Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit (17 page)

He used a spoon to dig out some of the
Torta del Casar
onto his plate, which he set about eating with his fork.

"Delicious. But there could be multiple levels to this," he muttered to himself.

Emilia glanced at Caterina who returned raised eyebrows. Davide had clearly disappeared into some other world even as he ate lunch. Without saying anything they continued the silence, though they copied his method of scooping out the
Torta
.

Saturday: Isidoro

It was happening ever more often. He might be the
Jefe de Gabinete
for
el
Presidente del Gobierno,
the Prime Minister, in Moncloa
but increasingly it was in name more than practice. Where in the past Isidoro had truly been the gatekeeper and director of daily operations for Hernando when he'd been Prime Minister, now he was more and more a sad, sore thumb barely tolerated by the new Prime Minister with whom he had little in common.

Juan Pastor Nieves came from the north of Spain, from Asturias, an area noted for its wonderful food and verdant mountains ranging along a rugged coast that fronted the Bay of Biscay. Pastor Nieves possessed a merited reputation as a political fixer, an aspect that was reinforced by his energy and therefore presence at almost every
Partido
Conservador
gathering of any size. He knew everybody and, possessed of a phenomenal memory for faces and names, exploited this to amplify his influence, to the point that no one could resist his 'election' by the PC to be its nominated successor for Hernando.

Besides his influence, Pastor Nieves basked in a reputation as being honest because he was demonstrably self-made, having built a decent small fortune from being a
Notario
for many years. Qualifying as a
Notario
in Spain is notoriously difficult, so the man was clearly intelligent. He'd also had the good luck to land a
Notario
appointment in one of the Spanish Costas that was rapidly developing. House prices had risen steeply during his tenure, assuring him of a good income, which in turn enabled him to retire early and enter politics full time. Unlike many of his contemporaries he was austere – he did not smoke and drank mostly mineral water or tea. He was not ostentatious but was cold and detached. Though rumour said he was warm within his family, nobody was sure for he kept that family well hidden. It was equally possible that this warmth was a political invention of his few close advisers seeking to paint him with voter appeal.

What troubled Isidoro were a couple of episodes from his past. In one, when he had been a junior politician, he had responsibility for the environment. There had been a sewage spill that had leaked into the drinking water supply. Pastor Nieves had denied that this was possible, right up until a voter had shown him, in front of cameras, polluted water coming out of the voter's own kitchen tap. If that was not bad enough, Pastor Nieves had shown the same alacrity in denying what was obvious to almost everyone else in another not dissimilar incident, this time involving poisoned food.

From the evidence, his instinctive disposition was to deny all in the hope that issues would just evaporate, with no further action required. Whether this was due to laziness, or ignorance, or fear of the unknown, or sublime confidence in his own judgement, was a matter for heated argument. What was clear was that he had a poor record of reading abnormal situations in the right way.

Did this matter? Isidoro had just returned from attending a meeting of
el
Presidente del Gobierno
with a gathering of some younger PC members. Among various subjects they had raised with the Prime Minister was an issue they asserted their voters increasingly cared about: corruption. Though, or perhaps because, those asking what Pastor Nieves was planning to do were only a small number within the larger party population, Pastor Nieves had dismissed their concerns. He was almost rude, implying he was the fount of all wisdom. Whether Pastor Nieves realised it or not Isidoro saw he had left a sour taste in the mouths of his younger party colleagues.

The difficulty was that these young concerned PC members were precisely in tune with what Hernando had obsessed about. The evidence from today was that the
el
Presidente del Gobierno
was not, and was yet again placing his head deeply in the sand and about an issue that was insidious in its ability to damage any government's reputation.

Pastor Nieves clearly saw no need to act. Such concerns 'will go away' was the 'we don't do anything' refrain with which he'd tried to reassure his audience. They were too polite to disagree. Equally it was obvious they were not buying his assertions.

Isidoro was certain that his political boss was wrong. But there was nothing he could do. He would have to bide his time.

At least, however, he now had an evening where he could leave relatively early. He was pleased because it meant that he could visit Consolación and children, to continue his support.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Much Crawls, Slowly

Monday: Malasaña

Davide said to the Australians, "Okay, I've called Felipe and said that none of us will be in Alcobendas today and possibly not tomorrow. Felipe seemed relaxed about it. It helps that he's on his way to Valencia to meet Luis Zavala, the one who's also known as El Cerámico.

"I've asked Ana to join us here after she leaves. She seemed unfazed when I suggested keeping quiet about this. I'm not sure about asking Alberto. We don't want to put him in an invidious position. Ana's different, as I think you both understand."

"You seem to have all in hand," accepted Emilia. "What do you want us to do?"

"I suggest that you and Caterina carry on printing and trying to penetrate the significance of those spreadsheets and any related information. I'm still uncertain about whether or not we should delete anything. This is in part why I want Ana here. She trained as a lawyer and could, I think, have been rather a good one. I'm unclear why she didn't go for something more ambitious than ORS."

"Right you are, Davide. I'll return to your study to work with Caterina. You may want to think about another printer and lots more paper."

"Already done. Ana's ordering a colour printer able to do A3. She's also ordering a large screen, over 48 inches, so that a group of us can look at anything together rather than peer at one small screen. The last will become my present to
tío
Toño when I leave. His TV in the corner is an antique."

Emilia returned to Davide's study, which she and Caterina had appropriated the day before. She found Caterina in the one reasonably comfortable chair, sitting back and looking pensive.

"What's up? Why so thoughtful?"

"I was cogitating – I do love that English word. Conor always used it – about how what should have been a deliciously post-coital weekend was diverted into a legally-focused, never-ending debate."

"So you admit it, finally?"

"Admit what?"

"That you, at long last, did something to obtain a rise, and hopefully fall, from Davide."

"Emilia, you're being coarse. You've been trying to find out for days. Your gutter mind thinks only of one thing."

"That may be true and I'm still pissed off for having to postpone Alberto on Saturday. Why should you have all the fun?"

"What fun, when? We've been slaving since we opened the Márquez files on Saturday morning. When have I had chance to enjoy anything?"

"Wednesday night? Thursday night? Friday night? And those are merely for starters."

"All right, I give in. Yes, Friday night finally 'it' happened. And very nice it was, thank you, and no, I won't tell you any more. For your information, not that I need tell you, we were both so emotionally knackered on Saturday and last night that we fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows."

"You are joking, aren't you?"

"No, Emilia, I'm not. Didn't you do the same?"

"Actually, no. On Saturday I couldn't sleep because I felt like we're on the edge of a precipice."

"And you were missing the potentially amorous attentions of Alberto?"

"Those too. Last night I did sleep but woke in the middle of the night worrying that we were pushing too hard."

"Me too, regarding the last matter. I am finding being with Davide is more complex than I expected. He is so full of strange information and insights. It must be the mix of Spanish and British. He gives off confusing vibes."

"Can you give me an example?" encouraged Emilia.

"Possibly. You remember his story about wanting to complain to his Spanish member of parliament? A
diputado
I think he said they were called."

"You mean that, unlike in Canberra or in Westminster, Spanish
diputados
don't represent anybody, especially not constituents?"

"Exactly. It's a very foreign concept to Davide, and to me, that you vote for a party with a list of potential
diputados
. That the number of votes each party receives determines the number of
diputados
each one obtains makes some sense to me. But the concept that the people who'll actually sit in a parliament are determined by how high up they are on each party list is weird.

"That means, as Davide points out, a
diputado's
only electoral interest is on rising high enough on the party list to improve the chances of receiving a seat as reward. As he put it, this certainly explains why writing to the person representing the division where you voted, as we do in Australia, is a waste of time in Spain."

"If Davide is right, does that mean
diputados
have no association with voters? To me this disconnects voters and representatives. Actually, thinking about it, it's worse. Between elections voters can do nought whilst
diputados
can only do only what their party tells them, on pain of being shunted down the next list if they don't conform."

"I agree. Writing to the representative for your division probably may appear a facile idea to those who don't have it. But you and I know it can work. Remember that instance where somebody complained about Gus' boss, who had to fall on his sword when it was proved he'd misled both boss and Parliament in Canberra?"

"Yes, Caterina, I do – and the reorganisation hell that followed. I wonder if Davide's correct about this being a deliberate artefact from after Franco died, so that there was a party system in place from the start. That would kind of make sense if you haven't been a democracy for fifty years."

"I dunno. Computers, not historical context, are my speciality. Anyhow, we should move on. Davide told me he wants us to printout as much as we can so that we have as much as possible in paper format.

They bent to their respective tasks. Not much more could happen until Ana arrived.

Monday: Felipe

Felipe had decided to drive to Castellón to meet 'the old brute', which was how Ana categorised him. He had asked if she had ever met him, seeing that she seemed to have met the rest of Spain. She confirmed she hadn't and didn't want to. He was famed, if that was the right adjective, for being a surly cuss, very much in charge and dominating his family. She added that, as he was a Valenciano, Felipe on leaving should be careful to inspect the number of fingers on his hand, if he was permitted to shake the 'great' man's own hands.

Balancing this she had offered that he was successful, a natural businessman who had made his fortune by working all hours. Nevertheless, he had a reputation for considering his workers, at all levels. The extent of his pain, when obliged to make people redundant, was well known. He did everything to find opportunities to reinstate such unfortunates. He had, therefore, a deeply loyal local following.

Maybe, Ana speculated, it was because he had started from the bottom. He was definitely self-made, however much others might dislike him. For sure he was not the conventional, smooth-talking Spanish industrialist or banker.

As his car descended from the
meseta
leaving behind the new bulk wine towns of Utiel and Requena, Felipe considered the past weeks. The inescapable truth was that ORS was not making progress, the one reason for agreeing that Davide bring in Emilia and Caterina. Those payments that had arrived, those that had encouraged him to offer the night out, needed to be repeated or ORS in Spain would not have a business. He was determined this should not occur. He did not wish to return to the US with his tail between his legs. If that happened, so be it, but he was going to do his damnedest to make ORS succeed.

Why, he asked himself? He was not really certain.

Part of it was showing that a Texan with Mexican ancestry could make it in the old country of Spain. Part was the pleasure of being away from the endless working life that his most recent jobs back home had become. Partly was that he was far from his parents and their constant desire to marry him off to a
Mexicana
of their, not his, choosing.