Robert Wilson - The Ignoranceof Blood

'Don't let it make up your mind.'

'You're used to this, Javier.'

'Nobody gets used to this,' he said, thinking about Marisa Moreno, the grey foot in the black lake, the head on the wooden statue.

'The only way to deal with a monster like Donstov,' said Consuelo, fists clenched, knuckles white with rage, 'is to set the dogs on him.'

'And Dario?'

'I can't think that he'd be in any more danger than he is now.'

They stood. She brushed herself down, sat on the edge of the desk.

'I'll get hold of the disks,' said Falcon.

She could see the damage it was doing him to go against the grain, but that he was willing. From her side there wasn't a scintilla of doubt.

'You know that once we've taken this road there's no going back,' said Falcon. 'And there might be no coming back either. You've got two other sons to…'

'Do you want me to sign a release form?' she said, eyes locked on to his.

'I'm not going to fail you, Consuelo,' said Falcon. 'I would corrupt myself. I would even hand over the money, if I had it. I would ruin my career. I'd let them drum me out of the force to spend the rest of my days in jail and ignominy, if I could be certain that Dario would come out of this all right.'

She held his face, kissed him.

'So we call Revnik,' said Falcon, righting the chair, sitting her down.

'I'm sorry, Javier. I know what this is costing you,' she said, and dialled the number, put the phone on loudspeaker with the dictaphone running.

'Diga,' said the voice.

'We spoke to Yuri Donstov's people,' said Consuelo.

'And?'

'He said I would have to raise the money myself.'

'How long did he give you?'

'A week.'

'Interesting,' said the voice. 'He must be suffering. What about the disks?'

'He wants them by midday, and he insisted on the originals.'

'Of course, things can be cut out of copies,' said the voice. 'Did you speak to your son?'

'When I asked for proof of my son's welfare, he responded by cutting off his toe.'

'It was probably just a bit of theatre,' said the voice.

'You didn't hear the screams.'

'Does this mean you would like us to act for you in this business?'

'Some questions,' said Consuelo. 'Do you know where my son is being held?'

'Not yet, but we have our people on the inside.'

'And they don't know?'

'Donstov is being very careful about who knows what. All we know is that the boy is not being held in Donstov's headquarters in Seville. Once we get inside, we will find the answer.'

'What is the "small reward" you mentioned before?' asked Consuelo.

'The original disks.'

'Wait,' said Consuelo.

She put the call on hold, clicked off the loudspeaker, clenched her fists and rested her forehead on her wrists. The torment of impossible decisions.

'I know that I'm being given three options,' she said, before Falcon could get a word out. 'The monstrous Donstov, the impenetrable Revnik, or the slow, indecisive forces of law and order. The first one is unacceptable. The third is precluded by the first because we have been given less than twelve hours. That means we have to go with the second option with all its unpredictabilities. We can agonize but it won't change anything.'

They looked at the phone. She hit the hold and loudspeaker buttons.

'We'll bring the disks to you when you've made Dario safe,' said Consuelo.

'We would need the disks in advance,' said the voice.

'Unacceptable,' said Consuelo.

'Hold the line.'

The phone went dead.

'They'll need the disks featuring the I4IT and Horizonte people prior to six p.m.,' said Falcon. 'Without them they can't affect whatever the deal is between the consortium and the mayor's office. Offer them a random selection of half the disks. See what they say.'

The voice came back.

'Each disk is numbered in felt-tip pen from one to twenty-seven. We will accept half the disks, from one to eight and twenty-two to twenty-seven inclusive.'

'When do you plan to act?' asked Falcon.

'Call this number again in fifteen minutes.'

The line went dead. They sat back, exhausted.

'What's on the disks they've just asked for?'

Ramirez was in bed when Falcon called. He told him all he could remember was that the first unidentified guy was on the first disk and that the final two disks were 'locked', requiring a password and encryption software. The techies were working on it. He hung up.

Falcon and Consuelo mused about the nature of the valuable data locked up on the last two disks and lapsed into silence again – the tension so unbearable that talk was becoming an irritation. The restaurant noise reasserted itself like a subliminal tease, reminding them that this was the life they should be having.

Her mobile rang in her handbag.

'It must be Donstov's people,' she said, and took the call.

'Any progress, Senora Jimenez?'

'You'll have the disks by midday.'

'So you've already been in contact with Inspector Jefe Falcon?'

'He's here now.'

'Senor Donstov would like to give you an incentive to act quickly,' said the voice. 'If you can bring us the disks before dawn today, Senor Donstov will release your son on receipt of just four million euros and you still have a week to raise the money.'

'Will I be able to see my son?'

Falcon scribbled on the pad, shoved it in front of Consuelo.

'Yes,' said the voice.

'You have to understand, too, that at such short notice we might not be able to supply all the disks. The last two are in a different department, which the Inspector Jefe does not have access to.'

'Hold.'

Consuelo tugged a tissue from a box on the desk, wiped the sweat from her eyes and face.

'When can you get hold of the last two disks? Earliest time?' asked the voice.

Falcon wrote on the pad, underlined an earlier question she hadn't yet asked.

'Ten a.m.,' said Consuelo. 'And where shall we meet?'

'Hold.'

They held for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. They didn't speak. Life was suspended. Consuelo imagined herself as a foetus with no concept of time, waiting to be born without even understanding that this was what waiting was.

'Once you have the first twenty-five disks in your possession,' said the voice, 'you will make your way north of Seville on the road to Merida. There is a petrol station where the N433 branches off in the direction of the Sierra de Aracena and Portugal. You will wait for further instructions there.' The car park was empty, the Jefatura dark and silent. The heat of the day still radiated from the tarmac as Falcon let himself into the back door of the building. He ran upstairs to his office, booted up all the computers, took the key to the evidence room and went back downstairs. He brought all the disks up to the Homicide squad's offices and started burning copies, five at a time, on all computers.

Reasoning that Donstov wouldn't know the difference between the original and a copy of any of the disks, he hunted down a black felt-tip pen. Time, having been unbearably stationary when he was with Consuelo, now raced past at an ungovernable speed. He found a pen in Elvira's secretary's office and sprinted back down to the Homicide department, nearly lost his footing on the stairs, slowed himself down, didn't want to end up with a cracked skull, lying on the landing for the cleaners to find in the morning.

Thirty-five minutes later and he was on the fourth set of copies. Why wasn't technology faster? He numbered the disks. Sweat poured off him. No air-con and the night-time temperatures still in the thirties. There came a point when all he could do was wait. He swore horribly at the unconcerned computers. He gripped the arms of his chair, wondered what had happened to him. One moment he was drinking beers in the square outside Santa Maria La Blanca and the next he was going against everything he stood for, but with no gunman holding a barrel to his temple, no lunatic with a knife to his ribs, no fanatic with a bomb strapped to his waist. And yet hell seemed to be imminent. His mobile vibrated.