Death of a Nationalist by Rebecca Pawel

Author:Rebecca Pawel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2009-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Tejada damned the full moon to seven kinds of hell as he slid past the gates of the post. The streets were deserted, but without the flood of moonlight it would have been easy to follow Señorita Fernández without her knowledge. Relatively easy, at least. Most of the streetlights were still out, and she was not expecting pursuit. On the other hand, she knew both the city and her destination and he did not. And she’s an intelligent woman, he thought, with a bitterness that seemed disproportionate to the offense.

He kept well behind her, so that she would not be alerted by the click of his boots on the cobblestones. She was walking quickly and showed no tendency to glance back. Tejada allowed her to draw ahead at first, fairly certain that she would head toward the center of the city. It would, he knew, be more difficult to follow her once she reached the heart of Madrid. As he had expected, she hurried east, but he was unprepared for her sharp turn to the north immediately afterward, and he almost lost her. Fortunately, there were streetlights up ahead and the lone female figure was readily visible. As he drew nearer to the lights, he heard the sound of the anthem being sung loudly, and not very tunefully, by a couple of voices. They were, he realized, near a barracks. That explained the light, and the unusual noise. Tejada felt himself relax slightly. He was quite competent to handle Señorita Fernández and anyone she might be meeting, but it was still comforting to know that he would have support, if he required it. He kept to the shadows, aware that his khaki uniform would be conspicuous among the dark uniforms of the soldiers. He was not, he saw, the only loiterer in the darkness. The spaces outside the puddles of light were populated with both men and women— usually in pairs. They were generally anxious to be ignored and perfectly willing to be politely blind to him.

He passed the main gate of the barracks. Señorita Fernán-dez had pulled ahead of him again, and he did not want to lose her in the darkness. The sound of the anthem got louder, covering his footsteps, as a pair of young soldiers stumbled out of a side street ahead of him and his quarry, and made toward the barracks. They were singing with the slurred enthusiasm of the moderately drunk. Tejada cast a glance at them and decided that they would be wiser and sadder men at the next reveille. Boys, rather. Neither of them looked much older than Jiménez or Moscoso.

One of them attempted a whistle as Señorita Fernández approached. “Hey, beautiful!” She kept walking. “I said hello.” He weaved away from his companion, nearly blocking the sidewalk in front of her. It was difficult to tell if the maneuver was deliberate or if he was simply unsteady on his feet.

“Hey, Little Red,” the other boy spoke. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“Little Red!” The first one roared with laughter.

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