TEN
I think we would have stopped and stared even if we hadn’t recognized the vehicle. Its bulk almost filled the narrow road, a black, threatening shape amidst the bright white buildings.
“Is that the car that was following us?” Laia asked, although we both knew the answer.
“Let’s go back,” I said. I had a vague idea of ducking into a doorway or between a couple of buildings, but we never got the chance. I turned and crashed into a mountain of a man. It was like hitting a brick wall. He was over six feet tall and almost as broad across the shoulders. His head was shaved, and he wore dark glasses and a loose black suit. A scar ran across his cheek from his nose to just below his ear. He was a threatening figure, but it was what I felt under his jacket that made me certain I would obey whatever command he gave me. I had felt it for only a second, but I was convinced he was wearing a gun in a shoulder holster.
“Let us past,” Laia ordered. She tried to push past him, but he put a massive hand on her shoulder and, without apparent effort, held her in place. She kicked him in the shin, and he didn’t flinch.
I was considering trying to kick him somewhere that would hurt more when the SUV pulled up alongside us. The back door opened. “In,” Scarface said. Not seeing much of an alternative, we obeyed. He climbed in beside us, squashing us against the far door, and we moved off.
The guy driving could have been Scarface’s twin brother—shaved head, dark glasses, black suit—except that his head was covered with complex, swirling tattoos. There was a much smaller figure sitting in the passenger seat.
“This is kidnapping,” Laia said. “You could get life in prison.” I admired Laia’s spirit but doubted she was telling these guys anything they didn’t already know.
The guy in the passenger seat turned to look at us. His skin was so weather-beaten it was tough to tell his age, but he was older than the other two. His gray hair and beard were cropped very short, and his eyes were a strange pale, watery blue. “I don’t like to think of it as kidnapping,” he said with a friendly smile. “Let us just say that I desire a companionable—how do you say in English?—chat, and I think that might be best achieved in peace and quiet, away from prying eyes.” He had a soft voice that, combined with a heavy accent—Russian, I thought—made it necessary to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Stop the vehicle and let us out right now,” Laia ordered.
The old man laughed softly. “My dear Laia,” he said, “I fear that is not possible at this time.”
“How do you know her name?” I asked.
“I know many things, Steve, but I think this is enough conversation for now. We will have a chance to talk in peace and quiet when we get where we are going.”
“Where are we going? What do you want with us?” Laia asked.
“Silence!” Scarface ordered. We obeyed and sat quietly, holding hands tightly while Tattoo Head drove us into the hills.
Oddly, as we drove out of Palomares, I didn’t feel afraid. For all I knew, these men were going to murder us and bury us in shallow graves that would never be found. But that made no sense—I could see no reason why they would want to kill us. Besides, the older guy—I thought of him as Blue Eyes—obviously knew who we were and wanted to talk to us about something. I strained to imagine what that might be. The only thing I could think of was something to do with Grandfather’s coded notebook, but since we didn’t even understand what was in it, that didn’t narrow the subject matter down much, although we were heading roughly in the direction of location number five. A thought began to form. Maybe these guys were Russian, and Blue Eyes was old enough to have known Grandfather in 1966. Gorky sounded like a Russian name.
I took a chance and broke the silence. “Do you know Gorky?” I asked Blue Eyes.
He swung around in his seat and waved an arm to indicate to Scarface that this topic of conversation was okay. “Of course I know Gorky,” he said. “I am Russian. You know Gorky?”
“I’ve heard of him,” I replied.
Blue Eyes nodded. “And what is your favorite of his?”
“What?” The question made no sense.
“Your favorite. Mine is The Lower Depths, although it may not to be to your Canadian taste. It is very Russian. Perhaps his short tales are more to your liking?”
“Short tales?” I mumbled in utter confusion.
Blue Eyes looked puzzled. “You talk of our great writer, Maxim Gorky, yes? The friend of Lenin who was murdered on the orders of Stalin in 1936?”
I realized that we were talking about completely different things. I backtracked. “His short stories, yes. I have only read a few. I would like to read more.”
This seemed to satisfy Blue Eyes, who smiled and turned back to the front. Laia looked at me with a puzzled expression. I shrugged. Either Blue Eyes knew nothing about the Gorky in Grandfather’s notebook, or he was a wonderful actor. I sat in silence, wondering what was coming next, as the car climbed into the hills.
“Why did you bring us here?” Laia demanded. The SUV had finally stopped, at the end of a dirt track on a barren hillside overlooking Palomares.
“As I said, to have conversation,” Blue Eyes explained as we climbed out of the vehicle and moved a few steps away. Scarface and Tattoo Head hovered nearby. “And to appreciate the magnificent view.” Blue Eyes waved an arm at the ribbon of development that marked the boundary between the land and the sea. In some places, construction sites showed where the development was creeping inland.
“These hills are honeycombed with ancient mines that once provided the wealth for Carthage, Europe’s first business empire,” Blue Eyes mused. “The Romans mined here as well, but since then…nothing. A few villages of scrub farmers and fishermen. Now look at what we have achieved. Is this not a miracle of human endeavor?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“You do not think so, but it is, and it has done much good. Old people who do not wish to live in cold places like my homeland now live here in the sun all year. Families may escape the drudgery of their lives for a couple of weeks of sun, sand and nightlife. Those are worthy goals, do you not think?”
“Well,” Blue Eyes said, apparently not bothered by my lack of agreement, “whatever one thinks, it has happened, and it is still happening. There is no more cheap land by the beach, and yet people still desire to come here. That is what you call a bottleneck. But the bottle is breaking. As you see, the buildings are crawling inland.”
I nodded, but I really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about or what it had to do with Grandfather or being kidnapped.
“What does that have to do with us?” I asked.
“Ah, the impatience of youth. I come from a very flexible family. We have found it a good way to survive. Many generations ago, we were poor peasants, scratching a pitiful existence from the soil of Mother Russia. Over the years we pulled ourselves up to become officials in St. Petersburg, in service of the Czars. When change came in 1917, we changed as well. We became bureaucrats for Lenin and Stalin, indispensible cogs in the wheels of Communism.”
Laia sighed theatrically and looked bored. Blue Eyes ignored her and continued. “When things changed again, we embraced Capitalism and became businessmen. Do you see that point there?” He motioned to where the coast swung out to the south of us. Neither Laia nor I answered. “And that marina there?” He pointed north. “I own—how much of that?” He turned to his henchmen.
“Very near eighty percent,” Scarface said in a voice that sounded as if he had swallowed gravel.
“Almost eighty percent of the properties between those two points,” Blue Eyes said wistfully. “Not all in my name, of course. I control many different and diverse businesses, but it is mine nonetheless.” He stopped to silently admire what he was showing us. If what he said was true, it was impressive. Owning 80 percent of the properties on several kilometers of extremely valuable coastline made Blue Eyes an extraordinarily wealthy man.
“So, you are rich,” Laia said. “Why should I care?”
“You are very passionate in your opinions, Laia,” Blue Eyes said, “but there are times you should reflect more. I think Felip would know by now where I am going with this.”
“What does my father have to do with this?”
I heard an edge of worry in her voice.
“As we have this companionable discussion up here,” Blue Eyes went on, “down there, Felip is, at this very minute, discussing the sale of a large piece of land with the American—my land.”
“Your land?”
“It is land no one wants. For a few reasonable payments to the right people in the right places, and as soon as the land is declared free of contamination, I shall have first refusal on its purchase.”
“Bribes, you mean,” Laia said.
Blue Eyes tilted his head. “If you wish to use such crude terminology. I prefer to think of it as the lubricant for the wheels of business. In any case, the people to whom I have made payments will ensure that any paperwork Felip and the American put through will be misplaced or found to be incomplete. The American will not build in Palomares. I do not wish to have American interests on my doorstep, but discouraging them could be a long, tedious and expensive process. This way, if the American drops his interest now, things will run much more smoothly. The land will be declared safe in the near future, and then I shall be free to build.”
“And you will become even richer.” Laia’s voice was filled with scorn.
Blue Eyes nodded acknowledgment. “It will be good for everyone—the old people, the holidaymakers and the locals who will have work on my building sites and in the hotels, bars and nightclubs I shall build.”
“And I am supposed to do what about this?” Laia asked, sounding less confident.
“I wish for you to have a conversation with your father. I would very much like you to persuade him that this venture is not in his—or anyone else’s—best interests.”
“He won’t listen to me,” Laia said, “and even if he did, why should I do this for you?”
I heard a loud click beside my right ear and turned to find myself staring down the barrel of a large pistol.