The Galician Parallax (44 page)

‘Sorry, Sr Bullock but Doctor Garcia from Povisa Hospital called. Mrs Janet Allison taken ill off the
Ocean Princess
finally passed away. The Emorvisa funeral parlour has taken care of the body.’

Stan had been with Mrs Allison the previous week and the doctors had said that she would make a full recovery from her mild stroke. She suffered a second stroke that very morning. It was fatal.

‘My contacts in the Foreign Office have just come back. They know nothing about any investigation into Simmons’ death. However, that doesn’t mean the Spanish cops aren’t doing anything,’ Mr Billson said over the phone to Joan Flashman.

‘Still don’t like it, sir.’

After returning from the annual meeting in Madrid, he had been trying to find out whether Jerry Fulton had been exaggerating or whether there was more to Stan Bullock’s passing statement when they met at the Baiona Yacht Club. He was still taking no chances. His “confidants” with access to MI6 and Scotland Yard refused to assist. “Too insignificant”, was the response. They were not going to stick their necks out for what was an unspecified suicide case in Spain or anywhere else. The FCO was more specific. “No news, nor any action”. Mr Billson realised that the British Embassy in Madrid, other than routine paperwork, wouldn’t have been involved anyway. He was still uneasy.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he told her at the end of the conversation.

Colonel Lobeira, wife Amanda and his mother-in-law attended the Sunday mass at the cathedral as usual. He was due to fly to Madrid the following day for a meeting with General Jacinto Cardanza, head of the civil guards’ drug department. He’d prepared a strong brief ready to discuss his suspicions of the al-Qaeda activity in Galicia and their possible implication in the murder of a British citizen that was heavily involved in drug trafficking. He felt that Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga had presented enough information to warrant the opening of a full-scale national investigation. The twelve-noon mass was the most important Catholic service of the week when most of his closest friends and relatives also attended and then met after the ceremony for their usual aperitif before returning home for lunch. It had just gone two when they left the Casa Rosalia tapas bar and parted company from their friends.

As they headed towards the car park his wife asked, ‘Sure you’ll be back in the evening? Last time you had to stay overnight. You know how pedantic the old man can be.’

‘Not this time, dear. It’s either “take it or leave it”.’

The colonel activated the remote control door-opener as he reached his Ford Fiesta and was soon helping his elderly mother-in-law into the back seat. His wife, meanwhile, was settling into the passenger one. The colonel, already buckled in, switched on the ignition. Within seconds a limpet bomb attached under the car ignited blowing up the vehicle, killing all three occupants and destroying another six vehicles as well as part of the overhead roofing of the car park. Eight other people were injured in the blast, two seriously.

The area was soon swarming with ambulances, fire engines and police cars. The local television station had sent its vans plus reporters and within minutes the scheduled programme had been interrupted and a presenter was reporting on the tragedy as details of the news began to trickle back from the scene. The national television stations soon followed suit. It wasn’t long before Spain was aware of yet another possible attack by ETA, the Basque terrorist group.

A full state funeral was held the next day at the Santiago Cathedral attended by all the Spanish dignitaries including the royal family. Three days of mourning was declared by the National Government.

Four members of Badi’s group led by Habib had been monitoring the colonel’s moves over the past three weeks. As a veteran civil guard, his timetable was predictable. They also knew about his proposed meeting in Madrid. It added urgency to their plan. Once again ETA’s tactics were implemented in order to confuse the Spanish public as well as the national authorities. Nevertheless, Habib felt uncomfortable with the target. The assassination of such a high-ranking officer could cause excessive outrage jeopardising the ultimate goals.

‘Why the Colonel and not the Lieutenant, Badi?’

‘To kill a snake you must cut off its head and not its tail.’

Before his scheduled trip to Madrid, Colonel Lobeira had spoken to Colonel Seone and advised him that Sergio’s task had been completed for the time being. He was therefore releasing him from the “special duties”.

‘I suppose he can return to his previous assignment,’ he’d told his colleague a few days earlier. In other words, Lieutenant Quiroga could go back to routine work as usual. He did.

The Corunna HQ staff knew that Sergio was on some sort of special project but none was aware of his role or his direct relationship with the murdered civil guard officer in Santiago. Kick-off on the following Monday morning was a continuation of ranting and raving in desperation and horror. ‘…On our own fucking doorstep,’ shouted a young administrator as he saw the updated news flashes coming through on the television. ‘
Hijos de puta
…’ cried another. Sergio, now back at his desk and trying to contain his anger bit on his forefinger until it began to bleed. Tears were bursting out of his eyelids like miniature waterfalls, a combination of pain and anger. He couldn’t forget the previous evening as he and Gloria were sort of celebrating their achievements and how Colonel Lobeira was pleased with all the work both he and Stan had done, when the news broke out. The young couple refused to believe what was blasting through the airwaves. Still in a trance, Sergio felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Colonel Seone. Now seated in his boss’ office, the colonel was sympathetic.

‘Was this to do with your assignment?’

Sergio didn’t know how to respond. The shockwaves were still beating around in his brain. The colonel took his time. He continued to stare at the lieutenant, patiently waiting for a response, suspecting that there was some sort of connection. Still crying Sergio just stared into space. He felt totally helpless and lost. Slowly he began to react. His quick-thinking mind took over. Overcoming his anguish he looked at the colonel.

‘No, sir. It wasn’t.’

He returned to his desk as if nothing had happened. Ten minutes later, Gloria was on the phone. She seemed anxious.

Yolanda and Stan were speechless. They had just been for a stroll along the promenade with the two children when panic seemed to be emanating from the nearby Dunas restaurant. They decided to check it out. Everyone was glued to the television set above the bar. Stan at first reacted like all the other stupefied customers just ogling at the box. The atmosphere soon reverted to anger that eventually turned into shouts and screams of condemnation. The Bullocks stood by, holding on to their children, yet feeling equally repulsed over the attack in Santiago.

A few minutes later Yolanda said, ‘Let’s go home,
amor
. The kids need feeding.’

It wasn’t until later on in the evening when the name of the assassinated civil guard was released on the news that Stan began to shiver in panic.

‘What now,
amor
?’

Stan just stroked the side of his face with the back of his right hand, a habit he’d picked up as a kid when in a trance.

‘Not sure how to take it… It’s… unreal.’

Yolanda was equally perplexed. However, not being directly involved in her husband’s activities with Lieutenant Quiroga she managed to sound controlled.

‘Wait until the lieutenant calls,
amor
. You know he’ll be contacting you.’

She knew better. Her Anglo-Saxon Cornishman was from a different world. She had lived like all Spaniards with the Basque terrorism that had been plaguing Spain for decades whilst her husband was from south-west England more concerned with illegal fishing than the constant murder of innocent lives.

The following day, after leaving the kids in the hands of the nanny, and exchanging all kinds of condolences with every person they encountered on their way to work, Stan and Yolanda were back in the office. Despite being greeted by the staff with condemnation, anger, revulsion and even hatred, work had to resume as usual. In two minds whether to give Sergio a call or wait for one from the lieutenant, Stan was suddenly interrupted by one of the admin staff calling on his intercom.

‘A Ms Joan Flashman from Falmouth is on the phone, Sr Bullock. Shall I pass her through?’

A couple of minutes later he put the phone down, got up from his desk and went over to Yolanda’s cubicle in the main office.

‘There’s a Mr Billson turning up next month from London. He’s the managing director of Maiden Voyages or so this Ms Flashman says.’

Yolanda shrugged her shoulders.

‘He’s Simmons’ boss.’

‘Why am I still not convinced that it could’ve been another ETA strike? I’ll tell you. No note, no statement, nothing. No reported stolen cars. Why?’

The minister had convened an emergency meeting to analyse the latest civil guard murder in Galicia. After the initial brief reports, mainly to pacify the media, he’d allowed enough time for the senior officials in the respective law and order authorities to come up with some conclusions on their investigations. General Francisco Pelegrino, head of the civil guards, was the first to speak.

‘It could be a terrorist attack from a new, undefined Galician group seeking their own independence.’

The minister looked at the head of the National Intelligence Centre, Sr Patricio Suarez del Monte. ‘Well?’

Sr Suarez had already discussed the issue with the guards.

‘He’s right, sir. The nationalist movements in the north-west region are on the rise. On the other hand, we’re not discarding a drug-related attack, after all Colonel Lobeira had just completed a successful raid on one of the warehouses.’

The minister continued to question his trusted experts. He appreciated the heavy burden imposed on them every time an attack of this nature took place in Spain opening up yet another national wound.

‘Have we received any further assistance from the French?’

Sr Suarez once again confirmed full cooperation but with no positive answers in this case, in other words a complete blank from France.

‘This leaves us a third possibility.’ Looking at General Pelegrino, he said, ‘Is there any substantial evidence that could point at an Arab connection? And you know what I mean.’

‘No Minister. We have reason to believe after our recent meetings in London, and you have the summarised reports, that both European and American intelligence services are focusing on the United Kingdom as the fundamentalists’ next target.’

Sr Suarez said, ‘None of us are certain as to where the actual planning is taking place.’

‘We’re working on it, Minister,’ said the general.

‘This character has scheduled a visit in about three weeks’ time,’ said Stan over the phone. Unable to contact Sergio immediately after receiving word from Ms Flashman that Mr Billson was going to travel to Vigo, he got hold of Gloria and asked her to pass the message. Once Sergio returned his call, he was overjoyed yet cautious.

‘Let’s not get too excited, Sr Consul. It’s obvious that your meeting in Baiona had an effect, but this recent attack on my colonel is still fresh.’ He paused for a moment.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m afraid it’s your call this time. You’ll have to work something out. Act innocent, just let him spill the beans.’

Sergio then started to laugh.

‘Sr Consul, this is a top “gun” turning up. Good luck.’

They hung up.

Stan didn’t mention the conversation until later that evening when the Bullocks had settled for an after dinner coffee. Yolanda had listened carefully to all the arguments prior to the meeting on how to play the scene.

‘How do you know this guy’s a drug baron? Not even the lieutenant knew it.’

‘Why would he be so anxious to come out here then? Simmons’ suicide is officially dead and buried.’

He started to laugh realising the pun he’d just dropped. Even Yolanda managed a smile under her tense feeling of fear.

‘There are two ways to play this,’ he said, ‘just do as the lieutenant suggests, you know… “I know nothing” sort of approach or…’

Once again Stan started to rub his cheek with the back of his right hand. ‘Tell him all we know and wait for it.’

‘Anyway. You’ve got time to work something out,
amor.’

‘Seeing as you’re staying at the Escudos Hotel down the road I thought this would be a great place to meet,’ said Stan as he greeted Mr Billson at the entrance to the museum. ‘Quiet and nobody about. In fact, this place is publicly a dead loss.’

Stan paid the visitor’s fees and once inside the premises ushered Mr Billson over to one of the halls where video machines displayed “bygone days” of Galician fishing history. He was making sure that other visitors wouldn’t bother them.

‘Appreciate you giving up your time like this Mr Bullock. You see, Don’s death was a real tragedy and a setback for our business. You told one of our yachtsmen that there was an investigation into his death still going on, can you enlighten?’

‘The authorities suspect he may have been murdered and the suicide was a cover-up.’

He paused for a moment to check there were no other people within reach. Mr Billson was obviously stunned. As he chose his words, tongue in cheek, Stan continued, ‘This is a hotbed of cocaine drug lords and who knows, maybe Don was somehow involved.’

Mr Billson was flabbergasted. Stan hadn’t expected such a response. He regained his composure.
Whatever Don was up to on the side, his connection with Maiden Voyages was strictly yachting
, he thought. There was little chance that the authorities would be able or even wish to dig deeper as their main concern was any terrorist connection. The stakes were too high in that direction. Seeing Mr Billson’s reaction, he stuck his neck out even further.