that the heroin coming into Las Tres Mil always used to be Italian product, then things started changing. It looks to me as if Nikita Sokolov was trying to create an exclusive market for Donstov's product in Las Tres Mil and, for one reason or another, El Pulmon was not in agreement.'
They worked on the tapas for a few minutes, drank beer. Ramirez ordered more.
'Do you think it was Revnik or Donstov who was involved in the 6th June bombing?' asked Cortes.
'CICO in Madrid think Yuri Donstov has been operating since September 2005, which is about nine months before the 6th June bombing,' said Falcon. 'I'm not sure that's long enough to develop a conspiracy of that complexity.'
'All they had to do was plant a small bomb,' said Perez.
'But a lot had to be put in place beforehand. Think about the political element: the Fuerza Andalucia party, the creation of their new leader,' said Falcon. 'I don't think a businessman like Lucrecio Arenas would have allowed anybody into the conspiracy who he hadn't been doing business with for quite some time. I always thought that he was dealing with people whose money he'd moved around the world while he was working at the Banco Omni, but maybe I'm wrong.'
'So you favour Leonid Revnik as the perpetrator?' asked Diaz. 'Except that he'd only been in place since his predecessor fled to Dubai in June 2005.'
'I suppose I do. There's no reason why Revnik and his predecessor shouldn't have been in contact with each other,' said Falcon. 'But having just learnt about Yuri Donstov, I'm beginning to think he might have found a role for himself in a new conspiracy that has its roots in the 6th June bombing. That was an attempt to gain political power in the whole of Andalucia. Now I think the sights have been lowered. Donstov seems to be shaping up to run a major criminal enterprise. The delivery of the disks by Vasili Lukyanov was a crucial element, not just in the enterprise, but in a more localized project. The disks are going to give him leverage, especially with I4IT and Horizonte, whose executives had been filmed in compromising situations.'
'What is this project?' asked Diaz.
'I don't know,' said Falcon. 'But I think this time it's not about political power but more about money.'
'We didn't talk about the money,' said Ramirez. 'I forgot to mention that this afternoon Prosegur took away the money found in the boot of Vasili Lukyanov's Range Rover. It's in the Banco de Bilbao now.'
'How much?' asked Diaz.
'Seven million, seven hundred and forty-eight thousand two hundred euros,' said Ramirez. 'I was there when Elvira signed it off.'
'You know, Javier, if you're looking to nail the Russians for the June 6th bombing I doubt you're going to be able to do it through Nikita Sokolov,' said Cortes. 'I don't think he's the sort of guy who's going to talk. You might be able to stick him with the murders in Las Tres Mil, but that's not going to help you. He's a vor-v-zakone, and their code, like the Sicilian mafia's omerta, is silence.'
'And the big names we're talking about, they're invisible men,' said Diaz. 'We only got a photograph of Revnik's predecessor at the beginning of 2005. We have no shot of Leonid Revnik and only the old gulag shot of Yuri Donstov. All these guys could walk past us in the street and we wouldn't know.'
'And not one of the current charges against Revnik's predecessor is murder,' said Cortes. 'He was arrested for money-laundering, falsifying documents, fraudulent bankruptcies and being a member of a criminal organization. No drugs. No people-trafficking. No extortion. No murder.'
A mobile vibrated. Perez took the call.
'Do you have anybody on the inside of Revnik's gang?' said Falcon, looking at Cortes and Diaz.
'We have informers,' said Diaz.
'How high up the ladder?' said Falcon. 'All these gangster-owned businesses must be run by local people.'
'But none of them get anywhere near Revnik,' said Cortes.
Diaz exchanged a look with Cortes, whose shake of the head was barely perceptible in the dying light in the square.
'That was Traffic,' said Perez. 'They've found El Pulmon's car in Calle Hernan Ruiz. There's a bloodstained T- shirt on the back seat. I'd better get down there.'
'Take Felipe from Forensics with you,' said Ramirez, sighing. 'I'll come too; it's on my way.'
Falcon paid the bill, exchanged phone numbers with Cortes and Diaz, who were still finishing their beers. He headed back to the Palacio de Justicia to pick up his car.
They caught up with him in the Murillo Gardens.
'Sorry about that, Javier,' said Cortes. 'We just had to get clearance before we talked to you about our informers and we didn't want to do it in company.'
'We have just developed an informer close to Leonid Revnik,' said Diaz. 'She's a twenty-five-year-old woman from Malaga…'
'Who is completely fucking gorgeous,' said Cortes. 'She could be having the time of her life with any footballer or film star you'd care to name, but she, the poor stupid bitch, has chosen a gangster by the name of Viktor Belenki.'
'I've heard that name before,' said Falcon, remembering Pablo from the CNI mentioning him. 'He's Revnik's right-hand man and runs all his construction companies in the Costa del Sol. So, why does the girl inform on him?'
'We're still right at the beginning of developing her,' said Cortes. 'Last month we found her brother on a yacht with some of his stupid friends and seven hundred kilos of hashish, and he's not the sort of kid who'd last very long in a high-security prison.'
'Does she have a name?'
'At the moment we're calling her Carmen,' said Diaz. The light was out over the doorway to Falcon's house on Calle Bailen. He reversed up and left the car on the cobbles between the orange trees. As he went up to the door he stumbled and a streak of fear flashed through his guts as someone came from the shadows and caught him by the arm.
'Steady on, Javier,' said Mark Flowers. 'Been drinking?'
'I've had a couple of beers, but not nearly enough,' said Falcon. 'I was wondering when you'd come…'
'Crawling out of the woodwork?'
'To see me.'
'Well, here I am,' said Flowers. 'Shall we go in?'
Falcon never knew where he stood with Mark Flowers, but then, that was the way Flowers liked it. He wanted to be unreadable. What was the point of being a Communications Officer in the American Consulate in Seville if the whole world could tell that you were really a CIA operative reporting to Madrid?
Flowers was a handsome fifty-four-year-old, much married and divorced. His hair had thinned dramatically over the last couple of years so that he'd had to resort to the comb-over. The hair should have been grey, too, but he dyed it. And Falcon suspected that, during a long vacation in the United States, Flowers had resorted to some plastic surgery around his eyes and neck.
'Are you in mourning, Mark?' asked Falcon, now realizing the reason why he hadn't been able to see Flowers outside was that he was dressed completely in black.
'It makes me look slim,' said Flowers, shaking the loose short-sleeved shirt out over his thickened stomach. 'You get to my age and weight and you need all the help you can get.'
They came into the patio of the house, the bronze boy was running across the fountain, the water was as flat as a mirror.
'Shall we sit out?' said Falcon. 'You'll want a whisky. I suppose you've already eaten.'
'You know me, Javier. I'm all done by six thirty.'
'Glenlivet?'
'That's a nice change from the usual peat bog you serve.'
'As you know, I went to London,' said Falcon. 'And I'm always thinking of you.'
'Ice, no water,' said Flowers.
Falcon went to the kitchen, came back with the drinks. A cold beer for himself. Some olives. A bowl of crisps.
'I've had some long days recently,' said Falcon, handing him the tumbler of whisky. 'Lost track of where I am. What time is it?'
