“They’re calling this one Storm Armand,” he said. “It’s a big one, and it’s heading right this way across the Atlantic. It’ll be on top of us in the next twenty-four hours. We’re talking twenty-to-thirty-foot waves, and hurricane-force winds, seventy miles per hour. Do you know what that means?”
“Bad weather?”
Ibaibarriaga shook his head. “We’re going to be completely cut off from the mainland for at least a few days. No boats, no choppers. Until Armand passes, nothing and no one is going to be coming or going on the island.” He patted the radio transmitter. “The only comms will be via the cell tower or, if things get genuinely bad, with this.”
Roberto stood up. “I’ll go talk to them, but you’ll need to bear with me.”
“You’ve got until the storm passes,” said Ibaibarriaga. “Not a day more. Or else I’ll be calling the Guardia Civil. That’ll be bad for the families but much worse for you, given how much you’ve got to lose. I’m sure your readers won’t be very pleased to know the kind of trouble you’re in. A serious mess.”
You don’t know the half of it.
“You’d better get going.” Ibaibarriaga glanced out the window. “Looks like it’s eased somewhat, but who knows for how long.”
They left the library and started toward the front door. In the hallway, Varatorta and Pazos were busy stacking some heavy boxes.
“Off already, Mr. Lobeira?” Varatorta leaned on one of the boxes, mopped his brow, and held out his hand, clasping Roberto’s for a second or two longer than seemed necessary. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, I need to get off if I want to avoid getting drenched,” said Roberto, attempting his best poker face. “Thanks for the meal.”
“You’re welcome. Come back soon—if it’s all right with the boss, of course. And if you need something to read, feel free to use the library.”
“Of course!” Ibaibarriaga said, shaking Roberto’s hand effusively. He was once again the friendly bookworm—all trace of the cold and calculating dealmaker had gone. Roberto almost admired his brazenness. “Thank you so much for honoring us with your presence! As Varatorta says, you’re welcome anytime.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” Roberto held his gaze defiantly.
“Don’t be a stranger!” Ibaibarriaga winked at him, as if sharing some particularly amusing joke. “It’ll be such a delight to see you again.”
Roberto didn’t deign to answer this. Bidding farewell to the other two, he stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but the sky was if anything more leaden. Under the roaring wind, a dull, deep rumbling persisted, the waves pounding on the cliffs—a foretaste of the savage blasts that were going to be unleashed in a few short hours.
He set off almost at a run. The need to talk to Antía Freire had become an absolute priority. There was too much going on—he couldn’t handle it all by himself.
He needed someone to help him with his plan, someone he could trust.
He didn’t know for sure if Antía was the right person, but he didn’t have much choice.
The clock was ticking.
18
A Serious Problem
When Roberto woke the next day, it was immediately clear that all his plans would have to wait. Storm Armand had been unleashed in all its fury, and even the thought of going outside was madness. The windows rattled in the gale, and visibility was virtually nil. The house juddered and creaked as one gust after another assailed it.
He’d had time to think things over but had failed to come up with much. Until he managed to get hold of the hammer that had his fingerprints on it, the blackmailing Docampos would have him right where they wanted him. If Tristán kept his word and delivered it to him, then perhaps he could use the lighthouse keepers’ ambitions against them. If he could get them in a fight with the islanders, he’d be left on the sidelines—at least until he managed to get off the accursed island and notify the authorities. But if not, he would have to find another way to evade their clutches.
And then there was the matter of the night marauder going around beheading animals. He found the tale of the vengefulTangarañohard to swallow. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Or, at least, he didn’t think he did. In any case, if it was a flesh-and-bone human, there was still the question of who it was and what they wanted from Roberto.
The alternative ...? He felt insane just thinking about it.
There was far too much on his mind, in any case, for him to get any writing done, as he saw to his dismay after struggling to make any headway on the second chapter. There was nothing he could do but let the hours pass until Armand let up. As soon as it slackened off a little, he wrapped up and left the house.
The footpath glistened with all the water that had come down over the preceding hours. The light had shifted, and a faint gloom pervaded everything, a harbinger of the absolute darkness that the stormy night would bring. He checked his watch: It was already past five o’clock, meaning nightfall wasn’t far off.
He didn’t know if Antía Freire would have accepted his proposal to meet, but there was only one way to find out: He had to go back to the lovers’ hideaway to see if anyone had left him a note. If not, he would have to go to El Cucorno and make up some excuse, however implausible, to get a moment with her.
With that decision made, he quickened his pace.
Time was running out.
