“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.
