“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 ...nothingnessabout 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?”
