Balance of Power

TWENTY-ONE

María pulled up to the security booth at the Ramirez factory and flashed her Interpol credentials. She’d decided en route that she didn’t want to be a tourist here. She was relatively confident that the guard would phone ahead to warn the plant manager that she and Aideen were coming in. The manager, in turn, would inform any of the murderers who might be on the premises. Ordinarily, the killers would probably have hidden or fled. That was why María had taken the precaution of informing the guard, “We have no jurisdiction here. We only want to talk to members of the familia.”

“But Señorita Cornejas,” the burly, gray-bearded sentry replied, “there is no familia.”

It was a cool disavowal. It reminded Aideen of the drug dealers in Mexico City who had always insisted that they never heard of el señorío—“the lord of the estate”—the drug lord who provided them with all the heroin sold in the nation’s capital.

“Actually, you’re a little premature,” María replied, gunning the car engine in neutral. “I have a very strong suspicion that in just a little while there will be no familia.”

The guard gave her a veiled but puzzled look. He wore a ribbon for valor and had the gruff, immutable bearing of a drill sergeant. In Spain, as elsewhere, security positions were a haven for former soldiers and police officers. Very few of them appreciated being ordered around by civilians. And far, far fewer liked being lectured by women. As María had suspected when she first set eyes on him, this one was going to need another little push.

“Amigo,” she said, “trust me. There won’t be a familia unless I get to talk to them. A few of them took it upon themselves to kill a man in town. That man has some very powerful friends. I don’t think those friends are going to let this matter sit.”

The sentry looked at her for a long moment. Then, turning his back to them, he made a phone call. His voice did not carry outside the booth. But after a short conversation the sentry hung up, raised the bar, and admitted the car to the parking lot. María told Aideen that she was convinced now that one or more members of the familia would see them. And, Aideen knew, María would press them to tell her whatever they knew about General Amadori. With Ramirez and his people dead, their plan — whatever it had been — was probably dead as well. Amadori was the one they had to worry about. She needed to know, as fast as possible, how much they needed to worry about him.

Two men met María and Aideen at the front door of the factory. The women parked the car nose in and emerged with their arms extended downward, their hands held palms forward. María stood by the driver’s side, Aideen by the passenger’s door, as the men walked over. They stopped a few yards away. While one man watched, the other — a big, powerfully built fellow — took the women’s guns and telephone and tossed the items in the car. Then he checked them for wires. His check was thorough but completely professional. When he was finished, the two men walked in silence to a large van parked nearby. The women followed. The four of them climbed into the back and sat on the floor amid cans of paint, ladders, and drop cloths. The men sat beside the door.

“I am Juan and this is Ferdinand,” said the man who had watched the frisking. “Your full names, please.”

“María Corneja and Aideen Sánchez,” María said.

Aideen picked up on the “change” in her own nationality. It was an inspired move on María’s part. These two might not trust fellow Spaniards right now but they’d trust foreigners even less. Internal warfare was a perfect environment for foreign powers to spread weapons, money — and influence. Roots like that were often difficult to dislodge.

Aideen looked from one to the other of the men. Juan was the older of the two. He looked tired. The skin was deeply wrinkled around his nervous eyes and his slender shoulders were bent. The other man was a colossus whose eyes were deep-set under a heavy brow. His flesh was smooth and tight like the face on a coin and his broad shoulders were straight.

“Why are you here, María Corneja?” Juan asked.

“I want to talk to you about an army General named Rafael Amadori,” María said.

Juan looked at her for a moment. “Go ahead.”

Maria pulled the cigarettes from her jacket. She took one and offered the pack around. Juan accepted one.

Now that they were here, it bothered Aideen that they were collaborating with killers. But as Martha had said, different countries had different rules. Aideen could only trust that Maria knew what she was doing.

María lit Juan’s cigarette and then she did her own. The way she lit his smoke — cupping the match under Juan’s cigarette, inviting him to take her hands and move them toward the tip — made the action very intimate. Aideen admired how she used that to establish a rapport with the man.

“Señor Ramirez and the heads of other business groups and familias were slain yesterday by a man working for Amadori,” María said. “I believe you’ve met him. Adolfo Alcazar.”

Juan said nothing.

María’s voice was softer than Aideen had ever heard it. She was wooing Juan.

“Amadori is a very powerful officer,” Maria continued, “who appears to hold a key place in the food chain of what’s been going on. Here’s how it looks to me. Ramirez had an American assassinated yesterday. Amadori knew this was going to happen and let it happen. Why? So that he could present an audiotape to the nation implicating Deputy Serrador. Why? So that Serrador and the Basques he represents would be discredited at home and abroad. Then he had Alcazar murder your employer and his coconspirators. Why? To discredit the Catalonians and destroy their power-base. If Serrador and the business leaders were planning some kind of political maneuver, that’s finished now.

“More importantly,” Maria went on, “the presence of a conspiracy weakens the government considerably. They don’t know who they can trust or who to turn to for stability. Words won’t reassure the people. They’re fighting each other from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, from the Bay of Biscay to the Strait of Gibraltar. The government needs someone strong to establish order. I believe that Amadori has orchestrated things to make himself that man.”

Juan stared at her through the smoke of his cigarette. “So?” he said. “Order will be restored.”

“But maybe not as it was,” Maria said. “I know a little about Amadori — but not enough. He’s a Castilian nationalist and, from all I can determine, a megalomaniac. He appears to have used these incidents to put himself in a position to have martial law declared throughout Spain — and then to run that martial law. I’m concerned that he won’t step down after that. I need to know if you have or can get any intelligence that will help me stop him.”

Juan smirked. “You’re suggesting that Interpol and the Ramirez familia work together?”

“I am.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Juan said. “What will stop you from gathering intelligence on us?”

“Nothing,” María admitted.

Juan’s smirk wavered. “Then you admit you might.”

“Yes, I admit that,” Maria said. “But if we don’t stop General Amadori, then whatever intelligence I happen to gather on the familia will be useless. The general will hunt you people down and destroy you. If not for killing his operative, then for the threat you represent. The possibility that you could rally other familias against him.”

Juan looked at Ferdinand. The granite-solid watchman thought for a moment and then nodded once. Juan regarded Maria. So did Aideen. Maria had played Juan honestly — and beautifully.

“Adversity has made stranger trenchmates,” Juan said. “All right. We’ve been looking into Amadori since we returned to the factory.” He snickered. “We still have some allies in government and the military, though not many. The death of Señor Ramirez has scared people.”

“As it was meant to,” María remarked.

“Amadori is based in Madrid, at the office of the Defense Ministry,” Juan said. “But we hear he has established a headquarters elsewhere. We’re trying to find out where. He has powerful Castilian allies in the Congreso de los Diputados and in the Senado. They’re backing him with deeds and with silence.”

“What do you mean?”

“The prime minister has the right to declare martial law,” Juan said, “but the parliament can effectively block him by cutting off funds if they don’t approve of the measure or the leader.”

“And they haven’t done that here,” Maria suggested.

“No,” Juan said. “I’ve been told by an informer from the Ruiz familia—”

“The computer makers?” Maria asked.

“Yes,” Juan said. “I’ve been told that the funding was actually above what the prime minister had requested. By fivefold.”

María whistled.

“But why wouldn’t they back him?” Aideen asked. “Spain is facing great danger.”

Juan looked from María to Aideen. “Usually, the money is approved in parcels. That’s done as a means of preventing exactly this kind of coup. Powerful people are behind this. Perhaps they or their families have been threatened. Perhaps they’ve been promised positions of greater authority in the new regime.”

“Regardless,” María said, “they’ve given Amadori the power and the money to do whatever he deems necessary.” She drew slowly on her cigarette. “Simple and brilliant. With the army under his control and the government crippled by acts of treason, General Amadori can’t be stopped by any legal means.”

“Exactly,” Juan said. “Which is why the familia has had to work on this in our own way.”

María looked at Juan then ground her cigarette on the floor. “What would happen if he were removed?”

“Do you mean dismissed?” Juan asked.

“If I’d meant dismissed I would have said dismissed,” the woman replied sharply.

Juan turned and put his cigarette out against the metal wall. He shrugged. “We would all benefit. But it would have to be done quickly. If Amadori has time to establish himself as the savior of Spain, then whatever momentum he creates will continue with or without him.”

“Granted,” María said. “And he will move quickly to present himself as a hero.”

Juan nodded. “The problem is, it won’t be easy getting close to him. If he stays in one place, there will be security. If he moves around, his itinerary will be classified. We’d have to be very lucky just to—”

Aideen held up her hand. “Quiet!”

The others looked at her. A moment later María obviously heard it too. By then they could feel it in their gut — the low beat of distant rotors.

“Helicopters!” Juan said. He jumped to the back of the van and opened the door.

Aideen looked past him. Coming in over the nearby hills were the navigation lights of four helicopters. They were about a mile away.

“They’re coming toward the factory,” Juan said. He turned toward María. “Yours?”

She shook her head. She pushed past him and jumped onto the asphalt. She stood watching the choppers for a moment. “Get your people out of here or into safe areas,” she said. “Arm them.”

Aideen slid out around the men. “Hold on,” she said. “Are you telling him to shoot at Spanish soldiers?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped. She started running toward the car. “These are probably Amadori’s men. If any of the familia members are captured or killed, it accomplishes what we’re afraid of. By shutting down pockets of dissent, he’s strengthened in the eyes of the people.”

Aideen jogged after her. She was trying to imagine some other scenario. But there were no riots in San Sebastián and the police were handling the inquiry into the explosion in the bay. There were only small homes and fields between this spot and the mountains: the Ramirez factory was the only target large enough to merit four helicopters.

This is a civilized nation preparing to make war on itself, she told herself. Though it was difficult to accept that fact, it was becoming more and more real by the moment.

Juan stepped from the van. He was followed by Ferdinand.

“Where are you going?” Juan shouted after the women.

“To call my superior!” María shouted back. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

“Tell your people that we will not fight back unless we’re attacked!” Juan yelled as he and Ferdinand started running toward the factory. The helicopters were less than a quarter mile away. “Tell them that we have no quarrel with the honest soldiers or people of—”

His words were drowned out by the rattling drone of the rotors as the choppers bore down on the factory. An instant later the crisp chatter of the airborne Modelo L-1-003 guns was added to the din and both Juan and Ferdinand fell to the ground.