Chapter 45 Always Another Way Out
Always Another Way Out
When they reached the esplanade in front of the lighthouse, the column of smoke behind them was already hundreds of feet high, a thick dark line bisecting the clear morning sky.
The sun bounced blindingly off the mirror at the top of the lighthouse, and there was an absolute stillness to the air, broken when the SUV came to a screeching halt outside the building.
“Get him inside!” Ibaibarriaga jumped out almost before Roberto had stopped. “I’ll go open the door!” He dashed ahead with the duffel bags. He hadn’t let them out of his sight for a moment and didn’t appear to intend to do so even now.
“Pretty clear where his priorities lie,” Antía said as she and Roberto struggled with the inert Pazos.
“The money’s gotten hold of him,” Roberto said, lifting Pazos by the shoulder. “Like everyone else on this island. But that’s a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes people lose perspective. They don’t see the whole picture. We need to keep it that way.”
“You and your plan,” Antía sighed as they started toward the lighthouse, carrying Pazos between them.
Roberto bit his cheek, trying to bear the pain. Carrying an unconscious, fully grown adult was like carrying a block of cement. Doing it with a shattered knee and several broken ribs was out-and-out torture.
When they finally got to the tiled entrance hall, Ibaibarriaga was there to lead them through to a small room with posters of bands on the walls and a record player in one corner, as well as an ancient-looking computer.
“Put him on his bed,” he said. “He doesn’t look good.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Antía. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“There’s one in the living room. But I’ve decided to keep one of you in my sight at all times. Diego, you can come with me.”
With them gone, it meant Antía and Roberto were finally alone. They were walking a tightrope.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, shaking her head. “Jumping out and just walking up to Ibaibarriaga like that!”
“Well, in the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been beaten up, I almost fell off a lighthouse, I’ve been shot at, thrown off a cliff, a psychopath has tied me to a table,” he said casually. “I’ve had to more or less swim from Onza in the darkness, in the middle of a storm . . .”
“Okay, okay, I take your point. Another normal day in Ons!”
“More or less!” Roberto laughed, but that brought an excruciating stab in his ribs. “You could have warned me when I showed up here. I would have appreciated that.”
“I said don’t go wandering by the cliffs at night. It isn’t my fault if you chose not to listen.”
“Touché,” Roberto said, tilting his head.
They fell silent, basking in a rare moment of peace. They were both aware of the strange sense of calm that sprang up between them.
“So what’s next?” Antía said eventually.
“The Colombians will show up before too long,” Roberto said, again wincing, “and we’ll have to play our final hand.”
“How do you know they’ll come here?”
“They saw Ibaibarriaga go off with the money. By now they’ll have worked out from Tristán and your sister that he’s the lighthouse keeper. The only logical thing is for them to come straight here.”
“You seem very calm,” she said with a tired smile. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Ever since I came to this place, I’ve been behind the curve,” Roberto said. “It’s just nice to be ahead of it for once.”
“And Varatorta, where’s he?”
“That’s a good question,” he admitted. “It’s the one loose end right now.”
“He can’t be far. Let’s have a look around.”
They went down the hallway to Varatorta’s bedroom.
Unlike those of Pazos and Ibaibarriaga, it was sterile and Spartan, almost completely devoid of decoration.
There were a table and chair, a bed with a faded gray cover, and a wardrobe with nothing but clothes inside it—nothing at all to suggest its occupant’s desires or the way he kept himself entertained.
“Gives me the creeps,” Antía muttered. “There’s a weird . . . nothingness about it.”
“His real game room is elsewhere.” Roberto clenched his fists as he remembered waking up tied to the table in the spine-tingling cave. “This is merely what he wants others to see.”
Just then, Diego appeared with the first-aid kit. It was in a sturdy, leather-bound case bearing the insignia of the Spanish Ports of the State.
“Thank you, Diego,” Antía said, taking it from him.
“He’s got a bullet in his stomach,” Roberto said uneasily. “What can you do?”
“There’s no doctor on the island. I’ve done a few first-aid courses but . . .” She trailed off.
It was clear to them both that if he didn’t get to the mainland soon, he’d be dead.
“Where’s Ibaibarriaga?” Roberto asked Diego.
“He’s boarding up the ground-floor windows,” the boy replied, flapping his arms around. “The planks are gigantic! I don’t know how he can lift them.”
“Stay with Antía. I’m going to give him a hand.”
Roberto limped down the hallway to the kitchen. There he found Ibaibarriaga lifting up a plank and slotting it into brackets on either side of one of the windows.
Diego was right to be amazed. Each of the planks was indeed enormously wide and thick, but the lighthouse keeper, brawny forearms bulging, picked them up with seeming ease.
“All done,” he said, wiping the sweat from his bald head. “We put these up for hurricanes. No chance of anyone getting through them!”
“Have you done all the windows?”
“Every last one. The front door’s sturdy as anything too. Even God couldn’t break that down.”
“Aren’t you worried about us getting stuck inside? What if we need to get out for some reason?”
“Jesus, all that trouble to get me to let you come in, and now you’re thinking about how to get out?” Ibaibarriaga then added, “Besides, nothing to worry about on that count. There’s always another way out.”
“What about Varatorta? Where do you think he’s gotten to?” He tried not to let his anxiety show.
“No idea,” Ibaibarriaga grunted. “He comes and goes like a house cat. Why?”
“We could use all the hands we can get.”
“He’ll show up. He can’t have any idea what he’s in for.”
If only you knew . . .
“Someone should go up top and keep watch,” Roberto said. He was feeling distinctly woozy, but the Colombians could be there at any moment.
“Good idea, let’s go this way.”
“Can’t you go? I’m not sure I can manage the stairs.”
“No way,” Ibaibarriaga said menacingly. “Like I said, I want to keep an eye on one of you guys at all times.”
Roberto grumbled but pushed himself on nonetheless.
Just keep going a little longer. Nearly there.
Climbing the narrow spiral staircase was agony. Each step was a summit to be conquered, his shattered knee a continuous fireworks display of pain. Ibaibarriaga finally took pity on him and slipped an arm around his waist to help him up the last stretch.
By the time they reached the landing for the light, Roberto was drenched in sweat.
Above their heads, they could hear the low swishing of the light as it spun on bearings that floated in mercury.
Ibaibarriaga threw open the door. Unlike the last time they had been there, there was only a gentle if drizzly breeze.
Roberto went over and put an eye to the telescope.
“Anything?” Ibaibarriaga said.
“Not yet,” answered Roberto, still scanning around. “Wait a second . . . There they are!”
Some way down the cement road, the Colombians were approaching on foot.
The one at the back, wounded in the shoulder, was limping badly, while Helena and Tristán came with them at gunpoint.
Roberto could also see that the gunman who was particularly short and thickset was carrying the MP 40 he had last seen at the Freire house.
That was bad news.
They hurried back downstairs, where they found Antía and Diego in the kitchen.
Diego had curled up on one of the benches and was snoring like an exhausted puppy, while Antía had found some tins of food.
She handed Roberto some sardines in oil, and realizing just how long it had been since he last ate, he proceeded to wolf them down.
“Help yourselves!” Ibaibarriaga huffed.
Roberto was about to come up with a retort, when they heard a thump followed by a scraping sound. To their astonishment, one of the kitchen sideboards, complete with platters, bowls, and plates, began to move, and then, as if by magic, it slid to one side, revealing a secret passageway.
There, looking disheveled and wearing a backpack, stood Varatorta. He gave an indecipherable smile.