The sun had set by the time the delegation went back to their cars. Detective Serrano followed Spinola and the mayor. Ramírez stuck with the two Mercedes containing the members of the I4IT/Horizonte consortium. Within minutes the two Mercedes had crossed the flood plain heading out of Seville and were on the road towards Huelva. Ferrera took a call on her mobile.
‘Serrano says the mayor's delegation has split up back at the town planning office.’
‘He should stick with Spinola and he can tell Pérez to go home.’
Twenty minutes later the two Mercedes pulled up at the gate to the Hotel La Berenjena, whose emerald, sprinkler-kissed lawns stuck out in the brown, sunburnt countryside. Ramírez glided past, turned round in a petrol station a hundred metres further on.
‘Give them a quarter of an hour to settle and we'll go and introduce ourselves to the manager,’ said Falcón.
Another call for Ferrera. She listened, jotted things down, hung up.
‘That was the CNI. They've confirmed the ID of the helicopter occupants. The Spanish businessman in the grey suit is Alfredo Manzanares, the new Chief Executive Officer of the Banco Omni. The American is Cortland Fallenbach, one of the co-owners of I4IT in the USA. They also thought we'd like to know that it was announced just an hour ago that the Banco Omni have acquired a controlling stake in the Banco Mediterraneo, which has five million customers and will be transferring its headquarters to a site in Seville in 2009.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Ramírez. ‘This really is coming together. When Lucrecio Arenas and César Benito were alive they must have promised the Russians a slice of this construction project in return for their dirty work on the Seville bombing.’
‘That was probably just part of it,’ said Falcón. ‘Yuri Donstov was gearing up: Lukyanov was being brought in to run the girls, another guy to run casinos, while Donstov himself already controlled the drugs. And Sokolov would be running the protection rackets for the shops and restaurants. They were preparing to claim the Russians' reward for providing the violence in the Seville bombing which was a large slice of the income from tourists' “recreational activity”. And if the right political party had taken power, it probably wouldn't just be Seville but the whole of Andalucía. Can you imagine how much money would be involved in running gambling, prostitution, drugs and protection throughout the whole of the Andalucían tourist industry?’
‘So the Russians are very disappointed that their partners are not in control of the Andalucían state parliament,’ said Ramírez. ‘But what are they hoping to get out of this situation here? Lucrecio Arenas and César Benito, the people they had agreements with, are dead, and we reckon the Russians themselves were their executioners. Now we've seen the projects that the Banco Omni and Horizonte have got on the Isla de la Cartuja, we know they're legitimate. They have to be. The press will be all over them. After the public relations disaster that Lucrecio Arenas dragged them through, Banco Omni are going to make sure everything is whiter than white. Horizonte might have had to pay some backhanders to get the work, but that's no different to anywhere in the world. How are these Russians hoping to fit themselves in?’
‘Blackmail. I think that's a fairly standard mafia ploy,’ said Falcón. ‘Here we are, a few hours before the signing ceremony, and some big guys pay you a visit in your hotel room, show you a DVD of yourself having sex and taking drugs, and say: “This is the subcontracting agreement you're going to sign or we'll spoil your show, maybe worse.”’
‘How do you think Alejandro Spinola is involved?’ asked Ferrera.
‘I know he introduced Marisa Moreno to Esteban Calderón and that connection was an important element in the Seville bombing conspiracy,’ said Falcón. ‘I'm sure he was put up to that by the Russians. As far as this building project goes, he's in a unique position, working for the mayor, to be able to give the Russians or Horizonte valuable inside information.’
‘We don't have any proof that Spinola was a friend of Arenas and Benito,’ said Ramírez, ‘but he clearly knows Juan Valverde and Antonio Ramos.’
‘Hopefully tonight we'll prove that he's the link between the Russians and the I4IT/Horizonte consortium,’ said Falcón. ‘But you'll notice that there are two important people missing from all this dodgy dealing.’
‘Alfredo Manzanares from Banco Omni and Cortland Fallenbach, the owner of I4IT,’ said Ferrera.
‘And one of the projects in the contract is the construction of Banco Omni's high-rise – presumably with Banco Omni's money,’ said Ramírez.
‘Manzanares will want everything above board,’ said Falcón. ‘Which is where it will probably all go wrong for Spinola, and therefore the Russians, which could result in violence.’
‘Or spoiling the show,’ said Ferrera.
‘I don't want to repeat myself,’ said Ramírez, worried, ‘but we could really use some back-up for this operation.’
‘Let's look at the security arrangements when we get there,’ said Falcón. ‘And we have to remember, José Luis, it's quite possible that nothing will happen at all.’
They checked their watches. Ramírez pulled out of the petrol station and drove back to the hotel entrance. Falcón phoned ahead. The gates opened as they arrived and they drove up to a large señorial house. A bell boy told them where they could park the car out of sight. They got out, stretched their legs. Expensive cooking smells wafted out of the kitchens. The bell boy took them through the kitchens and into the manager's office behind the reception area.
The hotel manager was with his head of security. They laid out a plan of the hotel. The main building had a large patio in its centre around which was the reception area, a restaurant with three private dining rooms, a set of toilets, a conference room, a cinema with another set of toilets, two shops, one for perfume, the other for jewellery, an art gallery with a further set of toilets and the main security office. In the grounds were the nine suites and the presidential suite. Each suite was a flat-roofed bungalow with a large bedroom and bathroom, a living room with dining facilities, a sauna and mini-gym. Outside each suite was a car port, a private terrace and a small swimming pool. There was another larger swimming pool in the palmerie, which was the centrepiece of the garden. On the other side of that was the presidential suite, which was a two-bedroomed house with bathrooms, dining room, living room, kitchen and full staff. Outside it had its own gym, sauna, hot tub, swimming pool, terrace and bar.
‘This is where the King and Queen stay when they come,’ said the manager.
The head of security showed them the extent of the perimeter fence, which consisted of five-centimetre-thick steel bars two and a half metres high, topped with razor wire. There was a three-metre-wide dog run on the other side and a further fence. Every metre of the perimeter fence was filmed by CCTV cameras, which were under constant supervision in the screen room of the main security office.
‘We provide the minimum requirement,’ said the head of security, ‘but if we have ministers or heads of state they will usually bring their own people.’
‘Have this Horizonte/I4IT group brought any of their own people with them, or made any special security requests?’
The security man shook his head.
‘If you want to move around the hotel without drawing attention to yourselves you should wear the staff uniform,’ said the manager. ‘Black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat for men and a black belted dress for women.’
‘Do you know what the mayor's delegation are doing after the event?’ asked Ramírez.
‘They're all going back to the city. The car bringing them will wait.’
‘How many security guards patrol the grounds?’
‘Four in the grounds, two in the main building, one of whom looks after the CCTV screens,’ said the head of security. ‘All armed.’
‘What could go wrong?’ asked Ramírez, cheerfully.
The manager looked at him nervously. They shook hands and the head of security took them on a tour of the main building. He d
escribed what the mayor's group would be doing, where and when. Drinks and canapés at ten o'clock in the conference room. A half-hour show in the cinema at ten thirty, followed by dinner in a private dining room at eleven. They inspected the projection room at the back of the theatre and were introduced to the technician, who had just been briefed by Antonio Ramos, the chief engineer of Horizonte, as to what was required and been given the necessary DVD showing the proposed construction project. They'd completed the sound-system test and were ready to go.
Outside in the lush gardens, privacy was the theme of the nine suites. Once inside, or out on the terrace, there was no sense of there being a neighbour. A good thirty metres separated each suite. At night security guards were told not to walk in the lit areas but to keep to the dark.
‘There's camera entry to each suite,’ said the head of security, ‘and light sensors if you approach the front door or terrace.’
Falcón's team went back to the security office and changed into their staff uniforms in the toilets. The only problem was for Ferrera, who had nowhere to put her gun in the simple black dress. Falcón and Ramírez tucked theirs down the backs of the trousers and covered them with the waistcoats. Ferrera left her revolver in the security office, went to reception to check on the changes in the reservations, saw Taggart's cancellation and Fallenbach's booking of the presidential suite. On the way back she took a call on her mobile.
‘Alejandro Spinola has just left home in a taxi,’ said Ferrera, coming into the security office. ‘He's heading out of the city on the Huelva road. Looks as if he's coming early. Detective Serrano wants instructions.’
‘I don't want any more people in here, or it'll look too crowded,’ said Falcón. ‘They should wait down the road in that petrol station we were in.’
They went into the CCTV-screens room with the head of security.
‘Why are all these screens on the right dark?’ asked Ramírez.
‘They only light up if the sensor on the terrace of any of the suites is triggered,’ said the screen supervisor. ‘Nobody's sitting out at this time of night so they're all dark.’
‘How does it work with guests arriving?’ asked Ramírez.
‘When they make the booking they give their car registration, model and colour and the number of people who will be staying. When a car arrives at the gate we check it against our list and, if it complies, let it in. If we have VIPs staying and they bring in other guests, we'll ask them to roll down the window and identify themselves to the camera. Our guest list today have not asked for anything unusual so we'll admit everybody on the vehicle registration. Of course, we have another opportunity to check the people in the car when they arrive at reception. In fact, here's a car arriving now.’
A dark BMW had pulled up at the gates. The guard at the screens checked it against his list, let it in.
‘This is the guest party registered as Sanchéz,’ he said.
The car came up the drive, parked in front of the main building. A young woman got out of the passenger side of the car. She was tall, with extraordinary long legs, and was wearing four-inch heels. Her hair bounced on her shoulders as she made her way to the reception.
‘No secret cameras in the bedrooms?’ asked Ramírez. Ferrera hit him on the arm.
‘Names?’ asked Falcón.
‘Isabel Sanchéz and Stanislav Jankovic. She's Spanish, he's a Serb,’ said the guard.
The woman appeared on the screen at reception, handed over her ID and her partner's passport.
‘Can we isolate her face?’ asked Falcón. ‘Download it and send it back to our organized crime experts, Cortés and Díaz in the Jefatura.’
‘Who do you think it is?’
‘On the basis of Cortés's description of Viktor Belenki's girlfriend as “fucking gorgeous” I thought she might be worth checking out,’ said Falcón.
Ferrera went to take her laptop out. The guard at the screens told her not to bother. He downloaded the image, pasted it into an email and sent it off to Díaz. Thirty seconds later Díaz was on the line, confirming Isabel Sanchéz as their informer known as Carmen.
‘So this Serb, Stanislav Jankovic, is in fact Viktor Belenki, right-hand man to Leonid Revnik,’ said Ramírez. ‘Do you have any cameras outside the front doors to the suites so we can pick up his face?’
‘Once inside the car port they have total privacy,’ said the head of security, ‘but, of course, they can check the identity of someone coming to their door with the camera entry system.’
‘This must be Alejandro Spinola's taxi arriving at the main gate,’ said Ferrera.
‘What do you do in this scenario?’ asked Ramírez.
‘He has to identify himself and state his business,’ said the head of security.
Alejandro Spinola got out of the cab and pressed the buzzer, identified himself to the camera. He was told to go to reception. They opened the gates.
Isabel Sanchéz had her room key by now, went back to the car which moved off to her suite and reversed, out of sight, into the car port. Alejandro Spinola arrived in reception. The cab returned to the front gate.
‘We can do voice in reception as well,’ said the guard. ‘That being where we're most likely to have conflict.’
The guard at the screens flipped a switch. They heard Spinola ask to speak to Antonio Ramos. The receptionist put a call through. Spinola spoke to Ramos inaudibly. The receptionist summoned a bell boy.
‘Any ideas what this is about?’ asked Ramírez.
‘I should think it means that the Russians have got their hooks into Spinola, possibly some time ago,’ said Falcón. ‘They've told him who appears on the disks and he's going to use that information to the best of his ability.’
‘To blackmail the I4IT/Horizonte consortium round to the Russian way of thinking?’ said Ramírez. ‘He's leaving it late in the day.’
‘Nothing like an imminent contract-signing to speed up the process,’ said Falcón. ‘He's giving them forty-five minutes to agree to the RussiansW demands, with Fallenbach breathing down their necks. I think you could call that brinkmanship.’
The bell boy appeared, leading Spinola down the path. Viktor Belenki came out of his suite and lit a cigarette, got Spinola's attention, nodded.
‘Go in close on Belenki,’ said Falcón. ‘Send a shot of him back to Díaz, just to check.’
Even in black and white Belenki was impressive, with blond hair and high cheekbones, and an animal muscularity under a white shirt and black trousers. He paced in leisurely fashion up and down outside his suite, smoking all the while, taking the night air. Spinola went into Ramos's suite. Several minutes eased past. Díaz called to confirm that the so-called Serb, Jankovic, was Viktor Belenki.
‘Look at the state of Valverde,’ said Ramírez.
Juan Valverde, the I4IT Europe boss, came out of his suite, fists rammed into the pockets of his towelling robe which gaped to show a pair of brief swimming trunks. His jaw was set and he looked thunderous under knitted eyebrows. He walked across to Antonio Ramos's suite.
‘He's had at least some of the bad news,’ said Ramírez.
Viktor Belenki started on his third cigarette. Suddenly he stood still. A development. Juan Valverde came out, his towelling robe now done up tight, looking less ominous, more scared. Antonio Ramos followed him, staring into the path as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening to him. They walked quickly over to Alfredo Manzanares's suite.
‘I wouldn't involve the banker at this stage, would you?’ asked Ramírez.
‘We don't know how Spinola has put the Russian's proposal to them,’ said Falcón. ‘Valverde and Ramos must have a good relationship with their bankers, if not Manzanares personally. They're either going to try talking him round, or invoke the earlier agreement, whatever that was, between his predecessor, Lucrecio Arenas and the Russians.’
Viktor Belenki seemed content with the way things were going. He dropped his cigarette, crushed it underfoot and, hands in pockets, kicked it o
n to the grass.
‘Are you seriously expecting violence here?’ asked the head of security, reacting to the tension in the room.
‘By all accounts, we're dealing with some very unpredictable people,’ said Falcón.
‘But he's just one guy, isn't he?’
‘We don't know,’ said Falcón. ‘There is no existing photograph of Leonid Revnik and only a gulag shot of Yuri Donstov, although he does have extensive tattoos – if we can get that close. The only instantly recognizable mafia man we can identify is Nikita Sokolov, an ex-weightlifter.’
‘Another party at the gate,’ said the guard at the screens. ‘This is the Ortega couple.’
The car came through the gates and up to the main building. A man and a woman got out, went into reception. They were both in their late forties, obviously Spanish. Señora Ortega had an extensive list of demands, which she elaborated during the check-in process.
‘You can't invent a woman like that,’ said Ramírez. ‘So, only the Cano party still to arrive and Alejandro Spinola's dinner companions, the mayor's delegation.’
‘Did you see the Zimbricks or the Nadermanns when they came in?’ asked Falcón.
‘Sure,’ said the man at the screens. ‘They looked like tourists.’
‘Do you have copies of their passports?’
‘On the screen over here,’ said the head of security.
Falcón clicked through the Nadermanns, but his hand faltered at the second American passport, belonging to a Nathan Zimbrick. Staring out of the screen was Mark Flowers.
‘Have you got anywhere on the property which would do as a lock-up?’ asked Falcón, clearing the screen, unable to compute what the CIA agent's presence meant.
‘We've got some staff buildings down by the perimeter fence, where drivers can sleep,’ said the head of security. ‘There's a room there we could use to keep people until the Guardia Civil can come and take them away.’
Fifteen minutes passed. Viktor Belenki went inside, came back out in an expensive-looking suit and tie. Valverde and Ramos left Manzanares's suite on their own, hunched, not talking, body language declaring their complete failure. They headed off to the presidential suite.
The Ignorance of Blood Page 32