Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit (24 page)

His phone rang. It was reception for the building, on duty seven days a week. Apparently there was a delivery. Was he expecting anything? Yes. Could reception sign for it before he came to collect it? If reception couldn't sign, redelivery would not occur until Tuesday at earliest.

That made up his mind. Though not ideal to have a record of a delivery, the acceptance signature and name would not be his. Waiting until Tuesday was a risk too far in the other direction. He authorised acceptance and took the lift down.

After carrying the box upstairs, Alfredo realised that somebody had been clever. He grinned at the wooden box of wine. What a shrewd deception. It even felt like the right sort of weight. Nobody could suspect something as ordinary as an innocuous wine delivery.

Back in his office he lost no time in opening the box, using the Leatherman multi-tool that he liked to keep in his desk. Levering the top open he again marvelled at the originality, and the care taken. The wine box did not look as if it had ever been opened before, though it must have been.

With the wooden top prised off, he found, nestled above six bottles of a decent Rioja Reserva, two laptops encased in bubble-wrap. One was larger and heavier than the second, which was silver and slim. Even better, the power bricks were included. He could power them up. Were either the 'right' one? He had no idea.

As he was about to do this a different thought occurred. Should anyone walk in they might find it strange that he had three laptops on his desk, something which might be remembered. After all, Alfredo was not exactly known as a paid-up member of the technology cognoscenti, though privately he liked to think he knew rather more than he ever admitted.

No, best that he to go home. Perhaps he could also enjoy one of those bottles of Rioja as well. He stashed the laptops back inside the wine box and replaced the lid, effectively hiding the contents.

He took the lift direct down to his parking space. Placing his precious goodies in the boot, or trunk as he remembered the Americans preferred, he drove himself back to the smart surroundings of La Moraleja where he and his wife cohabited though rarely coincided.

Upon arrival, he used his electronic control to enter the gates and garage. From here he took the wine box direct to his study. This was deliberately unlike the one in El Rollo. He had made a conscious decision that the latter be a place for contemplation, relaxation and learning for, after all, that was where he expected to spend his retirement.

His study in this house was a working place, full of papers and documents, as well as a strange collection of past technologies that he could not bear to throw out, from a cassette Walkman to a CD Writer to a Compaq desktop (still able to run Windows XP even though well more than a decade old). His wife only tolerated clutter in this one particular room. A couple more laptops adding to the three already there were not going to make much difference.

He plugged both 'acquisitions' in. The bigger one took what seemed like minutes before coming up with an OverPayment Recovery Service logo and login screen. He had no idea what to do, but on balance decided this was less likely to be the machine he wanted.

He switched it off and moved to the slim, silver Asus. It impressed, being both light and elegant. What's more, it showed its login screen in seconds. This was anonymous except for a small line at the bottom of the screen asking that, if found, the owner be contacted at the following email address or by telephone. He saw that the phone number started with 0061. He turned to his own laptop and started Google. Yes, yes, yes! This must be it: 0061 was the code for Australia.

He felt an immense rush of relief. He possessed the offending machine. Now all he needed was to access it. That would be more difficult. It was such a pity he could not consult Alberto himself, who was known in the family to be able to make most computers talk if not sing. But the risk was that Alberto might recognise it, except that he had mentioned not knowing any of the details. Yes, perhaps he could ask Alberto. No. Alberto might say something to Emilia who could inadvertently let the cat out of the bag to Caterina.

This needed carefully thinking through before making a decision. Perhaps he could wrap it up in some words like a client had left it behind and needed a particular file? No, that wouldn't work. Why wouldn't the client know the password details?

That could wait. What he did have to do was talk to Marta and find out what she knew and what was on her smartphone. That promised to be an awkward call. He grimaced. Could it wait until after lunch? No, he decided it couldn't. Better sooner and before any post-lunch befuddlement on his, or her, part.

He dialled Marta's number. The phone continuously rang.

Just as he was about to give up Marta answered.

Saturday: Emilia

Emilia wandered up Fuencarral, taking her time. Without Caterina around she had started to enjoy Madrid. It was a city with life and taste. She watched the people around. To her eyes one could divide people into two or three groups (excepting children of all ages).

There were the young, who were mostly scruffy but wore their clothes with a care uncommon in her home city of Sydney. There were the oldies, meaning anyone over forty. They were invariably smartly-turned out, if in ways that dated them. She particularly liked the care the men took and could see Davide's uncle's influence at work.

Finally there were those in whom she was more interested, aged from about twenty to her own age. They were the most difficult to generalise about. The range of what they wore was smart, fashionable and astonishing. They made home seem dull by comparison.

For herself, she had made an effort (how could she not after what Ana had worn before), just in case. She thought herself rather smart until she compared herself with the fashionistas around who made her less sure.

Following her phone's map instructions, Emilia turned right down the calle
Olid and soon came to a large open
plaza
with lots of trees in the middle. As advised by Ana, she did not walk into the middle but wandered around the edge where there were
cafés
and
restaurantes
, nearly all with tables and chairs outside. Ana had not been sure which to choose but mentioned it would be one with decent food.

Some two-thirds round Emilia saw Ana standing waving at her. Thank God Ana was not dressed to the nines, but just wore faded blue jeans and a bright jacket over a man's shirt. Emilia headed over to greet Ana with the customary kisses on each cheek.

"I hope you like this place, Emilia. The sun's out. We've a decent table and can enjoy the last of autumn."

"This is an amazing place. How do you know it? I guess that's a stupid question, being a
Madrileña
you naturally would know it."

"Not if you're unfamiliar with this part of town, which is called Chamberí. You might only ever drive underneath. My grandmother introduced me to it when I was a child. She had friends who lived nearby. There was originally a dilapidated market here, riddled with druggies and other disreputables. In recent times, especially after they put the road with the car park beneath and created the gardens above, it has come up in the world. Now it's popular again, as you can see. Anyhow, what'll you have?
Café
?
Un
vinito
?
Una cervecita
?"

"Given the time, I think a white wine would go down well."

"Excellent idea. Let's order a bottle. I should warn you, and I hope you won't mind, but I asked my cousin Inma to join us. I thought we could have a girls' lunch."

"No problem." Emilia was in fact intrigued and delighted to meet the infamous 'dyke' about whom Caterina had gone from being so anti to so pro. She would be an interesting addition, just as the opportunity to be with Ana should prove fascinating. After all, they had already slept together, albeit innocently.

"So, Emilia; what do you make of Madrid, ORS and Caterina's little accidental discovery?"

"To be honest, Ana, I am beginning to like Madrid a lot. I wasn't sure at first. It's great living in that
piso
. Yet with Davide and Caterina it's also a bit stifling."

"In what way?"

"I'm not quite sure how to put it. Perhaps partly because I feel like a permanent raspberry – no, I mean gooseberry. Davide and Caterina somehow never manage to put themselves together. That leaves me like a spare prune, unsure whether I'm wanted in the fruit salad or surplus. Over time this drains. In addition, it's hard to play, to enjoy myself when I must consider their precious desires, which even they don't understand. The truth is that it's a relief they've disappeared for a few days. However, I shouldn't complain. Without Caterina's connection with Davide I wouldn't be here."

"I understand. And what's Caterina's connection with Davide?"

Emilia burst out laughing before saying, "If I could explain I'd be the first to tell them. I don't think they have a clue. They hover round each other in some form of inept dance that never seems to come to fruition, or consummation – if you see what I mean?"

Emilia, although knowing this was not quite true, raised her eyes to Ana's face.

Ana slowly rocked her head back and forth, saying, "That sort of explains the tension. I like Davide. He is
simpático,
without you needing to make any obvious effort. Caterina just puzzles me."

"You're joining an un-illustrious club of the thoroughly baffled, regarding Caterina that is. But they do have something in common: Rome. That's also where they met Inma. I wonder if she'd tell us what Davide and Caterina won't. Can I ask?"

"I don't see why not. She can always say 'no'. Oh, before she arrives, I've a spare room in my apartment for if you ever need to escape. Just give me a call sometime and invite yourself. It's not far from here, or Malasaña."

Emilia and Ana looked at each other. A mutual understanding was in the air, just as Inma appeared and greeted Ana.

Ana, having stood to kiss Inma, stepped back and said, "Yet again you look totally fantastic, Inma. That's some combination, which can only be Italian." Inma wore tight white trousers with a jacket. "It displays you to perfection; much better than those brown dresses you used to wear, if you don't mind me saying so."

Inma smiled in a self-deprecating way. She was still not really used to compliments after all those years in Opus Dei. To avoid responding she turned to Emilia and introduced herself.

Feeling almost daring, Emilia shook Inma's hand as well as kissing her on both cheeks. Ana was right. This was superbly-wrapped sex appeal – and in the middle of the day. Not feeling quite certain what to say, she followed up on Ana's unanswered question.

"That jacket? Did you buy it here? Where, if you don't mind me asking? It looks so soft yet so perfectly fitted. As Ana said, it looks great on you."

It was true. She had not believed that anyone over forty could possess a figure this carefully wrought – except for fading Hollywood film stars after an excess of plastic surgery. But Inma did not have their unnatural look. Unwittingly, she sucked in her breath in both appreciation and admiration.

Inma saw this but took no notice before saying, "I bought it in Rome when I was inadvertently there. It was where I first met Davide. You might even say, seeing that we're all girls, that it was my coming-out jacket."

"Tell us more," encouraged Ana. "This sounds fascinating."

Emilia nodded in agreement.

Saturday: Alcobendas

Pedro arrived at the ORS offices in his own car. He was not happy at having his Saturday disturbed. He found Lucas waiting for him at the entrance along with a junior
Nacional
Policía
officer.

"Okay. Tell me. What's happened?"

Lucas gestured that they should go inside. He led the way to the ORS offices. Immediately Pedro saw the problem. Someone had broken in. The door to reception had been jimmied until the frame had given way. It was obvious when you looked but equally as easy to overlook if you did not pay attention. Given that there were no other occupants on this floor except ORS (the offices opposite being empty with a large 'to rent' sign visible), there was no reason why anybody else should have taken notice.

They entered reception where they found a second CNP officer sitting outside the once opaque glass door to the conference room. This had been smashed. They went in and looked around. There was the usual conference room furniture and a projector, but there was no sign of the two laptops. Worse still, there were no power cables for the laptops. Ensuring they did not touch anything, Lucas and Pedro checked carefully.

"They couldn't have been put away somewhere else?" enquired Pedro, feeling a surge of disappointment cut with misery.

"No, sir. They could not. Carlos and I continued working on them on Tuesday. When you went to see
Juez
Garibey on Wednesday, you instructed us to do nothing until he'd decided what should happen next. On Thursday you asked us to make arrangements for a CNP guard for the outside of the building. But it was not until today that anyone from ORS, and it was
el jefe,
Felipe, entered the office. As soon as he saw what had happened he spoke with the guys watching the building who called me. I came here immediately and told
el jefe
that he might as well go home as we would need to treat the office as a crime scene. Then I called you."