Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  “So what are we doing here then?” Juan again insisted. “If you know where Raúl and Gillian are then why don’t we have a plan? Why didn’t you tell David you knew before he went?” Rodriguez smiled again but sounded a little less patient this time.

  “In the first place, we do have a plan,” he said. “And secondly it is essential that Señor David does not know what is happening. I understand your concerns,” he held up his hand to fend off Juan’s objections, “but he must appear completely convincing. Any hint that he knew more than he should could ruin everything. Please, trust me in this. Nothing in life is certain but I am confident that Gillian and David together will be returned to us.” Juan leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  “I hope you’re right,” he said. “I only hope you’re right.”

  With the engine turned off, the heat of the day building, the stuffy car, and overwhelming exhaustion, David began to doze. He dreamed he was lying on his back staring at the sky, a Spanish flag fluttering over his head. When he looked around he found he was on a Spanish treasure galleon sailing home.

  The sound of a text message arriving woke him up. The instructions were terse and to the point. He was to turn west towards Almagro then south to Calzada de Calatrava. Once there he was to wait. Well, he thought, so be it, wound up his chair and pulled back onto the highway. The SatNav identified towns, villages, and features as they drove. Almost everything for miles around seemed to be Calatrava this or that. He passed through Moral de Calatrava and on to Almagro. To the north was Bolaños de Calatrava, further west Valenzuela de Calatrava. Before long he was passing through Granatula de Calatrava. The vineyards of Valdepeñas had given way to drier, more arid scrubby hillside and the Sierra de Calatrava rose up on the horizon. He was travelling deeper and deeper into the Spanish countryside. Wherever Raúl was taking him, it was off the beaten track and far from any police attention. Probably that was the point – to get him somewhere unknown to anybody but the village constable and far from the reach of Rodriguez, Espinosa or anyone else. He would be completely on his own. No cavalry would be coming over these hills. But where exactly would the meeting point be? A house on the outskirts of a village, a hunting lodge halfway up some mountainside or maybe just a parking place by the roadside? He imagined a couple of Raúl’s henchmen lounging outside a wooden shack halfway up a track, as he pulled up outside. One of them was going in to report his arrival. Then Raúl came out holding Gillian roughly by the arm. Would she be bound, gagged, and blindfolded? They spoke. Raúl had a smooth, almost silky tone but an unmistakable undercurrent of malice and violence. He gripped Gillian more tightly and made her wince. David felt powerless to stop it. Suddenly he realized what was happening. Letting his imagination free flow like this brought a rising panic and made his stomach churn, in place of the peace of mind he had felt up to then. He would leave the outcome to the same power that seemed to have set up so many coincidences already. Deliberately he handed the situation back and let the countryside go by without questioning where he was going or what would happen next.

  As he approached Calzada the next message arrived. Were they simply estimating his journey time or were there lookouts at every turn? He should continue south-west then turn right up to the monastery castle of Calatrava la Nueva. So that’s where he was going; it was a destination he knew something about. Calatrava la Nueva had been the fortified base of the Knights of Calatrava – an order of warrior monks who claimed to worship God mainly by attacking the Moors. How ironic that this site should witness the outcome of his own small war.

  It didn’t take long to get there. He could see the castle from miles away, which probably meant Raúl could see him – and any reinforcements he had been foolish enough to bring. It stood on a high rocky outcrop of honey-coloured stone, dominating the landscape. Approach was by a track of rough cobbles hammered in, worn down by countless generations of feet and hooves and snaking round the mountainside to the battlements. He was not surprised to see the telltale 4x4 at the turning, with Raúl’s men lounging against it and keeping cool with cans of San Miguel. He ignored them and started slowly up the track. At the top was a rough, gravel car park with three more of Raúl’s convoy parked together. He stopped as far from them as he could and got out.

  The walls of Calatrava were plainly made for war. They seemed to grow organically out of the solid rock to withstand the fiercest of assaults. His heart pounded in his chest as he started up the path. Two men appeared from their vehicles and fell in behind. A flag fluttered from the ramparts and David felt that he too might blow away in a strong enough breeze. The path wound up for eighty yards or so towards huge double doors. It felt like a ladder to the gallows, and he, the condemned man leaving everything behind – both debts and assets. Well, if Gillian came out alive that was enough. A makeshift sign was nailed to the main door – cerrado por obras, closed for repairs – but as he approached a smaller access door creaked opened. He took one last look around the world outside. A clump of delicate mauve flowers that might have been crocuses had seeded into a crevasse in the rock and were flowering despite the heat, drought, scorching wind, and baking sun. David swallowed, felt the dryness in his throat, and walked through the doorway.

  Inside, two men with automatic weapons were his welcoming committee. Another couple stood guard at the door of a long low shed to his left. Through the open door he could see a dejected group in yellow safety jackets sitting or standing around. These must be the custodians, archaeologists, and construction workers who looked after the monument. Being held at gunpoint in their own office was not in their job description and it showed. Strangely, now David was inside the castle walls and knew this was where whatever had to happen would happen, he again felt a strange peace of mind. It began as a tingle on his scalp then seemed to flow through his shoulders, down his spine, and fill his body.

  “Sigue caminando,” said a voice behind him. Keep walking. He made his way through the courtyard towards the higher levels. In some places the walls were roughly mortared medieval stone. Others had been hewn straight out of the rock. Orientation boards were dotted around explaining the history and architecture. There was no sign yet of Raúl. With occasional encouragement from a gun barrel in his back or shoulders David made his way up a flight of steps towards the ramparts, then through a thick arch onto a platform about ten metres square bounded by the outer wall. The Spanish flag he had seen from below fluttered from a pole set into the rampart wall. Raúl – it couldn’t be anyone else – was dressed in a pale linen suit and was lounging in a richly upholstered high-backed wooden chair that looked as if it had been taken out of the castle museum, which it had. In front of him was a low table of a similar style. He was speaking on a mobile and ignored David’s arrival. Three gang members with weapons leaned against the wall. Raúl felt no need to hurry his business and spoke for some minutes, occasionally taking a sip from a glass of Jerez but never even glancing in David’s direction. His conversation seemed to be about quantities, delivery, and penalties for late arrival. It didn’t seem to matter that anyone else was listening. Finally, the call came to an end with Raúl making his wishes perfectly and painfully clear. He closed the phone, shook his shoulders, looked up, and grinned.

  “Señor David!” he said. “How are you? I feel we ought to know each other. We seem to have been circling round each other for so long – you know, like the matador and the bull. But which is the matador and which is the bull, eh? That is the question! You know you have caused me a great deal of inconvenience. Many times life could have been easier without Señor David.” He beamed again as if expecting David to smile in acknowledgment or share the joke.

  “Your inconvenience is of no interest to me,” David replied perfectly calmly. “Where is she?”

  “Where is she? Where is she?” Raúl parroted back at him. “You are so careless with your women. Is that how the Scottish behave? Your wife, the child of a church member, now your girlfriend…
It’s shocking! Well, before we have a touching reunion there are some matters to discuss.” He nodded to the men with him, two of whom exited through the arch, leaving only one young man standing behind the chair while Raúl took out a large, heavy pistol and laid it on the table in front of him next to his glass.

  “Carlos,” Raúl said over his shoulder, “a chair for Señor David.” The young man made a move but David interrupted him.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “Something to drink then?” David shook his head and Raúl shrugged.

  “You know, Señor David – if I can call you that – I’m not a monster. I’m simply a businessman. And in business you sometimes have to take action to protect yourself.”

  David said nothing.

  “So what has happened between us in the past – none of it has been personal – just business, you know.” Raúl paused but David stayed silent so he continued. “I appreciate it may not have felt like this to you, but nevertheless – you have your church, I have my organization. We both need to protect what we have created.”

  “An interesting point of view.”

  “You disagree?”

  “There is not the slightest point of comparison between what we do. Your business involves conning your customers into thinking they can take drugs and stay in control. Then it turns on them and they have to lie, cheat, steal, and kill to keep it at bay – all of which is profit for you. Usually they can’t feed it fast enough so it consumes them as well. They lose, their families lose, their children lose, their friends lose, and their communities lose. But you win so long as you can find another customer to take their place.” David took a deep breath and continued. “I work with people who have had enough of death and want life instead.”

  “A point of view,” said Raúl with a shrug, taking another sip of Jerez. “But not my point of view.”

  “Evidently.”

  “However, you are correct in one respect. To put it another way, the market is under some pressure. Customers have many sellers to buy from. I have made some profit over the years. However, it’s becoming harder to – how can I put it – harder to find a stable niche in the market.”

  “By which I take it you mean you were hounded out of Spain, hounded out of Edinburgh, now you’re back in Spain and under pressure again.”

  Raúl shrugged again. “Your analysis is not even close to correct. But nevertheless it is time for a younger man to take over. Carlos here,” he indicated the young man behind him with a twist of his head, “Carlos is my nephew. There are very few people to be trusted in my profession. So family bonds are strong. Carlos will take over from me in a year or two. But he is young and he has grown up in a different world. Perhaps his ways will be different from mine. And that might please you.” Carlos looked down and adjusted the grip on his weapon. Right now he wasn’t looking much like a jefe de drogas. David tried to catch his eye but he wasn’t looking.

  “So, what do you want from me?” he asked. “Why return Jennifer and take Gillian? Why am I here?”

  “Why indeed?” Raúl mused, dabbing his brow with a white handkerchief as the midday sun grew stronger. “As you say in Inglaterra – it seemed a good idea at the time. No, the girl was of no consequence. She was getting in the way. There was nothing she knew that could make any difference. I appreciate you felt an obligation to make an effort for a member of your church but really she is of no value to either of us. I wanted us to have this little conversation and I guessed that only the Señora would be a sufficient encouragement for you to meet me without police interference. And so it has proved.”

  “What do you want from me?” David repeated.

  “I’ve told you,” Raúl snapped. “I want to pass my affairs on to someone else. I want to go back to Colombia. And I want to do so with the minimum of obstruction. Now I know you are a man of honour and a man of your word. And you have influence. In return for your life and the life of the Señora you will pass on certain information to Señor Rodriguez. You will lead him to believe I have planned a certain course of action. He will direct his attention in one direction. I, in the meantime, will leave the country in another direction and be no further trouble to the Spanish Crown. My entire operation will leave Spanish soil and we will not return. The chicos and chicas of San Blas will never hear from me again. Of course,” he glanced behind him again, “I cannot speak for Carlos and how his business will evolve, but you will be rid of me for good. Which is what you want, isn’t it?”

  David was stunned then shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’m astonished.”

  “No doubt. But surely pleased as well? You get what you want; I get what I want. There is no further trouble for either of us. Surely a suitable outcome all round. You should be gratified I think so well of you.”

  “I am amazed that you have so little grasp of the kind of man I am.” Raúl started to speak but David left him no space.

  “Do you think I’ve been through everything to make a deal? Your operation isn’t to be passed on like a corner shop. You, your suppliers, your dealers, the policemen and judges you’ve bought and sold, the drivers, the couriers, the bankers and lawyers who’ve colluded with you – every single last one of you needs to be somewhere you can never sell so much as a bottle of pills again. Forget it. Rodriguez is on your tail and that’s the only way you’ll get out of the business. Let Gillian go. She’s nothing to do with this. But I don’t care if I leave here in a box. I will never help your business, wherever and however it’s to be carried on.”

  Raúl leaned forward and took another sip from his glass, then put it back on the table. He picked up his pistol and casually fired a single round, shattering the lamp mounted on the arch above David’s head into a thousand pieces. Fragments of glass and metal showered down on his head and shoulders. The sound of the gun was deafening. David jumped involuntarily.

  “Brave words,” Raúl said quietly. Then, without turning his head, added, “Get the woman.”

  Carlos walked past him as David was trying to shake fragments of glass out of his hair and off his shoulders. The noise had made his ears ring. Before long he heard footsteps. Gillian was running up the steps under the arch and into his arms, crying with relief. He held her tight and stroked her hair which was untidy and unbrushed.

  “It’s ok,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s ok. We’re going home.”

  With a gesture from Raúl, Carlos took Gillian’s arm and pulled her away, his weapon levelled at David. He was stood to one side, while Raúl lifted his pistol and pointed it at Gillian.

  “Now,” he said, “let’s try that once again. Your life and the life of the Señora in exchange for your cooperation.” No one spoke. The flag above their heads still fluttered in the breeze. Two black specks were wheeling on thermals high above the citadel. Gillian had her hands clasped together covering her mouth, all colour drained from her face. She trembled as if shivering on a Madrid winter’s day. David looked at her and couldn’t turn his eyes away. Finally, he spoke.

  “Let her go and tell me what you want me to do,” he said quietly.

  “Oh no,” Raúl replied. “She stays with me till we’re home in Cartagena. You fulfil your part of the bargain then she goes free.”

  David’s shoulders sagged. He could weigh the lives of the street kids in the suburbs of Madrid and Barcelona and Bilbao against his own but not against Gillian’s.

  “Don’t do it David. Don’t agree to him!” Gillian cried out, but the battle was over.

  “Vale,” he said. “I’ll do it.” Raúl looked at him curiously.

  “You know something, Señor David? I’m surprised at you. I suppose there’s part of me that hoped you might be a more honourable man – even though that would make things harder for me. Now we’ve had this little conversation I’m beginning to have my doubts. A man with so little integrity… I don’t think you’ll stick to i
t. It’s too big a risk.” He turned to his henchman. “Carlos. Kill them both.”

  The young man looked steadily at David and Gillian and adjusted his grip on the gun. Gunfire pierced the air. But David was still standing, untouched – the sound had come from the courtyard below. Now a shot rang out on the platform. David spun around. A gleam of sunlight glanced off a rifle sight high on the bell tower behind them. In a flash Raúl gripped his gun, then grabbed Gillian, and, pointing the barrel at her head, dragged her into a corner under cover from the tower.

  “Carlos!” he shouted. “Kill him! Then cover me.” For a moment the young man stood rooted to the spot while Raúl kept shouting at him. The sound of gunfire from below was intensifying. As if in slow motion he lifted the barrel of his machine gun and pointed it at David. “Do it, Carlos! Kill him!” Raúl ordered. David closed his eyes. This was it. His time was up, and with him he would take yet another innocent life. A burst of automatic fire, then a scream. David opened his eyes. Carlos was standing where he had been with the gun at his hip, pointing not at David but to where Gillian and Raúl were still standing. Gillian was covered in blood and Raúl was behind her, still holding her round the neck. Slowly his grip slackened and the gun fell. She grabbed the now limp arm, unwrapped it, and let him sink to the ground before running to where David was and clinging onto him, shaking and sobbing. Carlos seemed to be in a daze as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. From the courtyard below there was more shouting and gunfire but it seemed to be lessening. Suddenly David caught a glimpse of something bright out of the corner of his eye. A burly man in a yellow safety vest ran through the arch, also with a gun in his hand. Raúl lay on the ground. Carlos was standing with a loaded weapon now pointing vaguely in their direction. The marksman’s eyes narrowed as he took aim.