“Because if you do, I’ll give you the money.” He looked from one man to the other. “All three million of it. A million for each of you. And the Freires and the Docampos can explain the dead guy to the Guardia Civil.”
He’d done it. He’d thrown the bait into the water, and now he had to see if the sharks would bite. The lighthouse keepers looked at each other in mute conversation. Finally, Ibaibarriaga shrugged and nodded. “Sounds good to me ... but there’s something I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“What’s in it for you, Lobeira?”
“Don’t you think that preventing a massacre is enough?” Roberto set his knife and fork noisily down on the table. “That’s more than sufficient for me. And getting off this damn island as soon as possible, obviously.”
“What about the islanders?” asked Pazos, scratching his head. “How are they going to feel about getting nothing?”
“They don’t have much choice,” he said. “I’m the only one who knows where the money is.”
“Cunning.” Pazos looked at him. “And where might that be?”
“Somewhere nice and safe,” replied Roberto.
“And what are you going to tell the authorities when they show up?”
“Nothing about the money, obviously. That’s between us. I’m just going to tell them about the guy who got his head chopped off. That’ll give them more than enough to think about.”
The three lighthouse keepers huddled together and whispered to each other. Finally, they seemed to have reached an agreement.
“Looks like you’ve got it all worked out.” Ibaibarriaga nodded in approval. “You win. Let’s make that radio call.”
They exited the kitchen and walked down the high-ceilinged hallway. To Roberto’s surprise, they continued past the door to the room in which he and Ibaibarriaga had spoken before.
“Isn’t this it here?”
“That radio doesn’t have a big enough range,” the man explained. “We only use it to communicate with the patrol boats when they’re close to the island. And in this weather, nobody will be out. We need the shortwave transmitter. It’s in the other room.”
They continued down the hallway and through a large room that was like a museum, full of old kerosene lamps, marker buoys, and a table strewn with whale bones that had been washed up by the tide. On the far side of the room was a door.
“Visitors first,” Ibaibarriaga said.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, Roberto realized something was wrong. The room was completely empty, except for an old carpenter’s bench in the middle. The floor was covered with paint and oil stains, but there was no sign of a radio.
“I don’t get it.” He turned. “There’s no—”
He bent double as Ibaibarriaga punched him hard in the stomach. Panting, he tried to force air into his lungs and to avoid vomiting, all at the same time.
Pazos and Varatorta grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to stand upright.
Ibaibarriaga brought his face right up close to Roberto’s. “And now you’re going to tell me where the money is,” he said. “No lies.”
“I don’t ... I don’t ...” Roberto panted. “I don’t understand. We have to do something or they’ll all kill each other.”
“I don’t give a shit about the Freires and the Docampos,” the man replied. “If they’re busy gouging each other’s eyes out, it’ll be easier for us to take the dough. And if you say there’s three million, that means there’s more, much more. Where is it?”
“I’m ... not ... telling ... you.” The last word came out mixed with a spray of saliva.
Another punch, this time to the ribs. Roberto began to see little sparks of color dancing before his eyes as he gasped like a fish out of water.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’s the money?”
Roberto shook his head and received another brutal blow. His legs buckled, and if the other two hadn’t had a firm grasp of him, he would have fallen.
“You’re going to force me to really hurt you.” Ibaibarriaga rubbed his knuckles. “Pazos, search this idiot; see what he’s carrying.”
