C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

‘We always planned to arrest you here. Forsyth doesn’t matter now and we thought of preventing the escape. But we knew you would make trouble at the embassy about the camp, Miss Clare, perhaps involve your Red Cross friends. And Señor Brett is involved too. That would embarrass Ambassador Hoare, who has already annoyed the Generalísimo because of his spying, and because the Englishman Forsyth tried to deceive him over the gold. We will catch Forsyth by the way, all the ports and borders are being watched. And we need Hoare, we need his help to keep Spain out of the war, so that the people who have always ruled Spain can take control from that Falange rabble.’

‘What are you going to do with us?’ Bernie heard a tremble in Barbara’s voice.

Maestre shrugged. ‘Keep you locked away for now. It might be most convenient for all if Piper was shot trying to escape, and you and Señor Brett were reported dead, in a car accident perhaps.’

Aranda stepped up to Maestre, his smile gone. ‘We should kill them all now,’ he said.

Maestre shook his head. ‘No. We’ll keep them locked away for now. I need to think. We have the big meeting tomorrow. But thank you, Manuel, for bringing the escape forward a day. I wanted to see them for myself.’ Maestre smiled again.

They all turned as Barbara gave a little moan and slumped to the ground. Aranda laughed. ‘The stupid whore has fainted.’ He nodded to the young civil. ‘Wake her up.’

The man knelt beside her. He shook her shoulder and she groaned. ‘What—’

‘You fainted, señorita ,’ he said, surprisingly gently.

‘Oh. Oh God.’ Barbara sat up, put her hands between her knees. Bernie moved to go to her but the civil motioned him back with his pistol. Harry, freed from Bernie’s grasp, tottered away. He walked slowly over to Sofia’s body, bent like an old man, passing unheedingly through the searchlight beam. The civil with the machine gun swivelled towards him but Maestre raised a hand, watching as Harry knelt beside her. He stroked her snow-spotted hair, then looked at Maestre.

‘Why did you kill her? Why?’

‘She broke the law.’ Maestre waved a finger in a minatory way. ‘That will not be tolerated now. This disorderly people needs keeping in order and we know how to do it. Now get back to the car.’

‘Murderers,’ Harry said, stroking Sofia’s hair. ‘Murderers.’

‘And to think my daughter wanted to walk out with you,’ Maestre said. ‘You little prick. It was because of you Alfonso died.’

Barbara stood up. She leaned on the open car door, her face white. ‘Please,’ she said weakly. ‘May I sit in the car? I can’t stop shaking.’

‘She looks ill, mi general ,’ the young civil said.

Maestre nodded, looking disdainfully at Barbara as she climbed inside. The young civil closed the door. Aranda smiled at Bernie. ‘Englishwomen, they have no guts, eh?’

Maestre grunted. ‘They are an effete, decayed people. If they could win the war we could get rid of the Falange but I wonder if they are capable of it.’

Bernie glanced round. He could see the back of Barbara’s head, trembling slightly. Harry was crouched over Sofia, sobbing, the snow settling on him too now.

‘It is time to leave,’ Maestre said. ‘You!’ he called to Harry. ‘Back to the car!’

Harry got up and walked slowly back to Bernie. Bernie took his arm and looked at him. He looked awful, his face sagging with shock.

Maestre waved to the civil with the pistol. ‘Go to our car. Radio your office we are coming in.’

The man saluted. ‘I will be back in a quarter of an hour, mi general .’ He ran off towards the road. His colleague stood motionless, the other civil still covering Harry and Bernie with the machine gun.

Aranda waved a finger at Bernie, his good humour restored. ‘General Maestre made a special trip from Madrid to join me here. We knew you were at the cathedral, of course; the watchman and the church authorities were in on this too. I have seen you these last weeks, Piper, waiting for your punishment for not informing for me. That was a game I played with you. Well, here is your punishment.’ He laughed. ‘Do you know, the civiles have had Father Eduardo pestering them, saying two women were missing, they had not arrived at the convent where they were staying. What a simpleton he is.’

BARBARA HADN’T really fainted, although when the general talked of them being killed she almost had. That was what had given her the idea to pretend to collapse in order to get back in the car. The two officers were standing directly behind it. She guessed they wouldn’t know she could drive, few Spanish women drove. She watched the scene behind her in the mirror, trying to keep her eyes from Sofia’s body, calculating. When she saw the young civil go back to the trees she thought, it’s now or never. It would be a risk but she had to try. They were probably all going to be killed anyway, and she hadn’t come this far not to be able to take Bernie back with her, to share her life with him. She wouldn’t leave him to them again.

Slowly, checking in the mirror that she was unobserved, she grasped the key in the ignition. It all depended on the engine catching first time but it was a good car; it had started that morning after a whole night outside. If she reversed fast then Bernie and Harry, leaning against the side of the car, would be pushed away; the officers would be hit, and if the civil with the machine gun gave her time she could swerve and get him too. She looked at the civil . His eyes were fixed on Harry and Bernie, his face still hard and expressionless.

She took a deep breath and quietly turned the key. The engine roared into life and she threw the car into reverse. She felt Bernie and Harry fall away, Bernie shouting ‘No!’ The older officer, the one who had taunted Harry, managed to jump aside but fell over backwards. For a split second, in the mirror, she saw an expression of outraged surprise on the face of the other officer, the colonel from the camp. Then he fell beneath the car; she heard a scream and felt a crunch as the wheels went over him.

The civil stood with an astonished look on his face, then he turned, raising the heavy machine gun to point at the car. But those seconds gave Barbara time to slew round; the rear corner hit the man hard and the sub-machine gun flew into the air, bouncing off the car roof with a bang as the man went down. Barbara hauled the handbrake up and jumped out, pulling the gun from her coat pocket. The engine was still running.

Harry and Bernie were picking themselves up from the grass. Harry looked stunned but Bernie was alert. ‘Look out!’ he shouted.

The civil was pulling himself groggily to his feet, reaching for his pistol. Barbara didn’t stop to think, she just pulled the Mauser up and fired. There was a roar and a flash and a spout of blood from the man’s chest. He pitched over backwards and lay still. She stood, shocked by what she had done. She turned to where Aranda lay under the car. He too was dead; his eyes stared unbelievingly upwards, his mouth open, white teeth bared in a final snarl of rage. A sliver of blood trickled down his chin.

‘Oh God,’ she said.

Maestre sat up groggily; he looked stunned, the rats’ tails of black hair that had been combed over his head falling absurdly down one side of his face. ‘Don’t shoot me,’ he cried out in a new voice, hoarse and terrified. He held up his arm as though it could ward off bullets. ‘Please, please.’

Barbara felt Bernie take her arm, pull the gun from her hand.

He pointed it at Maestre. ‘Get in the car,’ he said urgently over his