Robert Wilson - The Ignoranceof Blood

'And what happens to people like Yacoub when this purpose he's so carefully cultivated disappears?'

'Do you mean… been accomplished?'

'That's the easier question to answer,' said Falcon. 'What I mean is that now he is setting out with this new resolve, but he is just one man, surrounded by numerous enemies. He will be constantly tested. He's already resigned himself to the loss of his family. Now all he has is his purpose, which, given the need for constant pretence and lying, must inevitably get whittled away.'

'Inevitably?'

'Because we're not talking about a job, Pablo. This isn't professionalism, acumen, or managerial skill. This is about who you are.'

'Soul, you mean?' said Pablo, smiling.

'Yes, that probably is what I mean… if I could be certain what "soul" was. But whatever it is, it needs nourishment, and that normally comes from the people around you, who you love, and who love you. That's finished for Yacoub. So it's a question of how long his "soul" can last on a nourishment of, say, revenge.'

'A long time.'

'Until you go mad,' said Falcon, falling back in his chair, suddenly tired of all this dialogue. Where did it get him? Words and language had such constraints, as their use of the word 'soul' had just demonstrated.

'Do you know where his son is?' asked Falcon.

'He's still in London.'

'What's he doing there?'

'What you'd expect any kid of his age to be doing,' said Pablo. 'Eating out. Bars. Night clubs. MI5 even sent some of their girls to talk to him. They danced all night, had a great time.'

'Not exactly Islamic behaviour from Abdullah.'

'He has his cover,' said Pablo. 'Even the 9/11 terrorists went to bars, drank beers and talked to girls.'

'Is that all he's doing? No other… activity?'

'Six months is the minimum we'd expect for an agent of his age to become active,' said Pablo. 'It would make MI5's job a lot easier if they knew Abdullah's proposed target.'

'There is no target any more,' said Falcon. 'This was all a test of Yacoub's loyalty to the cause.'

'Once a target, always a target,' said Pablo. 'If Yacoub and his target are out of danger, you shouldn't mind telling us.'

'We didn't discuss that.'

'What did you discuss?'

'He said he was going to help me find Consuelo's son.'

'How can he help you with that?'

'Because I think the GICM have got him,' said Falcon, and regretted saying it instantly.

'They would only kidnap Dario to put pressure on you,' said Pablo, coming fully into the office for the first time, his curiosity piqued. 'Why would they want to do that?'

'The kidnapper said I would "recognize" it,' said Falcon. 'In other words, I would see the similarity between Dario, a son of Raul Jimenez, being abducted, and Arturo, another son – now known as Yacoub – also having been kidnapped thirty years ago when he was a similar age. The caller said we would never hear from them again, which was something that happened in the original Arturo case, too.'

'That's in your personal context,' said Pablo. 'I'm interested in what it means in our context.'

'That's the point, though: it's meant to be personal.'

'But why? I don't understand why, even on a personal level,' said Pablo. 'What is the point? You're not even sure yourself, are you? I mean, I can see the similarities between Arturo/Yacoub and Dario, in that they share the same father, but I don't see the motive.'

'Apart from putting pressure on my relationship with Yacoub?' said Falcon.

'That hasn't worked. You seemed to be closer than ever in Osuna, according to our surveillance.'

'What about: he's punishing Yacoub by recruiting his son, and he's punishing me by taking Dario, the closest I've ever come to having a son?'

'"He"? Who is "he"?'

'I mean the GICM.'

'Do you know "him"?' asked Pablo, suddenly suspicious. 'The person who is doing this?'

'No. How could I?'

'He knows you,' said Pablo. 'But the fact is, you are not concentrating on Yacoub. Your attention has been diverted. Am I right? I think I am.'

Since London, last Saturday, the only time he'd thought about Yacoub was as he drove Consuelo back to her house early this afternoon, when it finally occurred to him what the phrase 'you will recognize it' might mean. In the landscape of his mind over the last seventy-two hours the foreground had changed but the background had been constant. Whenever the foreground lapsed, Dario sprang immediately to mind.

'You're right,' said Falcon. 'And now it's changed. The pressure is off Yacoub.'

'Is it?' said Pablo, to himself again. 'Has it changed?'

'Abdullah is in London having a great time. Yacoub is at a fashion show in Marbella.'

'He was calm, you said.'

'Completely.'

'Why do people who've been very anxious suddenly become calm?'

'Because what was making Yacoub anxious is no longer imminent,' said Falcon.

'But it also happens to people when they've been decisive,' said Pablo. 'When they've finally made up their mind.'

Falcon's mobile vibrated on the desktop, creeping towards him with each ring tone. He took the call.

'There were only two men on the private jet which just landed,' said Ramirez. 'Our old friends from the disks: Juan Valverde and Antonio Ramos. But no sign of the American consultant, Charles Taggart. We're following their Mercedes back into town now.'

'Any movement on Alejandro Spinola?'

'He's already arrived at the town planning office,' said Ramirez. 'And I presume that's where we're heading.'

'I'll be there in ten minutes,' said Falcon, and hung up.

Pablo had lapsed into silence and was hunched over, thinking with a frightening intensity.

'I've got to go, Pablo,' said Falcon, 'but I need some help from you.'

'What help?'

'I might want to send some shots through of people we need to identify.'

Pablo scribbled an email address on a scrap of paper.

'I'll call them, make sure it's OK.'

'Thanks, I'll see you later,' said Falcon.

'It's not finished, Javier. I know it's not finished. You have to tell me.'

Falcon came right up to the brink and got into a struggle with his old self: the conservative, duty-bound, by-the-book Inspector Jefe. All he had to do was say the word 'Saudi' and it would all be over. He knew who would win. There had never been any doubt in his mind. It was just a small test he'd set himself.

'There's nothing to tell,' he said, and left the office.

Seville airport – Tuesday, 19th September 2006, 19.15 hrs

The large black Mercedes containing the men identified by Ramirez as Juan Valverde, boss of I4IT Europe, and Antonio Ramos, the Chief Engineer of Horizonte, drove directly from the airport to the Isla de la Cartuja. Lying across the river from the old city, this was where the Expo '92 had taken place. It had now been transformed into an area of prime commercial real estate. The car waited at the heliport, where it was joined by another Mercedes. The two drivers got out, smoked and chatted. Four minutes later a helicopter's faint rhythmical beating could be heard coming from the south. The clatter of blades grew louder and the drivers turned their faces as the helicopter swept in, dipped momentarily and, amid a violent thrashing and rucking up of dust, settled its runners delicately on the painted yellow H.

As the blades came to rest, an employee from the heliport trotted up and opened the door to the helicopter. Two men got out: one was a corporate Spaniard in a light grey suit, white shirt, blue tie; the other clearly American in jeans, a blue button-down shirt with a light sports jacket folded over his arm. In the thirty-metre walk to the cars, Ramirez got four good close-ups of both men with his digital camera.

The two men got out of the Mercedes, shook hands with the new arrivals, who had an air of seniority about them. They accompanied them to the second Mercedes. The heliport employee handed over a couple of suit carriers and two small cabin cases to the driver, who had the door to the car already open. The two men got in. Juan Valverde and Antonio Ramos returned to their Mercedes. The drivers got behind their steering wheels. The cars took off.