The Hidden Assassins. Robert Thomas Wilson
in the Peugeot Partner van,’ said Calderón. ‘We cannot prevent them from drawing their conclusions.’
‘How do they know that?’ asked Juan. ‘There was a police cordon.’
‘We don’t know,’ said Calderón, ‘but as soon as the vehicle was removed and the journalists allowed into the car park, Comisario Elvira and I were fielding questions about the hexogen, the two copies of the Koran, a hood, the Islamic sash, and plenty of other stuff that wasn’t even in the van.’
‘There were a lot of people out in that car park,’ said Falcón. ‘My officers, the forensics, the bomb squad, the vehicle removal men, were all in the vicinity of that first inspection of the van. Journalists do their job. The cameras were supposed to be kept away from the bodies of the children in the pre-school, but one guy found his way in there.’
‘As we’ve seen before,’ said Juan, breathing down his irritation, ‘it’s very difficult to dislodge first impressions from the public’s mind. There are still millions of Americans who believe that Saddam Hussein was responsible in some way for 9/11. Most of Seville will now believe that they have been the victim of an Islamic terrorist attack and we might not be able to come close to confirming the truth of the matter until we can get into the mosque, which could be days of demolition work away.’
‘Perhaps we should look at the unique circumstances which led to this event,’ said Falcón, ‘and also look at the future, to see if there’s anything that this bombing might be seeking to influence. From my own point of view, the reason I was very early on to the scene here was that I was at the Forensic Institute, discussing the autopsy of a body found on the main rubbish dump on the outskirts of Seville.’
Falcón gave the details of the unidentifiable corpse found yesterday.
‘This could, of course, be an unconnected murder,’ said Falcón. ‘However, it is unique in the crime history of Seville and it does not appear to be the work of a single person, but rather a group of killers, who have gone to extreme lengths to prevent identification.’
‘Have there been any other murders with similar attempts to prevent identification?’ asked Juan.
‘Not in Spain this year, according to the police computer,’ said Falcón. ‘We haven’t checked with Interpol yet. Our investigation is still very new.’
‘Are there any elections due?’
‘The Andalucían parliamentary elections last took place in March 2004,’ said Calderón. ‘The Town Hall elections were in 2003 so they are due next March. The socialists are currently in office.’
Juan took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.
‘Before we left Madrid we had a call from the CGI, who had just been informed by the editor of the ABC that they had received a letter with a Seville stamp on the envelope. The letter consisted of a single sheet of paper and a printed text in Spanish. We have since discovered that this text comes from the work of Abdullah Azzam, a preacher best known as the leading ideologue of the Afghan resistance to the Russian invasion. It reads as follows:
‘“This duty will not end with victory in Afghanistan; jihad will remain an individual obligation until all other lands that were Muslim are returned to us, so that Islam will reign again: before us lie Palestine, Bokhara, Lebanon, Chad, Eritrea, Somalia, the Philippines, Burma, Southern Yemen, Tashkent…”’ he paused, looking around the room, ‘“and Andalucía.”’
Seville—Tuesday, 6th June 2006, 13.45 hrs
The meeting broke up with the news that another body had been found in the rubble. Calderón left immediately. The three CNI men spoke intently amongst themselves, while Falcón and Elvira discussed resources. Inspector Jefe Barros of the CGI stared into the floor, his jaw muscles working over some new humiliation. After ten minutes the CNI conferred with Elvira. Falcón and Barros were asked to leave the room. Barros paced the corridor, avoiding Falcón. Some moments later Elvira called Falcón back in and the CNI men moved towards the door, saying that they would conduct a detailed search of Imam Abdelkrim Benaboura’s apartment.
‘Is that information going to be shared?’ asked Falcón.
‘Of course,’ said Juan, ‘unless it compromises national security.’
‘I’d like one of my officers to be present.’
‘In the light of what’s just been said, we have to do it now and you’re all too busy.’
They left. Falcón turned to Elvira, hands open, questioning this state of affairs.
‘They’re determined not to make a mistake this time round,’ said Elvira, ‘and they want all the credit for it, too. Futures are at stake here.’
‘And to what extent do you have control over what they do?’
‘Those words “national security” are the problem,’ said Elvira. ‘For instance, they want to talk to you on a matter of “national security”, which means I’m told nothing other than it has to be private and at length.’
‘That’s not going to be easy today.’
‘They’ll make time for you—at night, whenever.’
‘And “national security” is the only clue they’ve given?’
‘They’re interested in your Moroccan connections,’ said Elvira, ‘and have asked to interview you.’
‘Interview me?’ said Falcón. ‘That sounds like it’s for a job and I’ve already got one of those with plenty of work in it.’
‘Where are you going now?’
‘I’m tempted to be present at the search of the Imam’s apartment,’ said Falcón. ‘But I think I’m going to follow up the Informáticalidad lead. That’s a very strange way to use an apartment for three months.’
‘So you’re keeping an open mind on this, unlike our CNI friends,’ said Elvira, nodding at the door.
‘I thought Juan was very eloquent on the subject.’
‘That’s how they want everybody else to think, so that they’ve got all their bases covered,’ said Elvira, ‘but there’s no doubt in my mind that they believe they’ve hit on the beginning of a major Islamic terrorist campaign.’
‘To bring Andalucía back into the Islamic fold?’
‘Why else would they want to talk to you about your “Moroccan connections”?’
‘We don’t know what they know.’
‘I know that they’re seeking redress and greater glory,’ said Elvira, ‘and that worries me.’
‘And what was going on with Inspector Jefe Barros?’ asked Falcón. ‘He was present but nothing more, as if he’d been told he was allowed to attend but not to say a word.’
‘There’s a problem, which they will explain to you directly. All I have been told by the head of the CGI in Madrid is that, for the moment, the Seville antiterrorism unit cannot contribute to this investigation.’
Consuelo sat in her office in the restaurant in La Macarena. She had kicked off her shoes and was curled up foetally on her new expensive leather office chair, which rocked her gently backwards and forwards. She had a ball of tissue in her hands, which was crammed into her mouth. She bit against it when the physical pain became too much. Her throat tried to articulate the emotion, but it had no reference points. Her body felt like ruptured earth, spewing up sharp chunks of magma.
The television was on. She had not been able to bear the silence of the restaurant. The chefs weren’t due to