, I should be reinstated automatically.’ She changed the subject. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Very professional. That suit makes a change from a leather jacket and jeans.’

  Galíndez smiled. ‘Thanks, Mamá.’

  ‘Good luck.’ Isabel leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Do your ribs still hurt?’

  ‘They’re fine. If I get any pain, I’ll take a tablet.’

  ‘Maybe you should see the doctor again? If those tablets are as weak as you say, you might need something stronger.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to take medication all the time.’

  ‘That’s typical of you, Ana María.’ Isabel laughed. ‘Always taking the hard route.’

  ‘Remember you said I could talk to you about what happened last year?’

  ‘Of course. The offer still stands.’

  ‘Could we do it soon? Like in a couple of days?’ She looked away, suddenly awkward.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘It could take a while.’

  ‘Take all the time you need, querida. Hey, do you want to go out for dinner tonight?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Galíndez opened the door. ‘I’d better go, I don’t want to be late.’

  Isabel put a hand on her arm. ‘Remember you said I give up too easily?’

  Galíndez nodded.

  ‘I haven’t given up.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Let me know how it goes, won’t you?’ Isabel called as Galíndez got out of the car.

  ‘It might be a while, I expect they’ll want to go through everything in detail.’

  ‘I just hope your voice doesn’t give out.’

  ‘I’ll try not to talk too much.’ Galíndez laughed.

  Inside the lobby, she took a deep breath, remembering what she had to do: tell the truth, give them the facts. That was simple enough. For once she had nothing to hide. The lift doors slid open and she stepped in. When the doors opened at the second floor, she saw the sign immediately, Asuntos Internos. As the lift doors closed, she caught a glimpse of the curious faces watching her, relieved that they weren’t going into Internal Affairs for a grilling.

  The corridor was empty and Galíndez tidied her hair before she went down the drab green corridor to reception. She put a hand in her jacket pocket, checking for the tube of painkillers. A couple of those would get her through the meeting nicely. As she looked round for the women’s toilets, the receptionist came out of a room a few metres down the corridor.

  ‘Dr Galíndez?’ The woman extended her arm towards the open door. ‘Everyone’s ready if you’d like to come in.’

  Reluctantly, Galíndez put the tablets back in her pocket and followed the receptionist into the conference room.

  There were five people at the table. She already knew the meeting would be conducted by Comandante Del Rio and Capitán Rodriguez from Internal Affairs, and she was expecting Mendez to be there in her role as union representative, but it was a surprise to see Capitán and Señora Fuentes at the table, both staring at her as if she’d just crawled out from under a rock.

  ‘Have a seat, Dr Galíndez,’ Del Rio said, writing in his notebook.

  Galíndez went towards an empty chair next to Mendez. Before she could sit down, Mercedes leaped up, her face contorted with anger. ‘We invite you into our home and this is how you repay us?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You twisted bitch.’

  Galíndez struggled for words. ‘Qué pasa?’ Her voice was still gruff.

  Mercedes slapped her across the face, hard. The sound of the blow seemed ridiculously loud in the small room.

  Galíndez raised a hand to her cheek, bewildered. Mendez looked on, even more surprised. She’d seen the blow coming, just as she knew Galíndez must have, yet she hadn’t blocked it.

  Capitán Fuentes pulled his wife away. ‘Leave it, mi amor. She’s not worth it.’

 
; ‘You know, Capitán, it would be better if you’d leave this to us,’ Del Rio said.

  ‘He’s right. Let’s get out of here,’ Fuentes said, pushing Mercedes towards the door.

  Mercedes looked back at her. ‘How could you, Ana María?’

  ‘How could I do what?’ Galíndez asked. ‘I don’t understand what you’re so mad about.’ She lifted her hand to the angry red mark on her cheek.

  Capitán Fuentes took a step towards her, his fists clenched, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘You don’t understand how taking advantage of a child’s trust is the lowest thing you could stoop to?’ He punched his fist into his palm.

  ‘I had to protect the girls. I couldn’t do anything about the fire.’

  Fuentes shook his head in disbelief. ‘No one’s talking about the fire.’

  ‘Then what’s the matter?’

  ‘I can’t bear to look at you.’ He turned and pulled open the door, standing aside to let Mercedes leave. He stared at Galíndez. ‘The next time I see you, I hope you’ll be wearing prison uniform.’

  Fuentes stormed out, leaving the door open. Galíndez heard Mercedes crying as they went down the corridor to the lift.

  Del Rio got up and shut the door. ‘You want a glass of water, Galíndez?’

  ‘No, gracias.’ Her mouth was dry and her throat burned but she refused, knowing if she took a drink they’d see her hand shake as she held the glass. She slumped back in her seat.

  Del Rio took a long breath. ‘I’ll make this as quick as I can.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Del Rio said, picking up a large cardboard envelope. He leaned towards the microphone in the centre of the table. ‘For the record, Dr Galíndez is being shown the photographic evidence labelled as item A1.’