The Galician Parallax (49 page)

‘They’ve been here all these years without any of us knowing about them? What about their passports or other documents?’

Ms Pacheco just smiled. ‘Sr Consul, this is Galicia. They were sort of protected by the locals as one of them.’

Stan wondered whether the poor old dear would ever fit in back in Britain after all these years in Spain. The store was in the hands of the local town council. It would eventually be sold and any funds returned to Mrs Jenkins via the couples’ account in their Spanish Savings’ Bank.

As usual
, Stan thought,
live and let live, just send off name, date and place of birth for identification and “bingo” the old dear is brought back from the missing and can be given an emergency passport to go home. The Spanish authorities turned a blind eye
.

‘That was quite a session, Sr Consul,’ said Sergio as they were out in the hospital’s car park. He was sitting on his bike adjusting his helmet whilst Stan was waiting for his chauffeur to drive round in the agency’s car.

‘Must confess, stunned me completely.’

‘Oh well, life is full of surprises. Meet you down at the Burgas, Sr Consul.’

He started his machine, clicked in a gear but before he drove off he added, ‘That is… if you’re still interested.’

Stan smiled. ‘Bugger off, Lieutenant. See you in a few minutes.’

‘Put your hand under here, Sr Consul,’ said Sergio as he pointed at the hot water flowing out of a nineteenth-century fountain.

In the heart of the city are the natural springs of As Burgas that were discovered back in the seventeenth century by the Romans. Gushing at three-hundred litres per minute at an average temperature of sixty-seven degrees centigrade they are one of the main tourist attractions for nationals and foreigners alike. Orense owes its existence thanks to their discovery 300 years ago. It was near lunchtime. They were a few blocks from the old part of town.

‘I’ve got another appointment this afternoon with a young English girl who wants to marry a local; needs a consular certificate to state that she’s single. Got some time on my hands so why don’t we get a bite…’

‘We always manage food when the going is hot.’

‘Right. Don’t know this city very well, do you?’

‘Me neither, but again, how about a simple place this time, Sr Consul, no fancy stuff. I’m paying.’

For once Stan felt embarrassed as if he was giving the wrong idea of opulence to a member of the law enforcement sector of the community. They soon found a quiet family restaurant, the Casa Ovidio on Saenz Diaz Street. It was not yet normal lunchtime and the regular customers were yet to arrive. After ordering their preferences from three different choices they delved into the heart of the matter of their meeting. Sergio expanded on the telephone conversation a few days earlier regarding the new developments that emanated from A Lama. He agreed with Stan to proceed with caution and not jump to any conclusions. With Colonel Lobeira’s assassination, their only real chance of pushing forward their assumption of a possible terrorist attack on Britain to a higher level had been squashed.

‘I know; we can’t afford another fiasco. But according to Paco, Paddy seemed pretty convinced that this time it’s for real.’

Stan was finishing his first dish, an odd, cold “Russian” salad over-diced with mayonnaise. He allowed Sergio to unravel everything he’d been told by his friend, Paco, before giving his opinion.

Sergio chuckled as he concluded, ‘All the brains and it’s a crazy Irishman who may have stumbled on the real plot.’

Stan took another sip of wine. ‘Don’t you think that by this time the Madrid authorities are already on to the Arabs if what Paddy says is true? Don’t forget that prisoners’ phone calls are tapped; you know that.’

‘True. But it is if, and when. It could be too late. Look at what happened with the Madrid trains; no warning, nothing, just bang.’

Stan began to turn the whole thing over in his mind. He was taking his time, saying nothing: cruise ships, crew, Filipinos, timing, security. Sergio could see his “sleuth” partner was deep in thought. He didn’t wish to interfere.
Quiet Sergio
, he thought to himself,
quiet
.

‘There is one thing that could be done, not quite sure how but it’s a long shot.’

‘Yes?’

‘I might be able to get a hold of the crew listings of the cruise ships visiting Galicia over the next, say, couple of months, but…’

‘What good would that do?’

Neither said a word although they were both homing in on the same suspicion.

‘Maybe one or several of these Filipinos have been paid off; a big lump sum into an offshore bank account.’

They both stared at each other for a few moments and then began to smile. Almost in unison they said, ‘…That could be cross-checked against their names.’

‘But how?’ asked Sergio.

Again there was a pause as question marks ran rampant through their brains. Lifting his hand slowly and gently pointing and waving his index finger at the lieutenant, Stan said, ‘There’s only one person that I think could help.’

Picking up on the thread, ‘And you know who that is, right, Sr Consul?’ He then added in a sombre mode, ‘I think we’re also running out of time.’

It was almost 9 p.m. when Stan arrived back in Vigo. He ordered his chauffeur to drive straight to the agency. Except for two of the junior clerks, Yolanda and most of the staff had already left. As usual, Stan had not phoned his wife since midday and when he did it was to advise her that he was back in the office. She blew a fuse.

‘Please,
amor
, call if you’re going to be late.’

Apologies over he got on with what he had on his mind. He switched on his PC and opened his file on the year’s shipping schedule with the list and visit dates of all cruise ships. Five were due before the end of April, three in Vigo and two into Corunna. Except for the
White Sea
they all belonged to the Sunbeam Cruise Ship line. The
Prince of Waves
, scheduled to dock into Vigo on 15 April was one of them, barely two weeks away. Stan thought for a moment about what he intended to do next, write a letter or phone, but on what pretext? He recalled what Sergio had said. ‘We’re running out of time.’ He sat back and stared at the screen. He’d already executed the “print” key. The list was in the out tray. He took the plunge. He opened up the Outlet Express and within a couple of minutes had sent off a short e-mail addressed to the personnel sections of both shipping lines requesting an urgent list with the names of all Filipino crew members. His excuse was that the local port authorities, for an unknown reason, had requested them.

He added “extra urgent” to the request.

The police, in cooperation with the CNI and thanks to the phone tapping of the calls from the penitentiary, had finally pinpointed the fixed-line Madrid telephone number dialled by the Algerian prisoners. Having checked the address, in the heart of the plush suburban area, and the registration, the security forces then established that a Sr Idelfonso San Miguel had signed a six-month lease on the property with a “false” Arab Company called Gulf Enterprises Ltd. Badi and Habib were the signatories. Having obtained the necessary search warrants and cleared entry permission into the building two teams from the Puerta de Hierro precinct and another two from the national SWAT team at 10 p.m. on 30 March, arrived at the premises. The porter was waiting for them and led them up to the fourth floor and pointed at the apartment. The area had also been cordoned off at a two-mile radius with swarms of police surrounding the perimeter. The officer in charge, Commissioner “Tato” Camacho knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again; still no answer. He immediately ordered the break-in.

Except for the furniture and all other fittings, they found a completely empty apartment.

Stan was trying to focus on the half-hearted agreement on a strategy to try to uncover any possible plot of attack against a British cruise ship when Sergio called him yet again. This time he was in a frantic mood.

‘The police in Madrid have broken into the al-Qaeda cell in Madrid and found nothing. The news won’t hit the press until tomorrow.’

Sergio was over-excited to the point that Stan wasn’t sure whether he was upset or overjoyed. ‘The bastards have pulled the wool over our eyes yet again and buggered off without leaving a trace. Do you know what that means? They’ve completed their plan and it’s now action time.’

Stan was too taken aback to react. Sergio waited for a response that didn’t come. ‘Sr Consul, if they’re after a cruise ship it’s now or never. I bet the mob is now in our patch… somewhere.’

‘What makes you think that your lot hasn’t already got all this under control anyway?’

‘No. No. And a thousand times no, Sr Consul. Of course all the cavalry is out in full force looking for them, but they still don’t know what this lot is up to because they haven’t put two and two together with the guys in A Lama.’ Sergio seemed desperate.

Stan was about to counteract the argument with a suggestion to pass the whole affair back to Sergio’s bosses when it struck him. The lieutenant was right. They were running out of time. It was already the 30
^th
of the month.

‘OK, we’ll go ahead as planned.’

It was well passed midnight when Stan eventually returned home from the office. He’d phoned Yolanda early on with yet another white lie about a problem with a cruise-ship visit. Although she was in bed reading she knew full well that trouble was afoot and that Stan and Sergio were still at it. Stan walked into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. A sheepish look on his face confirmed her suspicions. Yolanda put the book down, took her time.

‘Let’s have it then. What have you been up to?’

Two days later, on April Fool’s Day, Stan got what he wanted. A complete list of the Filipino crew members on the next five cruise ships visiting Galicia was in his e-mail inbox. There were several hundred listed names including those of Mesias Silvestre and Desiderio Bello amongst those that had joined the
Prince of Waves
. It was Friday and the ship was due in Vigo in two weeks’ time already on her way back to Southampton. He went over to Yolanda’s desk.

‘You can book my flight to Manchester.’

Yolanda was already aware of his plans and had prepared an itinerary the day before. He’d be travelling from Santiago Airport over the weekend and returning on Tuesday. She had booked him into the Radisson Edwardian Hotel on Peter Street.

‘That should give you enough time. The rest is up to you,
amor
.’

Sergio was put in the picture.

‘Do you realise what you’re asking for, Mr Bullock?’ said Sir Adrian Billson. He was looking over the crew listings that Stan had handed him.

When Stan originally thought of approaching the drug cartel in the UK his first intention was for a surprise visit to the Falmouth group. After all, it was his home town and he knew his way around. However, he needed to meet with Mr Billson in Manchester but didn’t have any contact details. As time was of the essence, he gave them a call instead. Joan Flashman was stunned and nearly put the phone down, but Stan pleaded with her to listen to his argument.

‘This time it’s for real, Ms Flashman. It’s got nothing to do with drugs. We’re talking about our and your national security.’

After telling her that he couldn’t care less about the past drug runs via Maiden Voyages and then explaining briefly what he needed, she agreed to consult Mr Billson. It took less than an hour for her to return the call with an arranged emergency meeting directly with the head drug baron at his HQ.

‘This could be a completely wild hunch, Sir Adrian, but it’s the only one we can think of. Whatever al-Qaeda is scheming against our shipping, large sums of money must be involved.’

Mr Billson, alias “Sir Adrian”, agreed.

‘Trouble is that time is running out. The first ship that’s at risk, and this is my own gut feel, is the
Prince of Waves
that is docking in less than two weeks.’

‘You’re certain that the higher-ups aren’t aware of what you’re up to? You’re personally risking a lot, Mr Bullock; you must realise that.’ Sir Adrian also knew that he couldn’t dismiss the whole scheme outright because his own drug operation in the UK could be prized open. ‘What makes you think that this group will attack from Vigo?’

‘Lieutenant Quiroga has gone out of his way to monitor all their previous moves. You know all the background on Don Simmons…’

‘Let’s not go into all that again.’

Sir Adrian finally agreed to help.

‘I’ll send this list to my financial advisers and see if they come up with something; can’t promise any more, Mr Bullock.’ He got up to leave. Stan accompanied him to the door of his room. ‘If anything comes up I’ll pass it on to my people in Falmouth. By the way, this meeting never took place.’ He bid farewell.

Sir Adrian complied with Stan’s request. He sent a coded message to his “confidants” in Switzerland asking them to check through all known rogue banks in search of the names that Stan had given him. It was a tall order that needed time and effort. He had emphasised the urgency as well as the importance. Sir Adrian was more concerned about his own empire should anything go wrong with his participation in this new turn of events. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help ignoring the fact that the “sleuths” knew too much about his affairs, especially in Cornwall. If there was any truth in their allegations of a terrorist attack, assisting them was his guarantee that they would not pursue the drug issue as terrorism was a top priority in any authority’s agenda.

Stan was back in Vigo as scheduled. He called Sergio and conveyed the news.

‘No more we can do, Lieutenant.’

They briefed their wives and a certain sigh of relief reigned in both households.