Watcher in the Pine (12 page)

Colonel Súarez made an exasperated noise. “I’m sorry, Tejada. I know you asked for reinforcements. But frankly, the Liébana’s a trouble spot, and our record there’s not so great. No one’s going to gain glory from this campaign. So let the Policía Armada get the blame.
And
the casualty lists. We don’t need more Caleros.”

“We don’t need more missing shipments of dynamite, either,” Tejada retorted. “And that was the Policía Armada’s responsibilty.”

The colonel laughed. “That’s why you’re there, Lieutenant. To sort out details like that. I have every confidence in you.”

“I’m sure fifty of the Policía Armada are going to be helpful,” said the lieutenant sourly.

“Look, Tejada,” Súarez lowered his voice. “This comes from Madrid. So just make sure if there are any screwups it’s not the Guardia who makes them, understood?”

“Yes, Colonel.” Tejada ended the conversation and took a certain satisfaction in banging the phone down.

Ortíz and Battista returned from their patrol without incident. Tejada ate lunch with his men and announced his intention of doing the afternoon patrol himself. He added that Torres had agreed to do desk duty. The guardias were finishing their meal, and Battista had just said that he thought Torres should stay in bed for the rest of the day and volunteered to stay in the office for the afternoon when the sound of galloping hooves outside drew their attention. “Someone’s in a hurry,” Ortíz commented. Tejada opened his mouth to reply, and then the door of the post slammed, and they heard running footsteps in the hallway. The three men exchanged glances, and silently stood. Tejada’s pistol was ready before he was on his feet, and he approvingly noted that the other men followed his example.

“Corporal Battista! Lieutenant!” The guardias relaxed as they recognized Carvallo’s breathless voice.

“In here.” Tejada lowered his weapon, but did not put it away. “What’s happened?” he asked, as Carvallo entered, gasping for breath.

“Sergeant Márquez, sir.” Carvallo saluted, gulping a few breaths to steady himself. “He’s been hurt. And he says we should start a patrol toward Espinama, and do a house-to-house to try to find Montalbán’s accomplices.”

“Hurt how? How badly?” demanded Battista.

“Accomplices?” Tejada asked at the same time.

“We ran into Montalbán. There was a shoot-out. He’s dead. Neither of us were hit but the sergeant was riding ahead of me and he took a bad fall when the shooting started. I think his arm’s broken.” Carvallo managed to answer both questions with admirable speed.

“Where is he now?” Tejada demanded.

As if in answer to his question there was a faint shout. “Carvallo!”

Tejada headed for the main entrance to the post, his men at his heels. Sergeant Márquez was sitting on his light bay. The left side of his cloak had been awkwardly looped under to make a crude sling. The odd drape did nothing to disguise the fact that the cloak was smeared with mud and grit, and had been torn in several places. His right hand clutched the pommel of his saddle. The left side of his face was badly scraped, and his lips were white. “Sir.” He attempted to salute at the sight of Tejada, and then swayed in the saddle and clutched the pommel again. “Sorry to bother you. Spot me while I dismount, Carvallo. I don’t want to make this worse by falling again.”

“Here.” Tejada stepped forward, arms outstretched. “Why did Carvallo leave you?”

“He didn’t until we reached the outskirts of town.” Safely on the ground, Márquez heaved a sigh of relief. “Then I sent him ahead to alert you. I didn’t feel up to anything more than a walk.”

“I heard you ran into Montalbán,” Tejada said, ushering the sergeant into the building. “Carvallo,” he added over his shoulder, “get on the phone to Unquera and tell them we need a doctor. Then get the sergeant a drink.” Carvallo headed for the office, and Tejada turned his attention back to Sergeant Márquez. “You said we need a house-to-house search?”

“Yes.” Once again, Tejada was struck by how much better Márquez reacted to a crisis than to the minor irritations of routine policing. The man was obviously in pain, but he was calm, lucid, and almost eerily focused on his work. “But not for Montalbán. He’s half in the Río Deva with a hole in his chest. I think he was traveling with friends, though. And if we hurry we may be able to pick up a few. Take the truck as far as you can toward Espinama, and then head for Treviño and Cosgaya, along the track to Fuente Dé.”

Tejada frowned. “I don’t know that area at all.” He turned to Battista. “Have you been there, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir.” Battista nodded. “All of us have done that patrol route before. But—” He stopped.

Tejada raised his eyebrows. “But?”

“But with Torres sick and Sergeant Márquez wounded we don’t have much manpower.”

Carvallo returned, carrying a cup and bottle. “The doctor’s on his way, Lieutenant. Would you like a drink, Sergeant Márquez?”

“Thanks.” Márquez held out his good hand. “Don’t waste time fussing over me. Battista’s right that we don’t have enough men. Our only chance is to move fast.”

Tejada hesitated for a moment, remembering the morning’s phone call. “We could ask for help from the Policía Armada. Do you think they’d lend us men?”

The other guardias exchanged glances. Then Battista said, “I’d rather just worry about the bandits, sir.”

“Understood.” Tejada stood. “Tell Torres what’s happened if he’s awake, Sergeant. Then rest until the doctor arrives. And tell him to stay until we get back, in case there are others wounded. Oh, and if you can send a message to Rosas, let him know that we may be bringing in prisoners and he should have cells available, just in case.”

The guardias were ready quickly, although not as quickly as Tejada would have liked. The two horses had to be unsaddled and stabled, and the lieutenant wasted a few precious minutes looking for a detailed map of the country they were going through, knowing that he was the only one of the guardias who would need it, but unwilling to set off without this basic preparation. Finally, however, the four men piled into the Guardia’s single vehicle, and roared down the half-built road to Espinama.

They covered the first ten kilometers within ten minutes. “Pull off here, Lieutenant,” Battista advised. “We want to head up that path to the left.”

Tejada slammed on the brakes and looked dubiously at the track the corporal was pointing toward. “I don’t think the truck will handle it.”

“No, it won’t.” Battista was laconic. “We’ll have to leave it.”

“Come on then.” Tejada pulled off the road and yanked the keys out of the ignition as the guardias climbed out. “Speed counts. Battista!”

“Sir?”

Tejada was already moving up the path at a fair pace. “You know the terrain and you know the men we’re looking for. I don’t. So you’re in charge. If you have to give orders, give them. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Battista caught up with the lieutenant. “You’d better stay back then. Carvallo, stick with the lieutenant. Ortíz, come with me.”

They did not speak for a few minutes after that. The path they traveled was wet and rocky, streaked with water running down to the Deva. Piles of broken rock along the side of the road signaled Devastated Regions’ plans for a highway, but at the moment the path was little better than a drainage ditch. The road climbed through open country, broken only by a few bushes. Tejada wished that they were less exposed. He strained to hear behind the birdsong, the murmur of the distant river, and the sighing wind, listening for the sound of a man, or men. All the guardias carried their rifles across their chests, ready for use.

If Montalbán was with other bandits, Tejada thought, then they already know that the guardias who killed him got away. They’ll be expecting us. But not so soon, I hope. He was eager to reach the first village. They were too good a target along the unfinished highway. Of course, the bandits might well be holed up in one of the houses. But they would announce their position with the first shot they fired.
And they’re local
, Tejada thought.
They’re probably in the houses of family. So they won’t want to hit civilians in the crossfire
.
Whereas out here we’re practically the only thing they
can
hit
.

The path had sloped steeply upward at first, but now it leveled out and curved around the side of the mountain. Corporal Battista stopped short as they came around one curve and signaled the others to be still as well. Tejada saw that they were approaching a dry, steeply sloping field and a stone farmhouse and barn. “That’s the Robles place,” the corporal said in a low voice. “You and Carvallo had better loop around and cover the far side of the barn, sir. I’ll talk to Pepe. He knows me.”

“Should we go through the barn?” Tejada asked quietly.

“Let Carvallo do it. He’s been here before,” Battista advised.

“Right. Let’s go.”

The guardias fanned out. As Tejada came around the far side of the barn, he saw that there was a dark jagged hole in the stones under the roof on one side, obviously a hayloft. A ladder was leaning negligently against the side of the building, providing easy access to the hole. The lieutenant tapped Carvallo’s arm and pointed upward. “Any others?” he mouthed silently. Carvallo shook his head, and the two guardias moved toward the ladder, hugging the wall to make themselves more difficult targets.

Carvallo made a face as he reached the ladder. Then, with a faintly rueful glance at the lieutenant, he began to climb. Tejada waited below, tense. He could faintly hear voices from the house: Corporal Battista, sounding sharp and official; a woman’s voice, expostulating. Carvallo reached the top of the ladder and disappeared into the hayloft. There was no sound from within. The distant voices became more distinct, and Tejada heard footsteps. Then he was able to make out Corporal Battista saying, “You know the rules, Angela; we have to check the barn, too.”

“We’ve never had anything to do with bandits!” That was the woman’s voice. Tejada heard the barn door creak open.

“Just making sure it stays that way.” Battista’s voice was calm.

There was noise and movement in the barn for a few minutes, and then Battista said loudly, “All clear, Carvallo?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go around the back, and then meet us back at the road.” An instant later Carvallo reappeared and Tejada heard the retreating corporal say, “Sorry for the inconvenience, Angela. Say hello to Pepe and tell him to keep out of trouble.”

The guardias met back at the road, and began rapidly heading for the next house in Treviño. “That was practically a courtesy call,” Tejada remarked.

Battista smiled. “Pepe Robles is an old fox. We’ve never caught him at anything, but that’s just because he’s too sharp. We’ll have to move fast now or he’ll have the whole town alerted ahead of us.”

The rest of the searches in Cosgaya were without incident. Whether this was because the Robles family had in fact succeeded in sending warning or because the bandits were not in the town was unclear. The searches were exhausting and discouraging. As they headed back toward the truck, Tejada sighed. “Have we ever caught anyone this way?”

“Once in a while you can panic someone into opening fire,”

Battista explained. “And then we’ve got them dead to rights.”

Tejada restrained the urge to say that painting a bull’s-eye on his forehead seemed like an expensive way to track bandits. “How much further do we have to go?”

“Las Ilces is only a few kilometers,” Battista reassured him. “And Espinama’s just beyond that. We can take the truck a little ways, but it would be better to leave it at Las Ilces, because we really should make a loop through the forest, and that road’s not passable.”

“Whatever you think is best,” the lieutenant said, resigned.

Las Ilces, Espinama, and Pido were equally discouraging. The farmhouses began to blur together for Tejada. They all seemed to have the same angry, fearful inhabitants; the same furniture; the same dark, musty barns. Even the hysterically barking guard dogs that met them seemed to blend into a single barking dog. By the time they left Pido and headed along the heavily forested track Corporal Battista had picked out, the sun was nearing the top of the mountain in front of them.

Tejada squinted into the sun and then glanced at his watch. “How long is this loop?” he demanded.

“A few hours’ walk, Lieutenant.” Battista sounded tired, too.