Robert Wilson - The Hidden Assassins

'I'm also concerned that that was all they did,' said Falcon, nodding. 'Provide surveillance information and nothing more. In which case we could interview them for days and get no further than that. I need another link. I want the old guy seen talking to Gamero in the museum.'

'Did you show the drawing to Marco Barreda?' asked del Rey.

'No. I was concerned that it might not be a close enough likeness and I wanted to apply pressure to his vulnerable point, which was Ricardo Gamero.'

'What's your next move?'

'I'm going to take a look at all the board directors of Informaticalidad and the other companies in their group, including the holding company, Horizonte, and see if I can find a likeness to the sketch,' said Falcon. 'What are the CNI and CGI doing?'

'They're concerned with the future now,' said Elvira. 'Juan has gone back to Madrid. The others are using the names from this investigation to try to get leads to other cells or networks.'

'So we're on our own with this investigation here?'

'They'll only come back to us if we find, from the DNA sampling, that the Imam, or Hammad and Saoudi, weren't in the mosque at the time of the explosion,' said Elvira. 'As far as they're concerned, there's nothing more for them to extract from this situation and they're more worried about future attacks.' Back in his office, Falcon ran an internet search for Informaticalidad and Horizonte and extracted photographs of the directors of all the individual companies, their groups and the holding company. As he scrolled through the search engine's results for Horizonte he came across a web page dedicated to the celebration of their fortieth anniversary in 2001. As he'd hoped, the page showed a banquet with more than twenty-five shots of the great and the good at their tables.

The memory is a strange organ. It seems to be random and yet it can be jogged into patterns by other senses. Falcon knew if he hadn't just seen him on television he would never have picked him out from all the other faces at the Horizonte candlelit, floral dinner. He stopped, scrolled back. It was unmistakably Jesus Alarcon, with his beautiful wife sitting three places to his right. He looked at the caption, which said nothing, other than this was a table belonging to Horizonte's bankers-Banco Omni. Well, that figured. Alarcon had been a banker in Madrid before he came to Seville. He printed out the page with all its photographs and left the Jefatura, Serrano having given him the name of the security guard at the Archaeological Museum.

The security guard was called to the ticket desk and Falcon showed him the photographs, which he flipped through quickly, shaking his head. He ran his finger over the fortieth anniversary banquet shots. Nothing jumped out at him.

It was too hot even for a quick snack under the purple flowers of the jacarandas in the park, and Falcon drove back into town with too much on his mind. Pablo from the CNI called and they agreed to meet in a bar on Calle Leon XII near the destroyed apartment building.

Falcon was there first. It was a downtrodden place. The staff hadn't bothered to clear away the ankle-deep fag butts, sugar sachets and paper napkins after the coffee-break rush. He ordered a gazpacho, which was a little fizzy, and a piece of tuna, which had less flavour than the plate it was served on, and the chips were soggy with oil. Things were going well. Pablo arrived and ordered a coffee.

'First thing,' he said, sitting down. 'Yacoub has made contact and we've given him his instructions on your behalf. He knows what to do now.'

'And what is that?'

'Yacoub belongs to two mosques. The first is in Rabat: the Grand Mosque Ahl-Fes, which is attended by the powerful and wealthy. It's not known for any radical Islamic stance. But he also belongs to a mosque in Sale, near his work, which is a different kind of place altogether, and Yacoub knows it. All he has to do is step over to the other side and start getting involved. He knows the people…'

'How does he know the people?'

'Javier,' said Pablo, with an admonishing look, 'don't ask. You don't have to know.'

'How dangerous is this going to be for him?' asked Falcon. 'I mean, radical Islam isn't known for its forgiving nature, and I imagine they're especially unforgiving when it comes to betrayal.'

'As long as he maintains his role there's no danger. He communicates with us at a distance. There's no face to face, which is where things normally come unstuck. If he needs to see anybody then he can organize a business trip to Madrid.'

'What happens if they take him over and start feeding us emails of disinformation?'

'There's a phrase he has to use in his correspondence with us. If that phrase isn't employed then we know it isn't him writing and we react accordingly.'

'How quickly will they come to trust him?' said Falcon. 'You've always been of the opinion that this bomb was a mistake, or a diversion. Maybe you're expecting an information return too quickly if you think that he can help you with attacks which have already been planned.'

'They'll recognize his value immediately…'

'Has he been approached by the GICM before?' asked Falcon, these things only just occurring to him.

'He's in a unique position because of his business,' said Pablo, pointedly ignoring Falcon's question. 'He can travel freely and is widely known, respected and trusted by his business partners. He will arouse no suspicion from the Moroccan authorities looking for radicals, or European authorities looking for terrorists or their planners. He's the perfect person for a terrorist organization to make use of.'

'But they'll test him first, surely?' said Falcon. 'I don't know how it works, but they might give him some valuable information and see what he does with it. See, for instance, if it appears elsewhere. Just like the CNI did with the CGI here in Seville, come to think of it.'

'That's our job, Javier. We know what we can use from him and what we can't. If we have information that could only possibly have come from him, then we know to be careful,' said Pablo. 'If he tells us that there's a GICM cell operating from an address in Barcelona, we don't just storm the building.'

'What's the other thing?'

'We want you to communicate with Yacoub tonight. There's nothing to be said, but we want him to know you're here and in touch with him.'

'Is that it?'

'Not quite. The CIA have come back to us with the identity of your mystery man with no hands or face.'

'That was quick.'

'They've developed quite a system over there for tracing people of Arabic origin, even when they've become American citizens,' said Pablo. 'Your model man did a good job with the face, and his identity was corroborated by the hernia op, tattoos and dental X-rays.'

'What were the tattoos?'

'On the webbing between thumb and forefinger he had four dots configured in a square on his right hand, and five dots on his left hand.'

'Any reason?'

'It helped him count,' said Pablo.

'Up to nine?'

'Apparently women never failed to comment on them.'

'That is on his file?' said Falcon, amazed.

'You'll see why when I tell you he was a professor in Arabic Studies at Columbia University until March last year, when he was fired after being found in bed with one of his students,' said Pablo. 'And you know how they found out? He was shopped by one of his other students who he was bedding at the same time.

'You don't do that sort of thing at an American university and get caught. The police were brought in. The girls' parents threatened to sue the university and then him personally. It was the end of his career-and it cost him, too. He managed to settle out of court on advice from his lawyers, who knew he would lose and that they wouldn't get paid. He had to sell his midtown apartment, which had been left to him by his parents. The only job he could get after the case blew over was teaching maths privately in Columbus, Ohio. He lasted three months of a Mid West winter and then flew to Madrid in April last year.