EVERY MINUTE THAT passed was a minute closer to Alicia being harmed. Or killed.
He sat on the bench and waited, closing his eyes and trying to control the nervous, churning throb in his guts, the stickiness of his hands. The small wound on his palm had stopped bleeding, but was beginning to sting. Everything now depended on Azcárraga.
He had no watch to measure the passing time. And his phone – his usual means of knowing the hour of the day – had been confiscated. Yet he could hear a ticking in his head: every second that he spent motionless in the cell felt like a kick in the ribs.
He tried to force himself into a calm state, listening to his breathing, watching his thoughts racing through his mind. If salvation were to come he would have to be as relaxed as possible in order to react quickly and efficiently. Right now there was nothing he could do.
And so he waited.
He stirred when he heard new footsteps coming down the stairs: a sudden rush of blood, adrenalin flowing. Was this it?
There were voices at the reception desk. Papers were unfolded and handed over. The decision was being made quickly – he could tell. The policemen did not like the situation: it was unorthodox, should never have been like this in the first place.
The jangling of keys and three pairs of feet now walking towards his cell. There was a clang as the key was fitted into the lock. Cámara looked up.
It was Laura.
‘I got a direct order from Madrid,’ she said. ‘It’s time to get you out.’
Cámara’s legs trembled as he got up. The guards smiled when he walked out and into the corridor.
‘We’re sorry about all this,’ the first one said. ‘If it had been my call I would never have allowed it.’
He gave Cámara his phone and keys back.
‘It’s all right,’ Cámara said. ‘I understand.’
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Laura said, addressing the two men. ‘I appreciate your goodwill, and will remember it. But right now Chief Inspector Cámara and I have some urgent business to attend to.’
They skipped up the stairs and Laura led him to reception.
‘Chief Inspector,’ Azcárraga said, with a relieved smile on his face. ‘Am I glad to see you.’
Cámara spotted his helmet on the desk.
‘I picked it up from the murder squad office,’ Laura said. ‘Thought you’d need it.’
‘Thanks.’
He slung the helmet over his arm and made to go.
‘Cámara!’ Laura called. He stopped.
‘What just happened – Maldonado locking you up – that wasn’t right. That’s why I agreed to get you out. But let me help you now. You can’t do this on your own.’
‘What do you want me to do? Get the police involved?’
‘At least let me do something,’ she said.
Cámara grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and wrote a telephone number on it.
‘Call this number,’ he said. ‘Tell them everything.’
He looked around, making sure no one else in reception could hear them.
‘Tell them I’m going to the far end. That’s where she’ll be. The far end.’
Laura looked confused.
‘They’ll understand,’ said Cámara.
‘Good luck!’ Azcárraga called out.
But Cámara was already out the door.
He slung on his helmet and ran round to the back of the building where he had left his motorbike. He sat down, flicked up the side stand with his heel and pressed the starter button. The engine made a dull whine, and stopped. He pressed the button again. And nothing happened at all.
‘Fucking battery.’
He should have changed it months back. Now it had finally given up on him.
Should he take a car? Commandeer something from a passing motorist? The options were rejected in less than a second – they would all take up too much time. He was almost about to get off the bike and start running, when he remembered: the W650 had a kick-starter. He had only used it once, when he first got it, just to try it out. They were rare these days.
He glanced down to his right. The pedal was folded in against the engine. Pushing it out with his fingers, he rested his instep on it, stood up, gently turned the throttle, and pushed down with all his strength. The engine coughed into life, then died. Again he jumped on the kick-starter, careful not to flood the engine, but again it fired up only to switch off again.
With a final effort, he stamped down with his foot, willing the bike into action. It roared, coughed, and settled into a healthy hum.
He released the clutch so hard that he sped down half the street on his back wheel.
It was time to go underground once more.
It was time to save Alicia.