Chapter 42 Roberto’s Plan
Roberto’s Plan
The sun hung low in the January sky when Roberto, Antía, and Diego reached the village. For the first time in almost a week, a patch of blue could be seen, a sign that Storm Armand was finally moving away toward the interior of the Spanish mainland.
In the thin early light, the main street presented a bleak picture.
The damaged facades looked as if they were covered in some terrible rash, and not a single window had gone unharmed.
They moved down the deserted road, broken glass crunching underfoot, looking around with a mixture of astonishment and concern.
It was like being in a ghost town. Finally, they stopped outside the tattered church so that Roberto could have a brief rest.
“Are you okay?” Antía said. “We can wait a little longer, until you feel stronger.”
Roberto slumped down on the stone steps.
Surrounded by the boards that had been ripped from the door, he was assailed by the memory of all that had happened since the day when, right in that spot, with the excited Freires and Docampos around him, he had opened a mysterious bundle that the tides had carried to Ons.
Somehow it all seemed like someone else’s memories.
“I’m okay,” he said, leaning on her to bring himself to standing once more. “We don’t have time to rest. There’s still a lot we need to do.”
And every minute counts.
As they’d been walking, Roberto had given Antía a whistle-stop account of everything that had happened since he had left Helena at the door of El Cucorno. This included a description of Varatorta’s bloodcurdling hideout, and he tried to ensure that Diego didn’t hear all the horrifying details.
At the part where the lighthouse keeper had told Roberto about his designs, Antía had clapped her hands over her cheeks in horror.
“I could have never imagined such things from Varatorta,” she said bitterly. “All the years he’s been living here . . . We should have noticed something, seen the signs.”
“But Diego did, remember? He told us there was a monster loose on the island. He just didn’t know how to explain it.”
“Poor Diego,” she said, looking over at the boy, who at that moment was deep in concentration, making a pile of pieces of glass on a stone. “We all just thought it was his imagination. Another one of his fantasies.”
“Everyone looks down on him because of his condition, but that’s exactly why he sees and hears more than anyone else, because people just act as though he isn’t there . . .”
“So where’s Varatorta now?”
“He could be anywhere. I don’t suppose you saw if he was with Ibaibarriaga at the graveyard?”
“I didn’t. It all happened so fast. I think it was just álvaro and that young assistant of his, Pazos, but I’m honestly not sure . . .”
“That’s a problem.” Roberto frowned. “It’s hard to predict Varatorta’s next move. I get the feeling that all his mental dams have burst, and he doesn’t care about consequences anymore. But, on the other hand, we have dealt with the most important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The war between your family and the Docampos—it’s over, or it’s on pause, at least.”
“You’re right there. They’ll all be holed up somewhere or other, licking their wounds.”
“With the fright they’ve had today, I imagine they won’t be quite so eager to see any bloodshed for a while . . . But you know them better than I do.”
“Yes,” Antía said. “It’s the money. Everything’s gotten out of hand since the money showed up. At least those Colombians have gone off with it, so we might have a bit of calm again.”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy. They don’t have the money, Antía.”
“Don’t they? I thought they ran off with the bags?”
Roberto grimaced.
“No, I got a good view of that part. They left the bags, and one of them had taken a bullet, but the others managed to grab Helena and Tristán as they were escaping. I saw them heading down to the beach, and they had guns to Helena’s and Tristán’s heads.”
“They took my sister?” Antía shuddered. “Why? Where have they taken them?”
“No idea.” Roberto bit his tongue. “But what I do know is that they won’t give up easily.
They’ve been sent here to recover that money, and in their line of work, failures aren’t tolerated.
The guy who’s leading them, the one with the blue eyes who never blinks, he’s a pro.
As soon as they’ve regrouped, they’ll be back. ”
“Back? Where, though?”
“To wherever the money is, of course.” They set off down the ravaged street again, Roberto dragging his injured leg.
“The money? Do you know where it is? What are you up to?”
“Like I said, I have a plan. I had time to think it over when I was crossing from Onza.”
“What can we do? We don’t have any guns, and there are only the two of us—three if we count Diego—and you look like you could pass out just about any second!”
“You’ll see . . .” Roberto said. “First, we need to contact the mainland.”
“The phones aren’t working, remember?” she said. “The cell tower? And the only radios we have are short range, for communicating on the island . . .”
“Right,” Roberto said grimly, still hobbling on. “But if we can’t make ourselves heard, we’ll have to make sure we’re seen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to light a fire,” he said. “The biggest fire Ons has ever seen, something they can’t help but see from the mainland.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Very simple.” He stopped and grinned at her. “We’re going to set fire to this damn village.”