instrument in a brass band and wrote about the bullfights for a small local newspaper. Then, at Christmas 1983, a thug from the French Foreign Legion comes to his door, knocks down his wife with tear gas and takes him away. He had been kidnapped by the GAL on the orders of the civil governor of Vizcaya, a man who later became director of state security in all of Spain. The pimp had the phone number of the chief of police of Bilbao in his pocket. Do not forget these important connections. So they take Segundo to a shepherd’s hut in the hills near Laredo where he is kept in conditions that you would not allow for a pig. Only they realize very quickly that they have made a mistake. A balding 50-year-old furniture salesman who writes about the corrida is not the same thing as a 37-year-old gudari with a full head of hair who happens to live on the same street as Marey in Hendaye. But do they let him go? Of course they do not. They decide to take political advantage of the situation. They want to alarm the French and to bring to their attention the subject of so-called terrorism in France. Ten days later – ten days later – Marey was released and discovered by police, propped up against a tree in the woods near Dantxarinea. He was filthy and had not eaten. There was a note in his shirt pocket. I keep a copy of it with me in recent days. Would you like to see it, Alec?’
Before I have a chance to reply, Zulaika has reached into his briefcase and retrieved a single piece of A4, folded once and still relatively crisp and fresh. I would guess that it was printed out in the last three or four days.
Because of the increase in murders, kidnappings and extortion committed by the terrorist organization ETA on Spanish soil, planned and directed from French territory, we have decided to eliminate this situation. The Grupos Antiterroristas de Liberacion (GAL) founded with this object, put forward the following points:
1. Each murder by the terrorists will have the necessary reply, not a single victim will remain without a reply.
2. We will demonstrate our idea of attacking French interests in Europe, given that its government is responsible for permitting the terrorists to operate in its territory with impunity.
3. As a sign of goodwill and convinced of the proper evaluation of the gesture on the part of the French government, we are freeing Segundo Marey, arrested by our organization as a consequence of his collaboration with the terrorists of ETA.
You will receive news of the GAL.
I pass the note back to Zulaika and curl my napkin into a ball.
‘What does this have to do with your theory?’
‘Let me add something else,’ he says, holding up his hands as if I have spoken out of turn. At his feet, Xavi stirs. ‘The men who were responsible for this crime, and for two other GAL shootings, dined on lobster and roasted lamb in prison. They brought putas into their cells. The guards treated them as heroes.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘No? Well now you do.’ Zulaika has raised his voice a fraction and appears to check his temper in a rare moment of self-awareness. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to shout in front of my son.’ But Xavi picks up on the tenor of his father’s anger and begins to kick in the rocker. When Zulaika removes the dummy, the baby’s screams fill the restaurant. He lifts him up, pats him on the back, says something consoling in Basque and then looks at me as if he expects me to talk. I am still wondering what relevance the Marey kidnapping holds for his theory and can only stare blankly back.
‘You know about the disappearance of another man in Bilbao? Juan Egileor?’ he asks.
Egileor is not a name that I have heard before. I shake my head. Xavi is now screaming at such a pitch that we are drawing irritated stares from neighbouring tables.
‘He too works at a furniture company. Not with Sokoa, like Marey, but with ADN, the office supply company. Perhaps you know it. They have outlets in Euskal Herria, also in Granada, Marbella, Valencia.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of ADN. A friend of mine bought a desk from them.’
‘He did?’ Zulaika looks strangely pleased. ‘Well, Senor Egileor is one of three vice-presidents of the company. He was taken from his home four days ago. No ransom note, no demands. The police have let it be known that they do not suspect the role of ETA in the kidnapping.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of the victim’s links to the nationalist movement, because of his high regard for Herri Batasuna, his work for the party. No. If anything, Egileor would be considered a friend of ETA, and therefore an enemy of the Spanish state.’
‘And you think he’s been kidnapped by the men responsible for Arenaza’s murder?’
Xavi is briefly silent. ‘It is certainly a possibility.’
‘But Otamendi was on his way out of the organization. That’s what the papers are saying. Your theory might apply to Mikel and Egileor, but why kill a man who had turned his back on military action? A lot of stuff was stolen from his house. The television, jewellery, paintings. It looks like Otamendi just walked in on a burglary.’
Zulaika has no response to this. The waitress has produced a bottle of warmed baby milk which he begins feeding to Xavi. I cannot recall Zulaika asking for her assistance, but he thanks her with a rare smile and stares back across the table, trying to trap me with his eyes.
‘Look, I think you are the key, Alec Milius. I want to know what you are hiding. My newspaper can protect you if you are being threatened. But if somebody is trying to prevent you revealing what you know about this, understand that people will die as a result of your silence.’
‘Well, let’s not be melodramatic’ The fact that Zulaika has a slurping infant in his lap helps me to retain a moderately relaxed countenance in the face of this threat, but none the less it is difficult to deflect the question and maintain my composure. ‘Nobody is trying to keep me silent. All I know is that Mikel was abducted and murdered. There’s nothing else.’
‘And what about Rosalia Dieste?’
It is too late to disguise my shock. I manage to say, ‘Who?’ but Zulaika lets me swim in the lie. He knows that he took me by surprise. He timed the ace to perfection.
‘Rosalia Dieste,’ he repeats.
‘Never heard of her.’
I must pursue this line at all costs and Zulaika knows that. He says, ‘ Claro, ’ as I nod my head. In time, his face assumes the disappointment of a man who has been betrayed by one he trusts. It is an effective fatalism. I start to feel guilty.
‘When we spoke on the telephone after my vacation,’ he says, ‘you mentioned that Mikel had a personal connection with somebody in Madrid.’
‘I said that?’
‘Yes. Because of the SIM card. That was your reaction. I have my notes if you want to read them. You said that the presence of so many calls to Plettix suggested that Mikel had a personal relationship with one of the company’s employees. What did you mean by that, Alec?’
It is a constant effort to remain alert both to the possible limits of Zulaika’s knowledge and to the content of our previous conversations. He could be making something up to trap me. He could be asking a question in a particular way in order to elicit an unguarded response.
‘I don’t recall saying that. You think I know this woman?’
Zulaika laughs quietly under his breath, as if I have insulted his intelligence. Placing Xavi back in the rocker he shakes his head and signals for the bill.
‘You know very well who she is. Rosalia Dieste was Mikel Arenaza’s mistress. Even his wife knows about her.’
I feign further surprise. ‘Well, I wasn’t married to him, was I? Mikel had a mistress? He didn’t say anything about that to me.’
‘No, of course not.’ The waitress sets the bill down on the table and walks off. ‘Look. Dieste’s step-father was a Guardia Civil killed by a car bomb planted by ETA. So you have a family motive for revenge immediately. I think she trapped Arenaza in a love affair that was designed only to bring about his death.’
‘Seriously?’ I assemble a brief sequence of baffled facial tics. ‘Surely that’s a little far-fetched? A honey trap? ’
Zulaika has not heard this term before and I have to explain it to him, using a mixture of Spanish and English. Once he understands, he nods and says, ‘Exactly. A honey trap,’ but I am shaking my head.
‘Even if it’s true, why does she have to be part of a larger conspiracy? Why couldn’t she just have acted
