[fic] Clandestine Affairs (2/?)

[acchikocchi]

In this part: intrigue, angst, handguns, journalists, and Germans.

Clandestine Affairs (2/?)
Characters/Pairings: (part) Cesc Fàbregas, David Silva, David Villa, Raúl González, Juan Mata, Raúl Albiol, Alvaro Arbeloa, Jérôme Boateng, Michael Ballack, Luca Toni, others (David Silva/David Villa)
Word Count: 10,000 (part)
Rating: R
Summary and notes: Overall header

Part 1


"Žigić," Villa said, still disbelieving. "Žigić."

David pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. "We didn't even consider it," he said. "We didn't even - shit."

"Neither did Senna or Capdevila," said Raúl, and after a beat, "Or me. There's plenty of blame for us all to share."

According to Raúl it had been quick and ruthless: two unmarked vehicles bracketing the transport van at a deserted intersection, too fast for Capdevila and Senna react. They had been heavily outnumbered; the fact that both were still alive was strong evidence for Žigić having been the sole target from the beginning. The perpetrators had spoken in heavily-accented English, which could have been either a cover or a necessary common language, and Capdevila hadn't recognized any of them. Senna was still unconscious.

"I don't get it," Villa said, like it was a personal insult. "He's so fucking incompetent. How did he manage to get in with these guys? How the hell did he manage to get in with anyone?"

Raúl locked his hands together and rested them on the desk. "He doesn't seem to have changed significantly?"

"He fell through the fucking ceiling," said Villa.

Raúl took a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. All right."

"Do we know that for sure?" David asked suddenly. "I mean, that they're working together and not that they - " he winced, " - want him themselves? Maybe for something he's done?

"That's a possibility," Raúl said. "Capdevila thinks Žigić went toward them, though obviously with him that might not mean anything. Normally I'd put you on the trail - "

"No way," Villa said immediately. "Not until we know who it was, not with Fàbregas. Even if it's not directly Moggi's people, if - "

"Yes," said Raúl, raising his voice, "which is why it's gone to Albiol and Arbeloa. I've told them to check in with you if they need anything."

Villa looked affronted. A voice spoke up. "What happens if you can't find out?"

David had almost forgotten Cesc was in the room. Other than a brief "This is him," from Villa earlier, and an acknowledging nod from Raúl, he'd faded to the background amidst the rapid debriefing on both sides. Now David saw he'd positioned himself a little off to the side, where he could watch Villa and Silva and Raúl all three.

"We'll find out," Raúl said. His tone did not acknowledge the possibility of an alternative.

"Where's Figo?" asked Villa.

Raúl gave him a piercing look. Villa raised his hands and said, "What, so I can't ask questions any more?"

Raúl looked, as always, as though the reason he wasn't making any of the several choice responses at his disposal was because he was above that kind of thing. "Figo left for Brussels this morning. He's scheduled to return tomorrow evening. I've spoken to him and we agreed there's no reason for him to come back earlier."

Villa crossed his arms. "Yesterday he told us to stay in touch with him. Directly."

"Then I'm sure he gave you the necessary information to contact him personally," said Raúl. He turned back to Cesc as Villa's mouth moved in silent indignation. "I'm sorry we haven't had time to speak yet. I hope everything is going well so far."

Cesc didn't appear to know whether he should take that at face value. He settled for, "Uh, yeah? I think." - with a questioning glance at David.

"He was good," Villa said, abrupt and unprompted, before David could say anything. "Stayed out of trouble, didn't panic."

Raúl's eyebrows went up. "Good," was all he said, and to Cesc, "If David says so, he means it."

Villa shrugged, affecting indifference. His stance, however, was significantly less belligerent.

The startled look on Cesc's face might otherwise have made David smile. "Um," he said, looking from Villa to Raúl and back to Villa. "Thank you?"

David cleared his throat. Villa and Raúl turned in perfect sync. "Do you want a full report now, or - "

"Write it up and have it for me tomorrow," Raúl said. "I have - more than enough to deal with until Figo's back. As a matter of fact, if that's all - " there was no question that it was, " - there are a few things that need my attention right now."

"Like what?" said Villa, probably out of sheer habit.

Raúl let the silence hang long enough that David shifted uncomfortably. Villa just stared back. Raúl's voice, when he spoke, was calm and ominous. "Like the spike in narcotics trafficking through Mallorca. Like the fact that thanks to Morientes we need to re-encrypt all intra-office communication. Like the leak that's looking more and more like it's not accidental. Like - not that this should have had anything to do with us in the first place - Ibrahimović getting in another spat with the Barcelona office over that damned evidence order. Would you like me to go on?"

Villa opened his mouth and David cut in, "No, that's enough." Raúl's eyebrows shot up; David actually heard his own words and blanched. "I mean, no, sorry, we understand, you have plenty of things to deal with, especially with Figo out, and - we'll just be heading out now." Damn it, he hated when that happened, which it always did around Raúl. "We'll check in again later. Let us know if there's anything else we can do."

"Thank you, Silva," said Raúl, with a clear tinge of amusement. David felt his cheeks heat. "Good luck, Fàbregas."

"Thank you," Cesc said. "Um. Sir." He made a face that expressed a certain amount of what David felt himself and slid out the door.

Villa paused on the threshold and looked back over his shoulder. "If you ask me - "

"I didn't," Raúl said. He turned to his laptop screen. "Excuse me, I have a job to do."

Villa spun around, eyes bulging, and David grabbed his arm and forcibly dragged him from the office.

Then he poked his head back in the door. "By the way," he said, "Inspector Morientes says hi."

Slowly, Raúl's head came up. He gave David a long, cool look. David coughed and swiftly withdrew.

Granero, who was near enough to have heard the last line, asked, fascinated, "Did you just bring up Morientes on purpose?"

"He asked me to," David said, innocent. Granero shook his head, in either admiration or disbelief. Villa was smirking. David gave him a little smile.

Cesc, on the other hand, looked like he was on the verge of swaying on his feet. David checked his watch. To his surprise, it was nearly two o'clock.

When he glanced back up and saw Villa twirling the car keys around one finger, he didn't need to wait for Villa to ask; he simply nodded.

"Do you really think it was them?"

Cesc was sprawled in the back seat, fast asleep. Villa, behind the wheel after all, gave the question a minute before answering.

"There's no way the syndicate would be desperate enough to use a guy like Žigić. And there's definitely no way they'd put their necks on the line to rescue him once he fucked up. But..."

"We can't take the chance," David finished. "I know."

Villa drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "We need to get Fàbregas on those files."

David pushed a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. I wanted to give him another day, but with this..." He sighed. "I don't think he's dealing with everything as well as he thinks he is."

"No shit," said Villa. "He's not 'dealing' at all. Repressing doesn't count."

"What if he doesn't recognize anyone even when he does go over them?" David said. "Repression, memory loss - we shouldn't assume he'll remember anything even when he sees the files."

Villa made a disgusted noise and the car swerved. "Never mind, I don't know what the hell we're saying - do we seriously think we're going to get answers if he pins Aquilani or Cudicini or who-the-hell-ever? None of those idiots are worth putting out a line on a civilian unless they're doing a really fucking good job of faking it."

"So say it's someone we missed. Someone bigger, maybe a real part of the syndicate." Now they were retreading ground they'd already covered countless times in the past twenty-four hours - on the flight from London, with Figo while they waited for Cesc to wake, in the darkness of Villa's room late into the night.

"Then why did they plant the source if it's such a big fucking secret?" Villa punctuated the statement with a sharp turn at about ten kilometers over the speed limit. "And who in the field's that important to them, anyway?"

"Maybe it wasn't planted. Or maybe it's not about who."

"Then we know shit. Which is right. Like what the fuck they were even doing - " Villa smacked the steering wheel suddenly. David jumped. "Goddamnit, we're fucking useless over here, we can't do anything but talk and talk until we lose our fucking minds!"

There was a long silence. The engine hummed. They ran a stop sign; David didn't point it out.

Then -

"If it is about who he saw," said Villa.

David rubbed both hands over his face. "Who've they got in custody?" he asked. "Maybe one of them will talk. Now that there's a casualty - sort of - I bet they're looking at a worse deal than they were expecting."

Villa snorted. "Yeah, good luck," he said. "No one's ever talked against Moggi before."

"Except Inzaghi," David said, and winced. Even Villa looked slightly unsettled.

"Maybe that's why," David said after a minute. "Maybe they can't afford to have a real live witness this time?"

"They didn't give a shit about witnesses," Villa said. "They walked right into the place and blew it to pieces in front of half the neighborhood."

"And we're back to what happened in the first place." David let out a long sigh. Someone honked right behind them. Villa gave the rear view window the finger and stepped on the accelerator.

Another thought occurred to David, an angle they'd only briefly discussed before. "What about the uniforms?" he asked. "'Abramovich', they said."

"Billionaire, gas industry, recognizable name," said Villa. "Easy choice."

"So you don't think he's involved?"

"If he was, they'd have to be really fucking stupid to put his name on their backs."

David was searching for a good way to bring up the obvious point when the same thought must have occurred to Villa, because suddenly his lips twitched. "Yeah, okay. If they did get themselves involved with Žigić..."

They shared a grin. Then David said, "Did you see the video intel sent over? Abramovich gave a statement yesterday evening. There's absolutely no association between the horrific crime and Abramovich Industries, he's outraged over the abuse of his company's good name, he's deeply sorry about the tragic loss of life - you know. Everything he should have said."

Villa shot him a sideways glance. "You buy it?"

"I don't have any reason not to," David said slowly. "And like you said - that would be really stupid."

It was quiet for another moment, and then Villa said, "So we'll look him up on the network later."

"Right," said David.

They pulled up alongside their building and the conversation was interrupted for several minutes as Villa, to the accompaniment of a steady stream of swearing, got the car wedged in a tiny parallel gap between a motorbike and a decrepit Alfa Romeo.

Either the noise or the car's sharp lurching was enough to wake Cesc. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of one hand, and said muzzily, "Home already?"

David didn't know how to answer that. Cesc's gaze focused. He blinked once, twice. "Oh," he said. His voice was subdued. "Right."

He trailed behind them up the three flights of stairs, and then, as David was unlocking the door, said, "Hey. I didn't even ask. Do you guys both live here or what?"

David suddenly couldn't even bring himself to look in Villa's direction as he answered, which was stupid, because it wasn't like there was anything to be embarrassed about, not really; not except how he wanted there to be.

"Sort of," he managed to say in what he judged a normal voice. He pushed the door open and kept talking over his shoulder as they went inside. "A while back we were on a high risk case - high enough they had us stay in a lockdown facility until it was wrapped up. It turned out we get along pretty well off the job, so - " He shrugged, and hoped he wasn't coloring.

"The whole building's secured by the bureau," Villa added, disabling the silent alarm by the door with a thumbprint. "You wouldn't be allowed to stay here if it wasn't."

Cesc was staring at the alarm like he hadn't even realized it was there earlier, which he probably hadn't. "Oh," he said belatedly. "Um. Good."

He was looking around the tiny entrance hall with a lost expression. David almost hated what he had to say. "Cesc, I'm sorry - I know it's been a long day already, but - we really need you to take a look at some files."

It took Cesc a minute, as if David needed another sign he was crashing hard. "Oh," he said, "for the - gang, or whatever they were."

David nodded. "We'd let it go a while longer, but after this morning - "

"No," Cesc said. "It's okay. It's just - " He hesitated, and then said plaintively, "I'm kind of hungry."

None of them had eaten anything since that morning, and on top of the adrenaline crash - David rubbed at his temple. "Right," he said. "Sorry. Of course you can - "

"We'll find you some of that ramen shit you like so much," Villa interrupted.

"Okay," Cesc agreed, perking up, as David shot Villa a look.

Villa shook his head. "You're pathetic," he informed Cesc. David, knowing exactly where this was leading, was unable to hide a grin. Villa saw it and said to him, "Don't get used to it," flicking the side of David's head as he went by.

Villa made sandwiches of cold grilled pork loin and serrano ham, which Cesc put away with a speed that made his breakfast massacre seem leisurely. David eventually managed to tear his eyes away from the spectacle to eat something himself, then cleared everything away while Villa logged onto the bureau's remote network. They'd pulled the right profiles yesterday; now Villa called them up again and swiveled the laptop so it faced Cesc.

"That's all of them. Hit 'next' to - whatever, you can figure it out." After a minute, he added, obviously against his inclination, "Take your time." Cesc was already leaning forward.

The room was silent but for the occasional click of the mouse. Villa leaned forward, eyes on Cesc, with no indication that he would so much as blink any time soon. David imagined he could hear a clock ticking, somewhere.

After a minute, Cesc looked up.

"You know, I can feel it when you stare at me like that," he said to Villa.

Villa only raised his eyebrows. When Cesc looked back at the screen, though, he got up and began wandering around the kitchen instead. David watched him absently, letting his thoughts drift.

After some time, Cesc looked up. David straightened, and saw Villa, leaning against the counter, do the same.

"There's no more," Cesc said, sounding puzzled. "Was that all of them?"

Across the kitchen, Villa's eyes met David's. Villa's mouth twisted. David let out a slow breath. "Yes," he said. "That was all of them."

"But - " Cesc looked from Villa to David. "I don't recognize anyone. I thought once I saw - "

David ran both hands through his hair and tugged. "Do you think it's just that you don't remember, or - " He checked himself, turning his frustration inward. Of course Cesc wouldn't know, that was the point.

"I don't get it," Cesc sounded, mostly to himself. "I have a good memory. This is stupid." After a minute, he added a quiet, "Sorry."

David grimaced. "No, it's not your fault. It might not even matter, we were just saying so earlier. Or it might be someone we missed."

Cesc looked skeptical.

"If you remember, you remember," Villa put in unexpectedly. "If you don't, you don't. Don't beat yourself up over it." When Cesc twisted around to look at him, he locked his hands behind his head and acted like he hadn't said anything.

David said, "If you want, Cesc, you can take a rest. If this was really your first day training, we would have sent you home by now."

Cesc looked like he was about to protest, but as he opened his mouth, he was overtaken by a massive yawn.

David smiled a little. "Take a nap," he said. "It'll still be here when you wake up."

"Okay," Cesc said, yawning again. He got up and then, on the verge of turning down the hall, hesitated.

"Hey," he said. He shifted from one foot to the other. "Can I ask you a question?"

David glanced at Villa, whose brows were raised. "Sure," he said.

"I was just wondering," Cesc said. "Today, that Raúl guy told you to use - what did he say - 'minimal force'."

David nodded. "He knew we could probably afford to. And Žigić hasn't done anything really out of line. Hadn't," he corrected himself, with a wince.

"Okay," Cesc said. "But sometimes…" He trailed off, then straightened. His eyes, when he looked at David, were direct. "You told me in London you weren't going to kill me. Have you? Killed someone?"

It was like a kick to the chest. David's breath caught in his throat. After a moment, he was able to say in a fairly steady voice, "Yes."

But he couldn't quite meet Cesc's eyes.

Villa glanced from Cesc to David and frowned. "So have I," he said ominously. "A lot of people." Unspoken was, and you could be next.

David managed a smile. "Don't exaggerate, David."

Villa's frown deepened. "Look, Fàbregas," he said. "Yeah. I've had to kill another human being, and I'll have to do it again. It's part of the job. It's not cool, it's not exciting, it's fucking horrible. But if there has to be a choice - one guy or a lot of others hurting, or someone who's just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or my partner - someone has to do it and it might as well be people who won't let it fuck them up until they turn into what they're trying to stop."

By the time he finished his impromptu speech Cesc's eyes were wide. David had to tear his eyes away from Villa and fix his gaze down on the table for a moment. He knew what his expression must look like.

"Is that what it's like? Silva?"

He looked up. "Yes," he said. "David's got it exactly." He risked a small smile at Villa, who quirked one side of his mouth. "We try not to, of course. But sometimes - " He shrugged. Then it occurred to him why Cesc might be asking, and he hastened to add, "Of course no one expects you to - "

Cesc's face indicated it hadn't even occurred to him. David flinched. Villa rolled his eyes and said, "Fàbregas, go get some sleep."

"Okay," Cesc said after a minute. "Sorry about the files. I'll try to remember." Before either of them could say anything, he disappeared into the hall, and a minute later they heard the soft snick of a closing door.

David could feel Villa's eyes on him. He kept his own averted. There was a creak, and then footsteps across the floor, until they came to a stop in front of him.

David made himself look up. "I still have to get in touch with Juan," he said, to break the silence. "Maybe tomorrow he can - "

Villa reached out and slid a hand through David's hair, letting it come to rest curved around the crown of David's head. The words dried in David's mouth.

"Stop doing that," Villa said.

David swallowed. "Stop what?"

Villa frowned. "You know what."

David did know. He knew he wasn't going to stop either. He couldn't help it. He looked down at his lap and tried to smile. "Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "Okay." He straightened, and gave Villa a lopsided smile. "Abramovich?"

Villa didn't look convinced. The hand in David's hair slid down to the back of David's neck and squeezed, warm, before dropping away

"Okay," he said. "Abramovich."

David watched him take Cesc's seat in front of his laptop. His chest was tight, so tight it ached. He wished -

After a minute, he was able to push it away, and went to take a seat across from Villa.

* * *

"It's no big deal," Jérôme's brother had told him, the first time, "just a little bit of money on the side. Your mom will be happy you're making yourself useful, you know?"

That had been three years ago. Jérôme's brother had skipped the city for Milan a few months later, after the bust-up with Ballack got Berlin too hot for him. Which left Jérôme still here, stalling.

He'd gotten caught, once - gotten off lightly, too, with just a fine and a reprimand, no jail time. But it was on his record now, and the prospect, always dim, of an actual job - a real job during daylight hours, five days a week with vacation and sick leave and a scheduled paycheck - receded further and further in the distance. Jérôme didn't know if he'd even like a regular job. He'd never had one.

But there weren't any jobs coming in, and hadn't been for weeks now. If they didn't pull something together soon, he wouldn't even be able to pay his mobile phone bill, currently crumpled behind the toaster where he wouldn't have to think about it every time he saw it - not to mention his share of the rent.

"He's late," Lahm said, recalling Jérôme to the dingy, badly-lit room.

"Maybe he's got a job," Gomez suggested, with more optimism than Jérôme felt. Than Lahm felt, either, to go by his face.

"If it were you, he wouldn't be thinking up nice excuses," Lahm said. Gomez shrugged. Schweinsteiger, next to him, looked tired.

From the front of the apartment came the sound of a door opening and shutting. Everyone shifted, resettling themselves, more attentive. Lahm didn't seem particularly cheered. The brisk, clipped footsteps were unmistakably Ballack's - only, Jérôme realized, there was a second pair, too.

Sure enough, when Ballack came through the door, he was trailed by an unfamiliar man, unsmiling, tall and broad-shouldered with deep-set eyes.

Jérôme scanned the room, as unobrusively as he could. None of the others - not even Schweinsteiger or Lahm - seemed to show any signs of recognition. Across the room, Khedira caught Jérôme's eye and shrugged, minutely.

"Hello," Ballack said, without preamble. "I've brought someone who will be helping us with a new job."

"A job," Gomez said, sitting up. A smile lit Schweinsteiger's face, an echo of his old grin. Even Podolski lost the petulant frown that had become his habitual expression over the last weeks.

"This is Luca Toni," said Ballack. "He's vouched for."

Luca Toni gave them a brief, distant nod.

Ballack always got formal when he explained things. "It will be a bit unusual, but you should be pleased to know it will be long term. A favor for Karl."

Schweinsteiger's smile faded a little; Gomez and Hitzlsperger couldn't or didn't hide their surprise. Lahm's eyebrows bristled downward, and his mouth was tight. Khedira, Marin, and Ozil merely looked confused - or in Ozil's case, characteristically unreadable.

Karl the businessman, never named, never specified, who had retained their services before, financed them, made introductions, all in exchange for a favor here, a favor there -

Ballack was speaking again. "Luca is going to help us liaise with others he's worked for - Karl has arranged it."

He paused, as if waiting for someone to speak. No one did. The silence painfully loaded; everyone knew who would, normally, have done so. Ballack's rock-hard expression barely changed, but it was enough to show that he had been thrown off his rhythm. Unconsciously, Jérôme's eyes went to the corner of the room, which was empty.

It had been six weeks since Torsten Frings had been arrested.

It was no secret that the fractures among them, already present, were accelerating alarmingly in his absence. Without Frings' unconditional back up, Ballack's control was less a matter of skill and more and more one of stubborness and sheer willpower. He couldn't find his footing, and was determined to shove forward anyway. The ones who'd been around for a while - particularly Schweinsteiger, who led the faction - were still willing to go along with him, for now, but the newbies - Khedira, Marin, Neuer, Özil - were beginning to look askance at each other. Jérôme, both and neither, didn't know where to look.

And then, of course, there was Lahm - Lahm, who was challenging Ballack more and more, who often disagreed outright, who didn't shy from saying so when he did.

He was about to speak now, Jérôme realized, and braced himself.

"Excuse me," Lahm said, in a voice that implied exactly the opposite. "I thought our decision was to stay out of - entanglements. With others. I think we, all of us - "

"Yes," Ballack cut him off, curt. "This is different, as I said. It's a favor."

Lahm flushed - with anger, not embarrassment. Jérôme's shoulders prickled.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say," Ballack said. There had better not be.

It was a second before Lahm ground out, "No."

Ballack outlined the job. The premise was basic: illegal SIM cards, cards that would route calls through a tiny Ukrainian front company charging sky-high fees. Toni's friends would provide the cards from Italy; their job was to receive them and distribute them to the correct mobile shops.

Jérôme saw Schweinsteiger and Gomez exchange another look. SIM cards - it was hardly a skilled operation. Amateur stuff. But if they were to be paid for it...

It hit him at last, in a way he hadn't understood before, how desperate they were.

"The compensation is very good, for low risk," Ballack finished. He waited for a long beat with his eyes on Lahm. Lahm met his gaze almost defiantly, but didn't say anything. Ballack moved on."No one has anything to complain about, I don't think?"

No one spoke.

"Good. Then you'll hear from T - Bastian before the first shipment comes in." Schweinsteiger nodded. "Dismissed."

They dispersed slowly. Lahm, to Jérôme's surprise, remained seated, shoulders hunched and brows slanted furiously downward. Gomez asked Schweinsteiger something in a low voice; Schweinsteiger shrugged. Ballack and his guest went directly for the door.

Luca Toni still hadn't said more than two words the entire time.

Jérôme watched him leave with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey," Khedira said under his breath, coming up next to him. "You've been around a while, haven't you? What do you think's going on?"

"What you mean?" Jérôme asked.

Khedira's eyes were on Ballack and Toni. "I don't think Ballack's telling us everything."

Jérôme shifted uncomfortably. "Who says he has to?"

Khedira gave him a thoughtful look. "Lahm, don't you think?"

Without thinking, Jérôme said, "Maybe he doesn't even know everything."

Khedira halted. Jérôme couldn't quite meet his eyes. Khedira resumed his stride after a minute, looking thoughtful. Jérôme followed him.

The echo of his own words hung in his ears for the rest of the night.

* * *

David spotted Juan as soon as Juan pushed his way through the café door. He waved a hand, and Juan caught sight of him and squeezed past the clustered little tables, thwacking several patrons with his messenger bag in the process.

"Sorry - oops, sorry - hey, David."

"Hi Juan," David said, trying not to laugh as Juan pulled out a chair, slid his messenger bag off his shoulder, banged it against his own shins, made a noise of irritation, and took a seat.

"Is this business or catching up?" Juan asked, opening his menu with a brisk air. "I need to know before I order."

"Um. Both?" David tried.

"So, business," Juan said, to which David gave a guilty half-shrug. Juan didn't seem to mind, though; he usually didn't. A black-clad waiter appeared at their table, and they waited while David ordered cappuccino and Juan something with an ungodly amount of sugared syrup and whipped cream. Juan always wanted sugar for shop talk.

"How's what's-his-name?" Juan asked when the waiter had gone.

"Good," David said. "He wanted to come along again, by the way."

"Sorry," Juan said, with his own guilty shoulder hunch. "It's just the thing he does with the eyebrows, where they get all bristly and his mouth goes all squinched up - "

David felt a traitorous snicker rising, but he felt obligated to say, "That is my partner you're talking about."

"I know," Juan said, and added a little wistfully, "Some day I'll get that story out of you."

"When you get a new job," David agreed, and Juan made a disappointed noise. "How's the paper?"

Juan shrugged. "Okay. Roberto's talking about taking us over to digital completely by next summer." He gave David a piercing look and just like that the slightly mousy air vanished, replaced with sharp-eyed anticipation. "Why? Have you got something we should've heard about?"

So they were jumping right in today. David could handle that. His own expression smoothed into something mild and harmless. "I might," he said. "It depends. I need a favor."

Juan's expression didn't exactly turn wary - he and David had known each other too long for that - but David detected a certain, and deserved, caution. "What kind of a favor?"

"Nothing big," David said, going for reassuring. "Just a heads up if you hear something." He gave Juan a rueful little smile. "You hear more than anyone I know, and I mean in the office, too." That wasn't quite true, but it was awfully close.

Juan relaxed a little, but remained keen-eyed. "I can probably do that. What am I supposed to be listening for?"

It was difficult to strike a balance between communicating the necessary importance and showing too much of his hand, even to someone as trustworthy as Juan, but David had gotten pretty good at it over the years. "Anything about Moggi's syndicate in action around here," David said. "Anything. Who's around, what they're up to, stupid rumors, speculation, I don't care. Just let me know as soon as you can."

Juan's eyebrows went up. "You guys are going after Moggi again?"

"We're always after Moggi," David said. It was true, even.

"Good luck, I guess." Juan's expression was dubious. "You know you'll need it, right?"

David rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah," he said. "I know.

"So is that it?" asked Juan. "Moggi and his minions?"

David hesitated just a moment too long. Juan leaned forward.

On one hand, he was a journalist. On the other, David had known him since they were teenagers, and he knew how to keep quiet, and if there was anyone in Madrid with an ear to the ground -

"The explosion in London a couple days ago," he said. "A student from Barcelona died."

Juan nodded.

"We hear," David said carefully, "that maybe there was someone on the scene."

The little silver spoon with which Juan was absently stirring his coffee stilled.

David said, "If there's any talk about someone like that around here - if you hear any chatter…" He trailed off, never taking his eyes from Juan.

Juan was silent for a minute. Then he said, "If I asked you where you've been the last few weeks, you probably wouldn't say London, would you?"

"No," said David, with absolute honesty.

Juan nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "I'll listen. I'll keep my mouth shut, too. I trust you." David felt a momentary pang of guilt - Juan still, despite his best efforts, barely knew anything about who David worked for - but not a very strong one. "But I'll get the story when this all comes out. The whole story. Exclusive."

"Of course," said David. He elected not say, If it all comes out.

Juan took a long gulp of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "All right," he said. "What's today's story, at least?"

A bit of the tension left David's shoulders. "Yesterday," he said. "The incident just outside Carabanchel."

"The drive-by," Juan said promptly, and David said, "Not exactly."

He could practically see the furry little ears spring up on top of Juan's head. Juan fished for a notepad, and David added, "What have you heard?"

"What have you got to tell me?" Juan countered almost before the words were out of David's mouth. David couldn't help a grin, and after a minute Juan laughed a little self-consciously.

"We were chasing down a minor felon but he slipped the net before we could bring him in," David said, relenting. "Nikola Žigić, age thirty, Serbian nationality, wanted for attempted robbery, forgery, and assault on an officer of the law. No serious threat to the public expected."

"Casualties?" Juan asked as his pen scratched away.

"One agent wounded, not critically. Sorry, I can't give you a name yet."

Juan frowned at his pad. "Who's the guy working with?"

"I can't say anything else," David hedged. "You know I'm just giving you the lead. There'll be a full press release later today, I think."

"So you don't know," Juan said. "Interesting." He scribbled some more.

David sighed. "If you hear anything - "

"Right, sure," Juan said, without taking his eyes from his notes. "And I'm hearing this from - "

"Confidential source in the Ministry of Justice." Their press office would back him up, they liked him.

"Great." Juan scrawled one last flourish and said, clearly composing the story already, "Sorry, I don't want to run off - "

He obviously did, and didn't particularly care. David suppressed a grin. That was Juan on a story.

"No problem," he said. "Send me a copy."

"Uh-huh," Juan said, eyes far away. They made their way outside - Juan's messenger bag casualties doubled - and David said, "Stay in touch."

Juan nodded. He started down the sidewalk, then turned. "Watch out for yourself over there," he said, like he did every time they parted.

David smiled and said, according to pattern, "I always do."

Villa flicked a switch. Cesc's jaw dropped.

"This is all underground?"

They were standing behind a glass-and-steel wall. Beyond it stretched a cavernous, empty space. Several targets lined the far walls, under the illumination of a row of fluorescent lights.

They were alone. Silva had been gone by the time Cesc woke up - out meeting some journalist friend, Villa said. Cesc wondered. Silva had been awfully quiet the previous evening, focused on his laptop, though he said he was writing up the report. And maybe it was Cesc's imagination, but he had the weird feeling Silva hadn't really wanted to talk to him.

He hadn't meant to sound accusing or anything. It wasn't like he didn't realize it needed to happen in real life, and not just when it was us-or-them. He just - wanted to know.

Villa was talking. " - also the detonation chamber, part of the forensics lab, and a couple other things safer down here."

Cesc couldn't help himself. "Like what?"

"Bet you'd like to know," Villa said. "Where's your piece?"

Cesc gingerly held out the semiautomatic. It wasn't loaded yet; Villa had said he'd need to learn that too.

"Good." From out of nowhere Villa had produced two pairs of green-tinted safety lenses and some kind of heavy-looking earmuffs. He handed one of each to Cesc, then donned his own. When Cesc slid the earmuff thing on, he discovered he could still hear Villa's voice, a little muffled.

"Before we go out I'm supposed to tell you the rules." Villa ticked them off on his fingers. "Keep your safety gear on, don't point the gun at anything you don't want to blow a hole in, don't point it at yourself, don't be stupid. Got it?"

Cesc nodded.

"That's your only warning," said Villa, and unlatched the glass door.

Cesc's footsteps echoed eerily down the range. He couldn't help looking over his shoulder once, then again a moment later. Villa, moving with more assurance, took a position in front of the middle target and Cesc followed him.

"Take out the gun. Hold it like this." Villa demonstrated. "Want me to go slowly?"

Cesc frowned. "Whatever you usually do."

There was an actual blur of motion, and suddenly there was a loaded gun in Villa's hand. Cesc looked from the gun to Villa.

"Want me to go slowly?" Villa repeated, smirking. Cesc narrowed his eyes.

This time Villa went step by step, dissassembling, loading, and reassembling. Then he made Cesc try it with his own. Then he made Cesc try it again, and again, until Cesc could run through the entire process without prompting or excessive fumbling. He still felt mind-numblingly slow, but Villa just said, "Practice later. You can do it anywhere. We're moving on." He looked Cesc over. "Know the right stance?

"Uh - " Cesc did his best to imitate the hazy image he'd absorbed mainly from action movies. He waited for the snort, but none came. Villa only said,

"What's your dominant leg, your right? Move it back a little. Turn to the side - stop. Knees flexible. Now - good."

With a little shock of surprise, Cesc realized that Villa was totally immersed in instructor mode. He wished Silva was there, just to see his reaction - but no, Silva probably knew about this side of Villa anyway, if they were partners.

Villa circled him critically. "Now bring up your arm. Drop your right elbow - no, like this." Villa reached in and adjusted the offending elbow. He took a couple steps back. "Brace yourself from the shoulder for the recoil. All you have to do to aim is line up the sights, focus your strong eye, and shoot. Ready?"

Cesc nodded.

"Go."

Cesc squinted through the sights, focusing on the round black bullseye. He resettled his fingers around the handgrip and took a deep breath -

Even expecting it, the recoil jolted him backward and he lost his balance, stumbling back a step. When he regained his balance and peered in the direction the target, there was no sign of the bullet.

Villa merely said,"Brace from the shoulder. Try again."

Cesc braced from the shoulder. This time, he managed to control the recoil, but the shot went laughably wide. He could feel his face heat.

Villa's brows were drawn. He stared "Show me your stance again. Aim. Okay, now - okay. Close your weak eye. Now tip it a little further - yeah, like that. Try that."

Cesc squeezed the trigger again.

The bullet buried itself two rings from the bullseye.

He was so surprised he nearly dropped the gun. "Did you see that?"

Villa's eyebrows were nearly to his hairline as he looked from Cesc to the target and back. "Do it again," he said.

Cesc settled back into his stance. Grip firm, sights aligned, left eye closed, brace and squeeze -

The next shot was slightly wider, but only slightly.

Cesc was grinning wildly. He looked at Villa. Villa had regained his customary unimpressed look. The corner of his mouth curled up.

"So you have decent hand-eye coordination," he said. "Good. Again."

The next one landed on the opposite side of the bullseye, and the one after that went high, but by the end of the hour Cesc had succeeded in concentrating his shots in the same quarter of the target.

"You're not totally hopeless," Villa said, as Cesc unloaded his gun and wiped it clean. "It won't hurt your cover, at least."

Cesc couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face. "Awesome."

Villa rolled his eyes. "Practice enough and you might even get to be halfway decent." He removed his earmuffs and safety glasses - and opened the door to the glass thing. "Come on - Silva's going to meet us here whenever he's done with Mata."

The opening gave Cesc the extra nudge he needed. "Hey," he said. "Silva didn't mind, right? I mean, we're okay and everything?"

"What?" said Villa.

Cesc shifted. "That thing. That I was asking about yesterday?"

"What are you - " Villa stopped. "That? No. He's fine with you." He made to move forward.

Cesc fidgeted with his unloaded gun, and then realized what he was doing and hastily stilled. "Should I say something? I mean, I didn't mean anything. I just, you know, wanted to ask."

Villa stopped again and exhaled heavily. "No," he said. "He'd just pretend nothing happened, anyway. Like he always does," he added in a mutter that Cesc wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to hear.

Cesc wasn't convinced. Some nebulous feeling he couldn't identify was prodding him to keep going, but he couldn't find the right words, either, and the silence lengthened until finally Villa sighed and turned to face him fully.

"Look," he said. "It's not you. He's had to deal with some tough shit on the job and it's… a thing. With him."

"Okay," Cesc said, after a minute. "If you're sure..."

"Yeah," Villa said. "I am." He gave Cesc a sharp look. "Are you?"

"I don't care," Cesc said. "I swear. It's just - " He didn't realize until he opened his mouth that he was going to say, "What about, you know. Your families?"

Villa's face made him wish he hadn't.

"They manage," Villa said, in a voice like nothing Cesc had ever heard.

Cesc had never been so grateful as he was at that moment to hear the sound of someone else's footsteps. He and Villa both turned. Silva was framed in the doorway, looking from one of them to the other. Cesc glanced back at Villa. The terrible expression had gone.

"Everything okay?" Silva asked. His eyes lingered on Villa.

"Yeah," Villa said briefly. He didn't offer anything more.

It was another moment before Silva turned to Cesc. "So how did it go?"

He didn't seem to be avoiding Cesc's eyes or anything. Cesc was happy to take that at face value. "Good," he said. "Really good, I think? I can hit the target every time now."

Silva's eyebrows went up. "Really," he said, glancing at Villa.

Villa said, "He's actually not bad."

The way Silva's eyes widened almost comically confirmed Cesc's tentative evaluation of the David Villa scale of praise as relative to normal human speech. "Wow," Silva said, sounding a lot more enthusiastic. "Great. Sorry," he said to Cesc, "but we had to assume you'd be pretty terrible. Just in case."

Cesc tried to decide whether he should feel insulted or not. "It's okay," he said. "I guess. So - Villa said you were meeting a journalist or something?"

Silva nodded. "Sort of. A friend of mine from school. He works at El Che now."

Cesc made a face. "El Che? The - " The word 'friend' sunk in and Cesc hastily rearranged his sentence. " - uh, independent paper?"

Silva heard him anyway. The corners of his mouth curved up. "Yes, that one. You'd be surprised what they dig up sometimes. Juan's got good connections and sometimes he'll use them for us, if we ask nicely." He paused and then said, "And if we get him a good lead."

"You mean if you ask nicely," Villa said.

"You make him nervous," Silva said. Villa's face went ominous, and Silva added, "I can't imagine why."

Cesc snickered. When Villa's head swung in his direction he hastily coughed into a fist. Villa eyed him and pointedly turned back to Silva. "So what'd he say?"

Silva ran a hand through his hair. "He'll keep his ears open. He hasn't heard anything yet." He made a face. "And he picked right up on the fact that we don't know what happened with Žigić."

"Yeah, well." Villa shrugged. "He wants a scoop on that one, he can do some of the legwork for us. Fine with me." He glanced from Silva to the range and smirked. "Want to go a couple rounds?"

Silva gave the target a regretful glance. "Can't," he said. He held up a thick folder. "I still have to take this upstairs - I came down to find you first."

Villa looked slightly disappointed. "Okay. We'll head up with you."

Cesc was starting to feel kind of at home in the elevator lobbies. As they disembarked on the fifteenth floor, Silva's mobile beeped.

"Oh," he said, tapping at it as they wound through the hall, "it's Raúl Albiol. They're here at headquarters and they want to see us. Good, we should make sure they've got everything they need."

Villa said nothing. Silva slid him a sideways glance and smiled mischievously. "You just don't like them because they're not intimidated by you."

Villa made an irritated sound. "Who?" Cesc asked, as Silva opened the embossed glass doors, and just as Silva was about to answer, something drew his attention.

The head office was once again a small whirlwind of furious activity, but at the center were three unusually still figures. One Cesc recognized from the day before, a curly-haired guy about Cesc's age who was typing doggedly away at a laptop with a long-suffering look on his face. The other two - one perched on the edge of curly hair's desk, the other looming over it, both wearing identical grins - he'd never seen before.

"Oh," Silva said, brightening, "they're here already."

Both men turned. "Silva!" the tall one said, delighted, and bounded over to collar Silva in a headlock.

"Raúl - argh, no, that tickles - I can't breathe, Raúl - " Silva's words dissolved into a burst of muffled laughter.

The other man, who had dark hair and cut-glass cheekbones, slid off the desk and stuck his hands in his pockets. He gave Cesc an appraising look and then grinned at Villa. "So it's really true," he said. "I said I had to see it with my own eyes. "

Villa, who had assumed a distinctly irritated expression when the tall one had assaulted Silva, looked even less amused.

"Because Capdevila got hit on the head, you know, so we thought it might have been a hallucination."

"For the love of - "

Cheekbones turned his attention to Cesc. "How's it going, Macià? We looked you up on the network."

"Uh," said Cesc.

"Are they hard to tell apart? Don't get confused by the name thing," Cheekbones said earnestly. "Or the height thing. It's easy to keep track, we call them Jekyll and Hyde. Or Good David and Evil David."

A snort of laughter escaped Cesc before he could help it. Villa spared a killing glare for him before saying to Cheekbones, "You fucking don't."

"What kind of money do you want to put on that?" Cheekbones said, grinning, just as Silva said, "Don't what?"

He'd finally struggled free, flushed and laughing. The tall guy had a huge goofy grin on his face. As Silva, still half-breathless, tried fruitlessly to tame his disheveled hair he said to Cesc, "Raúl and I went through training together. Sorry, I haven't introduced - or maybe you've already - "

Cheekbones grinned, another flash of white teeth. "Surprisingly, Villa didn't introduce us."

"'Because you wouldn't shut the hell up," Villa said, giving him the eye.

"Albiol," the tall one said with a wave. "The other Raúl. Nice to meet you."

"Arbeloa," said Cheekbones. "Hey."

It clicked. "You're the ones after Žigić," Cesc said.

They both nodded and Silva, sounding pleased, said, "Right. Don't tell me you have a lead already?"

"He - " Arbeloa jerked a thumb at Albiol, " - thought we should keep you updated. Hey, Granero," he said to the curly-haired typist, who had been steadfastly ignoring them in favor of his computer screen. "Can we have a room for a few minutes?"

"Sure," Granero said with clear relief. "The small conference room's free. Take all the time you want."

Inside, Silva took a chair; Villa stayed standing. After a moment's indecision Cesc followed Silva's example. Albiol did, too, and Arbeloa straddled a chair backwards and crossed his arms on the headrest.

"So what have you got?" Villa asked without preamble.

Arbeloa made a face. "Not much," he said. "They picked the right street - half-deserted, barely any traffic. Quick escape, no collateral damage and almost no witnesses. We've tried the ones we can find, but all we've got are a couple of vague statements at best. None of them can tell us anything concrete about the vehicles or the suspects."

Silva raised his eyebrows. "They really didn't see anything, or they 'forgot'?"

Arbeloa shrugged. "Could be either. Capdevila doesn't remember seeing anyone around, but he says himself he was distracted. He's got a rough description of the vehicles and part of one of the plates, but that's it." He blew out a breath. "He's still feeling pretty down about Senna."

Silva's mouth went down. "Yeah," he said. "I bet." Albiol reached over and ruffled his hair; he ducked away ineffectually.

"What did you get from them?" Villa asked.

Albiol answered this time. "Uh, from the first witness we have a description of several men, between five and ten, speech undistinguishable. Mostly dark-haired."

Villa snorted. "So we're not in Scandinavia. Great, good to know."

"The same from the second, without an estimate at numbers," Arbeloa said. "She adds both vehicles were unmarked white vans, which is what we got from Capdevila."

Silva looked from Albiol to Arbeloa. "Well, that's - "

" - pretty useless. I know." Arbeloa shrugged. "We'll keep trying. Meanwhile, this is what we got from the M-40 traffic cameras by Avenue de Andalucia." He tossed something on the table. Cesc craned his neck and saw it was a packet of grainy photographs.

Silva picked them up; when Villa came up behind him he moved his head absently so Villa could lean over his shoulder. A second later he glanced up at Cesc and said with a little smile, "You're allowed to look too, you know."

Silva spread the photos on the table so Villa and Cesc could both see. They didn't look like much to Cesc: two series of blurred shots, both of white vans of indistinguishable make. After a minute, however, he realized that the license plates were legible on both vehicles.

"You think these are the ones?" Silva asked, looking up.

Albiol nodded and Arbeloa said, "Description, partial plate match, travel time from Carabanchel, everything seems to fit. They were headed out of Madrid." He shrugged. "It's not much, but it's all we've got so far. Forensics went down yesterday to do ballistics, so we should have that before too long, and we're headed back this afternoon to try and pry anything else out of the eyewitnesses."

He paused, and he and Albiol exchanged a glance. Albiol shrugged.

Silva looked between them. "What?"

Arbeloa levered himself off the chair and locked his hands behind his neck. "We're tossing around ideas about how these guys knew where to find Žigić in the first place," he said. "They could have just been watching him all along - " Silva and Villa made identical noises of denial, " - yeah, I know, but they could have. But listen, there was that cop that showed up out of nowhere - "

"What?" Silva's eyes went big. "Morientes?"

" - and then he coincidentally vanished before Capdevila and Senna showed up - "

Silva was shaking his head. "No," Villa said flatly. "He didn't just show up, he called in and told Raúl he was on his way. It wasn't him."

"Oh," said Arbeloa, deflating. "Right. Damn."

Silva's brow was furrowed. Albiol noticed. "David?" he prompted.

"Hm? Oh, no," Silva said, "I was just thinking - it's not important. Let us know if you get anything new from the witnesses? And when you get the ballistics report back."

"Sure," said Arbeloa. Silva slid the photos over to him, and he pocketed them and then stretched; though outwardly nothing changed, somehow Cesc could sense a slight relaxation run throughout the room. "Is the boss putting you on a different case?"

"Probably," Silva said. "We don't actually know. When we went in yesterday he was kind of, um. Busy. Do you know why Figo's in Brussels this time, by the way?"

Albiol and Arbeloa exchanged a glance. "Transfer business?" Albiol suggested.

"Nah," said Arbeloa. "Internet boyfriend." Albiol guffawed.

Villa muttered something under his breath. "What's that?" Arbeloa said.

"I said," said Villa, "you would know."

Arbeloa and Albiol both appeared to think this was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Silva looked like he wanted to laugh but wouldn't quite let himself. Villa gave them both the evil eye.

"Okay," Arbeloa said, when he and his partner had gotten themselves under control. "We've got to get back to work. Call us if you need anything."

Silva stood up and Albiol slid an arm around his shoulders in a half-hug. "Make sure Villa treats you right."

"Make sure I what," Villa said, but Albiol and Arbeloa were already making their escape back through the door to the outer office.

"That's just Raúl," Silva said, ducking his head. "Which reminds me, I still have to turn in our report."

Outside, Albiol and Arbeloa were gone already but signs of their presence remained: Granero, the curly-haired admin, was pounding his keyboard particularly emphatically. "We've got a report for Raúl," Silva said to no one in particular, and immediately a fresh-faced blond popped up in front of them.

"Okay," he said breathlessly. "Raúl's not seeing anyone this morning, I'll make sure he gets it. Thank you!" He vanished, or so it seemed; a moment later Cesc saw him in front of a photocopier across the office.

"Do you think Canales actually gets younger each time we come in?" Silva asked under his breath.

There was no answer. Cesc glanced at Villa.

Villa was frowning. "He's not seeing anyone, huh?"

"You heard him yesterday," Silva said, and, one corner of his mouth going up, added, "You asked, I think."

Villa didn't take the bait. "Yeah, but - " His eyes were on the closed door of Raúl's office. "I don't know. I've got this feeling."

Something passed across Silva's face so quickly that Cesc wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't already been looking.

"Oh," he said, in a tone Cesc couldn't read, and then, "Do you think so? You would be the one to notice."

Villa was still staring at the door, like if he just concentrated hard enough he could see through it. He made a vaguely affirmative noise.

Cesc's gaze swung back to Silva. This time, Silva noticed. He straightened and said, "Well, we've got plenty to work on for now. Figo's back in the office tomorrow. We'll see if Raúl has another assignment for us then, I guess."

Villa finally turned away. "Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."

As they left the office, though, Cesc caught him looking over his shoulder, face etched in a deep frown.

The door to Raúl's office remained closed.

* * *

He was sitting in the back of a huge cathedral, and the light through the rose window lit his mother and Carlota blue and gold and crimson. They were crying.

He tried to stand up, to go to them, but he was frozen to the wooden pew. Farther down the row his cousins were huddling, the youngest ones, Sofia and Miquel and Daniel - had they been there all along? They were crying, too; Cesc could hear Sofia's voice all the way from the back.

His eyes were drawn helplessly back to his mother and sister. His mother was stroking Carlota's hair. The look on her face made Cesc feel sick.

He tried again to move. He was glued in place. He couldn't look away, or block out the sound of their weeping.

He heard a sound like a gunshot.

Cesc bolted upright, gasping. It took him a minute to realize the harsh, ragged sound echoing in his ears was the sound of his own breathing. The room was dark and silent.

His heartbeat was racing. He put a hand to the back of his neck. It came away damp.

His family didn't even go to church.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to think about -

Cesc slid out of bed as quietly as he could and eased the door open.

Faint light - moonlight? street lights? - cast the kitchen in a ghostly sheen. Cesc took a seat at the table, braced his elbows atop it, and pressed his head into his hands. His fingers dug into his hair.

It wasn't his fault, he was the one who wanted to tell them -

But it would be if they were - if something happened to them. If something happened to them because of this it was his fault and there was nothing on earth that could halt the swirling rush of sick fear that overcame him at the thought.

He dug his fingers in harder, until it hurt. If he could just tell them something - but he couldn't - but it was his responsibility -

Someone was shaking his shoulder. " - night? Fàbregas. Hey."

He started upright, blinking, dazed, into the blinding sunlight. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. When it did, David Villa was looking down at him.

"What?" Cesc rasped. His throat was hoarse. He looked around the kitchen. "'s it morning already?"

"Were you here all night?" Villa said.

"No, I just - I don't - " Slowly, the dream returned, merciless and inexorable, and Cesc trailed off.

Villa was still waiting for an answer.

"I just," Cesc said, and swallowed. "Had a dream."

Villa looked at him for a moment and then dropped down to the other chair, rubbing a hand over his face and then back over his head.

"About - "

"My family," Cesc said, barely above a whisper.

Villa let out a long breath. "I figured," he said.

As Cesc watched, he pulled out his mobile, tapped a single command, and held it up to his ear. It was only seconds before someone answered.

"It's Villa. Yeah." Villa cast a quick glance at Cesc. "No. We're good. Your end?" He paused for a minute, listening, and then said abruptly, "Look, is it safe to leave it to someone else for the day and make it down here? He needs to talk to you."

Cesc sat up. Did Villa mean him? He hadn't thought he was supposed to talk to anyone.

"Thanks," he said. He flipped the phone closed and met Cesc's eyes.

"Xavi Hernández is on his way down from Barcelona," he said. "He's going to tell you everything you want to know about your family."

Part 3