“Now that you mention it, they do look like—”

Fermín grunted and pushed Fernandito back into the waiting room.

“Do you think the manager has alerted the police?” asked the boy.

“This is going to be more complicated than I thought. There’s no time to lose. Fernandito, you’re going to have to lend me a hand.”

“I’ll lend you two, if need be. Order away.”

“I want you to go back to the Sempere & Sons bookshop and speak to Bea.”

“Bea?”

“Daniel’s wife.”

“And how will I know—”

“You can’t go wrong. She’s the cleverest of the bunch, and besides, she’s a stunner, but a modest one, so don’t get the wrong idea.”

“And what do I say to her?”

“That we’re going to have to play the queen’s gambit sooner than we’d anticipated.”

“The queen’s gambit?”

“She’ll understand. And tell her to send Daniel over to warn Isaac.”

“Isaac? What Isaac?”

Fermín huffed, exasperated by Fernandito’s slow reflexes.

“Perhaps Isaac Monturiol, inventor of the submarine. Plain Isaac. Do I need to write it down for you?”

“No, it’s all engraved on my mind.”

“Well then, beat it, we’re already late.”

“What about you? Where are you going?”

Fermín winked at him. “A war can’t be won without the infantry.”

34

By the time Fermín left the hospital and went down to the beach, the storm had passed. The wind blew onshore, dragging in waves that broke on the sand barely a few meters from the rim of the shantytown—a vast citadel of huts spreading as far as the eye could see, right up to the walls of the Pueblo Nuevo Cemetery. Even the dead had a better home than that lot of lost souls who scraped together an existence at the edge of the sea, Fermín told himself.

A chorus of suspicious looks greeted him as he walked up an alleyway flanked by hovels. Ragged children, haggard women, and men who looked twice their age watched as he walked by. Soon a quartet of wild-looking youngsters appeared, surrounding him and barring his way.

“Are you lost, payo?”

“I’m looking for Armando,” said Fermín, without a hint of nervousness or fear.

One of them had a scar across his face, running from forehead to cheek. He stepped forward with a menacing grin and looked defiantly into Fermín’s eyes.

Fermín held his gaze. “Armando,” he repeated. “I’m a friend of his.”

The youth sized up his opponent, whom he could have eliminated with a mere slap, and finally he smiled. “Weren’t you the dead one?” he asked.

“I changed my mind at the last minute,” said Fermín.

“On the beach,” said the young man, pointing with his head.

Fermín signaled his gratitude, and the youths stood to one side. Then he continued along the alleyway for about a hundred meters, his presence now ignored by the locals. The path turned toward the sea, and Fermín heard children’s voices and laughter coming from the beach. He walked on and soon became aware of what had drawn the children to the water’s edge.