Twenty
or thirty minutes later the door opened abruptly, banging into the
guard. A man in shirtsleeves walked in (not the Big Cheese, not yet,
though she was certain he'd put in his appearance soon). The two men
exchanged apologies in English, but no one said a word to her. The
guy who'd been watching her nodded his colossal head at Elisa and she
got up.
They
crossed the living room and headed for the stairs. It smelled of
freshly brewed coffee, and men in jackets and shirtsleeves walked in
and out of the kitchen carrying cups and glasses.
This
was all prearranged.
They
searched her again upstairs.
Not
with a metal detector this time, but with their hands. They made her
take off her jacket, raise her arms over her head, and spread her
legs. It wasn't the regulation female officer who was allowed to
touch women, either; it was a man, though she really didn't care.
After so many years of surveillance and interrogations, she'd lost
all sense of shame. And it was clear that
they
were
certainly shameless. What were they looking for? What were they
scared she might do?
They're
afraid of us. Much more than we are of them.
After
a more-than-thorough patdown, the man nodded, gave her jacket back to
her, and opened the door to what looked like a library.
And
there, of course, was the Big Fucking Cheese.
"Ah,
Professor Robledo, always a pleasure."
She
felt ready for him, thought she could handle this. She was wrong.
Suppressing
her fury, she took the seat offered to her in front of the small
desk. One of the men left the room, closing the door behind him; the
other stood behind her, ready to take action in case she, say,
decided to hurl herself at the old fogy and rip his eyes out. Which,
of course, was always a possibility.
"I
know why you wanted to come here tonight," the old man said in
his precise English, taking a seat behind the desk. He'd obviously
just arrived. His overcoat was strewn on a chair, still glistening
with the damp night air. "I won't take up much of your time, I
assure you. Just a friendly chat. Then you can meet up with your
friends." A big lampshade hid part of his face; the man pushed
it aside, revealing his smile. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to
see, but she looked nonetheless.
Harrison
had aged notably over the last several years, but his deep-set eyes,
hidden under the narrow ledge of brows, and the smile on his smooth
face (he'd given up the mustache years ago) expressed the same cold,
courteous, threatening confidence as always. Maybe even more now than
before. Something new seemed to bubble under the surface this time,
too. Hatred? Fear?
"Where's
my friend?" she asked, opting not to hide her concern.
"Which
one? You have so many, and they're all so close."
"Professor
Victor Lopera."
"Oh,
he's just answering a few questions. When we're finished with him,
you can—"
"Leave
him be. I'm the one you're interested in, Harrison. Let him go."
"Oh,
Professor, Professor ... You're impatience is so ... All in good
time. Would you like a cup of coffee? I won't offer you anything
else, because I'm sure you've eaten dinner already. Twelve thirty is
too late even for Spaniards, right?" He looked to the mystery
man standing behind her for confirmation. "Ask them to bring us
some coffee."
She
was dying for a cup of coffee, but there was no way she was going to
accept anything he had to offer her, not even if she lay dying from a
snakebite and he was holding the antidote. When the lackey left, she
decided to try losing her patience.
"Listen,
Harrison. If you don't let Lopera go, I'll raise such a stink... I'll
raise hell, I swear to God, I will. Journalists, courts, whatever it
takes. I'm not the same submissive fool I once was, you know."
"You've
never been a submissive fool."
"Don't
give me that. I'm serious."
"Oh,
really?" Suddenly, all pretense of conviviality vanished. He sat
up and pointed his long index finger at her. "Then let me tell
you what we can do. We can sue you, you and your friend Lopera both.
We can charge you with revealing classified material and Lopera with
covering it up, of aiding and abetting. You have broken every legal
agreement that you're sworn to, bound by your own signature, so maybe
it's time you stopped threatening me ... What the hell is so funny?"
Elisa
tucked her hair back as she laughed.
"The
voice of justice, here lecturing me! You've broken into our houses,
our lives, you've been spying on us for years, you kidnap us whenever
the hell you want... Right now you're trespassing on private
property. I believe in both your country and mine that's known as
breaking and entering. And here you are, reeling off my legal
obligations!"
Just
then the door opened, interrupting them, but Harrison's expression
let her know that he'd changed his mind about the coffee. She
congratulated herself.
Good.
Just bare your teeth and don't bother with the fake smile.
"So
that's how you view the measures taken for your own protection?"
Harrison replied.
"You
mean the way you protected Sergio Marini?"
Harrison
looked away, as if he hadn't heard her. She remembered that trick; of
all her interrogator's two-faced tactics, it was one of the best. She
didn't bother repeating her question.
"I've
just come from Milan, Professor. I can assure you that there is no
proof that what happened to Professor Marini had anything to do with
Project Zig Zag."
"Liar."
"Temper,
temper!" Harrison snickered. "That's the Spaniard in you.
You've been like that as long as I've known you. Willful...
passionate ... and distrustful."
"You're
the one who taught me to distrust."
"Come,
come now..."
Elisa
picked up on something strange. It was as though behind Harrison's
smiles and polite words a dangerous beast roared in fear, straining
to get loose and rip her throat out.
The
unforeseen possibility that Harrison's mental state might actually be
worse off than her own threw her into renewed panic. She realized,
then, that she preferred seeing him as executioner, not victim.
He
says he's just come from Milan. So he must have seen...
"How
did Marini die?" she asked, scrutinizing his face. Once again,
he gave her the fake 'Sorry, could you repeat that?' look. And this
time she did. "I said, how did Sergio Marini die?"
"He
was ... he was beaten. Presumably by thieves, though we're still
waiting for a report..."
"Did
you see his body?"
"Of
course. I already told you he was beaten to death—"
"
Describe
it to me."
She
began to tremble when she realized Harrison was doing everything
possible not to look at her. "Professor, let's not get off
track—"
"Describe
the state of Sergio Marini's corpse."
"Let
me speak," he muttered.
"You're
lying," she whimpered, silently praying he would contradict her.
But instead, he shrieked. Like an animal, almost shouting himself
hoarse. It was dreadful beyond belief. He went from total tranquility
to an unbearable howling in a millisecond.
"Shut
up!"
Suddenly,
he regained control and smiled. "You're ... if you don't mind my
saying so ... boorishly obstinate."
She
now had no doubt whatsoever. It had all happened again.
And
Harrison wasn't even a threat anymore, because he was losing his
mind. Like her. Like all of them.
That
substantiation of the facts left her feeling more than vulnerable.
She felt lifeless, spent, literally inanimate.
There
are instants, airholes in our consciousness, turbulences of the soul,
that are very deep. Without warning, Elisa fell into an abyss of that
sort until she hit rock bottom. Harrison no longer mattered, Victor
no longer mattered, her life no longer mattered. She sank into a
vegetative state, hearing Harrison's words as if they were background
noise, a boring television program that was on in another room.
"Why
can't you see we're all in the same boat together? If you sink, we
all sink. Honestly, such a temper ... I confess I admire it, I like
that part of your personality ... Don't think I'm crossing a line
here. I am well aware that I'm too old and you're too young. But I'm
attracted to you, I'll tell you that... I want to help you. And yet,
first I need you to describe to me the characteristics of that...
that 'danger,' let's call it. If indeed it exists..."
And
then it was over. Abruptly, she recovered and recalled the only thing
she still had to fight for.
"Let
Victor go, and I'll do anything you want."
"Let
him
go?
Good
Lord, Professor, you're the one who brought him here!"
He
was right about that, the pig.
"How
long are you going to keep him?"
"However
long we need to. We want to find out how much he knows."
"Well,
I can tell you that. You don't have to lock him up naked in a room
with a hidden camera, shoot him up with drugs, and force him to tell
you about his private life in lurid detail just to find
that
out.
Though maybe that's just the routine for girls, huh?" Harrison
made no reply, his jaw set. "I told him about the island,"
she said finally. "That's it, just the island."
"That
was reckless of you." He looked as though he was choosing a much
more vulgar adjective, but then simply repeated, "Very
reckless."
"I
needed help!"
"
We
are
your help—"
"That's
why I needed help!"
"Don't
shout." Harrison, who seemed more concerned with straightening
the lampshade than listening to her, suddenly gave up, stood, walked
around the desk, and zoomed in on Elisa until his face was just an
inch from hers. "Don't shout," he repeated, jabbing her
jacket with an admonishing index finger. "Not in front of me,
young lady."
"And
you,"
Elisa
replied, pushing his hand away violently, "don't ever touch me
again."