Only Antía, standing beside her mother, seemed to share his doubts, but she remained silent, a worried look on her face. Roberto exchanged a glance with her.My hands are tied,she seemed to say.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s open the damn thing and see what’s inside.”
“That’s the spirit!” Luis Docampo clapped him on the back, so hard that he almost choked. “We need tools.”
Someone ran off and returned with a hammer, an axe, and a chisel. They presented the tools to Luis, but he shook his head and pointed to Roberto.
“The one that finds it opens it,” he said with a twisted smile. “Come on, writer. Go ahead.”
Roberto picked up the hammer and the chisel and squatted down beside the bundle. He rested the end of the chisel against a link of the chain and struck it with the hammer. There was a loud clang, and the chisel almost jumped out of his hand.
“Harder, man!” Luis urged him. “We don’t have all day.”
Roberto gritted his teeth and struck another blow. He quickly got into a rhythm and hammered away at the chain with gusto. At each blow, small shavings of iron flew off, and the dent in the link gradually grew larger. He was soon sweating from the effort. His hands were burning and his arms were heavy, but that didn’t stop him.
A sharp clink brought him back to reality. The link had split in two, and the chain hung loose.
“Here.” He passed the hammer to Diego without looking at him. “Hold this for me.”
He pulled the chains off and, with the tip of the chisel, slashed the yellow plastic. Underneath was another layer of plastic, transparent and much thicker—someone had gone to a great deal of trouble waterproofing whatever was inside. There was layer upon layer of cellophane, which he gradually cut his way through.
Finally, when he had opened up a hole large enough for his fingers, he put down the chisel and pulled hard with both hands. The plastic ripped, exposing a gap about eight inches long.
There was just one final layer of black plastic. Holding his breath, Roberto tore it off, and his eyes almost popped out.
For all his speculation about what might be inside, he hadn’t expected this.
“So?” asked Luis Docampo, impatiently. “What is it?”
By way of reply, Roberto thrust his hand inside and gingerly turned around, as if he were handling dynamite.
A faint murmur of surprise rippled through the onlookers.
In his hand was a wad of five-hundred-euro notes, held together with a rubber band. And under that was more. Much more.
The yellow bundle that had almost cost him his life was full of money.
More money than he could even imagine.
10
“A Whole Lot of Money”
Rosalía Freire was the first to recover the power of speech.
“Is that ... money?” she asked, her voice tight with tension. “Real money?”
“Looks like it,” said Roberto. “I’m not sure but, yes, I think so.”
“How much?”
“There’s only one way we could find that out.” He pointed at the bundle. “We’d have to count it.”
“So what are we waiting for?” Ramón Docampo stepped forward impatiently. “Open it up.”
“Hang on!” protested Roberto. “We already know what’s in there. It’s the Guardia Civil’s business now.”
“How much do you think there is?” Ignoring Roberto’s words, Luis Docampo had extracted another wad of notes from the bundle.
