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The Eslava building was an impressive neoclassical building that had been since its founding, one of the most important show rooms in Madrid. For his stage all kinds of artists had passed, from his time as a theater —in which Lorca debuted— to its step to a cabaret and a nightclub. At that time, it remained closed, but a sign announced that the following week it would be celebrated the party of the 35th anniversary, so that an incessant movement of workers made a great effort on getting it ready.
Juandi and Raquel entered through one of the doors, timidly, hoping that they would be thrown out of there at any moment, but instead they were met by a woman of about fifty years who radiated vitality.
—And you will be the ones of sound! —she proclaimed enthusiastically—. I suppose you need to see Mr. Tropel.
They both looked at each other without really understanding what the woman was talking about, but Raquel went ahead.
—No, we came from the newspaper El Interventor— she came over and shook her hand—. We are doing a story about the theater in the sixties and seventies.
The woman did not erase her huge smile, but she made a gesture of not really understanding what they were looking for.
—We want to talk to someone who knew well that era well...
—Oh, then, you refer to Mr. Tropel! —she exclaimed—. That man is the owner of the Eslava, and a walking encyclopedia.
—Great, could we talk to him?
—Impossible— she answered—. At least not until tomorrow. Mr. Tropel never comes in the afternoon, but by the time the sun rises he is already in his office.
—Perfect, then we will come tomorrow.
The woman grabbed each one by the hand and literally dragged them into the bowels of the theater.
—But I warn you that Mr. Tropel will not come down— she informed them—. If you want to talk to him, you must go up and there are three stories to his office!
—No problem— Juandi said.
They said goodbye and crossed the street with the intention of visiting the palace, but a thick padlock made it clear that by that day the activities there were over. Discouraged, they returned to the hospital to see Proxy.
****
The air pricked him in the face, although he did not dislike the feeling at all. He needed to breathe, and the views of the Paseo de la Castellana from the balcony were unbeatable. There, installed in the executive suite of the Hotel Villa Magna, he began to feel in his environment again. It had been many years ago that he had stopped taking care of street affairs to move to a more "organizational" plane. He saw himself as a conductor.
He entered the room again and opened the vitrine. Immediately, the rumor of the heating tickled his cheeks. He had arranged to meet Chacón for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and afterwards they would have a drink in the Magnum room. Gutiérrez always chose two hotels when he settled in the capital, the Ritz or the Villa Magna, but he had not stepped on the peninsula for many years and had forgotten the benefits of luxury. Quite a fault that Gutierrez liked the latter was the elegance of the Magnum. On that occasion the election had been conditioned by the situation of the hotel, just a few minutes from the Palacio de Congresos.
He dropped heavily into one of the armchairs in the corner and consulted the time on his gold watch. He still had some time for his appointment with Chacón, so he prepared to make the appropriate calls. Gutierrez considered himself young, but he must admit that after certain hours his mind did not respond as quickly as necessary, so he preferred to leave things closed before nine o'clock at night. Half an hour later, he left the suite with an evident gesture of satisfaction.
****
Chacón detested that hotel, but the brilliance of his friend knew no limits. Despite being able to afford it, he did not consider it wise to spend a night like that in a room of more than 1,700 euros. He took off his tie, but still was not well. The meeting that afternoon had managed to rip off the few reserves of energy left in his body. He was not a man made for bureaucracies, but rather for action. He had been restless all afternoon. While his partner closed agreements and more agreements, he had wanted to go out and look for the collection. He could not wait until the next day. If he had been for him, he would have set fire to all the buildings in Madrid with the sole purpose of solving the issue and, of course, he would have put a bullet between the eyebrows to the unfortunate grandchild of Millán. Chacón could not calm his need to act, but he had to admit that Gutiérrez's pragmatism had led them to that point, and if it had not been for the contacts of his partner, many years ago they both had found their bones in some South American prison.
He walked over to the small dresser plated in glossy oak wood and took out a bottle of Vichy water from the bar-cabinet. The stomach had been tormenting him all day. Every minute that passed he felt in his gut that they were not playing correctly, and Chacon's hunches had never played tricks on him. The idea that they should have acted that same afternoon did not stop appearing in his head, and for a few moments he was tempted to go to the room where they were guarding the young man and take the location for the bad ways. After that, he would finish with him and look for the damned collection, but the camaraderie he felt for Gutiérrez made him desist. They would finish the plan in Herme’s manner, but if anything went wrong, Chacon was not willing to follow more protocols; he would act according to what he had done all his life.
After drinking, almost the entire bottle, he slithered —grumbling— in the suit that had been prepared for him by Gutierrez, and left the suite went to the hotel’s restaurant.
****
When they appeared through the door of the room they would never have imagined the scene that was unfolding inside. They had waited for a dejected and depressed Proxy, weakened by his wounds, but the young man with pink hair had ridden in the hospital room what appeared to be a technical office. A nurse was responsible for connecting the appliances to the socket, while a young stranger placed a series of little boxes on a side table. Proxy gave them directions from his place in the bed.
—Proxy? —Rachel whispered in amazement—. The young man turned and gestured for them to come closer.
—But what is all this? Juandi asked.
The young man with pink hair gave some final instructions and the nurse left, indicating that in half an hour she would return to check on how he was doing. After connecting a plug to one of the boxes, the stranger approached the bed and, after planting a soft kiss on the patient, left without saying a word. Proxy told them with urgent gestures to move.
—Don’t stay there stunned— he demanded with a smile—. I called Carlos to bring me some things...
—But Proxy, you should ...
—Yes, be resting and blah blah blah. I'm fine, tomorrow I'm discharged, but I could not stay here feeling sorry for myself and watching TV soap operas in the meantime. There are several things in this case that haunt me and don’t leave me alone, so I decided to dedicate more time to them. As you know, thanks to our unexpected "visit", I had no chance.
—Proxy, that doesn’t matter anymore, the main thing now is to find Jonás before those ...
—Revealing this case is the only clue we must find Jonás— explained Proxy—. You don’t understand, there are many things that do not fit!
Both Juandi and Raquel were too tired and did not share the same enthusiasm of their friend. Discouraged, they went to the cafeteria to have a simple dinner and then sought a slight sleep in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting room.
****
The champagne bottle shone with its own light between the two, while the drops began to slip product of the condensation through the green glass. Hermenegildo had ordered a liter and a half of Lanson Black Label. Chacon had discussed the convenience of the price of the bottle at the beginning —which was almost 400 euros— but he had to admit that he loved that Chardonnay.
—Enjoy Paco, it's only two days! —Gutierrez howled, looking like the bubbles were rising to his head—. In addition, the one that draws attention in these places is precisely the one that does not spend money.
Chacon thought it over and told himself that his friend was right. They were two successful entrepreneurs and enjoyed all the right of the world to splurge like any wealthy in this country. He raised his glass and tasted the peach’s aroma, fresh flowers and vanilla. In his palate the sweetness of honey remained.
—Well, you're right— he conceded—. What the hell!
The shadows stretched from the comfortable armchairs upholstered in crimson velvet, and in the Magnum, there were barely a couple of men left behind in the other corner, screaming maybe some lucrative closed business or they had signed once for all divorce papers. A single employee watched from his position behind the bar so that the decibels of the jubilant customers did not rise too much, while he placed a series of glasses on a rail above the bar. Gutierrez noticed the lonely room and turned enigmatically towards his friend.
—I called the club ones.
Chacon knew that at that moment they had gone from being at a friends’ evening to having a "business" conversation, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
—Herme, I know you've checked this operation a thousand times in the last few months— he lowered his tone—. But I still find it difficult to get it right.
—Everything is ready— said the old man firmly—. The only piece that I needed to fit into the puzzle we will have tomorrow in our possession.
Chacon filled his glass again and took a long drink.
—About that...
—Paco, are you going to mention me again about that guy and the collection?
—Well, yes, because honestly, I don’t understand how you can put that garbage in a hotel when it should be underground, and how you can be here drinking 500-euro bottles as quietly while the key piece of the operation is still somewhere hidden.
—Morning. I told you...
—And if he lies? —Chacon explained—. What if that damned kid doesn’t know where the collection is?
—In that case, I'll let you tear off the skin and then put a bullet in the back of his neck— Gutiérrez said in the same calm tone—. We have the two pencils, the album and all our main obstacles are either dead or about to be, so this is only a matter of time.
Francisco Chacón weighed the possibilities and nodded.
—Paco, we have been planning this for many years, said Gutiérrez. We have recovered the files again, and with them we have positioned the "collaborators" on our side. We also have the campaign underway, and as soon as we put our hands in that collection, we’ll also have the club on our side. There's nothing to worry about except finishing this bottle before it gets hot.
At midnight, when the place was already deserted, each one retired to his room, because the next day they expected one of the biggest events since democracy was established.
****
They were sore and tired from the uncomfortable night they had spent in those hard chairs, but neither of them complained about it. They entered the hospital room and Proxy continued in the same position they had left him the previous night. Despite the pale color of his face, a big smile illuminated his expression.
—Man, sleepyheads!
—Are you still on those? —Juandi asked, thinking only of having a laden coffee.
—I don’t sleep too much— he answered without taking his eyes off the laptop monitor—. The fact is that I had a productive night.
He looked at both and pointed to a place outside the room as he returned his attention to the computer.
—There in the hall you have a machine, get some coffee and come here quickly —he demanded—. They will not be long in making the round, and then they will not let me explain you anything.
Five minutes later they were all three in the small hospital bed looking at the laptop screen.
—As I told you yesterday, something in all this did not fit me— explained the young man—. Of course not, if nothing fits here!
—What do you mean?
—To begin with, in those pencils there were not only accounts, catalog numbers and passwords —a pink lock was brushed from his forehead—. I could not see it, because the little time we had was spent looking at the transfers, but in those two pen drives there were also several folders that contained an incessant list of copies of documents and names.
—That is a dead way— conceded Juandi—. Raquel and I had already reviewed some documents found in the printing ...
—I'm sure they are not like these ones— in the young man's eyes shone a different light—. I will not bore you with details, because we are just in time, but I will summarize. In addition to what we already know about the hidden accounts, in Jonás’ grandfather’s pen drive there were hundreds of transactions contracts made by the regime cataloged as "A la Causa Nacional", or as "Fuente de Derecho".
—Everyone knows that Franco and his leaders stole for" the cause "everything they wanted— Juandi said—. It's nothing new, and of course nothing that can help us to find Jonás.
Proxy looked at him for a few seconds with an indecipherable expression and turned his attention back to the laptop.
—What I was trying to explain is that until now there are many theories, but as a good dictator, Franco never kept any tangible evidence of any of it. In these files appear an endless list of people who were ministers in the dictatorship and who in the transition were promoted and not degraded.
—Explain yourself Proxy, because I'm not following you— Juandi asked.
—What I'm trying to make you understand is that these memory pencils are a time bomb! —he exclaimed—. More than half of these people who were assassins during the dictatorship, today occupy high positions of administration or management of the most important companies in the country, they even appear around a dozen who are now judges of the Supreme Court!
They both watched the boy's face and began to understand what he was explaining.
—Then maybe the real goal was not to get the money from those accounts, but with those names— Raquel suggested.
—That’s right! —Proxy bubbled between the sheets—. Imagine the repercussion if these documents were leaked to the public light and the implication of their directors with murders and spoliation.
—That some of the top executives of the most important companies of telephony or energy is a kind of trigger and a shot in the neck is not good publicity— Juandi admitted.
—And that's just the tip of the iceberg— droplets of sweat had begun to appear on Proxy's forehead, and the pink lock had been trapped by some of them—. I spent the night checking the names on the list. Many of them are already cold cuts, but their descendants are still in charge of the companies. Each of the names on the list obtained the monopolies and concessions of their companies in exchange for favors to the regime, a large majority based on robberies or crimes.
Juandi lowered the cursor on the screen and read the names.
—Holy God, here they appear general banking directors, judges, owners of electrical companies, telephony, means of communication— he recited—. Virtually the owners of the country!
—Well, now imagine that sadist of Billy the Kid possessed evidence to make them all to fall, and not only that, but to stain their last names forever— finished the young man.
—He wants to blackmail them— Raquel summarized—. But for what?
—I'm not sure, but what I do know for sure is that what he intends to do will be carried out today.
—How are you so sure?
—Because, coincidentally, all those who appear on this list and who still breathe, are staying at the Palacio de los Duques hotel for a meeting that I have not been able to determine for what it is.
—And how did you know that? —Juandi asked in surprise.
—Well, it's really no secret— he confessed—. I put several of the names and they appeared on a website of a super famous club that meets this weekend in Madrid.
—The Bilderberg club— said Juandi.
—Yes, how do you know?
—Intuition— he omitted to explain how many times that name appeared in the archives of Jonás grandfather. He turned to Rachel and she could see the nervousness in his face—. I don’t know what those assassins are up to, but I don’t believe in coincidences, and that those guys from such an important club stay only four hundred meters from the Gaviria palace, where the collection is supposed to be, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence at all.
—And what do you suggest?
—I don’t know, but what I have for clear is that there is where we should be.
When they turned to leave Proxy called them from the bed.
—Guys, I have another thing to show you— he had lost color again, and dark circles were beginning to stand out under his reddened eyes.
—What's up sweetheart? —Raquel brushed his hair away from her feverish forehead tenderly.
—Carlos also brought this to me— he showed them a phone with a cracked screen—. It's the Blackberry of that psychopath Fumo, if there's anything here, I'll find it.
Raquel and Juandi nodded, proud of the young man.
****
The Gaviria palace was an impressive three-story mole that covered almost half the block. On the first floor, a two-meter poster announced an upcoming exhibition of Baroque art, and Raquel and Juandi thought that the entrance would be flanked by a guard. There was no one, literally. There was no exhibition that week, and the commercial basements were closed and covered in dust. An aspect of old desolation prevented to see the majesty of the antediluvian property. They hurried the step, and ascended until the third plant, looking for something that indicated to them that they had arrived at the zone of houses. They found occasional doormats, but the dust posed on them revealed that it was a long time since no one had cleaned their boots on them. There was nothing there, so they decided to explore other routes.