Late next morning the Inspector rang Borja and informed him that the judge had finally given him the green light. Deputy Inspector Alsina-Graells would lead the operation and we should come to the station on Les Corts at nine on Thursday morning to start off. At the time, Borja and I were window-shopping in jewellers on the Passeig de Gràcia trying to find a present for Lola, whose birthday it was on Sunday. Borja couldn’t decide between a white-gold bracelet and some earrings.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You know an engagement ring is what would really make Lola’s day.”
“I think she’d prefer the bracelet,” concluded my brother, acting as if he’d not heard me. “Its fancy design is more her style.”
As soon as we left the shop, Borja’s telephone rang again. My brother answered, sure it would be the Inspector, but when he heard the voice on the line his expression changed and he looked surprised. I could only hear what Borja was saying, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce he wasn’t in conversation with Inspector Badia.
“It was that woman,” said Borja rather nervously after he’d hung up. “The one who gave me that mobile.”
“The foreign lady with the sensual lips?”
“So how come she phoned your mobile and not the one she gave you?”
“Because its battery has run out…” said Borja. “I’ve not found a charger that works.”
“Does she want to meet up?”
“Yes, she wants to see me tomorrow to collect the package. She says it’s the only day possible because she’s very busy on Thursday and Friday, and her plane leaves first thing on Saturday.”
“Good heavens, how garrulous! This time she really went into detail…” I said, remembering how sparse she’d been in her use of words when she accosted us in the street. And as I’d heard where Borja had suggested they meet, I queried, “Why did you say the zoo? Isn’t that rather recherché?”
“I don’t think so. It’s the first place that came to mind,” he replied. “I once saw a spy film in which the secret agents agreed to meet at the zoo to exchange their messages; I suppose that’s why I thought of it.” When he saw I still looked bemused, he added, “It’s a secure place, open-air, with lots of people with children… Nothing remiss can happen to me in a zoo.”
“To us, because I’m coming too,” I replied.
“No, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head. “I got involved in this business by myself and you don’t have to pick up any of the fall-out. I’ll go alone.”
“You’re my brother. I’m not letting you meet a CIA agent without someone to cover your back. And I’ll remind you I’m the elder brother, so don’t answer back.”
“No, you’re not. You popped out first. So, in fact, I’m the first-born,” argued Borja.
“Be that as it may, I’m coming tomorrow,” I added. “What I can’t fathom is why it had to be opposite the lions. Isn’t that rather dramatic?”
“So what did you want?” he retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “An encounter opposite the giant turtles or a tapir? At least you can’t miss the lions.”
“True enough,” I had to agree.
We walked as far as the Diagonal, where our ways parted. Borja had arranged to have lunch with Lola and said he was going to take a taxi. I decided to take the bus home.
“Are you sure it’s what we really ought to do?” I asked anxiously. “I mean, the information on the memory stick may be vital for the safety of the planet, and tomorrow you’re going to hand it over to a complete stranger. Perhaps you should speak to Badia, tell him the whole story and let him take over.”
“Hey, Eduard, forget the Inspector. In the unlikely event that he believed us and didn’t lock us up there and then, how can we be sure if we hand this information over to the mossos, that the CIA won’t be furious and put us on a plane to Guantánamo?”
“Hell, don’t give me any more frights!”
“I don’t want to, but the risk is there. Just think: Brian didn’t know me at all and gave me this keyring, not the police. I imagine he was thinking that if something happened to him, as it soon did, the keyring would be safe until someone from his side came to collect it. And this person must belong to the CIA, right?” argued Borja. “So, we’ll give them back their keyring, and end of saga.”
“Sure, but what if the information falls into the wrong hands?” I persisted.
“Please, Eduard, don’t tie yourself in knots. Tomorrow we will get rid of the wretched keyring, period. Let the CIA see to it after that, it’s what they’re paid for!” he exclaimed, ending the argument.
We agreed to meet the following morning at half past eleven by the entrance to the zoo. We both arrived punctually, he in a taxi from Lola’s, and I by bus, with Arnau, who was on holiday. That same morning, Joana had gone on a trip with some friends and, as Montse was working and I had to look after the kid because we can’t rely on the twins, I decided to bring him along. Borja had assured me we were in no danger, and Arnau was delighted with the prospect of a morning at the zoo surrounded by exotic animals.
A group was demonstrating by the entrance with anti-zoo placards. They’d set up a table with pamphlets where they were collecting signatures, but there were few activists and they weren’t having much success: the scant visitors around simply walked into the zoo without paying much attention to their harangues against the alleged mistreatment of animals by zoos. It wasn’t like the weekends when mile-long queues formed when, at best, only two ticket windows were open. There was hardly any queue at all. Borja, who’d looked surprised to see Arnau, paid for our entrance tickets and we walked in.
It was Holy Thursday and the school holidays had started some days ago, but the zoo was almost empty: the odd tourist couple with their children and a few groups of kids wearing club caps and clutching lunch boxes on a day’s outing. It was hot and sunny, though cool in the shade. A gentle breeze wafted our way, bringing with it the stink of animal excrement that triggered nostalgic childhood memories. Borja hadn’t been back to the zoo since then, but I knew the place well because I’d been time and again with the twins and then Arnau. I saw my brother getting all emotional because those visits to the zoo, picnic included, were among our rare memories of our parents, who’d tell us stories that thrilled us to bits. In those days, the distance separating visitors from the elephants was much less and you could give them peanuts and carrots, which they – or rather he, because there was only one – quickly snaffled up with his hairy trunk. I was scared of elephants, but a fascinated Borja spent hours contemplating them.
“I don’t remember it like this,” he said as we walked past the giraffes. “When we came with our parents, it seemed enormous. In fact, it’s very small.”
“But they have modernized it, and some animals now enjoy acres of space!” I said. “The tigers, for example, aren’t caged any more.”
“You know what? I’ll think I’ll come back with Lola one of these days. Just to remember the old times.”
I noted that my brother had said “Lola” and not “Merche”, and smiled to myself. I’m fond of Lola, so I was glad they were getting on well.
We soon reached the area with the lions and my senses signalled red alert. It was early and Borja suggested sitting down on a bench with shade. The lion and lioness were engaged in seasonal, quite shameless erotic acts, in full sight of everyone, something that aroused Arnau’s curiosity.
“What are they doing?”
“Playing.”
“The lioness seems really happy,” muttered Borja, gazing at the tender scene of love that was keeping the king of the jungle busy.
“She certainly does.”
When it was five to twelve, we got up and stood by the rail, opposite the lions.
“I find it very strange to be standing here with Arnau watching this couple,” I whispered, referring to the lion and lioness roaring with pleasure and licking away.
“Ah, we’re not the only ones watching. It’s not a spectacle you see every day.”
“I feel we’re intruding on their intimate moments.”
“Eduard, intimacy is a human concept,” Borja drawled, breaking into philosophical mode. “I assure you that the lion and lioness couldn’t give a toss.”
“I expect you are right.”
I glanced around to see if I could spot a spy with shades and sensual lips, but could see her nowhere. The only one who seemed rooted to the spot like us, and looking around as if she were looking for someone was a tall, freckled redhead who was far from pretty. She wore a low-cut, sky-blue T-shirt and a miniskirt, but her long white legs looked like two stunted toothpicks that made you feel sorry for her.
Arnau had got bored of the lions and had been grumbling for some time. Finally, when it had gone ten past twelve, I asked Borja, “Is that the woman who rang you yesterday?” discreetly indicating the redhead with my eyes.
“No way!” was Borja’s confident reaction. “She doesn’t look one bit like the girl who gave me the mobile. She was very pretty, or have you forgotten? This girl is taller and looks English, not American.”
We waited on, listening stoically to Arnau’s complaints until, at a quarter to one, the redhead came over and asked us in excellent Spanish if either of us was Borja.
“I’m Borja,” my brother declared, quite surprised.
The girl smiled and said she’d been put off by the fact there were three of us because she was only expecting one person. Borja asked her what her name was and she said she was Emily. She apologized for her last-minute call, but said Charlie was moody and impulsive like that. Now she was looking forward to seeing him again, though she’d not set foot in London for three years as it brought back such bad memories. She was also happy to do him this favour. She blabbered away and gesticulated a lot, and though Borja and I understood none of her blabber we listened very politely, imagining it must be a technique designed to deter other spies who might be observing us. Finally, Emily looked at her watch and asked Borja if he had the package. Borja said he did and extracted from his pocket a sealed envelope where he’d lodged Brian’s gift-wrapped keyring.
“Well, we were expecting someone else,” said Borja.
“Oh, I’m completely in the dark,” replied the redhead, shrugging her shoulders. “Charlie simply asked me to pick up this package before catching my plane.”
“But, you do work for the Agency, don’t you?” I asked, wanting to be reassured.
“Yes,” she said, rather taken aback. “Did Charlie tell you?”
“It’s what he hinted,” I said.
“And are you familiar with the agency?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose most people know something about the way it works,” said Borja.
“Good,” she said, stuffing the envelope into her bag. “I’m very sorry, but I must run, or the agency guys will kill me! Luckily I came on my motorbike!” she said with a smile.
And leaving us rooted to the spot, Emily turned around and walked quickly off.
Borja and I took a while to react and started walking.
“That spy has a really peculiar sense of humour,” Borja commented, as we headed towards the dolphins.
“Yes, very peculiar and very macabre; how could she say such a thing after what happened to poor Brian…”
It must be her way of living with the pain. Besides, she was English, and we all know the English are masters of black comedy,” he declared wryly, sounding very sure of himself.
Montse had insisted on inviting Borja to lunch, and after watching the dolphins perform we caught the metro home. My brother grumbled all the way, because it wasn’t direct and we had to make a couple of changes. As it was only April, the air conditioning wasn’t switched on and it was very hot inside the tunnels.
“Are you absolutely sure she was the woman Brian wanted us to hand his keyring to?” I said suddenly, while we were walking down one of the passages. “If I remember correctly, she called him Charlie, not Brian.”
“You heard the Inspector,” said Borja, throwing a coin at the cap of a girl playing the violin who had flashed a smile in his direction. “Brian used a pseudonym.”
“Yes, but it was his surname, not his first name that was fake!” I replied, remembering how we’d known him as Brian Morgan when in fact he was Brian Harris, at least according to the Inspector.
“Oh, that’s because these spies have lots of different aliases,” chirped Borja, acting as if he was an expert. “Besides, you asked her if she worked for the Agency and she said she did, didn’t she?”
“That’s true. But she didn’t look like a spy.”
“I agree. But what did you expect? There must be all kinds of spies. They can’t all have sensual lips!” sighed Borja.
“And isn’t that a pity?”
“Yes, I guess it is.”