The Galician Parallax Read Online Free Page B

above my head…’
    ‘Sr Consul, if my hunch is right, this is too bloody serious to be ignored. It could even involve your country. Trouble is I can’t prove it and my outfit doesn’t want to know.’
    Stan was about to refute Sergio’s argument when the lieutenant used up his last shot. ‘Ever since the attack on the World Trade Centre in New York, the Yanks have been insisting that Europe could be the next target.’
    ‘That argument is not new, Lieutenant.’
    As if pleading, Sergio said, ‘I think Simmons stumbled onto something without realising it. If we…’
    ‘What do you mean “we”?’
    ‘I want to check a few things out but I need your help.’
    Stan stood up. ‘Sorry Lieutenant, but no go.’
    Sergio lowered his head; then looked up and out towards one of the windows of the club. The large Cangas ferry was docking just below. He didn’t push any further. Sergio pulled out his notepad, wrote down two numbers and handed the page to Stan.
    ‘Just in case, this is my personal mobile and my girlfriend Gloria’s. They’re both unlisted numbers.’ He put on his jacket, walked towards the exit. He waved back.
    ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
Alcala de Henares Railway Station, Madrid, 11 March
    ‘Today’s the day,’ said Felipe as he kissed his wife and small daughter en route to the station, with his recently authorised work permit neatly tucked in a pocket of his rucksack.
    He was off to Madrid to start a new job as a cook in one of the four-star hotels in the centre of the capital. It had taken him several months to comply with all the immigration regulations and, as were many Ecuadorians with a young family to support, was eager to start a new life in Spain away from the poverty of his home country. Feeling on top of the world, he waited patiently on platform 2 with dozens of other passengers for the 07:00 train to Atocha, the main central station. As the train pulled out and was five minutes along the tracks, the platform once again filled up with commuters for the next one scheduled to leave a few minutes later.
    Roberto and Isidoro, two medical students specialising in orthopaedic surgery and in their final year, were exchanging views on the mid-term exam due to start at ten sharp in the morning.
    ‘I spoke to Professor Sanjurjo last week and he kept harping on about the importance of osteoarthritis of the spinal cord as if hinting it could be one of today’s questions,’ said Roberto.
    ‘Don’t bank on it,’ replied Isidoro, ‘though I agree that the spine is hot stuff at the moment.’
    The 07:10 train began to pull into the station, cutting short their argument on what to expect when they sat down at their desks.
    ‘See you in court,’ said Roberto jokingly as they jostled for room in the carriage.
    Two more trains had arrived and left and all were now travelling en route to Madrid. Thousands of commuters of dozens of nationalities and all walks of life, seated or standing, talking or deep in thought, each immersed in a world of their own were routinely travelling towards their daily destination.
    At 07:35, Habib’s group, scattered around the neighbourhood, began sending SIM messages on their mobiles as planned.
Atocha Station, Madrid
    At 07:37 the first bomb exploded followed by two more at four-second intervals as the train entered the station. As another train was leaving El Pozo del Tío Raimundo station two more bombs exploded followed by yet another on the train in Santa Eugenia station. Finally four bombs exploded in different carriages on the train in Téllez Street station.
    Felipe was killed outright. Roberto and Isidoro, on the second train and in one of the blown up carriages, survived the blast. They had suffered superficial cuts by flying shrapnel. Nevertheless, after recovering from the initial shock they were able to assist some of the dozens of wounded scattered around them.
    Their examination had turned into a real live test of their medical knowledge.

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