isn’t it? A lovely morning. You’re sweet – but don’t try so hard to impress. Doesn’t work.’
Max watched her leave. As she left, she turned and saluted, a reminder of her superior rank. Nice bottom.
Chapter 8
Max walked slowly back to his flat, thinking about Linda. That was an odd comment on Lorca. Maybe he’d misheard. The only Franco supporters these days were like the old man in the open air market in Plaza Larga, selling key rings with a portrait of Franco. But she definitely flirted with him . . . and progress might be possible if he played his cards right. There was just time for a quick shower, pack the computer and get back to the office.
Max arrived at the conference room at exactly four. Davila was already there.
‘Everything go to plan, Max?’
‘Yes, but Inspector Sánchez didn’t come on the tour. Upset stomach . . . and he may not make it to the meeting.’
‘No matter. I’m told she’s the one who makes the decisions. I’m going for a coffee. Let me know if you need anything.’
Max went to the front and set up the computer. He tested PowerPoint, and ran through his notes. Max disliked the conference room: it was all air conditioning, AV equipment and artificial light. The long mahogany table had been moved to the side, and the coffee urns, cups, water jugs and glasses placed upon it. There was a portrait of the King and Queen and the Spanish flag behind the podium. He began to feel nervous. It was his first big presentation. He patted his pocket to check his inhaler was there. It was. He had better go to the toilet, straighten the tie, comb the hair. A splash of cold water on the face would help. A black coffee would also help.
Max returned at quarter to five. The Jefe Superior de Andalucía Oriental, Pedro Cifuentes, and the head of the Policía Nacional of Granada, Comisario Bonila, had arrived together, their medals glistening on their crisply pressed uniforms. General López from the Guardia Civil was easing his way towards the great ones, followed by Teniente González up from Diva. All the other officers began to drift in, anxious to impress. The mutual admiration society was in session.
At exactly five, Linda and Martín arrived. Martín sat down heavily and began writing. Linda carefully did the rounds, beginning with the top rank and working down. She ignored Max until Davila introduced him.
‘You two of course met earlier.’
Max bent over, and shook hands. An expensive perfume.
‘Yes. It was most gracious of the Sub-Inspector to meet us at the airport. And I appreciated his tour of Granada. Most informative.’
And with that she moved on.
Cifuentes opened the proceedings, welcoming all those present and especially the guests from the CGI, the Anti-Terrorist Operations Group. He turned to Linda.
‘I knew your father well, served under him briefly. A most distinguished officer. We are honoured to have you here with us. Our anti-terrorist unit here is busy, and we like to think they and we keep on top of the brief. We already have monthly coordinating meetings of all units. But we look forward to hearing your advice on how we might improve our coordination, intelligence gathering, and cooperation with the CGI.’
He was followed by General López, then Comisario Bonila, and then the heads of all the police divisions had their three minutes. Then it was Linda’s turn. She stood up, went to the front. Her voice, though soft and low, projected clearly.
‘Gentlemen. Thank you all for coming.’
Max noticed she spoke without notes.
‘General Martínez, our head of CGI, ordered both Inspector Sánchez and myself to visit all the police zones to personally assess the effectiveness of counter-terrorist activities. General Martínez will be reporting back to the PM. As you know, the PM regards the anti-terrorist fight as top priority. Spanish support for the war in Iraq has increased the possibility of a terrorist attack on Spanish soil, and all the branches of the
Max watched her leave. As she left, she turned and saluted, a reminder of her superior rank. Nice bottom.
Chapter 8
Max walked slowly back to his flat, thinking about Linda. That was an odd comment on Lorca. Maybe he’d misheard. The only Franco supporters these days were like the old man in the open air market in Plaza Larga, selling key rings with a portrait of Franco. But she definitely flirted with him . . . and progress might be possible if he played his cards right. There was just time for a quick shower, pack the computer and get back to the office.
Max arrived at the conference room at exactly four. Davila was already there.
‘Everything go to plan, Max?’
‘Yes, but Inspector Sánchez didn’t come on the tour. Upset stomach . . . and he may not make it to the meeting.’
‘No matter. I’m told she’s the one who makes the decisions. I’m going for a coffee. Let me know if you need anything.’
Max went to the front and set up the computer. He tested PowerPoint, and ran through his notes. Max disliked the conference room: it was all air conditioning, AV equipment and artificial light. The long mahogany table had been moved to the side, and the coffee urns, cups, water jugs and glasses placed upon it. There was a portrait of the King and Queen and the Spanish flag behind the podium. He began to feel nervous. It was his first big presentation. He patted his pocket to check his inhaler was there. It was. He had better go to the toilet, straighten the tie, comb the hair. A splash of cold water on the face would help. A black coffee would also help.
Max returned at quarter to five. The Jefe Superior de Andalucía Oriental, Pedro Cifuentes, and the head of the Policía Nacional of Granada, Comisario Bonila, had arrived together, their medals glistening on their crisply pressed uniforms. General López from the Guardia Civil was easing his way towards the great ones, followed by Teniente González up from Diva. All the other officers began to drift in, anxious to impress. The mutual admiration society was in session.
At exactly five, Linda and Martín arrived. Martín sat down heavily and began writing. Linda carefully did the rounds, beginning with the top rank and working down. She ignored Max until Davila introduced him.
‘You two of course met earlier.’
Max bent over, and shook hands. An expensive perfume.
‘Yes. It was most gracious of the Sub-Inspector to meet us at the airport. And I appreciated his tour of Granada. Most informative.’
And with that she moved on.
Cifuentes opened the proceedings, welcoming all those present and especially the guests from the CGI, the Anti-Terrorist Operations Group. He turned to Linda.
‘I knew your father well, served under him briefly. A most distinguished officer. We are honoured to have you here with us. Our anti-terrorist unit here is busy, and we like to think they and we keep on top of the brief. We already have monthly coordinating meetings of all units. But we look forward to hearing your advice on how we might improve our coordination, intelligence gathering, and cooperation with the CGI.’
He was followed by General López, then Comisario Bonila, and then the heads of all the police divisions had their three minutes. Then it was Linda’s turn. She stood up, went to the front. Her voice, though soft and low, projected clearly.
‘Gentlemen. Thank you all for coming.’
Max noticed she spoke without notes.
‘General Martínez, our head of CGI, ordered both Inspector Sánchez and myself to visit all the police zones to personally assess the effectiveness of counter-terrorist activities. General Martínez will be reporting back to the PM. As you know, the PM regards the anti-terrorist fight as top priority. Spanish support for the war in Iraq has increased the possibility of a terrorist attack on Spanish soil, and all the branches of the
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