Balance of Power

were open and the room was brighter and there was a figure bending beside him.

It was his brother, Berto.

Norberto was weeping and saying something. He was making signs over his face. Adolfo tried to raise his arm but it didn’t respond. He tried to speak—

“A… ma… do… ri.”

Did Norberto hear? Did he understand?

“City… chur… church.”

“Adolfo, lie quietly,” Norberto said. “I’ve telephoned for a doctor — oh, God.”

Norberto continued saying a prayer.

“ Warn… Gen… er… al… they… know.…”

Norberto laid a hand on his brother’s lips to silence them. Adolfo smiled weakly. His brother’s hand was soft and loving. The pain seemed to subside.

And then his head rolled to the side and his eyes shut and the pain was gone.

EIGHTEEN

Tuesday, 4:19 A.M. San Sebastian, Spain

The helicopter set Maria and Aideen down south of the city. It landed atop a hillock along a deserted twist in the Rio Urumea, the river that ran through the city. A rental car, reserved by a local police officer who worked with Interpol, was waiting for them near the road. So was the police officer, thick-mustachioed Jorge Sorel.

During the helicopter trip, Maria had studied a map she’d brought with her. She knew the route to the radio station and Aideen could tell that she was anxious to get there. Unfortunately, as Maria lit a cigarette, Jorge told her there was no reason to go.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“Someone attacked the staff a little over an hour ago,” he said.

“Someone?” Maria said. “Who?”

“We don’t know yet,” admitted the officer.

“Professionals?” she said impatiently.

“Very possibly,” he acknowledged. “The attackers seemed to know exactly what they were doing. There were numerous broken limbs and everyone had a broken jaw.”

“What did they want?” Maria asked.

Jorge shook his head. “Again, we can’t even begin to speculate. The only reason we went up there was because the station suddenly went off the air.”

Maria swore angrily. “This is maravilloso,” she said. “Marvelous. Are there any leads?”

Jorge was still shaking his head. “The victims were unable to speak and now the doctors have them sedated. We assume the attackers were looking for whoever provided them with the audiotape.”

“The idiots,” Maria snarled. “Didn’t they anticipate that? Didn’t they take precautions?”

“Yes,” said Jorge. “The irony is they were very well prepared. The station has always been a target for malcontents. Their politics, you know — very antigovernment. The facility is surrounded with barbed wire and is constructed like a bunker. It even has a metal door. The employees keep guns inside. But deterrents only sway the timid hearted. And these attackers were not timid.”

“Constable,” Aideen said patiently, “do you have any idea who it was that provided the tape?”

Jorge snuck an uncomfortable look at Maria. “I’m afraid the answer is once again no,” he said. “We have two patrols going through the surrounding villages. They’re looking for groups of people who may be searching for the person or persons who provided the tape. But we came to this relatively late. So far, we’ve found no one.”

“The attackers would probably separate once they left here,” Maria said. “They wouldn’t want to risk everyone getting caught. They also wouldn’t stay together after they found whoever they were looking for,” Maria said. She drew on her cigarette and exhaled through her nose. She regarded Jorge intently. “Are you sure that’s all you can tell us?”

“I’m sure,” he replied. His gaze was equally intent.

“What are the chances that the person who had the tape was from this area?” Aideen asked.

“Very good,” said Maria. “Whoever planned this would have wanted someone who knew the waters where the yacht was destroyed. Someone who knew the town and the people at the station.” She looked at Jorge. “Give me a place to start looking.”

Jorge shrugged. “The town is small. Everyone knows it. For someone who knows the waters, talk to the fishermen.”

Maria looked at her watch. “They’ll be going out in about an hour. We can talk to them at the docks.” She pulled hard on her cigarette. “Who blesses the waters for the fishermen?”

“That would be Father Norberto Alcazar,” Jorge said. “He will only do it for the old families, not the companies.”

“Where is he?”

“You will probably find him at the Jesuit church in the hills south of Cuesta de Aldapeta,” Jorge said. “That’s on the west side of the river just outside of San Sebastian.”

Maria thanked him. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then she dropped it and crushed it hard under her heel. She let out the smoke as she walked toward the car. Aideen followed her.

“Father Alcazar is a very pleasant man,” Jorge said after them. “But he may not be forthcoming about his flock. He is very protective of them.”

“Let’s hope that he wants to protect one of them from being murdered,” Maria said.

“You have a point,” Jorge said. “Call on your cell phone when you are ready. The helicopter will come back for you here. The airport is small and has been reserved for military business — as a precaution.”

Maria acknowledged brusquely as she got behind the wheel of the car and started it up. Dirt and clods of grass spit behind them as the car tore away from the foot of the hillock.

“You’re not happy,” Aideen said as she took the map from her backpack and unfolded it. She also had a loaded.38 in the backpack which Maria had given her during the flight.

“I wanted to kick him,” Maria grumbled. “They only went up there because the station went off the air. The police should have known that someone would go after the radio crew.”

“Maybe the police wanted the station to be attacked,” Aideen said. “It’s the same way with gang wars. The authorities stand back and let the bad guys kill each other.”

“It’s more likely that they were told to stay out of it,” Maria said. “The men who were killed on the yacht were influential businessmen. They headed devoted familias—employees who will do anything for them, including murder. The police are paid to stay out of such things.”

“Do you think the constable—”

“I don’t know,” Maria admitted. “But I can’t be sure. One can never be sure in Spain.”

Aideen thought back to what Martha had said about the police in Madrid cooperating with the street extortionists. That might be diplomacy, she thought, but it stinks. She was forced to wonder if even the government police in Madrid were giving the investigation of Martha’s assassination their all.

“That’s one of the reasons I left Interpol,” Maria went on as she headed north along the river. “Dealing with these people is more frustrating than it’s worth.”

“But you came back,” Aideen said. “For Luis?”

“No,” Maria replied. “I came back for the same reason I left. Because there is so much corruption the rest of us can’t afford to give up. Even to manage my small theater in Barcelona, I had to pay fees to the police, to the sanitation workers, to everyone but the postal workers. I had to pay them to make sure that they did the jobs they were already paid to do.”

“So the government workers have their cushion and the industrial workers belong to families,” Aideen said. “Independent workers end up paying extortion to one or fighting the strength of the other.”