The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘You want me to go in there? Into the factory?’

The governor sighed with impatience.

‘Not into the factory. Listen carefully. You see the house, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very good. Well, you walk to the gate, you slip in through the gap between the bars, and you go over to the lodge and knock on the door. Everything clear so far?’

The chauffeur nodded with little enthusiasm.

‘Right. Once you’ve knocked, someone will open the door, and then you say to him: “Durruti lives”.’

‘Durruti?’

‘Don’t interrupt. You just repeat what I’ve told you. They’ll give you something. Probably a case or a bundle. You bring it back here and that’s it. Simple, no?’

The chauffeur had gone pale and kept looking into the rear-view mirror, as if he expected someone or something to spring out from the shadows at any moment.

‘Calm down, Jaime. Nothing’s going to happen. I’m asking you to do this as a personal favour. Tell me, are you married?’

‘I got married three years ago, sir.’

‘Ah, that’s good. And do you have any children?’

‘We have a beautiful two-year-old girl, and my wife is expecting, sir.’

‘Congratulations. Family is what matters most, Jaime. You’re a good Spaniard. If you’ll accept, as an advance christening present, and as proof of my gratitude for your excellent work, I’ll give you a hundred pesetas. And if you do this small favour for me I’ll recommend you for a promotion. How would you like an office job in the Council? I have good friends there and they tell me they’re looking for men with character to pull the country out of the black hole the reds have left it in.’

The chauffeur smiled weakly at the mention of money and good prospects.

‘Won’t it be dangerous or …?’

‘Jaime, it’s me, the governor. Would I ask you to do something dangerous or illegal?’

The chauffeur looked at him but didn’t say anything. Valls smiled at him.

‘Repeat what it is you have to do, come on.’

‘I go up to the door of the house and knock. When they open the door, I say: “Long live Durruti”.’

‘Durruti lives.’

‘That’s it. Durruti lives. They give me a case and I bring it back.’

‘And we go home. That simple.’

The chauffeur nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, got out of the car and walked up to the gate. Valls watched his silhouette pass through the beams from the headlights and reach the entrance. There the chauffeur turned for a second to look at the car.

‘Go on, you idiot, go in,’ murmured Valls.

The chauffeur slipped in between the bars and, picking his way through rubble and weeds, slowly approached the door of the lodge. The governor pulled out the revolver he kept in the inside pocket of his coat and cocked the hammer. The chauffeur reached the door and stopped there. Valls saw him knock twice then wait. Almost a minute went by and nothing happened.

‘One more time,’ muttered Valls to himself.

The chauffeur was now looking towards the car, as if he didn’t know what to do next. Suddenly, a pale yellowish light filled the space where, just a second before, there had been a closed door. Valls saw the chauffeur uttering the password. He turned one more time to look at the car, smiling. The shot, fired at point-blank range, shattered his temple and went clean through his skull. A mist of blood emerged from the other side and the body, already dead, stood for a moment wrapped in a halo of gunpowder before collapsing to the ground like a br

oken doll.