GIBRALTAR

Chapter 4



Joe Walsh had gotten into the park somehow, and he had already picked up the butt and the shell casing by the time McKenna and Cisco met him there.
     "Anything good?" McKenna asked.
     "Like I told you, it depends on who's processing it," Walsh replied.
     "Suppose it were you?"
     "Then it would be excellent. The butt's a Gallois. French brand, also common in Spain."
     "You were able to tell that already?"
     "Of course. I noticed the tobacco is darker than the stuff used in American cigarettes, and it also has a distinctive aroma. A Gallois, and I'd stake my reputation on that."
     "Did you also happen to notice that Gallois is printed right on the butt, you fat windbag?" Cisco asked.
     "I think I might've noticed that," Walsh admitted.
     McKenna hadn't seen it, so he assumed the brand name had been on the side of the butt facing the ground. "So would you get prints from it?"
     "If anybody can," Walsh replied. "Then you can give it to the FBI to process it for DNA in the saliva."
     "And the shell casing?"
     "Clear ejector marks. Our Ballistics could process it as well as the FBI."
     "You ready for another mission, one that will involve some theatrics?" McKenna asked.
     "My specialty. What do you want me to do?"
     "There's a pay phone at the corner of East Eighty-first and Fifth, maybe a few of them. I want you to dust all the receivers, and make a show of it when you take a few lifts."
     "Who's the show for?"
     "A doorman at one of the buildings on the corner. I think he might be a witness to the kidnapping, and I want to have some leverage on him before we talk to him."
     "He made a nine-one-one call?"
     "If it's him, he did. Spanish accent, refused to identify himself."
     "Okay, I'll impress him."
     "I've got a mission for you, too," Cisco said.
     McKenna braced himself for some pointed Cisco sarcasm, but Cisco really did have a mission for Walsh. He took a folded handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Walsh. Walsh opened the handkerchief to reveal the bonanza, a crisp twenty-dollar bill folded in half.
     "Nice," Walsh said. "I'd bet this bill came from an ATM not too long ago. Whose prints do you think are on it?"
     "The leader of the kidnap team and a couple of kids. I'll give you elimination prints on the kids later."
     Walsh folded the handkerchief, put it in his pocket, and focused on McKenna. "You better talk hard to Sheeran, because I want this job."
     "I already told you, I will. But if I can do it, you better not screw him by whispering to your press pals."
     "Until when?"
     "Until the case is over."
     "Wait a minute," Cisco said. "Are you saying there's that tight a lid on this case?"
     "Everything to the press has to come from the feds," McKenna explained. "That's the rule, and Dennis was real clear on that."
     "So we get no credit while they grab the glory?"
     "I'm hoping it doesn't work out that way."
     "Then you better take a good look at their track record," Cisco said, then hopped over the wall. McKenna followed, leaving Walsh in the park to make his own way out. A quick look told them that the crime scene had been wrapped up; the bodies had been removed, the barriers were gone, and so were all the uniformed cops and reporters. The only visible police vehicles remaining were Joe Walsh's Crime Scene Unit van and a row of double-parked unmarked cars that stretched for two blocks. McKenna could see FBI vehicle identification plates on the dashboard of many of them, so he knew the feds had arrived in force and were conducting canvasses in the buildings with the help of detectives from the Nineteen Squad, the Seventeenth Squad, and the Homicide Squad.
     A building maintenance man was hosing the sidewalk, washing away the last vestiges of blood. At street level, at least, Fifth Avenue had been returned to its rich residents.
     Then they saw Tommy Bara come out of the ambassador's building. Bara was an old-time, well-respected FBI boss who was well known to both McKenna and Cisco. His square jaw and his Don't-Try-Me attitude made him look like a tough guy, and he was. McKenna knew that Cisco had gotten on Bara's nerves during a case they had all worked together, and that could be bad since Bara had recently been promoted to head the Joint Terrorist Task Force.
     It was bad. Bara greeted McKenna cordially, and Cisco perfunctorily. If Cisco noticed, he didn't seem to mind.
     "Are we working for you now?" McKenna asked.
     "Probably just for today," Bara replied. "Shields and Brunette have worked it out, and this is gonna be a totally federal case once the smoke clears."
     So we're out after today? McKenna thought, and he recognized that the problem was Cisco. He also recognized that Bara didn't have the weight to shut him out of the case if he really wanted to stay in. Cisco maybe, but not him–not the famous detective who was also the good pal of Ray Brunette, Gene Shields, and many reporters.
     So what next? McKenna asked himself. Call in some chips to stay on the case, and maybe leave my partner in order to do it? No, that's not the way to operate, he decided. Let's wait a day and see what happens. "Where's Inspector Sheeran?"
     "At the station house with Tommy McKenna and a couple of witnesses he found."
     "Good witnesses?"
     "Fair. A maid and the mistress of the house, twelfth floor facing Fifth. The maid was watering the plants at the window, and she saw the guy lying behind the wall. When she saw him stand up and put the rifle on the wall, she called her boss over. She arrived just in time to see and hear the shot. Saw the shooter hop the wall a few seconds later with his rifle, take a fall, then get up and run across Fifth Avenue."
     "They couldn't see what was happening in front of the building?"
     "No. Too high, and the windows were closed. Climate controlled central air and heating, never a need to open a window in the apartments in this building."
     "But they heard the shot?"
     "Heard a bunch of them. When they saw the rifle, they were geared to hear a shot. You know how sound travels up and intensifies in Manhattan."
     McKenna did. A mildly-annoying backfire at street level could sound like a bomb going off to those rich folks on the high floors. "So they didn't see the getaway?"
     "No."
     "Or the white van?"
     "If they did, they took no notice. They say no."
     "How about action in the park?"
     "What kind of action?" Bara asked.
     "The team leader, probably directing the whole scenario from the woods," McKenna said, then told Bara what he and Cisco had learned from Gabriel and Steven. He also told him about the coins, the twenty-dollar bill, the Gallois butt, and the spent cartridge shell. Throughout the account, Cisco appeared to be totally disinterested.
     "So there's a woman running their operation?" Bara asked.
     "Yeah, and it shouldn't be too hard for the Guardia Civil to attach a name to her," McKenna said. "How many female terrorists are high up enough in the ETA to run an operation this big?"
     "Not too many, I suppose," Bara said. "You guys did good."
     "I did nothing," McKenna said. "Cisco found the boys, and he's the one who got the info."
     "Okay, then you did good," Bara said to Cisco, but he didn't appear happy saying it.
     "What did you expect?" Cisco asked indignantly. "Naturally, the best detective does the best work."
     "And the best detective would be you?"
     "The very best, ever."
     "I see you haven't changed much, Cisco," Bara commented. "Still as difficult as ever."
     "Everyone knows the best never come easy," Cisco retorted.
     McKenna thought it was time to change the subject before things got out of hand. "What do you want us to do, Tommy?" he asked.
     "You and I are gonna go up to interview the ambassador's wife. The deputy ambassador is still with her, so we might as well hear what he has to say while we're at it."
     "Fine. Has anybody else been up to talk to them?"
     "Just a little chitchat when I went up to arrange the interview. Nice people."
     "And me, Tommy? What do you want me to do while you're hobnobbing with the dignitaries?" Cisco asked.
     "Take a break, and give us all a rest."
*     *     *
\ql As McKenna had expected, the ambassador's apartment was large and luxurious, a corner unit on the tenth floor that offered a nice view of Central Park as well as a peek of the East River at the end of East 79th Street. The door was answered by a uniformed maid, and they were shown into the living room.
     The ambassador's wife was seated on the sofa with the deputy ambassador when Bara and McKenna were announced by the maid, and both rose to greet them. Bara made the introductions.
     Señora Diana Clavero was an elegant woman in her sixties, tall and thin, and she exuded charm. She did none of the things older women sometimes do to disguise their age; her hair was shiny gray with streaks of black, she wore little makeup, her nails were painted with a clear coat, and her yellow jacket and dress were tasteful and demure. However, despite a bandage covering her right ear, she possessed an ageless beauty that made McKenna guess she could have been a fashion model in her younger days.
     There was nothing fashionable about Juan Diego Ibarretxe that morning. Like Sheeran, the news of the kidnapping must have pulled him out of bed in a hurry. He was unshaven, dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, a blue sports jacket, and he was shod in penny loafers without socks. He appeared to be in his early forties–young for his position, McKenna thought–but his eyes glowed with interest and intelligence in a friendly face. Like Señora Clavero, he was also tall and thin.
     McKenna immediately got the impression that Ibarretxe was a nice guy, someone with whom he could easily deal.
     "Is there any news on my husband?" Señora Clavero asked.
     "Sorry, nothing yet," Bara said. "Has your government received any demands yet?"
     The señora deferred to Ibarretxe for the answer. "None that I'm aware of, and I just got off the phone with Madrid. Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable," he said, indicating a sofa across from the sofa where they had been seated.
     They all sat down, and then the señora asked if she could offer them coffee or tea. Both declined, and McKenna took out his notepad and pen, ready to begin.
     "Before we start, Detective McKenna, I hope you don't mind my telling you how happy it makes me that you're assigned to my husband's kidnapping," the señora said. "I followed the Hector de la Cruz case with great interest, and so did many others in my country."
     McKenna looked to Bara, but Bara suddenly seemed to be at a loss for words. He nodded to McKenna to give the señora the news. "Actually, Señora, I'm not assigned to this case. I'm a city cop, and the kidnapping of a diplomat gives the FBI primary jurisdiction. I'm just helping out until they get all their people and resources in place."
     "And then?"
     "And then I go back to working my other cases."
     It was apparent to both McKenna and Bara that news didn't sit well with the señora, and she had just one word to say. "Pity."
     "I assure you, Señora, we'll have our best people working to find your husband and get him back," Bara said, but Señora Clavero said nothing.
     The silence was becoming uncomfortable, and McKenna decided it was up to him to get matters back on track. "I'm assuming Ibarretxe is a Basque name," he noted, merely as a way of breaking the ice.
     "Yes, it is. When it comes to names, most of our tongue twisters are Basque," Ibarretxe said, smiling. "I don't know if being Basque would make me a suspect in your eyes, but let me take the time to take myself off your list."
     "You're not on our list, I assure you," McKenna said.
     "If that's true, then please consider this just background information. I am a career diplomat with fifteen years of service and a top security clearance. I was raised in the Basque Country, but I have absolutely no sympathy now for the ETA and its methods. More than that, like the vast majority of Basques, I think that the present arrangement the Spanish government has with the Basque provincial governments is fair and equitable."
     "You said you have no sympathy now for the ETA," McKenna observed. "Does that mean you once supported them?"
     "Years ago, most Basques did. You see, we were on the losing side in our civil war in `thirty-nine, and Franco was not a forgiving man. He repressed our culture, made our language illegal, and overtaxed us while intentionally keeping the Basque provinces poor and underdeveloped. The central government was universally despised by us."
     "And the situation now?" Bara asked.
     "The time for fighting is over. The three Basque provinces are an autonomous region, the schools are run in the Basque language, and the central government has invested heavily in our infrastructure so that the Basque Country might now be the most prosperous region in Spain."
     "Then why are they still fighting?" Bara asked.
     "The ETA says they're still fighting to unite all Basques into an independent Basque homeland, which means uniting the three Spanish provinces in the Basque country with the four French Basque departments–but nobody takes that idea seriously any longer. You see, the Spanish Basques have always been Basque first and Spanish second, but the French Basques are another story all together. They've never been repressed by the Paris government, so they've always been French first and foremost, and Basque second. They have no desire to secede."
     "Does the ETA usually operate in France as well?"
     "Not usually, but they cross the Pyrenées to use the French Basque region as a safe haven whenever things get too hot for them in Spain. At times, they are allied with Iparretarrak, the French Basque separatist organization.
     "Is Iparretarrak also a terrorist organization?" McKenna asked.
     "Through and through. Pull the same types of crimes as the ETA on a smaller scale–bombings, assassinations, and kidnappings. However, they enjoy very little support from the French Basques, so up `til now they've been pretty ineffective."
     "Up `til now? Does that mean you think they pulled off the kidnapping of your ambassador in Paris?" Bara asked.
     "No. I'd bet that the people who took our ambassador were ETA, but I'd also bet that they received logistical support from Iparretarrak."
     "Logistical support?"
     "Weapons and explosives, and surely the location where they're holding our ambassador right now is one of their safe houses."
     "I still don't get it," Bara said. "If it's generally agreed that this independent Basque homeland will never happen, and neither the ETA nor Iparretarrak have much support among the Basques, then why are they still fighting?"
     "Nobody seems to know why Iparretarrak is still fighting. As for the ETA, many people believe they're now fighting for themselves, not the Basque people. They collect an unofficial tax from most merchants and factories in the Basque country, and that's still going on."
     "Extortion?" McKenna asked.
     "Basically, but what it means is that the ETA is still well-funded. What they're principally fighting for is amnesty and prison locations. The government is holding over five hundred convicted ETA terrorists in prisons all over the country, including in the Canary Islands. The ETA wants them all moved to a prison in the Basque Country while they negotiate the amnesty issue."
     "Any chance of that happening?"
     "Not that I've heard. The government is refusing to budge, and the ETA's position has only lukewarm support from the Basque people. Don't forget, they call themselves freedom fighters, but those in jail have been convicted of murders, bombings, kidnappings, and bank robberies. Now that the reasons for the fight have basically been resolved, many Basques aren't anxious to have those people loose and walking about in the Basque Country."
     "What about the proposal to relocate them all to a prison in the Basque Country?" Bara asked. "That seems reasonable to me. Would sure make it easier for their relatives and friends to visit them."
     "It might sound reasonable, but the government regards it as a security nightmare. Those prisoners are tough, hard-core, and organized," Ibarretxe explained. "Put them all together, and they'd be running that prison before long–as well as running the ETA from inside. Then there's also the worry that the ETA would break them out. They still have about two hundred active members, they have plenty of weapons and explosives, and so they just might be able to pull it off."
     "Would your government be prepared to negotiate with them now to secure the release of the hostages they're holding?" Bara asked.
     "I don't know," Ibarretxe admitted. "They certainly managed to enhance their position. Holding two ambassadors and Carmen de la Cruz will give them leverage and all the world media attention they never seemed to be able to get before, so negotiations can't be ruled out."
     "God, let's hope not," the señora added, saying it in a way that gave McKenna the impression she was deeply in love with her husband.
     "Why do you think they kidnapped Carmen de la Cruz?" Bara asked.
     "La Tesora? I think that was a grave mistake on their part, but they've become cannibalistic lately," Ibarretxe stated. "Many of the people they've kidnapped in the past couple of years were Basques–either politicians or other people in the public eye who have opposed their cause. Although she never publicly admitted it, it's generally known that Carmen was a major contributor to Vascos contra the Violenc\'eda, the Basque peace movement."
     "Do you think they'd kill her if the government doesn't give in to them?"
     "Kill La Tesora? I don't think so," Ibarretxe said. "If they even threatened to do that, they'd be finished."
     "Is she that popular in Spain?"
     "I think popular is the wrong word to describe how our people feel about Carmen. Spain is a very religious country–the most Catholic country in the world–and Carmen is revered there. Some actually believe she's a living saint, so murdering her would be like murdering Mother Teresa. It's unthinkable."
     "Then why did they take her?"
     "To deprive the rest of the country. Think of it like stealing the Mona Lisa from the Louvre. The thieves would never harm the painting, but they'd be depriving the French of one of their fondest national treasures."
     "So the Spanish people will be very anxious to get her back?" Bara asked.
     It was the señora who answered. "They'll probably be more anxious about getting her back than getting two of their ambassadors back, and that's not good for me."
     "Do you have any more details on her kidnapping?" McKenna asked.
     "None, but I've requested that I be sent everything known about it as soon as it becomes available," Ibarretxe answered.
     "How about the Paris kidnapping?"
     "Same answer. I've already told your police commissioner everything I know right now, but I'll soon know everything that's known about it."
     "Which brings us to another point," Bara said. "I propose that there be a free and constant exchange of information between the FBI, the French police, and the Spanish police on all three cases."
     "Very sensible, and my government has already authorized me to propose just that. They have also arranged a similar accommodation with the French."
     "We have almost nothing on the ETA, so we'll also need everything you have on them."
     "You'll have it, and soon. Copies of all our police and intelligence files on them are being made as we speak, and a plane has been chartered to bring the files here. Should be arriving at JFK sometime tonight, and I'm authorized to offer more. Colonel Segovia of the Guardia Civil knows more about the ETA than anybody else we have. He's in Paris right now, but if you like, he could be here sometime within the next few days."
     "That's a sensible idea, and we accept," Bara said.
     "Good. What's next on your agenda?"
     "Basically, I'd like to hear Señora Clavero describe what happened this morning in her own words, and then answer whatever questions I might have."
     "I can do that," the señora said, and she recited the story as best she could remember. Her eyes misted when she told about the murders of her chauffeur and bodyguard, and McKenna liked her more for that. She also gave credit to the brave actions of the doorman, but she was able to add nothing that McKenna didn't already know, and he took few notes. Then it was time to get into details. "Is your ear hurting you?" he asked.
     "Not really, but it looks a mess. Swollen, and pretty bloody right after it happened."
     "Were you hurt when they stuck the gun in your ear?"
     "I guess that's when it happened, but I didn't feel it at the time."
     "Do you know what kind of gun it was?"
     "Small revolver. They both had small revolvers, but I certainly couldn't tell you the type."
     "Would you be able to recognize any of those men if you saw them again?" he asked.
     "The man who killed Roberto, definitely. The man who was with him, probably. The man with the rifle, I don't know."
     "Had you ever seen them hanging around before this morning?"
     "No, and if they had been there before, I wouldn't have seen them anyway. Thanks to Jorge, we always entered and left the building in a big hurry."
     "Excuse me," Bara said. "Who's Jorge?
     McKenna was surprised at the question, and it meant to him that Bara hadn't yet had time to thoroughly review the case. "Jorge Dominguez, the bodyguard. Apparently he was pretty good," he explained, and then returned his attention to the señora. "Was there anything distinctive about any of them, as far as you can remember?"
     "I think one of them was wearing a wig. His hair didn't look right to me."
     "Which one was that? The man who killed Roberto, or the other one?"
     "The other one, the one who first grabbed me."
     "Were you able to see if they had any radio receivers in their ears?"
     "Radio receivers?"
     "They would look like hearing aids."
     She closed her eyes to think about it. "I really couldn't say," she answered after a few moments. "I don't remember seeing their ears, their hair was too long."
     "Did any of them speak during the kidnapping?"
     "I've already thought about this, and I'm certain just two things were said. The one who first grabbed me said in Spanish, `Stop screaming, puta, or I'll kill you.'"
     "What does puta mean?" Bara asked.
     "Spanish for prostitute," McKenna answered, and then returned his attention to the señora. "And what else was said?"
     "The one who shot Roberto said something in Basque to the dog when he let it into the car, and then he said the dog's name. The dog is called Duquesa."
     "That's Duchess in English," McKenna said for Bara's benefit.
     "Is this important?" the señora asked.
     "Could be," McKenna said. "Did the dog look healthy?"
     "Healthy and happy."
     "And it had a leash and collar on, right?"
     "Yes. Just before he shot Roberto, he dropped the leash and let the dog go. It was a yellow cloth leash."
     "And the collar?"
     "Yellow, too, I think."
     "This is a lot to ask, but did you notice whether or not there was a dog license hanging from the collar?"
     Once again, the señora closed her eyes as she tried to visualize the scene. McKenna could see that it was painful for her as she relived it again, but she appeared apologetic when she opened her eyes. "Sorry. I think I remember a license hanging from its collar, but I'm not certain," she said, shaking her head slowly as tears formed in her eyes. "When the dog jumped on the car door, I was staring at Roberto and Fernando lying on the ground. They were like family to us, and you saw what they did to them?"
     "I saw. Horrible, and certainly not something easy to forget," McKenna said. "Can you tell me something about Jorge and Fernando's families?"
     "Jorge has two children, a boy and a girl, but he's separated from his wife. The kids are in Madrid with her, but he visited them whenever he could."
     "Where did he live?"
     "Here, with us. He has his own room with a bath, and a kitchenette. Nice man, very polite, but he was closer to my husband than to me," the señora said, and then she smiled ruefully. "Funny thing is, he used to bore me to death with all his security arrangements. He took his job very seriously, and he was suspicious of everybody."
     "Girlfriend?"
     "Jorge? Lord, no. He had no time for that. His life revolved around our schedule, and we stay very busy in New York."
     "And Roberto?"
     "Married, one daughter. Lives with his family someplace on East Seventy-fifth Street. We have two drivers, so he at least had a life."
     "How old is his daughter?" McKenna asked.
     "I only saw her once, at the Christmas party the embassy throws for the staff. Quiet little girl. Eight or nine, I'd say, but I know she's a bright child. Goes to the U.N. school, and she was Roberto's pride and joy."
     "Are their families going to be secure, financially?"
     "I'd imagine so, but I really can't say for sure," she answered, and then turned to Ibarretxe.
     "Quite secure, in a middle-class way," Ibarretxe said. "Their families will receive pensions for life, and the government maintains a special fund for the families of members of the Guardia Civil killed by the ETA."
     "Does that mean a big payment for them?"
     "I'm sure. There was a truce for a couple of years, and there were no cops killed by the ETA during that time. I've heard the fund has grown substantially, so they should receive a nice, lump-sum payment."
     McKenna was glad to hear that. He couldn't think of another question, so he turned to Bara. With a nod of his head, Bara indicated that it was time to go. They stood up and thanked the señora and Ibarretxe for their time.
     "You'll keep us informed of any progress you make?" the señora asked, but the question was directed at McKenna, not Bara.
     "And me as well. Call me anytime, day or night," Ibarretxe said. Then he took out his wallet and handed McKenna his card.
     Sorry, Tommy. Looks like the ambassador's wife and the deputy ambassador aren't buying into me getting shut out of this case, McKenna thought, hoping he was successful at suppressing the smirk that rose to his lips. He said nothing, and waited for Bara to answer.
     Bara did. "We'll keep you both fully informed."
     Ibarretxe showed them out, and they were at the door when a thought hit McKenna. "Mr. Ibarretxe, the señora classified Dominguez as a very suspicious kind of guy," he said. "Would you agree with that?"
     "Totally. He could be a real bother sometimes, saw threats to the ambassador everywhere."
     "Was he required to file reports on a daily basis?"
     "Monthly basis, standard embassy form that didn't quite fit his job. It's designed for reporting hours worked, expenses, or anything unusual that happened during the month."
     "It didn't fit his job because he was always working, and he had no expenses?" McKenna guessed.
     "Exactly. He was getting premium pay for his position, and couldn't put in for overtime. As for expenses, he had an embassy credit card to pay for those."
     "So what did he put in his reports?"
     "His constant suspicions, and an equally constant, very neatly written stream of suggestions to improve the ambassador's security."
     "Did any of his prior suspicions ever amount to anything?"
     "No, and neither did the overwhelming majority of his suggestions. I know that on more than one occasion, the ambassador asked him to tone it down," Ibarretxe said, and then showed an embarrassed smile. "A few times, I also asked Jorge to tone it down. Turns out he was right the whole time."
     "What made him like that, so suspicious of everyone and everything?" McKenna asked, and thought he already knew the answer.
     He did. "Served too long in the Basque Country when times were really hot for the Guardia Civil," Ibarretxe said. "I understand that he had amassed quite an impressive array of medals before taking on this position."
     "We've got to see his room," McKenna said.
     "His report for this month?"
     "Exactly. Let's see if he was paranoid, or just plain good."
     Ibarretxe went back into the living room to relay McKenna's request to the señora. He was back with her moments later, and she appeared to be distressed over the idea. "Are you sure this is necessary?" she asked. "We always respected Jorge's privacy, and I haven't been in his room since he came here."
     "Can't say for sure that it's necessary," McKenna replied. "It's just a hunch I've got, and sometimes my hunches work out."
     "They frequently work out," Bara added, giving McKenna his first hint that Bara didn't think it was such a bad idea. "Besides, the time for worrying about Jorge's privacy is over. He's dead."
     "I suppose you're right," she said, then led them back through the living room and down a long hall to Jorge's room. She opened the door, flicked the light switch on the wall, and inspected the room from the doorway. Satisfied, she stood aside to let them in.
     "Small, but certainly neat enough," Ibarretxe said, and the comment told McKenna that Ibarretxe had money or came from money. McKenna estimated that the small bedroom was about twice the size of his own bedroom in the Village. There was a double bed, two dressers, an entertainment center, a desk, and a sitting area with two sofas and a coffee table between them. Heavy drapes covered the two windows.
     Despite all the furniture, the room was large enough to tastefully accommodate it all. The kitchenette and dining area was in a wide hallway between the main room and the bathroom.
     McKenna thought it might be the nicest studio apartment he had ever seen, and it was certainly very neat. The bed was made, the desk was clear, and there was no dust or clutter anywhere. It looked like a model apartment ready for showing, and the only personal adornment was a family photo on one of the dressers showing Dominguez, his stout wife, and two children in a studio setting.
     Thinking the desk was the place to start, McKenna opened the center drawer and immediately found what he was looking for. On one side of the draw was a pad of the blank embassy reports Ibarretxe had described, and on the other side was a lined legal pad. The pages on the top half of the pad were covered with Dominguez's neat, precise handwriting.
     McKenna picked up the pad and began leafing through it.
     "What is it?" Bara asked.
     "We would call it a daily activity report," McKenna replied as he continued browsing through the pages. "Every day starts with `Time on Duty: Seven A.M., and then he goes on to report everything he did during the day that had anything at all to do with his job." He flipped to the last page, and smiled.
     "What does it say?" Ibarretxe asked.
     "It says that Jorge Dominguez was a lot sharper than anybody gave him credit for."
     "Meaning?"
     "Does ornitol\'f3go mean bird watcher in Spanish?"
     "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"
     "To get the ambassador's schedule down, the team that kidnapped him spent weeks in the park, posing as bird watchers while they surveilled this building. Jorge's last entry in his notes was at seven-thirty this morning, and it says that Los ornitol\'f3gos han veulto al parque otra vez. Hay solo tres esta mañana, la mujer y dos hombres."
     "Ay, caramba!" Ibarretxe exclaimed. "A very sharp man. I only wish I would have told him so while he was still alive."
     "Would you two mind filling in the gringo?" Bara asked.
     "Sorry, boss," McKenna said. "Jorge's last entry this morning was: The bird watchers have returned to the park again. Only three this time, the woman and two men."
     "No description?"
     "Not this morning," McKenna said, and then leafed back through the pages. "Same entry last Sunday, same time, but he writes it was the woman and six men. Short and sweet, still no descriptions on them."
     "Where was he watching them, from up here or the street?" Bara asked, and all turned to the señora.
     "It must have been from the windows," she said, pointing to the drapes. "He had a good view of the park from them, and he never left his room before seven thirty."
     Bara went to one of the windows and pulled the drapes back a bit. "This is it," he said. "The trees are just starting to fill out, so in another few weeks he wouldn't have been able to see anyone on the ground in the park."
     "Do those notes help you?" Ibarretxe asked.
     "Not without a solid description. Just tells us what we already know," McKenna replied, and then he went back a few more pages in Jorge's notes. "Same thing the Sunday before last. The woman and six men, no descriptions. That was the first Sunday of the month, the day after he started keeping notes for this month's report."
     "Then let's see if we can find his notes from last month," Bara suggested. "Maybe he wrote their descriptions there."
     "His notes aren't what we should be looking for at this point," McKenna said. "The boys Cisco found are sharp. They were at ground level with the bad guys every Sunday, so they could give us a better description on them then we'll find in any notes Jorge made from up here."
     "So what should we be looking for?" Bara asked.
     "His camera and photo album. Jorge was a very precise guy. The reason he didn't bother writing down all their descriptions is because he didn't need to. He took their pictures."
     "He does have two cameras, and he used them all the time," the señora said. "One in the car, and one he kept someplace up here. He took pictures of anybody who looked suspicious to him, and that covered quite a few people."
     "Did one of them have a telephoto zoom lens?"
     "The one he kept up here did."
     "So you knew he was photographing people from the windows here?" McKenna asked.
     "That I didn't know. What I do know is that he would run out of here all hours of the day or night to take a photo of anyone who was hanging around the building."
     "If he was up here, how would he know if there was anybody hanging around outside? Did he spend all his time at the windows?"
     "No, the doormen would call him."
     "Did he pay them?"
     "I don't know."
     "There's never been anything on his expense reports about paying doormen," Ibarretxe said. "However, we are quite generous to the staff here at Christmas time."
     "We are?" the señora asked, and the question told McKenna two things: One was that she didn't know the way things were done in New York, and the other was that the luxurious apartment was supplied to them by the Spanish government, all expenses paid.
     "Used to be three thousand for the building staff, but Jorge insisted we raise it to four thousand every year," Ibarretxe said. "I believe we did so last year."
     "Nice number," McKenna said. "Let's find the camera and photos."
     Finding the photos proved to be the easy part. The two thick photo albums were in the bottom desk drawer. One album contained photos taken around the building. They were all shots of people taken from a distance, and then a headshot of the same person shot using the zoom lens. The other contained photos taken around town, one photo to a subject, so McKenna knew that the camera Jorge kept in the car wasn't equipped with a telephoto zoom lens. Very few of the subjects in the photos looked suspicious to McKenna, but he conceded to himself that the bird watchers probably wouldn't have aroused much suspicion in him, either.
     Unfortunately, the photos turned out to be useless; under each photo, Jorge had written the date and location where it had been taken, and the last photo in the albums was dated March 20th. The search resumed for the camera, but it wasn't in any of the dresser draws or in the closet.
     "This is crazy," Bara said. "It's got to be here, but why would he hide it?"
     "I don't know," McKenna replied, looking around the room. Then he thought he had it. "It's not hidden, it's in the place he wants it if he needs it in a hurry," he said. He pulled back the drapes of one window. Not there, but it was on the wide windowsill behind the drapes of the other window, right next to a pair of quality high-power binoculars. The camera was a good one, a Nikon with a 300 mm telephoto zoom lens attached.
     McKenna picked up the camera and examined it. "Roll of thirty-six, and he's taken thirty-four," he announced. He put the camera to his eye, and adjusted the zoom lens to focus on one of the skateboarders standing on the park roadway. It was Gabriel, and he filled the lens.
     "Can you see those people in the park clearly?" the señora asked.
     "Señora, if our luck holds, your Jorge has given us great pictures of the people who murdered him and kidnapped your husband."

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