He woke bent over the sink with water rushing down over the back of his head. He coughed, vomited up the stew, then was dropped onto his back on the floor. Every patch of flesh on his feet and left hand throbbed hotly.
The sock was thrust back in his mouth.
“You’re strong,” the dark face said to him. “But we have time and I have experience. The first things men always give up are lies. We will continue until we have the truth.” He bent closer. “Will you tell us who you work with?” Adolfo was trembling. The parts of him that weren’t burned or broken were chilly. It seemed very odd to feel something so trivial as that. He shook his head twice.
This time he wasn’t moved. The sock was pushed harder into his mouth and held there. One of the crowbars was raised over Adolfo’s right shoulder and was swung down hard. The bone broke audibly under the blow. He cried into the sock. The crowbar was raised again and struck lower, between the shoulder and elbow.
Another bone broke. He cried again. Each blow brought a burst of agony and a yelp and then numbness.
Each scream was a rent in his will. The pain was just pain but every scream was a surrender. And as he surrendered those pieces of his fighting spirit, he had less to draw on.
“When you talk, the beating will stop,” the voice said.
Someone started working on his left side and he jumped and howled with each strike. He felt the wall of resistance crumble faster now. And then something surprising happened. He didn’t feel like himself anymore. His body was broken; that wasn’t him.
His will was shattered; that wasn’t him” He was someone else. And that someone else wanted to talk.
He said something into the sock. The face came down and the beating stopped. The sock was removed.
“Am… Am…” “What?” said the dark face.
“Ama… dori.” “Amadori?” the face repeated.
“Am… a… do… ri.” Each syllable rode out on a breath. Adolfo couldn’t help himself. He just wanted the pain to stop.”…Gen… er… al.” “General Amadori,” the face said. “That’s who you work with?” Adolfo nodded.
“Is there anyone else?” Adolfo shook his head once. He shut his eyes.
“Do you believe him?” someone asked.
“Look at him,” someone replied. “He hasn’t got the wits left to lie.” Adolfo felt himself being released. It felt good just to lie there on his back. He opened his eyes and stared up at the dark figures gathered around him.
“What do we do with him?” one man asked.
“He killed Senior Ramirez,” said another.
“He dies. Slowly.” That was the final word on the matter-not by concensus but because the man swung his crowbar down on Adolfo’s throat. The fisherman’s head jerked up and then fell back as his larynx shattered; his dead arms didn’t move. Then he lay there tasting blood and wheezing. He was able to draw just enough breath to remain conscious but not enough to satisfy his lungs.
The pain settled into a steady roar, which helped to keep him conscious. He was Adolfo Alcazar again but the agony in his limbs and in his throat made it difficult to string thoughts together. He couldn’t decide whether he’d acted courageously by holding out for as long as he did or cowardly for having succumbed at all. Flashes of thought said yes he’d been brave, then no he hadn’t. And then it didn’t seem to matter as he shivered and the pain suddenly attacked him. Sometimes it came in like the tide, engulfing him. Sometimes it lapped at him like tiny breakers out at sea. The small swells he could manage. But the big ones tortured him.
God, how they made him shake all over.
He had no idea how long he lay there and whether his eyes had been open or closed. But suddenly his eyes were open and the room was brighter and there was a figure bending beside him.
It was his brother, Berto.
Norberto was weeping and saying something. He was making signs over his face. Adolfo tried to raise his arm but it didn’t respond. He tried to speak- “A… ma… do… ri.” Did Norberto hear? Did he understand?
“Cfty..
chur… church.” “Adolfo, lie quietly,” Norberto said.
“I’ve telephoned for a doctor-oh. God.” Norberto continued saying a prayer.
“Warn… Gen… er… al… they.
know.
…” Norberto laid a hand on his brother’s lips to silence them. Adolfo smiled weakly. His brother’s hand was soft and loving. The pain seemed to subside.
And then his head rolled to the side and his eyes shut and the pain was gone.
EIGHTEEN Tuesday, 4:19 a.m. San Sebastian, Spain The helicopter set Maria and Aideen down south of the city. It landed atop a hillock along a deserted twist in the Rio Urumea, the river that ran through the city. A rental car, reserved by a local police officer who worked with Interpol, was waiting for them near the road. So was the police officer, thick-mustachioed Jorge Sorel.
During the helicopter trip, Maria had studied a map she’d brought with her. She knew the route to the radio station and Aideen could tell that she was anxious to get there. Unfortunately, as Maria lit a cigarette, Jorge told her there was no reason to go.
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “Someone attacked the staff a little over an hour ago,” he said.
“Someone?” Maria said. “Who?” “We don’t know yet,” admitted the officer. “Professionals?” she said impatiently. “Very possibly,” he acknowledged. “The attackers seemed to know exactly what they were doing. There were numerous broken limbs and everyone had a broken jaw.” “What did they want?” Maria asked.
Jorge shook his head. “Again, we can’t even begin to speculate. The only reason we went up there was because the station suddenly went off the air.” Maria swore angrily. “This is maravilloso, was she said. “Marvelous. Are there any leads?” Jorge was still shaking his head. ” “The victims were unable to speak and now the doctors have them sedated. We assume the attackers were looking for whoever provided them with the audiotape.” “The idiots,” Maria snarled. “Didn’t they anticipate that? Didn’t they take precautions?” “Yes,” said Jorge. “The irony is they were very well prepared. The station has always been a target for malcontents. Their politics, you know-very antigovemment. The facility is surrounded with barbed wire and is constructed like a bunker. It even has a metal door. The employees keep guns inside. But deterrents only sway the timid hearted. And these attackers were not timid.” “Constable,” Aideen said patiently, “do you have any idea who it was that provided the tape?” Jorge snuck an uncomfortable look at Maria.
“I’m afraid the answer is once again no,” he said. “We have two patrols going through the surrounding villages. They’re looking for groups of people who may be searching for the person or persons who provided the tape. But we came to this relatively late. So far, we’ve found no one.” “The attackers would probably separate once they left here,” Maria said. “They wouldn’t want to risk everyone getting caught. They also wouldn’t stay together after they found whoever they were looking for,” Maria said. She drew on her cigarette and exhaled through her nose. She regarded Jorge intently. “Are you sure that’s all you can tell us?” “I’m sure,” he replied. His gaze was equally intent.
” “What are the chances that the person who had the tape was from this area?” Aideen asked.
“Very good,” said Maria. “Whoever planned this would have wanted someone who knew the waters where the yacht was destroyed. Someone who knew the town and the people at the station.” She looked at Jorge. “Give me a place to start looking.” Jorge shrugged. “The town is small. Everyone knows it. For someone who knows the waters, talk to the fishermen.” Maria looked at her watch. “They’ll be going out in about an hour. We can talk to them at the docks.” She pulled hard on her cigarette. “Who blesses the waters for the fishermen?” “That would be Father Norberto Alcazar,” Jorge said. “He will only do it for the old families, not the companies.” “Where is he?” “You will probably find him at the Jesuit church in the hills south of Cuesta de Aldapeta,” Jorge said. “That’s on the west side of the river just outside of San Sebastian.” Maria thanked him. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then she dropped it and crushed it hard under her heel. She let out the smoke as she walked toward the car. Aideen followed her.
“Father Alcazar is a very pleasant man,” Jorge said after them. “But he may not be forthcoming about his flock.
He is very protective of them.” “Let’s hope that he wants to protect one of them from being murdered,” Maria said.
“You have a point,” Jorge said. “Call on your cell phone when you are ready. The helicopter will come back for you here. The airport is small and has been reserved for military business-as a precaution.” Maria acknowledged brusquely as she got behind the wheel of the car and started it up. Dirt and clods of grass spit behind them as the car tore away from the foot of the hillock.