“Now’s your chance to find out,” she said, leading the way down the stairs to the main conference room. “We were just waiting for you to get here. Carlos asked for a brief meeting before the security committee session, just you, me and the brigadier, says he wants to make a personal statement.”
Carlos was already waiting, and he rose and inclined his head before sitting, putting on a pair of spectacles Bruno had not seen him wear before, and turning back to a sheaf of papers before him. The brigadier strode in, and Carlos rose again and remained standing.
“I’ve asked you here to apologize to each of you in person,” he began. “We Spaniards have been less than frank with you. We haven’t shared information with you to anything like the degree that you’ve done for us. My only explanation is that I was acting under orders and did so reluctantly. Following those orders, I behaved especially badly to Bruno here, who has treated me with kindness and given me his personal hospitality. I repaid this by trying to get him suspended from his work and from this operation, because he was getting too close to creating an embarrassment for my ministry and my government. I’m very sorry.”
Bruno felt the basilisk stare of the brigadier turning toward him, and nodded briefly to acknowledge the apology. Where was Carlos going with this?
“There are two matters you should be aware of. First, the killing of Todor over twenty years ago and his burial near what is now an archaeology site was an unofficial Spanish operation, one of the extra-legal killings committed by GAL. My superiors took the view that it would be most unhelpful, before tomorrow’s summit between our ministers, to have a new GAL scandal exploding into the media and reviving the story of our secret war against ETA. As a result, we dragged our feet on providing information from our files. I promise that we will provide all the information we have, including the names of the killers, once the summit is over.”
“This is a very serious matter,” the brigadier said. “You’re telling me that you deliberately hindered an operation in a way that could materially increase the prospects of an assassination attempt against a minister of France? You understand that I have no choice but to brief my minister before tomorrow’s meeting.”
“I understand, and I trust that the threat to our ministers is not increased, thanks to the impressive security measures you have in place. But let me explain the second matter.” Carlos paused, and took off his glasses.
“This is highly confidential and I tell you this by way of some recompense for our uncooperative behavior,” he said. “It was only because of the attempt to kill me today that I have authorization to share this.”
Carlos claimed to know, from agents inside ETA, that a furious debate was raging in the ETA leadership as to whether or not to give up the military campaign and declare a cease-fire with Spain. That debate was close to being won by the moderate side, he insisted.
“But the hard-liners have one asset: the active service unit we have failed to penetrate. Again for internal ETA reasons, this terrorist unit needs a success, and we believe that tomorrow’s summit is its prime target. This is the team we need to neutralize, in order to swing that ETA debate the right way,” he said, pausing for effect.
Then Carlos drew himself up to his full height and placed his hand upon his heart. He looked the very picture of sincerity, thought Bruno, who could not make up his mind whether to believe all this or not. Glancing at Isabelle beside him, Bruno could see her lips pursed in a way that he knew meant she was skeptical. Carlos seemed to sense their doubtful mood and rose to the challenge like an accomplished actor.
“Please understand that the stakes for my government could not be higher,” he said. “We have a chance to finally put an end to a war that has been under way for nearly fifty years and whose roots go a long way further back. I’m instructed to tell you that this is a matter of the highest national priority, which is why my minister has authorized all my actions. Thank you.”
With a final searching look at the brigadier, Carlos sat down and closed his eyes, putting two fingers to the bridge of his nose. Bruno and Isabelle exchanged glances before looking to the brigadier, who was studying Carlos intently.
“I’ll explain all this to my minister,” the brigadier said. “I acknowledge what you’ve said without endorsing it. You’ve flouted every principle of the cooperation tomorrow’s summit is supposed to celebrate and I won’t forget that. May we count on your full cooperation from now on?”
Carlos nodded wearily and pushed a file across the table. “This is everything we have on Todor, the man who was killed twenty-four years ago. His father was shot and killed while resisting arrest. His mother died in the Amorebieta prison after giving birth. They were both arrested for their role in the abortive attempt to blow up a train carrying Franco supporters to a commemoration in San Sebastian in 1961, one of the first ETA operations.
“Todor himself was raised, along with many other children of enemies of the state, in the orphanage of Sabinosa, an old TB sanatorium on a peninsula near Tarragona,” he said. They were raised to be good Catholics and good Spaniards, with no knowledge of their family’s past, he explained. “Basque militants and families knew of the place and tried to track the orphans down after their release. Most of the boys were sent into the military, and some were recruited for ETA while still in the ranks. Todor, along with several others, found out about his past and was an easy recruit for ETA. He took part in their operations in Spain and here in France and that was why he was killed.”
Bruno passed the photocopy of the anonymous letter across the table to Carlos.
“Did you write that?”
“Yes,” said Carlos. “I’m sorry. But after the car bomb, maybe you realize how high the stakes are for us in Spain.”
30
At the top of the ridge, Bruno slowed his horse and waited for Gigi to catch up. He turned to watch, smiling at the spectacle of his dog’s ears flapping and jowls bouncing in that chaotically enthusiastic way peculiar to basset hounds. Bruno had come directly to Pamela’s home from the chateau, and thought he could combine Hector’s evening ride with a final check at the Domaine. Later this evening, the brigadier’s security teams were scheduled to arrive there, but Bruno recalled the old army saying that time spent in reconnaissance was seldom wasted.
He gazed down at the wide sweep of the valley, St. Denis hugging the broad curve of the river to his right. The ordered precision of the Domaine’s vineyards lay below him on the far side of the river. Far off to the left was the old hillside village of Limeuil with its chateau watching over the double bridge where the Dordogne and Vezere Rivers met. The land was greening with the coming of spring, and yellow splashes of forsythia bushes speckled his view. Another month and the stumps in the vineyards would be green and the trees bushy and vibrant with new leaves.
A panting almost beneath Bruno’s horse signaled the arrival of Gigi, who began nuzzling at Hector’s hooves. The two animals seemed to have reached a good understanding, and Gigi had been curled up in a corner of Hector’s stall when Bruno had arrived. As they started to move down toward the river and the Domaine, Bruno let Hector find his own way while he looked out for the ford. Normally at this point in spring, the river would be too high to cross, but there had been no rain in the past week. Gigi might have to swim.
When he reached the riverbank near Gerard’s canoe rental center, the water was not all that deep, but it was flowing too fast for Gigi. Bruno wondered if Hector would accept a novel passenger. He dismounted, picked up Gigi and placed the dog in front of his saddle, making Gigi lie down so that his belly was against Hector’s back. He smoothed his dog’s back to tell him not to try to stand. Then Bruno patted Hector’s neck and swung up into the saddle. One hand on his reins, the other holding Gigi firmly, he let Hector pick his way over the mud and stones of the ford and scramble through the brush on the far bank.
“You’ve got a good horse there,” came a voice from the bushes. “I never thought he’d accept that dog on his back.” Bruno looked around, seeing nothing, but then came a blur of camouflage and the paratrooper major stepped out into a glade. He walked forward and began stroking Hector’s muzzle and then looked with amusement at Gigi trying to wag his tail in greeting as he slumped over the horse’s back.
“We’ve been walking the riverbank, checking on shallows and access points,” said the major as a second blur came into view. Bruno recognized the CRS sergeant who found Jan’s arms cache with him. “I saw you coming down the far slope and thought you might be heading this way.”
Bruno dismounted, lifted Gigi and placed him on the ground. He shook hands with the two uniformed men, observing that the security should be easier here, with the open views through the vines, than it would have been in
