Midnight In Madrid

SEVENTY

MADRID, SEPTEMBER 19, MIDNIGHT

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Peter’s words floated like a ghost.

A philosopher with a gun…

Well, at least I’m a philosopher…

On her feet in these strange chambers under the embassy, she thought her heart was going to burst from her chest. She drew her own weapon.

…if you could have murdered Hitler and Stalin and avoided World War II, would that have-?

The shadows shifted in the portal to the adjoining chamber, and she pointed her weapon in that direction. Out of instinct, she identified herself. “Hello? Hello? Police?!” she said.

But the frame of a man quickly bolted into view in the doorway. The gunman gave her less than a second. She could see arms and legs and a head, a trim body and a half-crouch. One of the arms was extended and swung a gun in her direction, and everything she had ever learned at the target ranges in California and Washington kicked sharply into gear, and it was surely a beneficent God that had trained her to be such a good shot.

As his arm swung into its final position to aim, Alex unloaded four staccato shots from her own pistol. The sound was deafening in the tiny dark chamber, followed quickly by the scream of the man she had hit four times, squarely in the midchest and then upward as he was propelled back until the final shot blew away his nose and the front part of his face.

He managed to get one shot off, possibly two. There was a clatter of ricocheting bullets around the chamber, and something smacked her flashlight and took it from her hand.

Then it was all very still, and the man was lying dead. Her lamp flickered.

She examined the body where it lay in an impossibly twisted heap. She stared into the dead eyes, or what remained of them, since one was loose from its socket. She fought back the urge to throw up over what she had done, and her insides were set to explode. By force of old habit, her free hand found the stone pendant at her neck, and she whispered a few words to herself.

She moved to where the man had been working, and with horror she looked at the mounds of explosives, detonators already set. She said another prayer.

Out of instinct, she tried her cell phone. No reception. All she could do now, she hoped, was to get out and get the bomb people in here as soon as possible. She had no idea how much time she had…or didn’t have.

She took the dead man’s torch. Its bulb was dimmer than hers and was wearing down. Suppressing a surge of horror, she returned to the fetid tunnel that had led her there.

She pulled herself into the hole and prepared herself for the final crawl toward open space. As she crawled, edging along in the tight tunnel with mortar and sand coming down on her again, she was almost overtaken anew by the claustrophobic panic that had pursued her like a demon for this whole episode.

But she kept telling herself, she had done this before, she could do it one final time. It was only twenty meters or so. As she proceeded, she took care to drag her feet and push carefully against the clutter and stones.

Then, just as it had previously, more of the sandstone started to trickle down. One inch worth. Then two. OMG! This time it was closing up her passage.

She moved forward with a jerk, trying to get some momentum. She got some.

She slid forward another foot or two.

Bad idea, bad idea! Bad idea.

The worse idea you’ve ever had.

Get out! Get out!

This time, by moving forward too quickly, she had dislodged some heavier pieces. And they fell in her path, pinning her left arm.

You’ve dug your own grave! No one will ever find you!

You’re dead! You’re dead! You’re dead.

A million and one thoughts pounded her at once.

But one overpowered all the others. This time you’re dead. If the explosion doesn’t kill you, suffocation will.

Robert, where are you? Robert, if I die will you greet me in heaven?

She screamed. She screamed a second time.

No human voice could hear.

Oh, God, oh, God, Oh God in heaven, if you’re there, if you’re listening…!

Please! Please, spare me. I do not want to die! Not here, not today. Not in this horrible, wretched place!

As she managed to crawl a little bit farther forward, agony and ecstasy, heaven and hell, were all wrapped up in one. Her knees crunched over coarse gravel and sand. What was that? Glass? Something cut her knee. Low on her hip was her weapon but she wished she could have jettisoned it. No way she could reach it.

Oh, my God, oh, my God! How foolish could she have possibly been?

She screamed again. No answer. Just an echo of horror in her ears.

The sweat poured off her.

The moisture-the sewage mixed with underground condensation-was already seeping through her clothing. If Alex could survive the crushing claustrophobia of this time and place, she reasoned, she would never feel it again. That too went on her wish list. That, and seeing daylight again.

And then, once again, for a final time, she felt the aging brick and cement walls narrowing on her. She tried to buoy her spirits. Sure, she could make it. Sure, she could get out of there.

She tried to fight off the notion of death. Death was unimaginable in a place like this.

The passage narrowed again, worse than it had been when she had come through. Her flashlight died. She was in complete darkness. She tried to go forward on her back.

No go. She tried to calm herself.

Okay, okay, okay.

She would have to back up. Going forward made no sense. She put everything into her arms, pushed and pushed hard, and managed to go backward.

There! Progress. She was moving.

Then she heard it. The worst sound in creation. A rustling, crumbling, collapsing sound behind her. She could even feel it. A little cave-in. Sand and mortar drifting down, blocking her retreat.

She pushed mightily, but now it was like a heavy car stuck in snow. She wasn’t going to go anywhere. She was stuck, stuck, stuck!

No way to call anyone, no way anyone would know where she was.

Stuck!

Hello! It’s official. She would starve to death or suffocate or be blown into oblivion. Blown into heaven, she prayed.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord…

She prayed like she had never prayed before.

Minutes had the weight of hours, small eternities passing in a living hell of a grave. She was beyond panic but not beyond fear.

She had prayed, but no answer yet.

Her heart pounded and pounded. She almost wished it would stop, that death would claim her gently.

Instead, she would have to wait for it, greet it with courage. Where was her faith? She summoned it as best she could. With all her heart, with everything she believed in, she prayed to God, prayed to Jesus.

Fatigue was settling in. She was motionless. Her energy was gone. She tried in desperation to nudge forward with her shoulders. She couldn’t squeeze forward. She couldn’t squeeze back. It was so tight here that even breathing was now a problem. The stone pendant on her chest felt like an anchor.

Stuck meant death. How many hours, she wondered, when every minute was torture?

Alex broke a sweat. She continued to struggle against the tunnel that now held her so tightly. She hunched her upper body, careful to allow herself a final edge of wriggle room.

His stomach, her nerves, felt as if they were turning to water. Her anger, her desperation, were turning to acceptance of death.

Alex wriggled again and worsened her situation. In her mind she saw her parents waiting for her. Her grandmother, for whom she had lit all those beautiful luminarias and set them afloat on a country stream.

There! When she held on to thoughts like that and felt the strength drain out of her, it didn’t seem so bad.

Oh God, please take me to heaven…

The silence was the same immense size as the darkness. Up ahead, a few yards from Alex’s head, there was a slight scratching. Alex, her head at an impossible angle, knew they were rats. Alex spat at them, gave a flick of her head, and screamed!

Couldn’t she even die in peace? They’d be back to get her body after she died, wouldn’t they?

She fought tears.

Now her neck was cramping. Badly. She had no way to relieve the pain. She dug in with her shoes. She pushed again and felt the stone around her grow tighter and sharper. It tore at her clothes.

She sucked in all her strength, dug in her sneakers, pushed with her arms and pushed with all the strength she had left.

A few inches.

Nothing else.

The air in the tunnel was becoming thin. Then thinner.

She summoned up what was left of her courage. A deeper darkness was starting to swallow her.

Now she knew. She was a goner. A few moments later, locked in place, she started to lose consciousness.

In her father’s house, she knew, there were many rooms. And deep down, she also believed, someone had gone ahead to prepare a place before her.

It was easy, really; much like falling asleep.