what happens. Not many people make it. I did a couple of years in the mounted police, but it was too boring. I tell you, when I saw that stallion already saddled up I thought, I've got to have a go. That's a quarter-million euros' worth of horse there.'
They lifted El Pulmon into the back seat of the car, cuffed him face down. The gypsy on the padded horse was still there, pacing his animal to and fro.
'What about him?' asked Ramirez. 'He came at us with a lance.'
'We haven't got time for that,' said Falcon. 'We've still got a long day ahead of us. Take that horse back to the stables and let's get on with what we came here for.'
They drove back to the farm buildings while Serrano and Baena walked the stallion to the stable block. Ramirez righted El Pulmon, sat him up in the middle of the back seat. Falcon got in the other side.
'I'm not talking to you,' said El Pulmon. 'Fucking Narcs.'
'You don't have to talk to us,' said Ramirez. 'We're taking you back to Seville and throwing you to the Russian bears. You'll talk to them. Your old friends. They're the ones who supply you with dope, let you make a lot of money, and kill your girlfriend.'
'What?'
'You didn't hear about that?' said Falcon.
'They killed her?' said El Pulmon.
'We're homicide cops,' said Ramirez.
'We're looking for the guy who shot the Cuban, Miguel Estevez,' said Falcon. 'He's the same guy who went into your bedroom and, for no reason at all, shot Julia Valdes.'
'In the face,' said Ramirez.
'His name is Nikita Sokolov,' said Falcon. 'He used to be a weightlifter. Stocky guy. Very muscular legs. Remember him?'
'You'll be glad to know, Roque, that you winged him,' said Ramirez. 'With that shot from your Beretta, you drew blood.'
'I used to get my product from the Italians,' said El Pulmon. 'At least I knew where I was with those guys. They spoke my language. Then back in March this stocky Russian turned up and started giving me different stuff, very pure. The Cuban, Miguel, came along to translate.'
'So why did they come to see you yesterday?' asked Falcon.
'I was due a delivery.'
'What about the gun? Your Beretta?' asked Ramirez.
'I was still selling Italian product. I didn't want to drop my old suppliers because I didn't know how long the Russian stuff was going to last. The Russian wanted me to sell his gear exclusively. A few weeks ago the big guy hung me out of the window to make his point, warned me that he would install his own dealer if I didn't stop selling the Italian shit. So I got myself prepared.'
'Didn't clear your girlfriend out, though, did you?' said Ramirez.
'I didn't think they'd come to kill me,' said El Pulmon. 'It was just a delivery, but I was nervous enough to take precautions. And, fuck, I wish I had got Julia out of there.'
'So what happened?'
'One of my clients ratted on me,' said El Pulmon. 'Told the Russian I was still selling Italian product.'
'Aha!' said Ramirez. 'Now we get the full story. Was Carlos Puerta the rat?'
'How do you know that?'
'We picked him up on some associated business,' said Falcon. 'He described the Russian for us. He saw the whole thing from outside your apartment block.'
'That fucker. He's still crazy about Julia. And then he got himself badly strung out. Needed more dope and his money ran dry.'
'And the Russian stepped in with a little bribe,' said Ramirez. 'Puerta's dead. Committed suicide this morning. Happy?'
'Joder,' said El Pulmon, head bowed.
'We need to find Nikita Sokolov,' said Falcon. 'How did you make contact with him?'
'I called Miguel, the Cuban. That was my only way in.'
'You know how to catch a Russian bear?' said Ramirez.
El Pulmon shook his head.
'Honey,' said Ramirez. 'We're going to cover you in honey and tether you out in the sun and wait for Nikita to turn up.'
El Pulmon looked from Ramirez to Falcon to see if he was going to be more friendly.
'When we bring Sokolov in,' said Falcon, more reasonably, 'you're going to identify him.'
'You're fucking kidding.'
'It's either that or the honey treatment,' said Ramirez.
'And you'd like to get the guy who shot Julia, wouldn't you?' said Falcon.
El Pulmon's shoulders dropped. He stared into the footwell and nodded. A quarter to five and Falcon was making his way up to the main square in Osuna. A strange town, which looked unassuming from the outside, but the low, tiled, whitewashed houses gave way to opulent sixteenth-century mansions from the time when New World wealth had found its way into deepest Andalucia.
The Plaza Mayor had colossal palm trees which shaded the few bars, the 1920s casino and the empty square. Yacoub was early and Falcon watched him sitting alone in the heat at a table on the pavement. He had a cafe solo and a glass of water beside him. He was smoking and looking remarkably unperturbed, compared to their last two meetings.
Pleasantries over, Falcon sat at the small, round metal table and ordered a plate of squid and a beer, with a coffee to follow.
'You're looking more relaxed,' said Falcon.
'I've passed another loyalty test,' said Yacoub. 'The GICM say Abdullah isn't ready yet. They put him through his paces in training and his platoon commander says he needs to toughen up mentally. They don't want to lose someone of his intelligence and potential through poor preparation. They wouldn't think of giving him any sort of mission for at least another six months.'
'Your strategy worked then.'
'That's how you have to be with radicals. If you don't show the same fervour as they do, you're suspect.'
'Will they involve you with the mission when he is ready?'
'I don't know. I've been told I will be involved, but who knows with these people?' said Yacoub. 'Whatever… it doesn't solve my problem. I've still lost a son to radical Islam, I'm just in a slightly better position to stop him getting killed.'
'We've got time now,' said Falcon.
'And what is time going to do for us? You think I'm going to be able to change his mind? And, even if that were possible, then what? Hide him for the rest of his life? Hide myself?' said Yacoub. 'No, Javier, you're not thinking straight. What I've come to terms with over the last week is that this is a lifelong commitment. That's why I suffered so much. I've been thinking short term. I couldn't see beyond the horror of Abdullah being drawn into this organization. Because I have the mentality of a dabbler, I was kidding myself that there was still a way out. Now I know there isn't, and I've started to think much longer term. Not years, but decades. My Western mentality has always tempted me into the belief that there was a 'quick fix', as the Americans like to call it. And, of course, there is one, but it always breaks. So now I've gone back to my Arab way of thinking and I've re-taught myself the art of patience. My purpose is different now. I will crush them, but… in the end.'
'What about the immediate problem you had with your Saudi friend, Faisal?'
'Yes, I wanted to thank you for being so discreet with the British,' said Yacoub.
'They put me under a lot of pressure,' said Falcon. 'They've even brought in Mark Flowers.'
'Don't go near him,' said Yacoub. 'He has the smell of rot about him.'
'Tell me how things went with Faisal.'
'That was part of the test. That was why the GICM sent me to London. They want to see where my loyalties lie,' said Yacoub. 'One of the things they feel sure about the Western mind is that it has grown soft.'
'Soft as in sentimental?'
