Carlos Zafón: The Angel's Game

By the time Grandes realised what I was doing it was already too late. Thanks to one of the most select makes in town, I charged at him with the all the power of a bodywork and an engine that were far more robust than those protecting him. The force of the crash shook Grandes from his seat and his head banged against the windscreen, smashing it to smithereens. Steam surged from the bonnet of his car and the headlights went out. I put my car into gear and accelerated away, heading for the Miramar viewpoint. After a few seconds I realised that in the collision the back mudguard had been crushed against the tyre, which now rubbed on the metal as it turned. The smell of burning rubber filled the car. Twenty metres further on the tyre burst and the car began to zigzag until it came to a halt, wreathed in a cloud of black smoke. I abandoned the Hispano-Suiza and glanced back at where Grandes’s car still sat – the inspector was dragging himself out of the driver’s seat. I looked around me. The stop for the cable cars that crossed over the port and the town from Montjuïc to the tower of San Sebastián was about fifty metres away. I could make out the shape of the cars dangling from their wires as they slid through the dusk, and I ran towards them.

One of the staff was getting ready to close the doors to the building when he saw me hurrying up the road. He held the door open and pointed inside.

‘Last trip of the evening,’ he warned. ‘You’d better hurry.’

The ticket office was about to close but I scurried in, bought the last ticket on sale, and rushed over to join a group of four people waiting by the cabin. I didn’t notice their clothes until the employee opened the door. Priests.

‘The cable railway was built for the International Exhibition and is equipped with the latest technology. Its safety is guaranteed at all times. From the start of the journey this security door, which can only be opened from the outside, will remain locked to avoid accidents, or, heaven forbid, a suicide attempt. Of course, with Your Eminences on board, there is no danger of-’

‘Young man,’ I interrupted. ‘Can you speed up the ceremony? It’s getting late.’

The employee threw me a hostile glance. One of the priests noticed my bloodstained hands and crossed himself. The young man continued with his long-winded speech.

‘You’ll be travelling through the Barcelona sky at a height of some seventy metres above the waters of the port, enjoying spectacular views over the city until now only available to swallows, seagulls and other creatures endowed with feathers by the Almighty. The trip lasts ten minutes and makes two stops, the first at the central tower in the port, or as I like to call it Barcelona’s Eiffel Tower, or the tower of San Jaime, and the second and last at the tower of San Sebastián. Without further delay, I wish Your Eminences a happy journey, and on behalf of the company I hope we will see you again on board the Port of Barcelona Cable Railway in the not-too-distant future.’

I was the first person to enter the cable car. The employee held out his hand as the four priests went by, hoping for a tip that never graced his fingertips. Visibly disappointed, he slammed the door shut and turned round, ready to operate the lever. Inspector Víctor Grandes was waiting there for him, in a sorry state but smiling and holding out his badge. The employee opened the door and Grandes strode into the cable car, greeting the priests with a nod and winking at me. Seconds later we were floating out into the void.

The cabin lifted off from the terminal towards the mountain edge. The priests had all clustered on one side, ready to enjoy the evening views over Barcelona and ignore whatever murky business had brought Grandes and me together in that place. The inspector sidled over and showed me the gun he had in his hand. Large reddish clouds hung over the water of the port. The cable car sank into one of them and for a moment it felt as if we had plunged into a lake of fire.

‘Have you ever been on this before?’ Grandes asked.

I nodded.

‘My daughter loves it. Once a month she asks me to take her on a return trip. A bit expensive, but it’s worth it.’

‘With the amount of money old Señor Vidal is paying you for my head, I’m sure you’ll be able to bring your daughter here every day, if you feel like it. Simple curiosity: what price did he put on me?’

Grandes smiled. The cable car emerged from the crimson cloud and we found ourselves suspended over the port, with the lights of the city spilling over its dark waters.

‘Fifteen thousand pesetas,’ he replied, patting a white envelope that peeped out of his coat pocket.

‘I suppose I should feel flattered. Some people would kill for two duros. Does that include the price of betraying your two men?’

‘Let me remind you that the only person who has killed anyone here is you.’

By now the four priests were watching us, filled with shock and concern, oblivious to the delights of the vertiginous flight over the city. Grandes gave them a cursory look.

‘When we reach the first stop, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d be grateful if Your Eminences would get off and allow us to discuss a few mundane matters.’

The tower on the docks of Barcelona port rose before us like a cupola of steel with great metal threads wrenched from a mechanical cathedral. The cable car entered the dome and stopped by the platform. When the door opened, the four priests hastened out. Grandes, gun in hand, told me to go to the far end of the cabin. As he got out, one of the priests gave me an anxious look.

‘Don’t worry, young man, we’ll call the police,’ he said, just before the door closed.

‘Yes, please do!’ replied Grandes.

Once the door was locked, the cable car resumed its journey. We emerged from the tower and started on the last stage of the crossing. Grandes went over to the window and gazed at the view of the city, a fantasy of lights and mist, cathedrals and palaces, alleyways and wide avenues woven into a labyrinth of shadows.

‘The city of the damned,’ said Grandes. ‘The further away you are, the prettier it looks.’

‘Is that my epitaph?’

‘I’m not going to kill you, Martín. I don’t kill people. You’re going to do that for me. As a favour. For me and for yourself. You know I’m right.’

Saying no more, the inspector fired three shots at the locking mechanism of the door and kicked it open. The door was left hanging in the air and a blast of damp wind filled the cabin.

‘You won’t feel anything, Martín. Believe me. The impact will only take a tenth of a second. It’s instant. And then, peace.’

I gazed at the door. A fall of over seventy metres into the void opened up before me. I looked at the tower of San Sebastián and reckoned there were still a few minutes to go before we would arrive. Grandes read my thoughts.

‘Soon it will all be over, Martín. You should be grateful to me.’

‘Do you really think I killed all those people, inspector?’

Grandes raised his revolver and pointed it at my heart.

‘I don’t know, and I don’t care.’

‘I thought we were friends.’

He muttered in disagreement.

‘You don’t have any friends, Martín.’

I heard the roar of the shot and felt a blow to my chest, as if I’d been hit in the ribs with a jackhammer. I fell on my back, unable to breathe, a spasm of pain spreading through my body like petrol on fire. Grandes had grabbed my feet and was pulling me towards the door. The top of the tower of San Sebastián appeared between veils of cloud. Grandes stepped over my body and knelt down behind me, then started pushing me by my shoulders towards the door. I felt the cold air on my legs. Grandes gave another push and my waist slid over the edge. The pull of gravity was instant. I was beginning to fall.