“Very well,” we heard Borja tell her, “I’ll take the recording to the police.”
“No, wait!” she said. “Sixty thousand euros is a lot of money. Thirty thousand is the most I can lay my hands on.” Then she added, “But I need time even to get that sum, because my husband only left me a load of debts.”
Borja replied he would give her two days to find the thirty thousand and that he and I would go to Zen Moments on Thursday afternoon with the incriminating video. Rather theatrically he cautioned her against trying anything rash.
“Whoopee!” said Borja after hanging up. “That’s her in the bag!”
“Now we only need to persuade the judge!” exclaimed the Inspector with a sigh, as he beckoned to the waiter to come over and ordered a whisky straight. And, shaking his head, he added, “To tell you the truth, Mr Masdéu, I don’t know how I ever let you implicate me in such madness…”
Borja smiled contentedly. I would like to have told the Inspector that my brother’s persuasive talent was one of his virtues or defects, depending how you looked at it, and that he wasn’t the first person to succumb to it. But I said nothing. The Inspector downed his shot of whisky and we ordered another round of gin and tonics as the pianist for the evening opened his performance at Harry’s with the classic ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.
22
Late next morning the Inspector rang Borja and informed him that the judge had finally given him the green light. Deputy Inspector Alsina-Graells would lead the operation and we should come to the station on Les Corts at nine on Thursday morning to start off. At the time, Borja and I were window-shopping in jewellers on the Passeig de Gràcia trying to find a present for Lola, whose birthday it was on Sunday. Borja couldn’t decide between a white-gold bracelet and some earrings.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You know an engagement ring is what would really make Lola’s day.”
“I think she’d prefer the bracelet,” concluded my brother, acting as if he’d not heard me. “Its fancy design is more her style.”
As soon as we left the shop, Borja’s telephone rang again. My brother answered, sure it would be the Inspector, but when he heard the voice on the line his expression changed and he looked surprised. I could only hear what Borja was saying, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce he wasn’t in conversation with Inspector Badia.
“It was that woman,” said Borja rather nervously after he’d hung up. “The one who gave me that mobile.”
“The foreign lady with the sensual lips?”
“That’s right.”
“So how come she phoned your mobile and not the one she gave you?”
“Because its battery has run out…” said Borja. “I’ve not found a charger that works.”
“Does she want to meet up?”
“Yes, she wants to see me tomorrow to collect the package. She says it’s the only day possible because she’s very busy on Thursday and Friday, and her plane leaves first thing on Saturday.”
“Good heavens, how garrulous! This time she really went into detail…” I said, remembering how sparse she’d been in her use of words when she accosted us in the street. And as I’d heard where Borja had suggested they meet, I queried, “Why did you say the zoo? Isn’t that rather recherché?”
“I don’t think so. It’s the first place that came to mind,” he replied. “I once saw a spy film in which the secret agents agreed to meet at the zoo to exchange their messages; I suppose that’s why I thought of it.” When he saw I still looked bemused, he added, “It’s a secure place, open-air, with lots of people with children… Nothing remiss can happen to me in a zoo.”
“To us, because I’m coming too,” I replied.
“No, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head. “I got involved in this business by myself and you don’t have to pick up any of the fall-out. I’ll go alone.”
“You’re my brother. I’m not letting you meet a CIA agent without someone to cover your back. And I’ll remind you I’m the elder brother, so don’t answer back.”
“No, you’re not. You popped out first. So, in fact, I’m the first-born,” argued Borja.
“Be that as it may, I’m coming tomorrow,” I added. “What I can’t fathom is why it had to be opposite the lions. Isn’t that rather dramatic?”
“So what did you want?” he retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “An encounter opposite the giant turtles or a tapir? At least you can’t miss the lions.”
“True enough,” I had to agree.
We walked as far as the Diagonal, where our ways parted. Borja had arranged to have lunch with Lola and said he was going to take a taxi. I decided to take the bus home.
“Are you sure it’s what we really ought to do?” I asked anxiously. “I mean, the information on the memory stick may be vital for the safety of the planet, and tomorrow you’re going to hand it over to a complete stranger. Perhaps you should speak to Badia, tell him the whole story and let him take over.”
“Hey, Eduard, forget the Inspector. In the unlikely event that he believed us and didn’t lock us up there and then, how can we be sure if we hand this information over to the mossos, that the CIA won’t be furious and put us on a plane to Guantánamo?”
“Hell, don’t give me any more frights!”
“I don’t want to, but the risk is there. Just think: Brian didn’t know me at all and gave me this keyring, not the police. I imagine he was thinking that if something happened to him, as it soon did, the keyring would be safe until someone from his side came to collect it. And this person must belong to the CIA, right?” argued Borja. “So, we’ll give them back their keyring, and end of saga.”
“Sure, but what if the information falls into the wrong hands?” I persisted.
“Please, Eduard, don’t tie yourself in knots. Tomorrow we will get rid of the wretched keyring, period. Let the CIA see to it after that, it’s what they’re paid for!” he exclaimed, ending the argument.
We agreed to meet the following morning at half past eleven by the entrance to the zoo. We both arrived punctually, he in a taxi from Lola’s, and I by bus, with Arnau, who was on holiday. That same morning, Joana had gone on a trip with some friends and, as Montse was working and I had to look after the kid because we can’t rely on the twins, I decided to bring him along. Borja had assured me we were in no danger, and Arnau was delighted with the prospect of a morning at the zoo surrounded by exotic animals.
A group was demonstrating by the entrance with anti-zoo placards. They’d set up a table with pamphlets where they were collecting signatures, but there were few activists and they weren’t having much success: the scant visitors around simply walked into the zoo without paying much attention to their harangues against the alleged mistreatment of animals by zoos. It wasn’t like the weekends when mile-long queues formed when, at best, only two ticket windows were open. There was hardly any queue at all. Borja, who’d looked surprised to see Arnau, paid for our entrance tickets and we walked in.
It was Holy Thursday and the school holidays had started some days ago, but the zoo was almost empty: the odd tourist couple with their children and a few groups of kids wearing club caps and clutching lunch boxes on a day’s outing. It was hot and sunny, though cool in the shade. A gentle breeze wafted our way, bringing with it the stink of animal excrement that triggered nostalgic childhood memories. Borja hadn’t been back to the zoo since then, but I knew the place well because I’d been time and again with the twins and then Arnau. I saw my brother getting all emotional because those visits to the zoo, picnic included, were among our rare memories of our parents, who’d tell us stories that thrilled us to bits. In those days, the distance separating visitors from the elephants was much less and you could give them peanuts and carrots, which they – or rather he, because there was only one – quickly snaffled up with his hairy trunk. I was scared of elephants, but a fascinated Borja spent hours contemplating them.
“I don’t remember it like this,” he
said as we walked past the giraffes. “When we came with our parents, it seemed enormous. In fact, it’s very small.”
“But they have modernized it, and some animals now enjoy acres of space!” I said. “The tigers, for example, aren’t caged any more.”
“You know what? I’ll think I’ll come back with Lola one of these days. Just to remember the old times.”
I noted that my brother had said “Lola” and not “Merche”, and smiled to myself. I’m fond of Lola, so I was glad they were getting on well.
We soon reached the area with the lions and my senses signalled red alert. It was early and Borja suggested sitting down on a bench with shade. The lion and lioness were engaged in seasonal, quite shameless erotic acts, in full sight of everyone, something that aroused Arnau’s curiosity.
“What are they doing?”
“Playing.”
“The lioness seems really happy,” muttered Borja, gazing at the tender scene of love that was keeping the king of the jungle busy.
“She certainly does.”
When it was five to twelve, we got up and stood by the rail, opposite the lions.
“I find it very strange to be standing here with Arnau watching this couple,” I whispered, referring to the lion and lioness roaring with pleasure and licking away.
“Ah, we’re not the only ones watching. It’s not a spectacle you see every day.”
“I feel we’re intruding on their intimate moments.”
“Eduard, intimacy is a human concept,” Borja drawled, breaking into philosophical mode. “I assure you that the lion and lioness couldn’t give a toss.”
“I expect you are right.”
I glanced around to see if I could spot a spy with shades and sensual lips, but could see her nowhere. The only one who seemed rooted to the spot like us, and looking around as if she were looking for someone was a tall, freckled redhead who was far from pretty. She wore a low-cut, sky-blue T-shirt and a miniskirt, but her long white legs looked like two stunted toothpicks that made you feel sorry for her.
Arnau had got bored of the lions and had been grumbling for some time. Finally, when it had gone ten past twelve, I asked Borja, “Is that the woman who rang you yesterday?” discreetly indicating the redhead with my eyes.
“No way!” was Borja’s confident reaction. “She doesn’t look one bit like the girl who gave me the mobile. She was very pretty, or have you forgotten? This girl is taller and looks English, not American.”
We waited on, listening stoically to Arnau’s complaints until, at a quarter to one, the redhead came over and asked us in excellent Spanish if either of us was Borja.
“I’m Borja,” my brother declared, quite surprised.
The girl smiled and said she’d been put off by the fact there were three of us because she was only expecting one person. Borja asked her what her name was and she said she was Emily. She apologized for her last-minute call, but said Charlie was moody and impulsive like that. Now she was looking forward to seeing him again, though she’d not set foot in London for three years as it brought back such bad memories. She was also happy to do him this favour. She blabbered away and gesticulated a lot, and though Borja and I understood none of her blabber we listened very politely, imagining it must be a technique designed to deter other spies who might be observing us. Finally, Emily looked at her watch and asked Borja if he had the package. Borja said he did and extracted from his pocket a sealed envelope where he’d lodged Brian’s gift-wrapped keyring.
“Well, we were expecting someone else,” said Borja.
“Oh, I’m completely in the dark,” replied the redhead, shrugging her shoulders. “Charlie simply asked me to pick up this package before catching my plane.”
“But, you do work for the Agency, don’t you?” I asked, wanting to be reassured.
“Yes,” she said, rather taken aback. “Did Charlie tell you?”
“It’s what he hinted,” I said.
“And are you familiar with the agency?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose most people know something about the way it works,” said Borja.
“Good,” she said, stuffing the envelope into her bag. “I’m very sorry, but I must run, or the agency guys will kill me! Luckily I came on my motorbike!” she said with a smile.
And leaving us rooted to the spot, Emily turned around and walked quickly off.
Borja and I took a while to react and started walking.
“That spy has a really peculiar sense of humour,” Borja commented, as we headed towards the dolphins.
“Yes, very peculiar and very macabre; how could she say such a thing after what happened to poor Brian…”
It must be her way of living with the pain. Besides, she was English, and we all know the English are masters of black comedy,” he declared wryly, sounding very sure of himself.
Montse had insisted on inviting Borja to lunch, and after watching the dolphins perform we caught the metro home. My brother grumbled all the way, because it wasn’t direct and we had to make a couple of changes. As it was only April, the air conditioning wasn’t switched on and it was very hot inside the tunnels.
“Are you absolutely sure she was the woman Brian wanted us to hand his keyring to?” I said suddenly, while we were walking down one of the passages. “If I remember correctly, she called him Charlie, not Brian.”
“You heard the Inspector,” said Borja, throwing a coin at the cap of a girl playing the violin who had flashed a smile in his direction. “Brian used a pseudonym.”
“Yes, but it was his surname, not his first name that was fake!” I replied, remembering how we’d known him as Brian Morgan when in fact he was Brian Harris, at least according to the Inspector.
“Oh, that’s because these spies have lots of different aliases,” chirped Borja, acting as if he was an expert. “Besides, you asked her if she worked for the Agency and she said she did, didn’t she?”
“That’s true. But she didn’t look like a spy.”
“I agree. But what did you expect? There must be all kinds of spies. They can’t all have sensual lips!” sighed Borja.
“And isn’t that a pity?”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
23
We spent the whole of Friday morning with Deputy Inspector Alsina-Graells, fine-tuning the details of Operation Buddha, as the Inspector had dubbed it. We’d arranged to meet Sònia in her deceased husband’s flat at five, and the plan was for Borja and I to carry hidden microphones so the Deputy Inspector and her men could overhear and record the conversation. As we had no other evidence, we had to try to get a confession out of her, which seemed easy enough on paper, but less so in reality.
“Above all, don’t get nervous or forget you’ve got the microphones on you. Remember, she must confess to killing her husband,” the Deputy Inspector pleaded.
“Don’t worry, Deputy Inspector!” Borja said soothingly. “It will all turn out fine, you just see. Won’t it, Eduard?”
I’m not so good at lying as Borja, and was as agitated as the Deputy Inspector. We left her office at two and went for lunch with her and a couple of sergeants in a bar full of mossos and, as soon as we finished, we went back to the station to go over the plan for the nth time. At half past four, after checking that the microphones Borja and I had hidden under our clothes were working properly, we climbed into a taxi driven by a policeman in plain clothes. Behind us came three Ford Escorts incognito, full of police: Deputy Inspector Alsina-Graells was in the first.
When we reached Zen Moments, we saw what Cecília had told us was true: they were refurbishing. The centre was closed to the public and the Eastern-style garden that surrounded it was full of sacks of rubble and building materials. Workers were constantly going in and out and, as the door was open, Borja and I walked in without asking permission from anyone or being stopped by anyone. Once we were inside, we went straight to Horaci’s office and knocked on the door. The sign with his name had gone.
Sònia Claramun
t opened the door.
“Good afternoon,” Borja greeted her.
“You’re very punctual,” she replied frostily, as she gestured to us to come in.
She looked daggers at us, but that was hardly strange, I reflected, as Borja and I had come – at least in theory – to blackmail her and she was about to hand over thirty thousand euros to buy our silence. Her jeans and tight-fitting white T-shirt emphasized how svelte she was, and her necklaces, bracelets, earrings and paste rings on her fingers added the finishing touches to her informal, if not entirely casual, style of dress. I stared at her shoes, which were flat and dark blue, and the little toes she’d amputated for the sake of fashion came to mind.
“Have you got the video?” she asked.
“That depends,” replied my brother with a smile. “Have you got the money?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
“The thirty thousand euros we agreed for the tape where you can be seen entering the meditation centre the night they killed your husband?”
I thought Borja was spreading it on too thickly, and that Sònia might sense this was a trap.
“Here’s your thirty thousand,” she said, pointing to the plastic bag on top of the desk.
“May I?” Borja pointed to the bag. “I don’t want to seem rude, but you must understand I can hardly trust a woman who killed her husband in cold blood,” he continued, smiling away.
“I didn’t kill him in cold blood,” retorted a weary-sounding Sònia. “In any case, that’s none of your business. Take your money and leave me in peace.”
Borja glanced inside the bag and gave her the empty tape.
“By the way, I am intrigued,” added Borja. “Was it an attack of jealousy? You did know your hubby was no saint, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t have a clue,” she replied wearily.
“Obviously you must have inherited insurance money. I saw the building workers outside…”
“I thought we’d come to an agreement, Mr Masdéu. I give you the money and you give me the tape. Our professional relationship ends there.” She walked over to the door. “And don’t try coming back to ask for more, because then we will all end up in the slammer. I’ll get put down for a number of years but you’ll lose your thirty thousand and will be inside for a time too,” she warned threateningly.
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