Clandestine Affairs 1, cont.
For a moment, when Cesc woke up, he couldn't remember why his cheeks were damp.
Then he could, which was worse.
It didn't take him long to make a decision. There was only one way he was going to be able to survive the next - however long - without going insane, and that was to put them completely out of his mind, as much as he possibly could. (Your family, a ruthless voice whispered.)
For a fleeting moment, he once again thought about running. He was pretty sure they'd catch him, but if he could just get a message to his mother or Carlota... In the light of day, the whole thing seemed even more unbelievable.
But nothing about Figo or his two subordinates had implied anything other than utter seriousness. Cesc rolled over, restless, and his ribs protested.
Whoever had blown up his flat hadn't been kidding around, either.
Cesc sat up and carefully swung himself out of bed. The only way to find out would be to get up and see what happened.
He tried the doorknob, and then when he encountered no resistance, slowly opened the door.
He didn't know exactly what he'd expected, but it wasn't what appeared to be the interior of a perfectly normal apartment - if one a little on the small side. Cesc took one cautious step, then another. No alarms went off. With growing confidence, he padded down the hall.
It opened into a small kitchen flooded with sunlight, where David Villa was sitting at a battered wooden table.
One hand held a mug of coffee; the other was tapping at the keys of a sleek, razor-thin laptop, in which he seemed absorbed. He appeared to be wearing the exact same outfit as the evening before, down to the shoulder holster. Cesc wondered if he slept in it.
"Um," said Cesc. "Good morning?"
Villa's eyes flicked up; he didn't otherwise move. "You're awake," he said, and returned his attention to the screen.
Cesc shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah." He looked around. On the tiny counter, a coffee maker bubbled away; next to it was a chipped mug.
"Can I - " He gestured at the coffee.
"No," said Villa, without looking up from his laptop.
"Oh," said Cesc.
Silence.
There wasn't that much to look at. Cesc prodded his memory. "Where's, uh, Silva?"
Villa's glance flicked up again. "He'll be around," he said, in a tone that did not invite further inquiry. He added, indifferently, "Make yourself breakfast if you want. Or whatever."
"Oh. Okay." Cesc thought for a minute. "Have you got any ramen?"
That got a reaction. Villa recoiled. "For breakfast?"
"It's nutritious," Cesc said defensively.
"The hell it is," said Villa, and, shaking his head, closed the laptop. "Look, here - " He stood up and at first Cesc thought maybe he was going to - Cesc didn't know. Beat the ramen liking out of him. Instead Villa went over to the fridge and, after a moment of poking around inside, pulled out a carton of eggs, a couple of plastic containers and two red peppers. The cupboard yielded a heavy iron skillet, which made Cesc leery for a brief second before it was set innocently on the stovetop.
Villa spared a moment from his preparations long enough to give Cesc a once over and say, "You go - sit down. Read. Or something."
Cesc was tempted for all of about five seconds to ask if he could use Villa's laptop, before sense got the better of him. It was probably full of secrets he could be killed for reading, anyway. Instead, he sat down in the other chair and, for lack of anything better to do, watched Villa chop the peppers and a small onion with alarming speed.
He was clearly at home with sharp objects. Cesc eyed the knife. Was it his imagination or was it longer than normal for cooking?
Villa scraped the vegetables into the skillet and, as if sensing Cesc's eyes on him, turned and raised his eyebrows. "What are you looking at?"
"You," Cesc said truthfully.
Villa gave him a long stare. Cesc stared back, until Villa had to turn back to the skillet with a mutter.
The vegetables were simmering away when Villa set down the spatula and detached the coffee pot from its stand. The smell wafted even more temptingly toward Cesc as Villa filled the empty mug. He then left it sitting untouched on the counter and returned to breaking eggs into a bowl.
"Is that for me?" Cesc said hopefully.
"No," said Villa. Cesc sat back, frowning.
A door opened and closed, down the hall, and a minute later Silva shuffled into the kitchen. His eyes were barely open to slits. Several feathery tufts of hair at the back of his head stuck straight up in the air. "G'morning," he said, or tried to say, as it was swallowed in a yawn.
"Yeah," Villa said, and handed him the cup of coffee.
Silva mumbled something indistinct that might have been a thank you and gave Villa a sleepy smile as he sank into the mug. Villa rolled his eyes, cuffed the back of Silva's head, and pushed him gently toward the table, before turning back to his eggs.
Cesc looked from Villa, at the stove, subjecting the skillet to an intense glare, to Silva, in the chair Villa had vacated, curled around his coffee.
There was no way Jason Bourne made omelettes.
Across the table, the caffeine was taking effect. Silva blinked several times in Cesc's direction, then sat up as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, Cesc," he said, with another one of those smiles. "Good morning."
Cesc attempted to return it. "Morning."
Silva's eyes went to the empty place in front of Cesc. His expression became slightly attentive and he started to say something; a yawn got in the way before he managed, "Sorry, do you want some coffee?"
"Actually, yeah," Cesc said with a pointed glance at Villa's turned back, which somehow emanated a distinct lack of concern.
"David," said Silva, and was interrupted by another yawn. " - sorry. Could you get Cesc a cup as long as you're over there?"
There was a minute of silence, then Villa made an unintelligible sound. That appeared to mean "Yes" in Villa-speak, because Silva, smile intact, said "Thanks." Villa set another mug on the table with a look that dared Cesc to say something.
"Thanks," he echoed, and smiled at Villa innocently. Villa looked less than amused.
Silva now looked more or less revived. "Did you sleep okay?" he asked Cesc.
"Yeah. What?" - at Villa's inexplicable smirk.
"Nothing," Villa said. "Here." He'd slid the omelet from the pan and cut it into slices; now he put a plate in front of Cesc and another in front of Silva.
Cesc took a bite. He blinked. "Whoa."
"He's good, isn't he?" Silva said, with a little grin.
Villa, leaning against the counter with his own plate, just grunted.
It was good. It was really good. All of a sudden Cesc realized that he hadn't eaten anything in twenty-four hours. He took another bite, and another, and suddenly it was all he could do to keep himself from shoveling the omelet in his mouth as fast as he could.
The rest of the world faded out for a while. His plate was almost empty before he really noticed that no one was speaking. Cesc glanced up from his knife and fork to see Villa and Silva holding a silent conversation that, to judge by the way Villa's head jerked toward Cesc, was probably about him. Silva looked over. Their eyes met. Cesc cleared his throat.
A very faint hint of color brushed Silva's cheeks. "Um," he said. "Are you feeling better this morning?"
He didn't specify whether he meant physically or emotionally; Cesc grabbed at the opportunity to overlook the previous night's meltdown. His chest still hurt, but he gave his shoulder a cautious, experimental roll.
"Yeah," he said, surprised. "A lot."
"Good," said Silva, sounding genuinely pleased. "Then if you're feeling up to it - " He glanced at Villa, who nodded grudgingly, " - we'll take you down to bureau headquarters and get your ID. And a real medic can take a look at you, just in case."
Cesc halted mid-chew. "Wa - " His mouth was stuffed with omelet. He hastily tried to swallow the entire mouthful at once, choked, took a gulp of coffee, and cleared his throat. "Wait. Wait. Do you mean what that guy, Figo, said - I'm seriously going to be disguised as, like, a secret agent in training?"
"We're not that secret," said Silva, which wasn't a no.
Completely independent of will, Cesc's mouth was stretching upward in a gleeful grin. "Oh man," said Cesc. "Oh man."
Silva was having a hard time hiding a grin. Villa was rolling his eyes so hard they were on the verge of falling out of his head. "Okay," Silva said. "We'll check in with Figo while we're there. And you should meet Raúl as soon as possible, too."
Villa expelled a noisy breath. Cesc glanced at Silva, meaning to ask who they were talking about.
Silva looked resigned, and - something else, something Cesc couldn't identify. It surprised him enough that he stopped short of speech.
In the lull, Villa drew a long breath and opened his mouth. But when he spoke, it had nothing to do with the mysterious Raúl.
"Call that reporter friend of yours," he said.
Silva clearly hadn't been expecting that. "What?"
"If we're really going to do this," Villa said, like the words were being dragged from him, "which I guess we are, then we need eyes. Whatever we can get. Call the guy you know at the paper, what's his name, Mata. Let him know we're back in Madrid."
"Madrid?" said Cesc.
"Madrid," Cesc muttered.
"Sorry," Silva said for the dozenth time. "Really. Sorry. I was sure someone had mentioned it."
They were waiting in what was, to all appearances, a glassed-in lobby several floors high up a plain office building. It could have been home to any mid-sized corporation or government agency. Only the fact that Villa and Silva had provided, at various points, pass codes, handprint scans, and vocal recognition keys in order to navigate the building indicated that it was something rather out of the ordinary. That, and the fact that Silva, seeing Cesc look out the floor-to-ceiling glass, had said, "Don't worry, it's bulletproof."
That had gone a certain way to alleviate the undeniable sense of disappointment Cesc felt at the fact that the headquarters of a secret agency was so - normal.
Villa had disappeared once they were inside, leaving Silva to escort Cesc to what he called the clinic, where the medic on duty had retaped Cesc's ribs and pronounced him more or less fit and trauma-free. Now they were waiting for Villa to rejoin them - which left Cesc plenty of time to brood over the newest development in his enforced disappearance.
"How'd we get back to Spain, anyway?" he asked. "Some kind of top secret connection, right?"
Silva didn't answer for a minute. "Yes," he said finally. Cesc waited. When Silva didn't say anything else, he sighed again.
"So what's next?"
"Um... let's see." Silva brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "Once you've got your ID we'll get you in the security system, then check in with Figo's office and introduce you to a couple people you should probably know. Then you can check out a gun."
"A gun?"
"They come in handy," said a voice right behind Cesc. Cesc nearly jumped out of his skin.
Villa, looking far too smug, handed Cesc a slim leather wallet. "Here."
Cesc flipped it open curiously. On one side was a standard head shot of Cesc he was sure he'd never sat for; on the other, his height, weight, hair and eye color, a signature that definitely wasn't his, and the name Francisco Macià.
"Macià," he said aloud, trying it out. The unfamiliar name sat awkwardly on his tongue.
"You probably won't need the signature much, but you should probably practice it when you've got some free time, just in case," Silva said. "Don't lose the badge if you can help it. The chip gets you into the building - see, right there." He pointed to an almost imperceptible rise in the corner.
"Come on," Villa said, heading in the direction of the hall. "Back to security, they've got to scan you."
Cesc frowned. "What kind of scan," he started to say suspiciously, when he was interrupted by two identical piercing beeps.
Silva and Villa both stopped short and looked at each other. "You take it," said Villa. Before the words were out of his mouth Silva had his mobile up to his ear.
"Silva here," he said, and then, "Yes, sir." Then, "Has Figo talked to you...? No. I mean, yes. I - would you rather talk to Da - sorry, Agent Villa?" He blanched. "Oh, no, I - okay. Yes. Got it. Thank you."
He flipped the mobile closed and said, "Raúl."
Villa's jaw jutted out. "What's he want."
"They've tracked Žigić to a location in Carabanchel," Silva said, not smiling now. "We've got to go." He began moving again, swiftly, toward the elevator.
Cesc hurried to follow. Villa was already in step. "What? You're kidding. He's giving that to us the kid's first day?"
"Hey," Cesc said, but neither Villa nor Silva were listening.
They reached the elevator and Silva ran a hand through his hair. "We did do most of the work on Žigić," he said. "He's not exactly a heavyweight. It'll look strange if we're not the ones to bring him in, especially with a trainee who's supposed to be..." He trailed off.
Villa blew out a breath. "Fine. Whatever. We don't have time for this shit."
"Okay. Cesc - " The elevator pinged. Silva stopped, and then said, "Just follow us and I'll explain in the car. Okay?" Villa was already punching a button inside.
Bewildered, Cesc followed.
The car skidded around another sharp corner and David heard a thump from the back seat. He twisted around; Cesc had been thrown across the seat and was rubbing his head.
"Sorry," David said automatically, even though apologizing for David Villa's driving was an exercise in repetition.
Cesc didn't seem to mind too much. He looked sort of excited, actually. "This guy tried to smuggle himself into a bank on a mail cart?"
"He's eight fucking feet tall," Villa said with his eyes on the road. "Who'd he think wouldn't notice?"
"Anyway, that wouldn't normally get us involved," David said, "but it turned out he'd been doing a lot of business with forged passports on the side, and when the police showed up he panicked. Assaulted an officer, jumped the border, landed in our lap." At Cesc's face, he felt compelled to add, "Sorry. It's not all bombs and organized crime."
"Two minutes," said Villa. David's mobile beeped, signaling an incoming message.
It was Raúl's office. Subdue with minimal force.
"Minimal force," he said to Villa, who grunted and swerved the car the wrong way down a one-way street. David knew better than to think that was agreement.
"So what should I do?" Cesc asked from the back seat.
"Um - " David twisted back around. "Stick close to me or Villa and do exactly what we say. Do you know any kind of martial arts, or self-defense...?"
"I took karate in primary school?"
Villa made a noise that David had no trouble translating as I told you so. "Okay," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Um - "
Villa left one hand on the steering wheel and reached inside his jacket with the other. "Give him that," he said to David, and handed over one of his handguns.
David also knew better than to ask if he was sure. He passed it back to Cesc, who took it gingerly.
"Um," said Cesc, "I'll try, but I don't really know how to shoo - "
"Don't shoot it," he and Villa said simultaneously. Cesc looked from the gun to the front seat, wounded. "But then what - "
"Time," Villa said, swerving around one final sharp corner, and the car shuddered to a stop.
"Just - hang on to it and try to look like you know what you're doing," David said hurriedly, just before Villa opened the door.
The abandoned workshop where Žigić had run to ground should have been knocked down five years ago, according to city council reports; it had been empty for closer to fifteen. The street backing on to it was narrow and grimy, and there wasn't a soul in sight.
Half the neighboring buildings must have been deserted; they all looked it. David scanned the upper windows. Not so much as a curtain moved.
Villa gave David the signal for silence and took the lead to a small run-down door that must have once been the back entrance.
Villa tried the handle. It rattled, but only gave an inch. He put a shoulder against it and heaved, and it burst inward with a scraping screech. David turned to Cesc and put a finger to his lips, then followed Villa inside.
Faint sunlight filtered through the filthy windows. The wide room was empty of furniture; boxes half-full of unidentifiable machinery parts lay toppled and haphazardly stacked and several wooden planks leaned against one wall. Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust - which made the footprints leading out the doorway on the other side of the room stand out with brazen clarity.
Villa moved forward silently like a wolf on the scent. David fell back, and gestured for Cesc to go ahead of him. He did so, gripping Villa's gun awkwardly; his head darted from side to side and David could tell from his quickened breathing that his pulse had already picked up.
The open doorway led into what first looked like a labyrinth - the first of a warren of cramped, low-ceilinged workrooms cluttered with building debris and raw materials, connected by similar open thresholds. In the corner, a heavy wooden staircase disappeared into a hole in the ceiling.
Villa fell back so they were out of the line of sight of any of the doorways. He signaled to David, Upstairs.
David nodded. Split up.
Cover the exits. Take him.
David nodded again. He was peripherally aware of Cesc looking back and forth between the two of them; now as Villa prowled forward, he turned to Cesc and motioned for him to follow David farther into the building. If they could close off the front entrance, either Žigić would be forced to the back or Villa would find him first. David was betting on Villa.
Just as he began to move forward, there was a thump overhead.
For a minute, there was absolute stillness. Then, a muffled crash, and heavy running footsteps.
Villa was off. David put a hand on Cesc's arm; Cesc had started badly at the crash and now whipped around with wide eyes at David's touch. David looked to where Villa's feet had just vanished from the top step, then back at Cesc, and shook his head; Cesc seemed to get the message and David released him.
Now David had to decide whether Žigić would go for the front or the back. The window panes were too narrow for someone of his size but there was no way now to know if there were any other potential exits - or any other stairways. David gestured for Cesc to stay put and moved cautiously forward, squinting into the dark recesses ahead.
He heard, very faintly, what sounded like another thump overhead.
It was in the direction of the front - assuming he could trust the acoustics. David made a split-second decision and gestured for Cesc to come forward. Every nerve attuned to any sound from the upper floor, David led the way into the dark warren.
It was a mess. Away from the outer windows, the room was shrouded in a dim gloom; hulking and damaged furniture wedged together with more abandoned machinery loomed everywhere, shadow-like. The floor was strewn with rubbish. The other doorway, to the left, seemed to lead into a room equally dark and chaotic. David strove to recall the blueprints he'd barely had a chance to glance at on his handheld, but even if he could have remembered them perfectly they were about fifty years out of date.
He stopped for a minute to listen. Overhead, there was nothing but silence.
A fit of stifled coughing broke out behind him. The dust was even thicker here; David realized he'd automatically held a sleeve up to his mouth to filter the air. He looked over his shoulder. Cesc was doing his best to muffle the sound into his elbow and his shoulders shook as he gave David a look both guilty and apologetic.
David waved him off, turned back around and promptly banged his shins against a lopsided stool.
Slowly, they picked their way through three more dark and cluttered workspaces. There was no sound but their own footsteps. Cesc's heavy breathing hung in the silence.
There was no sign of Žigić's presence, recent or otherwise, anywhere.
There were nearly to the front side of the building - a shaft of daylight sifted in through the doorway, indicating windows beyond - when David heard an unmistakable creak from behind them.
He swiveled around and thrust an arm in front of Cesc. "Stay back," he murmured under his breath. Cesc nodded quickly. He was breathing far too rapidly, but David didn't have time to worry about calming him.
David edged forward along the wall, gun at the ready. One heartbeat, two - Instinct prickled, his pulse jumped, and he leaped through the open doorway.
The room was empty.
Cautiously, Cesc crept up beside him.
Then there was the crack of splintering wood, and Žigić crashed through the ceiling.
Cesc's heart was racing so fast he could barely catch his breath. Half the rotting ceiling seemed to have fallen in, flooding the workroom with musty daylight. Žigić lay sprawled on his back, clearly dazed. He struggled up on his elbows and his head moved unsteadily from side to side, taking in Silva, Cesc, the doorway they were blocking - and the one behind him they weren't.
Silva was standing in front of Cesc - Cesc had barely realized he'd moved. If he was at all surprised, he was doing a good job of not showing it. He held his gun loosely at his side; Cesc guessed it was supposed to make him look less threatening, but to Cesc's eyes the competence radiating from every tensed line of his body negated the effect.
"Get away," Žigić gasped, scrabbling back toward the doorway behind him. "Or - or - "
He was unshaven and his face a sickly white - with fear or malnutrition, Cesc couldn’t tell. Sweat trickled down his neck. And he was really, really tall.
His hand was creeping toward his pocket. "I wouldn't," Silva said, and Žigić's hand froze.
Slowly, without taking his eyes from Silva, Žigić pushed himself up into a crouch. When Silva didn't react, Žigić got all the way to his feet. Cesc looked quickly at Silva, who still didn't move. Žigić was tensed - was it for fight or flight? Cesc's palms were sweaty, and he could feel his pulse hammering out of control. If Žigić lunged -
Silva remained very still. When he spoke, it was in a low, soothing tone. "Come on, Nikola," he said. "You're not in serious trouble. Just come in with us and we'll do our best to make sure you're treated well."
Žigić licked his lips. His chest was heaving. "Us," he said. "Who's us."
"My partner and I," Silva said.
"That's not your partner," Žigić said. His voice was high and shaking. Cesc could see him trembling from across the room. "Who's that? Where is he? Tell me!"
"Right here," David Villa said, striding through the far doorway, and jammed a taser between Žigić's shoulders. Žigić dropped like a ton of bricks.
Villa had him on his stomach and handcuffed before Cesc could even blink. As David Silva's shoulders relaxed, Villa said, "He's out. Must have hit his head on the way down."
Cesc's pulse was still pounding a mile a minute. He looked down and realized the hands gripping Villa's gun were white-knuckled. Silva holstered his gun and went up to check Žigić's pulse. "Time?"
Villa checked his watch. "Ten minutes, forty-seven seconds. Damn."
Silva looked disappointed. "Maybe next time."
"Ten minutes?" Cesc said. "That was ten minutes?"
"Our record's six minutes thirty," said Silva. He peered at Žigić's slack face. "Think he'll be okay?"
Villa shrugged. "Yeah, probably. Not our problem."
"Minimal force," Silva reminded him, and Villa grinned and said, "That was minimal."
Villa was in a good mood, Cesc realized. The air around him seemed to crackle, and his grin had an edge of something dangerous and heady.
Cesc eyed the body. "What happens now? Do we have to get him out of here ourselves?"
"Not this time," Silva said. "We call in to headquarters and they'll send along someone to take him off to a holding facility. David - "
Villa was already on the phone. " - got him. Send someone over." He hung up.
Silva cleared his throat and said to Cesc, "Usually there's a little more protocol involved."
It was only a few minutes before Cesc heard a distant creak, followed by footsteps. "Back up," Silva said, but Cesc didn't miss how he and Villa were suddenly tensed and alert again.
The footsteps drew closer. There was a resounding sneeze, and a tall head ducked under the lintel. Its owner stopped short at the sight of them and grinned. "If it isn't my favorite pair of deadly secret operatives," he said.
The newcomer was no Žigić, but next to Villa and Silva he seemed huge, tall and shambling, with shaggy brown hair and a wide grin. Silva's face lit up, and even Villa couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to smile or scowl.
"Morientes," he said, not unwelcomingly.
"Mori, good to see you," Silva said with a beaming smile, and then almost immediately his expression changed to one of regret. "Raúl didn't call you in, did he? Oh no, sorry - there's not really anything left for investigation - just a suspect to haul in - "
"I volunteered," Morientes interrupted. "Happened to be in the area. I like to see professionals at work. Who's this?"
The question caught Cesc offguard. He had an uneasy feeling Morientes could tell, a feeling supported by the dark look Villa shot at him.
Silva appeared not to take notice. "Our new trainee," he said. "Francisco Macià, Detective Inspector Fernando Morientes."
Cesc nearly missed his alias. Villa raised his eyes to heaven.
Morientes was clearly no fool. He looked from Cesc to Silva, who smiled implacably.
"Okay," he said finally, with another grin. "If David says so. Nice to meet you, Macià."
"Nice to meet you," Cesc muttered, and shook the outstretched hand.
"You got back up?" Villa asked.
"They'll be along." He looked at the insensate form sprawled on the floor and grinned. "The mail cart guy, right? I think we can handle it."
Neither agent responded, which made Cesc look at them curiously. Morientes intercepted his glance. "Hey, new kid," he said. "Want to give me a rundown?"
"He's not allowed to talk yet," Villa said, before Cesc could answer.
Silva began, "There's really not anything - "
"I'll just take a look around," Morientes said, still smiling, but with a hint of the same steel that Cesc had begun to realize was always lurking under Silva's guileless exterior.
Villa and Silva exchanged a glance. "Okay," Silva said after a minute, with good-natured resignation. "Raúl didn't actually call you, did he?"
"Nope," Morientes said cheerfully. "I cracked the encryption on one of the office's communication frequencies. Made sure to tell him I was coming, though."
Silva looked torn between a laugh and a grimace. Villa's snort was definitely amused.
"But I bet you thought so from the beginning, didn't you," Morientes went on. Silva looked vaguely contrite.
"Well," he said, and Morientes' eyes creased.
"So there's no chance of getting either of you to open up a little, huh? What happened, why are you after small fry like this guy?"
"Sorry," Silva said again. "You know the policy."
"All too well," Morientes agreed. "Speaking of which, how is your boss? He wasn't in the mood to talk." He began to pace in a circle around Žigić's prone form.
Villa's mouth flattened. "He's not our boss."
"Actually, he kind of is," Silva said, and glanced at Villa with a sigh. "He's the same as always."
"Still working too hard, I bet," said Morientes. Before either could answer, his eyes sharpened and he dropped to a crouch, peering at Žigić's upper back. "Aha," he said. "Taser. Isn't that a little tame for you, Villa?"
"Nice try," said Villa, looking amused again, and Silva, obviously trying not to laugh, added, "You're terrible."
"It's part of my charm," said Morientes, when Silva's mobile beeped.
He glanced at it, then made an apologetic face. "Sorry, Mori," he said. "Our people are here."
"Damn," said Morientes amiably. "All right, the chief won't like it if he hears I keep getting in your way. I guess I'm out of here. Give your boss my best." He turned to Cesc. "Good luck in the madhouse, Macià."
Cesc didn't know what to say other than, "Thanks." Morientes tossed them a wave and disappeared the way he'd come.
Not a minute later, two other men ducked through the same doorway, coughing all the way. They were wearing the same sort of sharp-edged suits as Villa and Silva, but something about them that Cesc couldn't put his finger on said "muscle".
The one in front - friendly face, long nose - whistled at the sight of Žigić. "Nice job," he said. "He's, what, twice your size?"
"Hi, Joan," said Silva, and "The fuck he is," said Villa.
'Joan' grinned. His partner - shaven head, solemn expression - nudged the prone form with one foot. "I thought Raúl said this was a minimal force job."
Villa opened his mouth and Silva interjected, "He hit his head on the way down. Can you take it from here? We were on our way to get our new recruit checked in when we got the call."
"What?" Joan's eyes went from Villa to Cesc and back with an unholy sort of glee. "You're in charge of a trainee? You?"
Villa bristled so obviously Cesc was surprised static electricity didn't crackle from his hair. "Damn straight. Got a problem?"
"Course not," said Joan, who wasn't even trying to hide his wide grin. "Good luck, new kid."
"Thanks," Cesc muttered again. This was obviously going to be a recurring theme.
"Thanks, Joan," said Silva. "Thanks, Senna." He snagged Villa's arm and yanked not very subtly in the direction of the door. Cesc obediently followed.
"So," he said as they emerged from the building and he judged the newcomers were definitely out of earshot. "What was that all about, with the cop? Morientes?"
Silva took a moment to choose his words carefully. "The local police don't always see... eye-to-eye with the bureau. Especially when we, ah, requisition support."
"Yeah," Villa said sardonically, "or make them clean up our mess." They reached the car.
"Our security classification is way beyond theirs so the policy is we're not really supposed to talk about a case if we haven't been cleared first," Silva went on, as they got inside. "Mori likes to do his best to find out what happened anyway. It's - sort of a thing."
Villa snorted. "'Sort of'," he said. The car started with a sputter and rolled down the street.
"So... I shouldn't tell the police anything if we run into them next time?" Cesc asked.
"Yes. I mean, no. Definitely not. Actually - " Silva looked like he was trying to be tactful. "You maybe shouldn't talk at all to anyone we haven't introduced you to. And, um, maybe work on your poker face."
"Oh," said Cesc, deflating a little. "Okay."
"But you did well," Silva added, in an encouraging sort of tone. "You didn't get yourself in danger, and you didn't get in the way. That's harder than it sounds."
"Yeah?" Cesc said, perking up a little despite himself.
Silva nodded. Villa, to Cesc's surprise, didn't offer a contradiction, so maybe it was true. He felt the faintest hint of a warm glow.
They pulled up outside headquarters in somewhat more time than the outgoing trip had taken. This time, Silva peeled off to, he said, go pick up the necessary paperwork, and Villa took Cesc to the seventh floor.
"Security," he said. "They're all pretty weird, but - " he shrugged, "pretty damn good."
The elevator opened onto a single white hall. It was empty.
At one end was a heavy steel door. A security unit was mounted on the wall next to it. Villa punched in a code, then placed his hand against the pad. The unit flashed red, beeped, and an automated voice prompted for his name and ID number.
"David Villa Sánchez, 33207."
There was another beep, and with a wheeze the door slid open. Villa gestured Cesc forward.
He went through the door and his eyes widened.
The room was long and windowless. Banks of television lined one wall, showing every angle of the headquarters' interior - but also, Cesc realized as he stared at them, closed circuit feed of Madrid's metro stations and - was that the Parliament building? On the next wall was a massive LED screen, currently displaying an overhead map of the greater Madrid area marked by several blinking dots. In front of it, a man and a woman were involved in a heated discussion. A line of workstations ran down the middle of the room, each manned by someone absorbed in their screen.
This was more like it.
"Hey," Villa said, raising his voice, "I need a new input here!"
A dark-haired kid who looked younger than Cesc detached himself from one of the workstations and came over to them. He looked at Cesc questioningly.
"New recruit," Villa said. "Macià, number 54104. He needs to get in the system. Badge," he said to Cesc. Cesc scrambled to produce it. The kid scrutinized it and his face broke into a smile.
"Martínez," he said. "Nice to meet you. This way."
Martínez led him over to a corner, where he fired up an intimidating conglomeration of screens and wires and slick black electronics. His fingers flew across the keys faster than anyone Cesc had ever seen, and after a moment, he told Cesc to step up and place his hand against the screen in front of him.
Villa slouched against the wall, tapping at his handheld, as Martínez recorded Cesc's fingerprints, handprints, a retinal scan, and several different vocal recognition keys. Silva rejoined them while Martínez was having Cesc test his responses against a mock security prompt. Martínez ran a check, a double-check, a triple-check, and finally pronounced Cesc free to go.
As he and Silva and Villa returned to the sterile outer hall, a thought occurred to Cesc. "Hey," he said. "Isn't it sort of, you know, dangerous to have this much information lying around? If I'm supposed to be dead?"
"Good point," said Villa, and before Cesc had time to recover from his double take, "but we can't integrate you into the system without it and you have to look ordinary to everyone else around here." He smirked. "Plus, you saw the place. Our IT security's not bad."
"Besides," Silva added, "nothing besides your fingerprints should be on record anywhere else. Unless you've had a reason to get a retinal scan before." Cesc shook his head. Silva turned to Villa. "That's an idea, though - I wonder if we should change his fingerprint records?"
They boarded the elevator again. "Nah," said Villa. "They'll have been examined too recently. The London team had to laser the fingerprints on the bo - ow, fuck!"
Silva removed his elbow from Villa's side and glanced at Cesc.
Cesc was more unsettled than he wanted to let on. He didn't want to pursue it. "Where are we going now?" he asked instead.
"The chief's office," Villa said. "If he's in."
"And deputy chief's," Silva added. "That's Raúl González - he runs most of the day-to-day operations here."
So that was the mysterious Raúl. If he was the deputy chief, what was Villa's problem with him? Cesc wasn't stupid enough to ask, but that didn't mean he didn't really want to.
The elevator let them off at the fifteenth floor, near the top. At first it seemed like just more ordinary offices - until they turned a corner and the corridor came to a sudden end in front of a glass wall, double doors emblazoned with a large seal Cesc had never seen before.
There was no extra security here. Villa pushed one of the doors open.
A clamor of voices filled the air, over what sounded like a dozen mobile phones going off at once. Someone shouldered Cesc aside and dashed out the door. It took him to minute to realize that all the commotion was coming from what couldn't be more than half a dozen people, each attempting to be in at least three places at once.
Villa was glaring at the room at large. "It's always like this here," Silva said to Cesc in a low voice. "You get used to it, sort of." He got the attention of the nearest scurrier and nodded toward a pair of doors in the back wall. "Is Figo - "
One of the doors swung open with no small amount of force and everyone stilled. The man who stood in the doorway wasn't particularly tall or physically imposing, but he dominated the room effortlessly. His dark eyes lit on them.
"Villa," he said. "Silva. Get your protégé in here and shut the door." His gaze swept the rest of the area and he raised his eyebrows; suddenly everyone was working with doubled intensity.
The office was wide and well-lit, with a sweeping view over the city. Cesc forgot about it within seconds. As soon as the door shut, Raúl said bluntly, "Capdevila and Senna were ambushed on their way to the holding facility."
It took Cesc a second to connect the names with the pair who'd taken custody of Žigić in Carabanchel. His mouth dropped oven. Next to him, Villa had gone rigid, and when Cesc glanced over, Silva's eyes were wide.
But Raúl wasn't finished. "Senna was shot in the shoulder. Žigić ran. Capdevila thinks they were trying to spring him and he thinks they were organized."
The ringing silence was broken by Villa saying, "Well, fuck."
* * *
Part 2