Clandestine Affairs 3, cont.

[acchikocchi]

A ray of sunlight outlined Villa leaning back in his chair, feet propped on the table and arms crossed over his chest, when David returned with Cesc the next morning. Villa's eyes flicked up from the laptop screen as the door opened and before he said anything David heard the crackle of conversation coming over the audio feed.

" - could've if they'd played him further up the pitch."

"But that wouldn't have had anything to do with Wilkinson, would it? I counted at least seven fouls that didn't go called - and that tackle, mother of God - "

"They've been here for about half an hour," Villa said as David came around to look at the video feed. "García and Reyes. They've been talking about football the whole - oh. Thanks." He took the takeaway coffee cup David held out. Up close David could see faint shadows under Villa's eyes and the shadow of stubble covering his jaw.

David turned to the laptop screen with a small wrench. It showed two men, both of whom David recognized from Raúl's file, one standing at the counter flipping through an account book and the other leaning back at a desk twirling a pen round and round.

"Who are they talking about?" Cesc asked.

Villa shrugged. "Some English team."

Cesc perked up at that. "Really?" He came around, too, and leaned in close to the audio monitor. "The title race is really close this season, the next couple weeks are going to decide everything."

The man at the counter said, "I don't think the scoreline accurately reflects the quality of, of play last night - "

The one seated made a derogatory noise. "It does. They're hopeless. Your precious Wenger doesn't look like such a genius now, does he?"

Cesc's face fell. "Aw, man..."

"Nothing?" David asked Villa, who shook his head.

"Nothing. What a shock."

David gave the small office a closer look. "And it's a... transport company?"

Villa's head thumped back so he was looking up at the ceiling. He recited, "C.B. incorporation, six drivers employed, 1.2 million euros in value of goods moved, 7% net profit margin." At David's surprised glance, Villa picked up the file and dropped it on the table again with a thump. "I've practically got the fucking thing memorized now."

Cesc was still listening intently to the football discussion. David gave him a quick glance, then murmured, "Anything more on London?"

"No," Villa said. "You still thinking about those abandoned cases?"

David hesitated. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, a nebulous sense that there was a piece somewhere he hadn't put together yet. He was used to hunches like those by now, and usually if he left them alone his subconscious would help them along until there was something concrete he could get hold of, but -

"Yes," he said eventually. "Can we - "

Villa gave him a faint, self-satisfied smile and said, "I sent a message to Berlin to put us in touch with van Nistelrooy. We should hear back from him today if we're lucky."

A surprised laugh escaped David and he dropped his head, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose. Villa said, still with that curl of the mouth, "I know when you've got your teeth into something."

"Is this about what's his name?" Cesc asked. "Abramovich?" They both turned to look at him. "The guy who doesn't really own that company that wasn't real. Right?"

"Right," David said, after taking a second to decipher that. "We're making sure he really doesn't have anything to do with - the people responsible."

Cesc's brow furrowed. "Hey, what's happening with the guys who were actually there? I know I couldn't pick any of them out, so..."

"Five are in custody, to be held indefinitely. We're slowing the proceedings down because of, ah..." David trailed off.

Cesc waited, then his face cleared and he said, "Me."

David coughed. "Well. Yes." He winced. "We don't actually want to press knowingly false murder charges."

"They're not talking at all," Villa put in. "I was catching up on the procedures in London overnight. No one's saying a single damn thing."

David wasn't exactly surprised, but - "Yeah," Villa agreed.

David glanced at the screen; Reyes and García had fallen silent. Reyes was ticking off something in the account book and García was idly flicking through a magazine.

Villa leaned back in his chair, a movement that was accompanied by the sound of several joints cracking. David frowned. "Okay," he said. "Shift's over. Time for you to go back and get some sleep."

Villa gave an elaborate shrug. "I'm fine," he said, because he was stubbornly contrary like that. "It's no big - " He looked supremely irritated as a jaw-cracking yawn interrupted him.

David didn't say anything; he didn't have to. Villa knew this and gave him a half-hearted glare. "Fine," he said grudgingly, "but it's only going to be a couple hours." He glanced meaningfully at Cesc, who said, "What?"

David knew what he meant - the building wasn't secure like their apartment, or like headquarters. It was probably erring on the side of caution, but that was, after all, their job.

"What?" Cesc repeated, and David said, "Nothing. David?"

Villa got to his feet. His shoulder bumped against David's. "I'll be back," he said. "Soon."

Everything always seemed oddly flat and quiet after Villa left. David took Villa's seat, and after a minute Cesc came over and scooted the other chair around so he could see the screen, too.

"If you want to know who they are, I've got the profiles from Raúl's office here," David offered.

"Okay," Cesc said, so David slid them over and settled back in his chair to watch the stream.

At first, his attention was taken with cataloguing his initial impressions of both men: their mannerisms, speech patterns, clothing. Reyes - the one who liked this Wenger, whoever he was - had a soft face that made him look younger than his age, and was subject to nervous tics. García was several years older, and seemed more of a joker. A glance through the files showed nothing in either of their backgrounds - lower middle class family, moderate amount of school, various jobs here and there - that was particularly unusual. David sighed.

Cesc grew restless quickly, for which David couldn't blame him one bit. After a while, he got up and begin wandering around the room, examining every nook and cranny, which didn't take very long. He made his way over to the optimistically labelled 'half-kitchen' - a sink and a counter and a double burner - in the far corner, where he tried first the faucet, the water from which made them both recoil, and then the burner, which didn't catch.

"No gas, huh?"

"I guess not," David said. "If it had to be switched on separately, the office wouldn't have bothered."

"You should get them to fix that," Cesc said. "What if you were trapped and you needed to, like, fuel an explosion suddenly or something?"

He'd been looking at Ortiz' original deposition just a minute ago; where had it gone? David flicked through the papers in front of him until he found it hiding under García's school history. Remembering Cesc's question, he said absently, "It's fine, we wouldn't need a gas line for that." There was no answer. When he looked back up, Cesc was staring at him.

"What, you can, like, make a bomb in the sink?"

"You don't really need a sink, but - " Cesc's eyes were getting big again. David coughed into his fist.

Next Cesc disappeared into the bathroom. There was a hollow rattling, then the sound of running water, then Cesc's voice saying, "Ew." David laughed under his breath. Cesc reappeared a minute later. "There's a bathtub," he reported. "But I wouldn't use it if I were you."

At almost eleven o'clock by David's watch García and Reyes were joined by the third mark, Helguera - older than either Garcia or Reyes, not prone to smiles. They promptly began rehashing the discussion of the earlier football match, which made Cesc groan and walk over to the other end of the room, hands over his ears.

Every so often the phone rang; the wiretap relayed nothing more than a series of mundane customer inquiries. David paid close attention anyway, just in case there was a pattern to note later.

A real live customer showed up, which brought Cesc back to David's side to scrutinize the new arrival with determined concentration. The man did nothing, however, but arrange for the transport of some large piece of furniture and pay for it by check. In the background, García's head was drooping toward his desk.

David noted the customer's name anyway and looked him up on the network. Corporate employee, three traffic tickets, good credit. No flags, no criminal record. Dead end.

Cesc yawned. Helguera slapped García on the back of the head, making him jerk upright. Conversation started up again, first centered on a model whose name David vaguely recognized, before moving on to women in general. David coughed; Cesc looked a little red. Eventually García departed with some words about inspecting one of the trucks. Soon afterwards, the other two left for the midday break.

David checked his watch again. It was nearly two o'clock. As if echoing his thoughts, Cesc's stomach growled.

"Sorry," Cesc said.

"It's fine," David said automatically, thinking. He hadn't thought about lunch - more specifically, he hadn't thought about the fact that he couldn't send Cesc out, or leave himself, but neither could they leave the site together. Calling Ruben in just so they could take a lunch break probably wouldn't be -

On cue, there was the sound of a key in the lock and the door swung open, revealing David Villa and several containers of takeaway.

He'd shaved and his hair was damp. The circles under his eyes were gone. "Thought you might want these," he said.

Cesc's face was a mask of beatific gratitude. David thought his own wasn't too far off, especially when the contents were revealed to be fairly suspect Chinese, which happened to be David's favorite.

For a while there was no conversation. When the containers were sufficiently decimated that David was reduced to poking his chopsticks in the corners for the last tidbits, Villa, who had evicted Cesc from the other chair, said, "I'm making a wild guess you didn't pick up anything."

David's mouth was full of lo mein. He shook his head, swallowed, and said, "The third one showed up, though. Helguera." Villa waited, eyebrows raised, and David shrugged. "He's kind of quiet, but in a normal way. The other two pretty much do what he says."

Villa leaned back. "He's the boss?"

David shrugged. "Unofficially, at least."

Cesc had moved over to the arm of the couch. Villa glanced over, then said, "Hey, Fàbregas." Cesc looked up. Villa set his chopsticks down and pushed away from the table. "You left something behind." He drew one of the guns from his shoulder holster and held it out.

For a second, Cesc gave it a blank stare, then his eyes got big. "Oh. Oh, shit, sorry, I just - I didn't think about it, I guess - "

"Yeah, I figured," Villa said. "Don't do it again. As long as you're with us, don't ever leave without it, and know exactly where it is when you don't have it on you."

Cesc got up and came over to take the gun carefully, letting its weight rest in one hand. "Can I - "

David didn't hear whatever it was he was going to ask, because at that moment his mobile buzzed, and the name on the screen made him sit bolt upright.

"David," he said. "It's Raúl Albiol."

Villa immediately went abandoned whatever he'd been saying as David said, "Hello? Raúl?"

"David!" The barely-suppressed excitement in Raúl's voice came over the line loud and clear. "Guess what? We've got some good news for you."

David's grip on the handset tightened. "Žigić?"

"You got it," Raúl said. "We know who's got him. And I bet you'll never guess who."

"No?" David said, glancing at Villa, who was leaning forward in his chair.

"Actually that part's not so good news, but we never would have tracked it down on our own, so - "

"Raúl - "

" - overall I'm calling it good that we caught a break like we did. Man, and I thought that thing with Rossi and the Americans was weird - "

"Raúl," David interrupted. "Who?"

He could hear the grin in Raúl's voice. "Has anyone ever mentioned that Villa's made you grabby?"

"He hasn't made me anything," David said with what he thought was pretty impressive patience, given the circumstances. "Are you going to tell me, or - "

"Okay, if you're going to get all prickly about it," Raúl said, laughing at him. "Are you ready?" If anyone's partner had rubbed off on them, it was -

"It's Raúl Tamudo," Raúl said.

David's jaw dropped. After he found his voice, he said, "You're kidding me."

"Nope," Raúl said, sounding deeply pleased with his reaction. "Total coincidence - there was a bust at one of Tamudo's safehouses this morning and one of the Barcelona agents caught sight of him."

Of course: that must have been why Xavi had been called away. "You're kidding," David repeated, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Villa leaning half out of his chair as his eyes bored into David. Who the fuck? he mouthed.

David covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "Tamudo," he said, and had the rare pleasure of seeing David Villa completely dumbfounded.

He took his hand away and said, "Raúl, I'm putting you on speaker. Tell us everything that happened."

"I told you Villa was making you grabby," Raúl said, just - of course - as the speaker went on, so that both Villa and Cesc heard him. Villa gave the mobile the evil eye.

Blithely unaware, Raúl explained. "It's all thanks to Senna - he regained consciousness the same day we saw you, did anyone tell you that?"

In the mess of Xavi and Cesc and surveillance, David - hadn't forgotten about Senna, exactly, but he hadn't thought about him, or about Joan. His face must have shown what he felt, because Villa's brows went down in a familiar expression.

"Don't even start," Villa warned in a low voice.

David shook his head involuntarily. "I'm not, I - " Villa's frown deepened and David stopped, brought to a halt by a mix of helplessness and guilty warmth.

"What's that?"

Villa raised his voice. "Nothing. No, we didn't hear. Good. What did he see?"

"Well, he thought one of the faces looked familiar. You know he did his post-training rotation up there. But he couldn't place it, so we just told Barcelona to keep an eye out for any sign of Žigić, just in case. And yesterday after the bust we heard back from that kid Krkić. Turns out he knows Žigić from those old 'family connections' of his and recognized him right away."

Villa interrupted. "But they didn't get their hands on him?"

"Nope. It looks like Tamudo's guys were tipped off ahead of time. Barcelona got there just as they were clearing out." Raúl paused. "It sounds like maybe someone screwed up on the scene, too. Krkić seemed pretty down and I didn't feel like pushing him yet. We're headed up to Barcelona today, so we'll hear it all soon enough anyway."

"You're too nice, Albiol," Villa said.

"I guess, compared to you." Raúl was grinning again, David could tell. "Anyway, I've gotta go, we have to make the next train. Just wanted to keep you in the loop."

"Thanks," David said. "Really. Keep us updated, okay?"

"Sure," Raúl said cheerfully. "See you." The line cut off.

For a minute, they just stared at each other. Then David said, "Xavi's going to be disappointed."

"Fuck, I'm disappointed," Villa said. "What the hell was Tamudo doing getting himself tangled up with Žigić? I know he's not actually stupid."

"Maybe it was one of his underlings," David said, testing the idea. "I know Tamudo works on a local scale, but there's no way he can personally oversee every single decision in his web."

Villa snorted. "Yeah? Then whoever it was sure won't last long in Barcelona, with judgement like that."

"Well," David said, "the alternative is that we've been wrong about Žigić all along."

Villa looked like he badly wanted to shoot that idea straight down. He was too good at his job to do that, though. With extreme reluctance, he said, "Maybe. I guess. Maybe."

Since that was about how David felt, he didn't press it further. He didn't have to ask to know they'd be reviewing everything they knew or thought they knew about Žigić later.

"Maybe he knows something," Cesc said. When they both looked at him, he said, "Žigić, I mean. Maybe, like, he knows something and this Tamudo guy has to work with him whether he wants to or not."

"Huh," Villa said, which David knew meant That's not actually a bad idea.

David frowned, thinking aloud. "Žigić was in Warsaw before this, and Belgrade before that. Last I checked, Tamudo still doesn't like operating outside of Spain. It's not impossible - "

" - but pretty damn unlikely," Villa finished.

Cesc looked slightly crestfallen, so David added, "Good thinking, though, and it's not out of the question. Anyway, it's Albiol and Arbeloa's job to figure out why. And Xavi's."

"Officially or not," Villa said, with a snort. "Speaking of unhealthy obsessions - " He leaned over and came up with a thick bundle of newsprint, which he thumped down on the table. "I got the papers while I was out."

He thumbed through the pile, extracted a folded paper, and tossed it to David. David caught it one-handed and flipped it over so the masthead was visible.

It was the latest issue of El Che. "Check on your friend Mata," Villa said.

David spread the pages out on the table. Cesc came over to look over his shoulder. "'Interview With A Vampire,'" he read aloud from the lead headline. "'Factory Foreman Spills Shocking Secrets of Corporate Bloodlust.'"

He looked at David, skepticism written all over his face.

"You'd be surprised," David said. "Really."

"If you say so," Cesc said, clearly unconvinced.

Villa was opening the sober pages of El Pais. Cesc began to flick through the remaining papers in the pile, and David gave his attention over to El Che.

Juan's byline appeared under a story on a warehouse theft, and another on the criminal trial of a local official. David suspected he was responsible for the anonymous police blotter notes, too; his style wasn't as overtly belligerent as that of his editors, but he could skewer with the best of them.

For a while, the room was quiet but for the rustle of newsprint pages. Then, slowly, David became aware of a strange muffled clicking sound. He looked up, and realized Cesc wasn't standing at the table any more. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, angled slightly away, so that the movement of his arms was shielded. David didn't have any trouble figuring out was he was doing, though: assembling, loading, and dissassembling the gun Villa had brought.

David looked to his side. Villa had glanced up, too, and was watching Cesc with a distinctly satisfied expression. When he saw David looking, he immediately returned his attention to the pages on the table. David hid a smile.

García and Reyes returned, without Helguera. There were exactly two more phone calls, and no more customers. García amused himself flicking little balls of paper at Reyes, until Reyes threatened to stuff them down his throat. They debated the merits of high-definition home video versus the cinema. Villa made a pained noise; David looked over, and saw him tearing methodical little strips in the edge of El Pais' front page, without seeming to be aware of it.

Eventually, Villa stood up to paced back and forth around the room. Cesc, in return, came back over to take his spot. Cesc didn't say anything, just flipped aimlessly through the papers. Eventually, looking dubious, he pulled El Che over. When David next looked over, several minutes later, he was still reading, mouth slightly open.

Villa flopped on the couch, tapping his fingers restlessly on one knee. David got up and took his turn walking a wide circle around the perimeter of the room to keep from stiffening up, rolling his shoulders slowly. Returning to his laptop, he checked his email; still nothing from van Nistelrooy.

At long last, the clock on the office wall ticked over to seven o'clock. García grabbed his jacket and his voice, slightly fuzzy over the stream, said, "Time for me to get out of here." Reyes followed suit and they disappeared below the camera angle, a moment before the lights went out.

Villa let out a long, explosive breath. "One down, two to go."

David stretched, shoulders and neck cracking, and flopped back in the chair. "You two can leave if you want," he said. "Just, if you don't mind, bring me something to eat first."

"You'd better - " Villa started to say, but before he could finish, Cesc said, "I was thinking, shouldn't I stay?"

They both turned to look at him.

"I mean, I know I don't have to, but..." Cesc looked a little uncomfortable, but also - resolute? "I shouldn't just... you know."

David thought he actually understood what Cesc was trying to say. Villa glanced at David; David tilted his head and lifted his shoulders. Villa ran a hand over this back of his head and said, "Okay, Fàbregas. If you want. But remember, you asked for it."

"I don't mind it so far," Cesc said, looking a little brighter. Villa gave him a look of pure disbelief and turned away, shaking his head.

When Villa asked him what was so funny, David, hand over his mouth, said, "Nothing."

It was some time after midnight when David glanced up to see Cesc fast asleep on the couch, one arm flung over the side. He couldn't help smiling, a little.

Villa was prowling around the room like he always did when he was deep in thought, crisscrossing the edges of David's peripheral vision. David himself had managed to leave his laptop alone for several hours, before returning to the records database almost compulsively. He just couldn't help the feeling that if he looked hard enough, he'd suddenly get it, the piece that just barely eluded him.

He'd reread van Nistelrooy's final report three times now. Whatever he was missing, he wasn't going to find it there. On impulse, he called up all recent files from Barcelona. It was probably too early to find anything about the failed raid, but it didn't hurt to check, just in case.

Footsteps moved in his direction. David scrolled past a witness transcript, three minor case briefings -

A warm hand rested on his neck. "What've you got?"

David didn't shiver, because he had better control of himself than that, but he couldn't do anything about the ripple down his spine. "Nothing new," he said. "I was just checking to see if there was anything from Barcelona yet."

Villa's hand slipped away, and he came around and leaned against the edge of the table. "Still nothing from van Nistelrooy?"

David shook his head, without taking his eyes from the screen. "Maybe he's on a case himself."

Villa crossed his arms. "Yeah. Maybe."

Silence. David kept scrolling, but he wasn't seeing anything anymore. He didn't trust himself to look up - not in the dark, not with Villa so close.

Villa spoke again. "You know being on twenty-four hour surveillance doesn't mean you have to work all twenty-four hours."

David made a wordless noise of assent.

He felt rather than saw Villa leaning forward, and then there was an arm brushing his and a hand braced against the back of his chair. "Hey," Villa said in a low voice.

David looked up.

Villa kissed him. For a fraction of a second David was still, then his hand slid up to Villa's collar, and over Villa's shoulder. His mouth opened, to meet Villa's. His eyes fell shut, and he let himself forget, for just a minute, everything that wasn't the muscles of David Villa's shoulder shifting under his grip or David Villa's hand against his side or David Villa's warm mouth on his.

When they had to break apart, eventually, David made himself pull back.

"Can't," he whispered. "Not here."

Villa made a low, dissenting noise against the corner of David's mouth. David agreed. But - His head turned involuntarily toward the couch, where Cesc was fast asleep.

Villa followed his glance. After a second, he exhaled heavily, breath tickling David's ear. "Yeah," he said. "Okay." His lips brushed David's jaw as he pulled back. David had to clench his hands for a minute. His breath was coming unsteady.

Villa had leaned back, but he hadn't moved away. With effort, David cleared his dry throat. "I know I don't. Have to. I just, I know there's something I'm missing."

"You'll get it," Villa said. "If it's there to get."

Something flared in his chest. He should be used to this by now. He looked down for a second, then back up, not quite meeting Villa's eyes, and said, "Yeah."

"You'll get it," Villa repeated. He stood, and was still for a moment. Then he reached out and brushed his knuckles lightly along the arch of David's cheekbone, before turning away.

After a minute, David made himself look back at his laptop screen. His fingers on the keys were only a little shaky.

He couldn't seem to focus on what he was looking for now. He found himself reading the same paragraph for the second - or was it the third? - time, then realized it was the wrong article anyway. The screen blurred, and he had to blink several times to get it to refocus.

He thought he felt eyes on him, but when he glanced up, Villa was frowning absent-mindedly at the wall, hands in his pockets.

He yawned, and then, a second later, yawned again.

The streams were still quiet. Maybe he'd just put his head down for a minute...

He thought he felt something brush his hair, but by then he was already slipping over the edge.

* * *

Cesc awoke groggy and dry-mouthed sometime before the sun rose. A faint grey light lit the room. It was very quiet.

Villa was leaning back in one of the chairs, one arm slung over the back as he tapped at his laptop with the other hand. Next to him, Silva was slumped over the table, head pillowed on his arms.

Villa looked up as Cesc got up, rubbing at his eyes, and padded over to the table. "I thought you guys didn't need sleep," he whispered.

Villa didn't deign to answer that. Instead he reached out and shook Silva's shoulder, surprisingly gently, and said in a low voice, "Hey."

Silva was upright immediately. "What?" he said fuzzily. "What's - " He looked around, blinking bleary eyes, before they focused on Villa, then on Cesc.

"Take Fàbregas back and clean up," Villa said. "And get a couple hours of real sleep."

Silva scrubbed at his eyes. "I just did - you should go, I can just - "

"Yeah, I don't think so," Villa said. "We've already got the assignment from hell, no fucking way are either of us going to make ourselves any more miserable than we have to be."

"I - " A yawn escaped Silva as he tried to cover it in vain. "Okay," he said at last. "But - "

"Three hours," Villa said. "Got it?"

Silva must really have been tired, because he just nodded, and then yawned again. Villa added, "Don't get yourself in a wreck without me driving," which must have been a familiar reference, because Silva smiled.

Silva was utterly focused behind the wheel, and Cesc thought it was pretty rich of Villa, of all people, to comment on anyone else's driving, right up until Silva zipped past a delivery truck on a narrow two-lane street and avoided the car coming the other way with centimeters to spare. When his heart started beating again, Cesc realized that it wasn't Silva was a bad driver so much as a very good one, but that didn't do a lot to quell the adrenaline rush.

At least they got back to the apartment quickly. Silva let Cesc shower first, which was nice, because Cesc was starting to feel pretty disgusting. Then, while Cesc stood in the kitchen eyeing the refrigerator and wondering if he should try and go back to sleep himself, Silva drifted back out, said - not sounding entirely there - "Yell if anything happens and I'll wake up," and disappeared again.

Which effectively ensured Cesc wasn't going to close his eyes of his own volition. There was a sports daily a couple days old lying on the counter, so he sat down at the kitchen table with that instead. Somewhere around the Atlético-Rayo Vallecano recap, his eyelids started to feel heavy. The next thing he knew, Silva was standing next to him saying, "Cesc?"

His eyes snapped open. "I'm awake," he said, too loudly.

Silva looked as refreshed as if he'd had a full night's sleep. Cesc checked his watch just to be sure: three hours on the dot. He rubbed his eyes, and followed Silva back to the car.

Back at the surveillance site, García and Helguera were moving around the tiny screen and Villa's relatively mellow mood from earlier had vanished.

"They're talking about fucking Eurovision," he said.

Silva winced. "And there haven't been any - " Villa gave him a look. "No. Okay."

The minutes ticked slowly by. A couple newcomers showed up to schedule transport or, once, to argue over a bill; Silva dutifully ran each one through the database and reported more or less clean records for each.

There wasn't even any football talk to keep things interesting. Cesc tried to read the original deposition from Ortiz, the man who had named Helguera and Reyes and García in the first place, but it didn't make for very light reading. From the transcript, it seemed a lot like Ortiz was in love with the sound of his own voice. He repeated himself every other sentence, or maybe Cesc was just reading the same thing over and over. The names started to blur together. When Cesc absolutely couldn't take any more, he checked his watch.

It had been thirty minutes.

He let out a heavy sigh and flopped back on the couch.

Villa, who was fiddling with some tiny piece of electronic equipment, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Told you so."

"How long is this supposed to go on for, again?" Cesc asked. "After tomorrow?"

"Forever," Villa said in a dire voice.

Silva appeared to be totally wrapped up in whatever he was doing on the computer. He didn't look up as he answered, "Well, assuming we don't ever pick up on anything worth investigating - probably about a week or two?"

Cesc blanched.

Villa tossed the - whatever it was - on the table. "If they just wouldn't talk so fucking much," he said. "Then we could just keep an eye on the video, whatever. But no, we have to actually pay attention to all this shit about urban legends and fucking Eurovision and bad football."

"Hey," Cesc said. Villa made a dismissive sound.

Silva was still glued to his screen. Cesc rolled his head over. After listening to the click-click-click of Silva's mouse for a minute, he asked, "Do you guys always have to spend so much time on research?"

"No," Silva said, after a pause that was just a second too long.

Villa gave a snort of laughter and told Cesc, "He's not doing research any more. He's playing Minesweeper."

Silva took his eyes from the screen long enough to give Villa a dirty look, but his cheeks were red. Villa grinned.

Eventually, Reyes came in and there was a little talk about the midweek fixtures coming up, which at least kept Cesc interested for half an hour or so. The office closed for midday again; Villa left to get them lunch. When they were all done, he said, "My turn now," shrugged out of his shoulder holster, sacked out on the couch, and was asleep within seconds.

Not long after, García returned on his own. He sat as his desk and for a few minutes filled out some kind of paperwork. Then, as Cesc and Silva watched, he leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the desk, and promptly went to sleep.

"I guess they save the conversation for when Villa's awake," Cesc said, which made Silva laugh.

Silva himself finally abandoned his laptop and moved over to the far wall, where he braced an arm and a leg and began some kind of complicated stretching exercise. Cesc, equally impressed and disturbed, watched him bend himself into increasingly painful-looking positions, with every appearance of satisfaction.

A thought occurred to him. "Hey, can I borrow your laptop?"

Silva turned his head and made an apologetic face, which looked kind of bizarre on top of the pretzel-like twist he was holding. "Sorry, but - they're agency computers, and we're not really supposed to…"

Cesc sighed.

After a while, Helguera returned, waking García with a sharp slap to the back of his head, and Silva moved back to the table to keep an eye on the video stream. Not long after that, Villa woke up. The first thing he did was check his watch.

"Almost down to twenty-four hours," he said. He picked up the abandoned holster and moved over to the table. From one of the silver cases sitting under the table, he retrieved a rag and a small bottle of oil, and began to clean his gun.

Over the audio feed came the sound of a door opening and closing. "Customer," Silva reported. His head was slumped on his hand. Cesc wandered over, just to check him out: a mousy guy with bad hair. He gave his name and order number. Silva's keys clacked; a minute later, he said, "Clear. Again."

Villa, polishing the barrel, made a distant noise of acknowledgment without looking up.

Mousy guy wanted to pay in cash. García okayed it. Mousy guy handed over a thick roll of bills. García wrote a receipt. Cesc began to lose interest.

Then, as the door closed and Cesc turned away, García's voice said, "Cash. Nice. Think it's enough?"

Cesc turned back around in time to see him toss the roll in the air, catch it again, and flip through the bills. "Twenty-five hundred," he said. "Not bad."

"Get the other book," Helguera said.

Silva stiffened. "David," he said.

The high angle of the camera showed García disappear below the counter; a minute later he stood again, holding a locked strongbox. He unlocked it, withdrew a fat hardcover notebook, and laid it on the counter, next to the account book that had been used for every transaction until now.

"David," Silva said. "They've got a second set of books."

Villa's hands stilled. Very, very slowly, he looked up.

"What do you want it down as?" García said, pen poised over the page, as Villa came over to stand behind them.

Helguera shrugged. "Services rendered."

García scribbled something in the book with a flourish, then closed it and returned the it to the strongbox. "Done."

"Might as well lock up," Helguera said. "I think we're done for the day."

García made some joke and knocked a fist against Helguera's shoulder; Helguera looked at him without expression. García hit the lights, and the door closed behind them.

Silva sat back, slowly.

"Okay," he said.

Villa was still staring at the screen. Like a sleepwalker, he moved over to the empty chair and sat down. His head drooped forward until it rested gently on the table. Then he banged it against the surface so hard Cesc jumped.

"David," Silva said, sounding distressed.

"You - have - got - to - be - fucking - kidding - me - "

Each thud made Cesc winced in sympathy. "David," Silva said again, which made Villa still, though possibly just so he could say, "Fucking accounting."

"Come on," Silva said coaxingly, "if that's all it is then we can shove it off on AEAT in a few days."

Villa's head shot up. His eyes were a little wild. "It's not even - what the fuck, what did we do to get stuck with these? First fucking Žigić, now these idiots who keep their fucking illegal books under the fucking counter - "

"At least that way it's on video - "

" - and because it's surveillance we can't even go over there and slap a pair of cuffs on them and get this whole fucking thing over with." His head returned to the table with a thud.

"No," Silva said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice, "maybe because that's not what we're normally supposed to do, anyways."

Villa's head rolled to the side and he glared at Silva. "I hate this job," he said.

Cesc shifted from foot to foot. "So will we have to stay here around the clock after all?"

"N - I hope not," Silva said, which wasn't as definite as Cesc would have liked. "We have to report it to Figo or Raúl first - that's what Figo meant about leads. It's not like they're moving contraband after hours or anything so we shouldn't have to, but…"

"But Figo's a sick bastard sometimes," Villa said, muffled by the table.

Silva didn't even try to deny it. What he said to Cesc, as he tapped at his mobile, was, "Sometimes he has other things in mind."

Villa heaved himself upright, though only to cross his arms and glower at the table while Silva waited, phone to his ear. All of a sudden, Silva straightened.

"Hello? Figo?" he said. "It's Silva. I - " He stopped, and his brows drew together. "You were? Really? What - oh no, I - oh. If you're sure? Well, um. We found something after all."

He paused, presumably to listen to Figo. "It looks like they're keeping double books. We just saw them record a cash payment off the record. Uh-huh. It's all on video. That's the only thing out of the ordinary so far, but should we - no, we've still got around twenty-four hours left." Silva listened for a minute, then took a deep breath and said in a rush, "Actually, I was thinking that since it's pretty clear they're not involved in anything on, um, our scale, maybe we should just turn this straight over to - " He stopped again, and his face fell. "Oh. I mean, we will. Okay. No, that's all. Sorry, what did you want to ask about?"

Whatever Figo said made Silva's face change. "Tomorrow? Even though we're still - yes. Of course. We'll be there. Thank you."

He took the phone away from his ear, and Villa immediately said, "So?"

Silva ran a hand through his hair. "Good news, we can still drop the round the clock hours if nothing else comes up. Bad news, we're still on the case for now." Villa opened his mouth, but Silva was still talking. "But there's something else. We'll have to call Rubén, because Figo wants to see us first thing tomorrow morning."

Villa looked disconcerted. "What - "

"He wouldn't say over the line," Silva said over him.

They looked at each other for a minute.. Villa was frowning; Silva's mouth was tight.

After a minute, Villa said, "Got it."

Silva turned to Cesc. "Tonight, do you want to - "

Cesc said, "I'll stay."

Part 4