The Sentinel: 1 (Vengeance of Memory) (39 page)

‘Is it fear of offending the Americans?’ Peralta asked.

‘Must be,’ Guzmán said. ‘Maybe there’s more to the trade deal with the
Yanquis
than we know. We need more information. This is useless, trying to guess what they’re up to.
Teniente
, you contact Exterior Intelligence Services and see what they’ve got on
Señor
Positano. You could also try the Diplomatic Corps, see if we can get any information from the police in
Los Estados Unidos
. There must be something our people over there can dig up. We’ve got enough spies there, for God’s sake.’

‘They’re a friendly country,’ Peralta said, ‘more or less. Surely we wouldn’t…’

Guzmán stared hard at Peralta and gave an exaggerated sigh. Peralta shut up.

‘You,
Sargento
, lean on the collection of lowlife scum you use as informers and get me the news on the street. You could probably start with your family, I imagine.’

‘And you, sir?’ Peralta asked.

‘I’ll be minding my own fucking business and doing my job – part of which consists of telling you what to do,
Teniente
– thanks for asking.’

When they had gone, Guzmán lit another cigarette. He began to pace the room. From time to time he scrawled on one of the boards. Standing back, he looked at the tangle of names, thoughts and connections assembled on the dusty wood. There was nothing that made sense. He picked up the eraser and ran it over the board. Maybe a coffee would help,
a real coffee
, he decided. He pulled on his overcoat and strolled down the corridor to the reception hall.

The corporal behind the desk saluted. ‘
A sus ordenes, mi Comandante
. I have a communication for you. Just arrived.’

The man pushed an envelope across the desk. Guzmán looked at the spidery writing.

‘Who brought this,
Cabo
?’

‘Can’t say, sir. Someone left it when I popped into the office. Sorry, sir.’

‘If someone can wander in and leave an envelope without being seen,
Cabo
, they could wander in and leave a bomb. And if you leave the desk unattended again, you’ll think one has gone off under you and I won’t be addressing you as
Cabo
either, because you’ll be back in the ranks. Do I make myself clear?’

‘
Perfectamente, mi Comandante
.’

Guzmán snorted and walked to the door. A flicker of anger pulsed through him. He turned. The corporal snapped to attention.

‘You stupid fuck,’ Guzmán spat. ‘
Que coño eres
.’

The corporal swallowed, remaining at attention until Guzmán was outside in Calle de Robles. Even then, another minute passed before the corporal felt safe enough to curse the
comandante
.

The sky was a heavy grey. The piles of snow along the sides of the streets were still frozen. No hint of the sun behind the opaque quilt of cloud. Guzmán was angry. Things were not supposed to be like this. The Special Brigade wasn’t set up to do ordinary police work. Still, they would have to try, because otherwise Guzmán was going to lose credibility with the
Caudillo
and he couldn’t let that happen.

Guzmán crossed the road and entered the smoky fug of a café. He sat on a stool at the end of the zinc-topped counter, with a good view of the street. A horse and cart clattered past. Guzmán ordered coffee and brandy, watching distractedly as a woman came running out to scoop the steaming horseshit into a bucket. Once the barman had served him, Guzmán took the envelope from his pocket.

Comandante Leopoldo Guzmán, Comisaría, Calle de Robles no13, Madrid
.

No stamp, no postmark and delivered by hand. Guzmán slipped his finger under the seal and ripped open the letter, extracting a single folded piece of thin writing paper. A short message, in the same thin spidery hand as before.

Guzmán glowered at it.

Thursday 15th January 1953

Mi querido
Leo
,

I’ve arrived in Madrid at last. I’m staying at a Hotel called the Alameda. Will you meet me tomorrow in the Retiro Park at three by the fountain on the Paseo de México? After all these years I so look forward to seeing you once more and hearing your voice
.

Abrazos,
Mother
.

Guzmán put the letter in his pocket. What the hell was going on?
Señora
Guzmán was long dead, killed along with her husband during the attack on their village. Someone was taking the piss. Not for much longer. Guzmán tipped his brandy into the coffee and drank it in one swallow. He stood up, about to leave a handful of coins on the counter. He changed his mind and walked out into the brittle cold. A taxi idled down the street and Guzmán flagged it down.

‘Hotel Alameda.’ He told the driver. ‘
Rapido
.’

MADRID 1953, COMISARÍA, CALLE DE ROBLES

Peralta returned to the
comisaría
around midday. His enthusiasm for telling Guzmán what he had found out diminished rapidly when he reached the desk.

‘General Valverde,
Teniente
,’ the
cabo
said as he saluted. ‘He’s in the
comandante
’s office. You’re to report to him at once, sir.’

Peralta clattered down the cold stone corridor to Guzmán’s office. Valverde was standing by the blackboards. Peralta noticed Guzmán had erased the diagrams and scrawled comments. It made him feel vaguely guilty.

‘Has Guzmán taken up drawing?’ Valverde asked. He walked over to the desk and settled himself in Guzmán’s chair.

‘Just outlines of the investigation, sir.’

Valverde looked up at Peralta and gestured for him to sit down.

‘And how is the investigation going,
Teniente
?’

Peralta paused for a moment. ‘Our enquiries are going well, sir.’

Valverde snorted contemptuously. ‘And your enquiries centre on what exactly,
Teniente
?’

Peralta hesitated, trying to think of what he should say – and what he should not.

The general’s cheeks reddened. He stared at Peralta, his moustache quivering. ‘
Puta madre, Teniente,
we’re all after the same thing here. How dare you even consider not keeping me informed?’

‘I haven’t reported to
Comandante
Guzmán yet, General.’

‘Ah,’ the general became more conciliatory, ‘and you’re hesitating to report to me because it would be disrespectful to
Comandante
Guzmán?’

‘
Exactamente, mi General
.’

Valverde laughed. ‘It’s admirable you are so loyal to a man who is one step away from being a certifiable psychopath. As your uncle
and
as your senior officer, however, I would advise you to choose your loyalties very carefully.’

‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’

Valverde sighed, as if talking to a young child. ‘
Teniente
Peralta – and by the way, I have confirmed the rank, against
Comandante
Guzmán’s most strident protests.’

‘I’m most grateful to the general,’ Peralta said.

‘So you fucking should be,’ Valverde snapped. ‘If I’ve not showed you any preferment,
Teniente
, it’s because I’ve been waiting for you to prove yourself. And you haven’t. I must tell you, boy, when my niece said she wanted to marry you, I thought you’d got her pregnant, which would have presented me with the dismal choice of shooting you or having you marry into the family. And to be honest, shooting you would have been my preferred option.’

Peralta flushed. ‘I must protest—’

Valverde cut him short. ‘No matter. My niece loves you. And you’re clearly a hard worker. I think you’ve a lot of potential – no matter what
Comandante
Guzmán says.’

‘
Comandante
Guzmán is my immediate superior. He’s entitled to point out my faults in order to help me—’

Valverde silenced Peralta with an upraised hand. ‘Please,
Teniente
– or Francisco, if I may?’

‘I would prefer my rank in this setting,
mi General
.’

‘As you wish. But please, don’t feel you have to profess any loyalty to Guzmán. His loyalties are to himself and the
Caudillo
. Undoubtedly in that order. But perhaps you’d know more about that than me?’

‘As far as I know,
Comandante
Guzmán’s conduct has been impeccable. As for his devotion to duty, I assure you he has never expressed anything but the most loyal support for the
Caudillo
and for Spain,’ Peralta said, bristling indignantly.

‘You’re a fool,’ Valverde snapped. ‘A fool to believe that about Guzmán.’

‘Perhaps there’s something the general knows which I don’t?’

‘There’s undoubtedly a lot I know that you don’t, you little fuck.’ Valverde’s face became even more florid than usual.

‘Then perhaps the general will excuse me?’

‘For God’s sake, man, I’m trying to help you.’

‘My apologies,
mi General
, but I’m afraid I don’t understand in what way the general is trying to help me.’

Valverde took a deep breath, making an effort to calm himself down.

‘
Teniente
, I speak to you as a brother officer and as your uncle by marriage. You’re a decent man, but decency isn’t a necessary requirement for someone engaged in this line of work. Guzmán has survived so long because he has no scruples. None. Whatever the
Caudillo
asks of him, he does. And the
Caudillo
has asked a lot.’

‘But is that wrong, sir? Surely we must all do that?’

‘We do. But Guzmán abuses it. He’s almost completely unaccountable. I have little control over his activities. There’s always the possibility he’ll go over my head in some matter to the
Caudillo
himself. Worse, if he did, Franco would listen to him. This is an insufferable insult for me: The
Capitán-General
of Madrid, undermined by having Franco’s spy camped on my doorstep.’

Valverde’s colour was rising again. ‘This is not the way a modern state conducts itself, employing a brute like Guzmán as the Head of State’s personal assassin,’ he muttered. ‘It was how things were done in the war. But the war is over,
Teniente
. And Spain has to adapt to that.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple. Franco and his ministers still think along the same lines that won them the war. But change is needed now. People tire of doing without while the rest of the world prospers. No one trades with us. No one will equip the army. And why? Because they see us as a nation of fascists, run by a military government brought to power with the help of the Nazis.’

‘We are run by a military government,’ Peralta said. ‘Every minister was a member of the armed forces.’

‘No. We’re ruled by
Generalísimo
Franco. Not a government. Not the army. Him.’

‘But he saved us from the Reds, the Communists and atheists, the Freemasons…’

‘And that’s all done and dusted now. The world is changing. There’ll be no room soon for a country run by force of arms. Apart from Russia – and one day the Yankees will sort them out with their hydrogen bombs. We have to worry about the here and now, and how Spain can become great again, rather than being a poor relation to the rest of Europe. And as long as we’re run by one man, that’s what we’ll be.’

Peralta frowned.

‘For Christ’s sake,
Teniente
, don’t look at me like that. I’m not preaching rebellion. I’m talking about a point in the future when there will have to be change. There doesn’t have to be violence but there has to be a plan.’

‘A plot, you mean?’

‘I mean a plan for running the country, not to depose the
Caudillo
. God, he’d probably welcome it if it meant he could step back from having to deal with every last issue himself. I’m talking about Franco as Head of State – but with a more representative government, one that would be more professional than what we have now.’

Peralta shook his head. ‘I don’t like it. It sounds like treachery to me.’

Valverde struggled to keep his temper. ‘Nonsense. Governments reorganise all the time. That’s all it is, a reorganisation. Moving talented people to where they can do the most good. You have a talent for police work. You’d benefit from such a reorganisation. As would Spain. At least consider it.’

It was hard to deal with, Peralta thought. If someone talked like this in public, they’d be arrested. Rightly. ‘I need time. I can’t say just yes or no to something this important.’

‘You don’t have much time, so make your mind up quickly, for once in your life. I need capable men for the task ahead.’

‘What would I have to do?’ Peralta asked.

‘
Muy sencillo
. We need to know what Guzmán is up to, who he talks to, what he’s thinking. He trusts you because he thinks you’re stupid. He thinks in a couple of months he’ll get you transferred so he can go back to his own way of doing things without having to worry about you. So repay him in kind: keep me informed of everything he does, everything he says, the calls he makes, the letters he sends. And communicate it to me at once.’

Peralta nodded. He felt a bead of sweat on his receding hairline. His heart was hammering. ‘And if I did?’

Valverde smirked, the look of a man used to getting his way and about to get it again.

‘For a start we’ll triple the salary you get here. Paid straight into your bank account. You can keep your wife in comfort – as a real man should. And you’ll be helping Spain. A Spain great, united and free. At last.’

Peralta felt himself shaking.

‘Guzmán wants rid of you,’ Valverde said. ‘He’s a dangerous man as you’ve already seen. Make use of him to do your patriotic duty – and give yourself a hand up at the same time.’

Something bitter burned in Peralta’s throat. He nodded weakly.

‘Be part of this,’ Valverde said in a low voice. ‘Be part of this or you will be against it. And make no mistake, this will happen, and when it does, if you were not for us before, you’ll be against us then. And those who were against – like Guzmán – will be dealt with. Once and for all.’