Robert Wilson: The Ignoranceof Blood

Ramirez and Sokolov looked at each other across the table. The translator stared, mesmerized.

'No, that wouldn't have been fair,' said Ramirez, and his next question came out with his heart in his throat. 'Do you know who was responsible for placing the bomb in the mosque on Calle Romeros, in the barrio of El Cerezo, in Seville on 5th June 2006, which exploded the following morning?'

'I know that it was organized by Leonid Revnik, but I don't know who put the bomb there.'

'What about the building inspectors?'

'I don't know anything about that,' said Sokolov. 'That was not my work.'

'What about the murders of Lucrecio Arenas and Cesar Benito?'

'I killed Cesar Benito in the Holiday Inn, near the Real Madrid football stadium,' said Sokolov. 'Another of Revnik's men shot Lucrecio Arenas at his home in Marbella.'

'Name and where can we find him?'

'I don't know who did it, but you'll probably find him in the puti club near Estepona, which was run by Vasili Lukyanov,' said Sokolov.

'You were a friend of Vasili Lukyanov,' said Ramirez. 'He was coming to join Donstov when he was involved in an accident. He had money and some disks with him…'

'It was all stolen from Revnik,' said Sokolov. 'We were having cash-flow problems, so the money was to get us through the next few months. The disks: Vasili thought we could use them to get involved in the building project here in Seville.'

'Was that all?' asked Ramirez. 'There were a lot of people on those disks, more than sixty. There were also a couple of encrypted disks, which we haven't been able to unlock.'

'With the disks that Vasili was bringing, Yuri said we'd be able to force Revnik out into the open so that we could kill him. I don't know the people who were filmed,' said Sokolov. 'The encrypted disks contain the real accounts of all Revnik's businesses on the Costa del Sol. They were very important to him. That was valuable information for the tax authorities.'

'I'd like to thank you for being so co-operative in our first interview,' said Ramirez.

'As you say, Inspector, it's all over for me now.'

'But normally you people don't talk to the police.'

'Those two directors that Revnik shot were vory-v-zakone. They should have been paid off, not killed. Once Revnik had done that, and put the blame on Yuri Donstov, in my eyes he forfeited the right to the terms of vory-v-zakone. I will tell you anything you need to know about him.'

Falcon left the observation room and knocked on the door of the interview room. Ramirez came out with the translator, who excused herself.

'Great interview, Jose Luis,' said Falcon. 'Not your usual style.'

'Pure luck, Javier. I was going to go in hard about cutting women up with chain saws and shooting them in the face but, you know, the translator. So… I was gentle.'

'He could have been mistaken for civilized, if he hadn't confessed to seven murders,' said Falcon.

'What else do we want from him?' said Ramirez. 'He seems keen to talk.'

'Don't look at me, this is your investigation now, Jose Luis. I have to be out of the building in three minutes,' said Falcon, telling him about his suspension. 'What you should do is go through all those faces on Vasili Lukyanov's disks with Cortes and Diaz and get them to identify all the building inspectors. Then look into the backgrounds of all the other men and see if any of them were trained electricians, possibly even army trained. Interview them and see if they crack. I think that was one of the things Lukyanov was bringing with those disks. The answers to the Seville bombing conspiracy.'

They shook hands, clapped each other on the shoulder. Falcon went to the bottom of the staircase.

'And one other thing, Jose Luis: Ferrera and Perez are on their way to Lukyanov's puti club to pick up Marisa Moreno's sister,' he said. 'From what Sokolov's just said, they're dangerous people out there. They should have full back-up before they go in.'

'You'll be reinstated, Javier,' said Ramirez. 'They're not going to be able to -'

'Not this time, Jose Luis,' said Falcon, and with a quick salute he went up the stairs.

Ceuta – Wednesday, 20th September 2006, 15.30 hrs

The Hotel Puerta de Africa was a new four-star hotel in the Gran Via of the Spanish enclave of Ceuta, a short taxi ride from the ferry terminal. Under a later instruction from Pablo, Falcon had left his car in Algeciras on the Spanish mainland, which meant they could take the quickest hydrofoil across the Straits of Gibraltar. On the way over he had told Consuelo almost everything of the contents of Yacoub's letter, but had not let her read it. There were things that weren't for her eyes. He left her in the taxi and went into the gleaming white hotel atrium, which looked as far from Africa as you could get. He asked for Alfonso and was pointed across the marble floor to the concierge's desk. He hit the bell. A man in his forties with a heavy moustache and matching eyebrows came out. Falcon told him he was a great admirer of Pablo Neruda and was taken into his office.

'You didn't bring your car?' said Alfonso, making a call.

'We're in a cab.'

'Good. It's less complicated. I'll get you through the border in a few minutes. There'll be a car waiting for you on the other side. Don't worry. They'll find you. There's another cab outside. Transfer your bags and get going.'

That was it. There was a five-minute drive to the Moroccan border. The cab went straight through to the Moroccan side without stopping. The driver took their passports, got them stamped, came back and told them to go to the Customs guy with their bags. At Customs they were taken to a Peugeot 307 and given the keys. Not a word was spoken. They got in, eased through the crowds and drove along the coast to Tetuan. He called Yousra from there, and asked her to meet him in the Hotel Bab Mansour in Meknes. Abdullah had already flown in from London. He would drive her there.

Through the Rif mountains was a beautiful drive but exhausting, so Falcon took the route via Larache and Sidi-Kacem. It took three and a half hours, but they gained a couple of hours in time difference so it was just 5 p.m. when they parked up in the garage of the Hotel Bab Mansour in Meknes. Yousra, Leila and Abdullah were waiting in the bar area, drinking Coke. The women were dressed in black, Abdullah in charcoal grey. Yousra looked composed until she saw Falcon. He went over, hugged the three of them to him. He introduced Consuelo, told Yousra he needed to speak to Abdullah alone for a while.

In the bland businessman's hotel room Falcon handed over Yacoub's last letter, which Abdullah read sitting on the edge of the bed. Until now Abdullah had been holding it together, playing the man of the family. The letter destroyed him. He went into the reading experience as an eighteen-year-old boy and its initial effect was to reduce him to a child. He lay on his side on the bed and bawled silently, with the face of a starving baby. Then he sat himself up, wiped his tears from his eyes and rebuilt himself into a twenty-five-year-old man there and then. Falcon burnt the letter in the hotel waste bin.

'We won't talk about that letter now,' said Falcon. 'Just let it sink in.'

'When I heard his name on the news in London, I couldn't believe it,' said Abdullah. 'I could not believe he'd done that. So that letter was terrible, but it was a relief, too.'

Abdullah stood up and embraced Falcon.

'You've been a good friend, Javier. My father would not have entrusted these things to you if you had been anything less,' he said. 'If ever you need me, you can count on me – and I mean that. Even in the same way as my father.'

'Don't even think about it, Abdullah.'

'That's not something I need to think about,' he said. 'I know. You can count on me.'