wellconnected people who are willing to help us.'
Falcon sipped his tea, grateful for the prop. He'd finally got it out into the open. He almost couldn't believe he'd said it. Nor could Yacoub Diouri, who was sitting on the other side of the ornately decorated table, blinking.
'Have I understood you correctly, Javier,' said Diouri, his face suddenly solid as a plastic mask and his voice stripped of any warmth. 'You have presumed to come into my house to ask me to spy for your government?'
'You knew from the moment I called you last night that I wasn't coming here on a purely social visit,' said Falcon, holding firm.
'Spies are the most despised of all combatants,' said Diouri. 'Not the dogs of war, but the rats.'
'I would never have thought of asking you if for one moment I took you to be a man who was satisfied with what we are being asked to believe in this world,' said Falcon. 'That was the point of your discourse on Iraq, wasn't it? Not just to show me the Arab point of view, but also your appreciation of a greater truth.'
'But what has led you to believe that you could ask me such a question?'
'I ask it because, like me, you are pro-Muslim and pro-Arab and anti-terrorism. You also want there to be change and to make progress rather than a great regression. You are a man of integrity and honour…'
'I wouldn't normally associate those virtues with the amorality of spying,' said Diouri.
'Except that, knowing you, your purpose would not be financial reward or vanity, but rather a belief in bringing about change without pointless violence.'
'You and I are very similar people,' said Diouri, 'except that our roles have been reversed. We have both been wronged by monstrous fathers. You have suddenly discovered that you are half Moroccan, while I should have been brought up Spanish, but have become Moroccan. Perhaps we are the embodiment of two entwined cultures.'
'With messy histories,' said Falcon, nodding.
21
Seville-Wednesday, 7th June 2006, 08.43 hrs
The radio promised the Sevillanos a day of towering heat, in excess of 40°C, with a light Saharan breeze to sting the eyeballs, dry the sweat and render the site of the destroyed building a serious health hazard. Consuelo was still groggy from the pill she'd taken at three in the morning, when she'd realized that watching Dario's fluttering eyelids was not going to help her sleep. As always, she had a busy day ahead, which would now be enclosed by the parentheses of sessions with Alicia Aguado. She did not think about them. She was removed from what was happening. She was more aware of the bone structure of her face and the snug mask of her skin, behind which she hoped to keep operating.
The mood of the radio presenter was sombre. His words of reflection did not penetrate, nor did his announcement of a minute's silence for the victims of the bombing, which had been called for midday. Her eyelids closed and opened as if she was expecting a new scene with every blink, rather than the same scene, minutely changed.
The sleeping pill dulled the adrenaline leak into her system. Had she been any sharper, the terrifying sense of coming apart that she'd experienced yesterday would have been too powerful a memory, and she would have glided past Aguado's consulting room and driven straight to work. As it was, she parked the car and let her legs carry her up the stairs. Her hand engaged with Alicia Aguado's white palm as her hips fitted between the arms of the lovers' chair. She bared her wrist. Words came to her from some way off and she didn't catch them.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm still a little tired. Can you repeat that?'
'Last night, did you think about what I told you to?'
'I'm not sure that I remember what I told…what you told me to think about.'
'Something that made you happy.'
'Oh, yes, I did that.'
'Have you been taking drugs, Consuelo? You're very slow this morning.'
'I took a sleeping pill at three this morning.'
'Why couldn't you sleep?'
'I was too happy.'
Aguado went to the kitchen and made a powerful cafe solo and gave it to Consuelo, who knocked it back.
'You have to be sharp for our meetings, or there's no point,' said Aguado. 'You have to be in touch with yourself.'
Aguado stood in front of Consuelo, tilted her face up, as if she were positioning a small child for a kiss, and pressed her thumbs into her forehead. Consuelo's vision brightened. Aguado sat back down.
'Why couldn't you sleep?'
'I was thinking too much.'
'About all those things that made you 'too happy'?'
'Happiness is not my normal condition. I needed a respite.'
'What is your normal condition?'
'I don't know. I cover it too well.'
'Are you listening to yourself?'
'I can't help it. I have no resistance.'
'So you didn't do what I told you to do last night.'
'I told you. Happiness is not my normal condition.
'I'm not drawn to it.'
'What did you do?'
'I watched my children sleeping.'
'What does that tell you about the condition that you are drawn to?'
'It's uncomfortable.'
'Do you drive yourself hard in your work?'
'Of course, it's the only way to be successful.'
'Why is success important to you?'
'It's an easier measure…'
'Than what?'
Panic rose in Consuelo's constricting throat.
'It's easier to measure one's success in business than it is to measure, or rather to see…perceive…You know what I'm trying to say.'
'I want you to say it.'
Consuelo shifted in her half of the seat, took a deep breath.
'I balance my failures as a person by showing the world my brilliance in business.'
'So, what is your success to you?'
'It's my cover. People will admire me for that, whereas if they knew who I really was, what I had done, they would despise me.'
'Do your three children sleep in separate bedrooms?'
'Now they do, yes. The two older boys need their own space.'
'When you watch them sleeping, who do you spend most time with?'
'The youngest, Dario.'
'Why?'
'He is still very close to me.'
'Is there an age gap?'
'He's four years younger than Matias.'
'Do you love him more than the other two?'
'I know I shouldn't, but I do.'
'Does he look more like you or your late husband?'
'Like me.'
'Have you always looked at your children sleeping?'
