The Ignoranceof Blood

26

Seville airport – Tuesday, 19th September 2006, 19.15 hrs

The large black Mercedes containing the men identified by Ramirez as Juan Valverde, boss of I4IT Europe, and Antonio Ramos, the Chief Engineer of Horizonte, drove directly from the airport to the Isla de la Cartuja. Lying across the river from the old city, this was where the Expo '92 had taken place. It had now been transformed into an area of prime commercial real estate. The car waited at the heliport, where it was joined by another Mercedes. The two drivers got out, smoked and chatted. Four minutes later a helicopter's faint rhythmical beating could be heard coming from the south. The clatter of blades grew louder and the drivers turned their faces as the helicopter swept in, dipped momentarily and, amid a violent thrashing and rucking up of dust, settled its runners delicately on the painted yellow H.

As the blades came to rest, an employee from the heliport trotted up and opened the door to the helicopter. Two men got out: one was a corporate Spaniard in a light grey suit, white shirt, blue tie; the other clearly American in jeans, a blue button-down shirt with a light sports jacket folded over his arm. In the thirty-metre walk to the cars, Ramirez got four good close-ups of both men with his digital camera.

The two men got out of the Mercedes, shook hands with the new arrivals, who had an air of seniority about them. They accompanied them to the second Mercedes. The heliport employee handed over a couple of suit carriers and two small cabin cases to the driver, who had the door to the car already open. The two men got in. Juan Valverde and Antonio Ramos returned to their Mercedes. The drivers got behind their steering wheels. The cars took off.

While Ramirez drove, Ferrera sat in the back and downloaded the images from the camera on to her laptop. The men's faces meant nothing to her. When they came into the wi-fi area near the town-planning management offices she sent the shots and her mobile number to the email address that Falcon had phoned through some minutes ago. Ramirez pulled up outside the town planning office on Avenida Carlos III, just next to the heliport, picked up Falcon, who got into the passenger seat. Ferrera handed him the laptop with an image of the two men. He shook his head.

They looked out at the two Mercedes. Nobody moved until the double doors of the town planning office opened and Alejandro Spinola led three people out. The first was the mayor, who was followed by a man and a woman.

'She's the head of Agesa, the company responsible for the Isla de la Cartuja,' said Ferrera. 'He's the head of town planning.'

Everybody got out of their cars. There were warm, insincere greetings all round. The unknown American smiled with perfect teeth and treasured any hand offered to him in both of his. He didn't seem to have any trouble speaking Spanish. After a few minutes they dispersed to their cars and the mayor's Mercedes joined the convoy which headed down Calle Francisco de Montesinos.

The cars pulled up at the Spanish Discoveries Pavilion from the Expo '92 site. The group gathered in front of the building, walked around it, and then down to the river, going as far as the Puente de la Cartuja. The cars met them again outside the Monasterio de Santa Maria de las Cuevas, picked them all up and drove into the secure, fenced-off area of the business park. They arrived at a vacant lot in a prime location. Again the group gathered and walked around.

'What do you think they're doing?' asked Ferrera. 'There's nothing to see. It's like some Papal delegation come to bless the site.'

'More like corporate jackals come to spray their territory,' said Ramirez.

'I've read something about the pavilion, that they want to convert it into a museum and build apartments down by the river,' said Falcon. 'And my sister, who knows everything there is to know about property in Seville, told me that the site we're looking at now is the prime piece of real estate on the Isla de la Cartuja and is reserved for a bank to build a twenty-storey office building on it.'

The cars left the secure business park and crossed the Camino de los Descubrimientos and pulled up next to the Pavilion of the Future. The delegation got out and walked the full length of the pavilion, heading away from the Isla Magica amusement park towards the Auditorium. On the way back they cut through into some parkland on the other side. At this point there was much arm-spreading and genuine excitement at the prospect of superb views of the river.

'This is where they're going to make a lot of money,' said Ramirez.

'All this belongs to the Isla Magica amusement park, but they don't use it,' said Falcon. 'There's been talk for years of making this into an area for offices, shops and hotels.'

'Well, they've just given us a tour of the biggest building project to happen in Seville in the last fifteen years,' said Ramirez.

The sun had set by the time the delegation went back to their cars. Detective Serrano followed Spinola and the mayor. Ramirez stuck with the two Mercedes containing the members of the I4IT/Horizonte consortium. Within minutes the two Mercedes had crossed the flood plain heading out of Seville and were on the road towards Huelva. Ferrera took a call on her mobile.

'Serrano says the mayor's delegation has split up back at the town planning office.'

'He should stick with Spinola and he can tell Perez to go home.'

Twenty minutes later the two Mercedes pulled up at the gate to the Hotel La Berenjena, whose emerald, sprinkler-kissed lawns stuck out in the brown, sunburnt countryside. Ramirez glided past, turned round in a petrol station a hundred metres further on.

'Give them a quarter of an hour to settle and we'll go and introduce ourselves to the manager,' said Falcon.

Another call for Ferrera. She listened, jotted things down, hung up.

'That was the CNI. They've confirmed the ID of the helicopter occupants. The Spanish businessman in the grey suit is Alfredo Manzanares, the new Chief Executive Officer of the Banco Omni. The American is Cortland Fallenbach, one of the co-owners of I4IT in the USA. They also thought we'd like to know that it was announced just an hour ago that the Banco Omni have acquired a controlling stake in the Banco Mediterraneo, which has five million customers and will be transferring its headquarters to a site in Seville in 2009.'

'Fucking hell,' said Ramirez. 'This really is coming together. When Lucrecio Arenas and Cesar Benito were alive they must have promised the Russians a slice of this construction project in return for their dirty work on the Seville bombing.'

'That was probably just part of it,' said Falcon. 'Yuri Donstov was gearing up: Lukyanov was being brought in to run the girls, another guy to run casinos, while Donstov himself already controlled the drugs. And Sokolov would be running the protection rackets for the shops and restaurants. They were preparing to claim the Russians' reward for providing the violence in the Seville bombing which was a large slice of the income from tourists' "recreational activity". And if the right political party had taken power, it probably wouldn't just be Seville but the whole of Andalucia. Can you imagine how much money would be involved in running gambling, prostitution, drugs and protection throughout the whole of the Andalucian tourist industry?'

'So the Russians are very disappointed that their partners are not in control of the Andalucian state parliament,' said Ramirez. 'But what are they hoping to get out of this situation here? Lucrecio Arenas and Cesar Benito, the people they had agreements with, are dead, and we reckon the Russians themselves were their executioners. Now we've seen the projects that the Banco Omni and Horizonte have got on the Isla de la Cartuja, we know they're legitimate. They have to be. The press will be all over them. After the public relations disaster that Lucrecio Arenas dragged them through, Banco Omni are going to make sure everything is whiter than white. Horizonte might have had to pay some backhanders to get the work, but that's no different to anywhere in the world. How are these Russians hoping to fit themselves in?'

'Blackmail. I think that's a fairly standard mafia ploy,' said Falcon. 'Here we are, a few hours before the signing ceremony, and some big guys pay you a visit in your hotel room, show you a DVD of yourself having sex and taking drugs, and say: "This is the subcontracting agreement you're going to sign or we'll spoil your show, maybe worse."'

'How do you think Alejandro Spinola is involved?' asked Ferrera.

'I know he introduced Marisa Moreno to Esteban Calderon and that connection was an important element in the Seville bombing conspiracy,' said Falcon. 'I'm sure he was put up to that by the Russians. As far as this building project goes, he's in a unique position, working for the mayor, to be able to give the Russians or Horizonte valuable inside information.'

'We don't have any proof that Spinola was a friend of Arenas and Benito,' said Ramirez, 'but he clearly knows Juan Valverde and Antonio Ramos.'

'Hopefully tonight we'll prove that he's the link between the Russians and the I4IT/Horizonte consortium,' said Falcon. 'But you'll notice that there are two important people missing from all this dodgy dealing.'

'Alfredo Manzanares from Banco Omni and Cortland Fallenbach, the owner of I4IT,' said Ferrera.

'And one of the projects in the contract is the construction of Banco Omni's high-rise – presumably with Banco Omni's money,' said Ramirez.

'Manzanares will want everything above board,' said Falcon. 'Which is where it will probably all go wrong for Spinola, and therefore the Russians, which could result in violence.'

'Or spoiling the show,' said Ferrera.

'I don't want to repeat myself,' said Ramirez, worried, 'but we could really use some back-up for this operation.'

'Let's look at the security arrangements when we get there,' said Falcon. 'And we have to remember, Jose Luis, it's quite possible that nothing will happen at all.' They checked their watches. Ramirez pulled out of the petrol station and drove back to the hotel entrance. Falcon phoned ahead. The gates opened as they arrived and they drove up to a large senorial house. A bell boy told them where they could park the car out of sight. They got out, stretched their legs. Expensive cooking smells wafted out of the kitchens. The bell boy took them through the kitchens and into the manager's office behind the reception area.

The hotel manager was with his head of security. They laid out a plan of the hotel. The main building had a large patio in its centre around which was the reception area, a restaurant with three private dining rooms, a set of toilets, a conference room, a cinema with another set of toilets, two shops, one for perfume, the other for jewellery, an art gallery with a further set of toilets and the main security office. In the grounds were the nine suites and the presidential suite. Each suite was a flat-roofed bungalow with a large bedroom and bathroom, a living room with dining facilities, a sauna and mini-gym. Outside each suite was a car port, a private terrace and a small swimming pool. There was another larger swimming pool in the palmerie, which was the centrepiece of the garden. On the other side of that was the presidential suite, which was a two-bedroomed house with bathrooms, dining room, living room, kitchen and full staff. Outside it had its own gym, sauna, hot tub, swimming pool, terrace and bar.

'This is where the King and Queen stay when they come,' said the manager.

The head of security showed them the extent of the perimeter fence, which consisted of five-centimetre-thick steel bars two and a half metres high, topped with razor wire. There was a three-metre-wide dog run on the other side and a further fence. Every metre of the perimeter fence was filmed by CCTV cameras, which were under constant supervision in the screen room of the main security office.

'We provide the minimum requirement,' said the head of security, 'but if we have ministers or heads of state they will usually bring their own people.'

'Have this Horizonte/I4IT group brought any of their own people with them, or made any special security requests?'

The security man shook his head.

'If you want to move around the hotel without drawing attention to yourselves you should wear the staff uniform,' said the manager. 'Black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat for men and a black belted dress for women.'

'Do you know what the mayor's delegation are doing after the event?' asked Ramirez.

'They're all going back to the city. The car bringing them will wait.'

'How many security guards patrol the grounds?'

'Four in the grounds, two in the main building, one of whom looks after the CCTV screens,' said the head of security. 'All armed.'

'What could go wrong?' asked Ramirez, cheerfully.

The manager looked at him nervously. They shook hands and the head of security took them on a tour of the main building. He described what the mayor's group would be doing, where and when. Drinks and canapes at ten o'clock in the conference room. A half-hour show in the cinema at ten thirty, followed by dinner in a private dining room at eleven. They inspected the projection room at the back of the theatre and were introduced to the technician, who had just been briefed by Antonio Ramos, the chief engineer of Horizonte, as to what was required and been given the necessary DVD showing the proposed construction project. They'd completed the sound-system test and were ready to go.

Outside in the lush gardens, privacy was the theme of the nine suites. Once inside, or out on the terrace, there was no sense of there being a neighbour. A good thirty metres separated each suite. At night security guards were told not to walk in the lit areas but to keep to the dark.

'There's camera entry to each suite,' said the head of security, 'and light sensors if you approach the front door or terrace.'

Falcon's team went back to the security office and changed into their staff uniforms in the toilets. The only problem was for Ferrera, who had nowhere to put her gun in the simple black dress. Falcon and Ramirez tucked theirs down the backs of the trousers and covered them with the waistcoats. Ferrera left her revolver in the security office, went to reception to check on the changes in the reservations, saw Taggart's cancellation and Fallenbach's booking of the presidential suite. On the way back she took a call on her mobile.

'Alejandro Spinola has just left home in a taxi,' said Ferrera, coming into the security office. 'He's heading out of the city on the Huelva road. Looks as if he's coming early. Detective Serrano wants instructions.'

'I don't want any more people in here, or it'll look too crowded,' said Falcon. 'They should wait down the road in that petrol station we were in.'

They went into the CCTV-screens room with the head of security.

'Why are all these screens on the right dark?' asked Ramirez.

'They only light up if the sensor on the terrace of any of the suites is triggered,' said the screen supervisor. 'Nobody's sitting out at this time of night so they're all dark.'

'How does it work with guests arriving?' asked Ramirez.

'When they make the booking they give their car registration, model and colour and the number of people who will be staying. When a car arrives at the gate we check it against our list and, if it complies, let it in. If we have VIPs staying and they bring in other guests, we'll ask them to roll down the window and identify themselves to the camera. Our guest list today have not asked for anything unusual so we'll admit everybody on the vehicle registration. Of course, we have another opportunity to check the people in the car when they arrive at reception. In fact, here's a car arriving now.'

A dark BMW had pulled up at the gates. The guard at the screens checked it against his list, let it in.

'This is the guest party registered as Sanchez,' he said.

The car came up the drive, parked in front of the main building. A young woman got out of the passenger side of the car. She was tall, with extraordinary long legs, and was wearing four-inch heels. Her hair bounced on her shoulders as she made her way to the reception.

'No secret cameras in the bedrooms?' asked Ramirez. Ferrera hit him on the arm.

'Names?' asked Falcon.

'Isabel Sanchez and Stanislav Jankovic. She's Spanish, he's a Serb,' said the guard.

The woman appeared on the screen at reception, handed over her ID and her partner's passport.

'Can we isolate her face?' asked Falcon. 'Download it and send it back to our organized crime experts, Cortes and Diaz in the Jefatura.'

'Who do you think it is?'

'On the basis of Cortes's description of Viktor Belenki's girlfriend as "fucking gorgeous" I thought she might be worth checking out,' said Falcon.

Ferrera went to take her laptop out. The guard at the screens told her not to bother. He downloaded the image, pasted it into an email and sent it off to Diaz. Thirty seconds later Diaz was on the line, confirming Isabel Sanchez as their informer known as Carmen.

'So this Serb, Stanislav Jankovic, is in fact Viktor Belenki, right-hand man to Leonid Revnik,' said Ramirez. 'Do you have any cameras outside the front doors to the suites so we can pick up his face?'

'Once inside the car port they have total privacy,' said the head of security, 'but, of course, they can check the identity of someone coming to their door with the camera entry system.'

'This must be Alejandro Spinola's taxi arriving at the main gate,' said Ferrera.

'What do you do in this scenario?' asked Ramirez.

'He has to identify himself and state his business,' said the head of security.

Alejandro Spinola got out of the cab and pressed the buzzer, identified himself to the camera. He was told to go to reception. They opened the gates.

Isabel Sanchez had her room key by now, went back to the car which moved off to her suite and reversed, out of sight, into the car port. Alejandro Spinola arrived in reception. The cab returned to the front gate.

'We can do voice in reception as well,' said the guard. 'That being where we're most likely to have conflict.'

The guard at the screens flipped a switch. They heard Spinola ask to speak to Antonio Ramos. The receptionist put a call through. Spinola spoke to Ramos inaudibly. The receptionist summoned a bell boy.

'Any ideas what this is about?' asked Ramirez.

'I should think it means that the Russians have got their hooks into Spinola, possibly some time ago,' said Falcon. 'They've told him who appears on the disks and he's going to use that information to the best of his ability.'

'To blackmail the I4IT/Horizonte consortium round to the Russian way of thinking?' said Ramirez. 'He's leaving it late in the day.'

'Nothing like an imminent contract-signing to speed up the process,' said Falcon. 'He's giving them forty-five minutes to agree to the RussiansW demands, with Fallenbach breathing down their necks. I think you could call that brinkmanship.'

The bell boy appeared, leading Spinola down the path. Viktor Belenki came out of his suite and lit a cigarette, got Spinola's attention, nodded.

'Go in close on Belenki,' said Falcon. 'Send a shot of him back to Diaz, just to check.'

Even in black and white Belenki was impressive, with blond hair and high cheekbones, and an animal muscularity under a white shirt and black trousers. He paced in leisurely fashion up and down outside his suite, smoking all the while, taking the night air. Spinola went into Ramos's suite. Several minutes eased past. Diaz called to confirm that the so-called Serb, Jankovic, was Viktor Belenki.

'Look at the state of Valverde,' said Ramirez.

Juan Valverde, the I4IT Europe boss, came out of his suite, fists rammed into the pockets of his towelling robe which gaped to show a pair of brief swimming trunks. His jaw was set and he looked thunderous under knitted eyebrows. He walked across to Antonio Ramos's suite.

'He's had at least some of the bad news,' said Ramirez.

Viktor Belenki started on his third cigarette. Suddenly he stood still. A development. Juan Valverde came out, his towelling robe now done up tight, looking less ominous, more scared. Antonio Ramos followed him, staring into the path as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening to him. They walked quickly over to Alfredo Manzanares's suite.

'I wouldn't involve the banker at this stage, would you?' asked Ramirez.

'We don't know how Spinola has put the Russian's proposal to them,' said Falcon. 'Valverde and Ramos must have a good relationship with their bankers, if not Manzanares personally. They're either going to try talking him round, or invoke the earlier agreement, whatever that was, between his predecessor, Lucrecio Arenas and the Russians.'

Viktor Belenki seemed content with the way things were going. He dropped his cigarette, crushed it underfoot and, hands in pockets, kicked it on to the grass.

'Are you seriously expecting violence here?' asked the head of security, reacting to the tension in the room.

'By all accounts, we're dealing with some very unpredictable people,' said Falcon.

'But he's just one guy, isn't he?'

'We don't know,' said Falcon. 'There is no existing photograph of Leonid Revnik and only a gulag shot of Yuri Donstov, although he does have extensive tattoos – if we can get that close. The only instantly recognizable mafia man we can identify is Nikita Sokolov, an ex-weightlifter.'

'Another party at the gate,' said the guard at the screens. 'This is the Ortega couple.'

The car came through the gates and up to the main building. A man and a woman got out, went into reception. They were both in their late forties, obviously Spanish. Senora Ortega had an extensive list of demands, which she elaborated during the check-in process.

'You can't invent a woman like that,' said Ramirez. 'So, only the Cano party still to arrive and Alejandro Spinola's dinner companions, the mayor's delegation.'

'Did you see the Zimbricks or the Nadermanns when they came in?' asked Falcon.

'Sure,' said the man at the screens. 'They looked like tourists.'

'Do you have copies of their passports?'

'On the screen over here,' said the head of security.

Falcon clicked through the Nadermanns, but his hand faltered at the second American passport, belonging to a Nathan Zimbrick. Staring out of the screen was Mark Flowers.

'Have you got anywhere on the property which would do as a lock-up?' asked Falcon, clearing the screen, unable to compute what the CIA agent's presence meant.

'We've got some staff buildings down by the perimeter fence, where drivers can sleep,' said the head of security. 'There's a room there we could use to keep people until the Guardia Civil can come and take them away.'

Fifteen minutes passed. Viktor Belenki went inside, came back out in an expensive-looking suit and tie. Valverde and Ramos left Manzanares's suite on their own, hunched, not talking, body language declaring their complete failure. They headed off to the presidential suite.

'So Alfredo Manzanares told them to fuck off,' said Ramirez, 'and then called their boss to tell him his senior executives have been compromised.'

'Cortland Fallenbach knew about this,' said Falcon. 'I'm sure of it.'

'He was only booked in when Charles Taggart's suite was cancelled,' said Ferrera. 'I don't think this evening was originally a part of his schedule.'

'Valverde and Ramos have been the main contacts for the mayor and the town planning office for a long time, so Fallenbach probably sees the value in keeping them in place until the deal is signed,' said Falcon. 'Then they're out of their jobs.'

Ten more minutes. They stared at the entrance to the presidential suite where they'd seen the two men disappear. Nothing.

'Look at Belenki,' said Ramirez.

The Russian was leaning slightly forward and staring into the night as if he was beginning to suspect they'd all somehow escaped over the perimeter fence. He turned and went into the car port. At that moment Alejandro Spinola came out of Ramos's suite at a sprint. He'd obviously been waiting for Belenki to disappear and, as Ramos's suite was the furthest bungalow from the main building, he had a good hundred metres to cover.

'Spinola's realized or been told that Manzanares has rejected the deal and he doesn't want to get caught in the open,' said Falcon. 'He wants to be safe in a public space to give the Russians the bad news.'

Belenki came out of the car port, crossed the path and headed across the grass to cut Spinola off.

'Let's go,' said Ramirez.

'Wait,' said Falcon. 'Let's see where they end up. No sense in running around the hotel when we can see it all here.'

The cameras showed two men crossing the patio. Belenki had his arm around Spinola, hugging him tight. Spinola was terrified. They went into the toilets by the art gallery.

'No cameras in the toilets,' said the head of security.

'Cristina, go and stand outside Belenki's suite with your weapon,' said Falcon. 'I don't want him to have a chance of getting back in there. Ramirez and I will go to the toilets. Can you back us up?'

The head of security nodded. They left the room. The shops and art gallery were empty apart from an assistant. Ramirez told her to go and wait in reception for a few minutes. They took out their weapons. Falcon eased open the door to the toilets. Ramirez closed it silently behind them. No sign of Belenki or Spinola. A harsh, guttural voice speaking good Spanish came from the last cubicle. It was the wide-doored disabled toilet.

'I don't know how to impress upon you the importance of this, you little piece of shit,' said Belenki. 'Did you tell them that this is the deal, or there is no deal and they get this?'

No answer, apart from a kind of grunting noise.

They moved towards the cubicle. Falcon stood poised, gun at shoulder height in both hands. Ramirez readied himself.

'What?' said Belenki.

A spitting, gagging sound from Spinola.

'What we're both going to do now is pay a visit to Alfredo Manzanares and explain to him the nature of our earlier agreement,' said Belenki.

'Alfredo Manzanares is not the only problem,' said Spinola, gasping for air. 'Cortland Fallenbach, the owner of I4IT, is here. He's the one who has to be persuaded.'

'Is he?' said Belenki. 'Do you think he could be persuaded like this?'

More grunting, heavy nasal breathing.

Falcon nodded. Ramirez took four steps and kicked the door with such a savage blow that it cracked back into the tiled wall with the sound of a rifle shot. Belenki, a hank of blond hair over his forehead, was in the middle of the floor, he had Spinola's tie wrapped around his fist and the man was dangling, his knees just brushing the tiles. Belenki's gun, a thick silencer attached, was forced hard into Spinola's mouth so that his Adam's apple jumped.

Belenki dropped Spinola, who fell to his side, as if the noise he'd heard was the shot that had gone down his throat. Because his tie was still wrapped around Belenki's fist, his head hung about a half-metre from the floor.

'Police! Drop the fucking gun,' said Ramirez, his weapon pointed at Belenki's chest.

With intense, ice-blue eyes Belenki looked from Ramirez to Falcon, weighing up all the violent possibilities. He let Spinola's tie slip slowly from his grip as if preparing himself to move.

'You want to lose an arm, Viktor?' asked Falcon.

Silence and then the gun clattered to the floor. The room seemed to exhale.

'Come here,' said Falcon, beckoning to Belenki. 'Face down on the floor, hands behind your head.'

Belenki got down. Ramirez frisked him thoroughly, found a small firearm in an ankle holster.

'Hands behind your back,' said Ramirez, and handcuffed him, hauled him to his feet.

They called in the head of security. Falcon checked Belenki's pockets for disks. Nothing.

'Who's with you, Viktor, apart from Isabel?' asked Falcon.

No answer.

'You didn't come alone, did you?'

No answer.

'Is Leonid Revnik with you?'

No answer, but a slight widening of the eyes.

'Take him down to the lock-up,' said Falcon. 'Start questioning him, Jose Luis. See if you can get anywhere. I'll look after this one.'