Capitan Alonso Stara of the Galician Guardia Civil sat at his generals former desk, pen in hand, poised and ready to write the telegram.
It wasn’t the first time he had done so. Again, his mind ran blank as fear threatened to get the better of him. He looked at the diary on the desk and picked it up, hoping that it would provide him with the answers he searched for.
He knew it wouldn’t. Its contents had put his former generals actions into perspective, but raised a million more questions. His eyes narrowed at the small black book. The revelation it contained within its pages had shocked him to the core.
Along with the events of the last few days, the contents of the diary, if found, would place him in a very unfortunate position. Still, he couldn’t throw it away. It was too important.
Stara knew that his decision had been made long before reading the revelations held within.
He pressed the nib onto the paper but stopped short once more. His gaze turned to the imposing cathedral of Santiago de Compostela for inspiration. Everything was normal. Long shadows cast forth from the buildings that surrounded the square, the sun dipping late into the afternoon.
The old town of the city glistened in the golden light, fresh from another sudden downpour that had just eased as the rumbling clouds had parted.
Stara shook his head ever so slightly as he watched the people walk by below him. Unaware, they continued with their lives.
None knew, the secrets, which the grand cathedral before them, had led to. He put the pen down as he pondered further the dilemma he was faced with, the choice he had made and the path he was about to take.
A sharp knock at the door to General Navarro’s office broke Stara’s thoughts, as he recognised the slender silhouette of the secretary waiting behind the frosted window. He could make out the shape of the woman he’d known since school, writing on a pad as she waited. ”Come in.” He soberly commanded.
He stood as she entered, walking across with her arm outstretched, holding out a piece of paper towards him. “Sir, yet another wire has arrived from Madrid, the Caudillo requests to know the findings of General Navarro’s actions.” The young woman asked tiresomely. Her voice weighed heavy with the tired battle of trying to get a response from the captain. But like everyone else, the secretary was also eager to know the whereabouts of the former General Navarro. Rumor and speculation was rife surrounding his disappearance.
Stara smiled charismatically at the woman before taking the telegram from off her and placing it on the desk. He went to read it then stopped, nodding in acceptance of her apparent annoyance that he had spent too long putting off giving a reply. “Okay, bare with me, I shall write a response now, save you finding another excuse.” He sat at the desk once more and decisively put pen to paper.
*WIRE BEGINS*
June 14th 1953
Generalissimo Franco
Under General Navarro’s command, I accompanied him on the latter half of his mission, whilst he extensively researched the myth surrounding the Compostela Key.
Throughout the research trip, he continually persisted that the mission was authorised by yourself and that we were to follow your orders stringently. Your command was passed down from him, to us.
However, General Navarro grew increasingly deranged, with orders and actions not befitting the level of mission we undertook. Or I might add the sanity of a man with such power and command.
I can assuredly conclude that although there was in fact a trail, it led to nothing of value, just the deserted island of Es Vedra, off Eivissa.
The story that ran in the British newspaper, The Empire yesterday is embellished to say the least and is exaggerated greatly in order, I’d imagine, to sell newspapers. I have subsequently dispatched a letter of complaint to the publishers and demand a full, published apology.
The key itself was lost to the waters around Es Vedra along with General Juan Navarro who finally succumbed to his insanity.
A detailed report has been filed and dispatched to your office.
We await your orders and until so, I will resume responsibility in the absence of a higher-ranking official.
Regards
Capitan Alonso Stara
*WIRE ENDS*
He placed the pen down and folded the paper in half before standing and handing it to the anxious secretary. She went to speak but he cut her short. “Ofelia, send this personally.” He turned his back to her as she went to exit the room, once more pensively, looking out across the square.
The woman’s hand rested on the door handle. “Sir, please read the telegram.” She asked before closing the door behind her. His austere poise changed quickly and considerably. Turning to the desk, he twisted the small key in the drawers lock and pulled it open. He looked down at the single contents of the drawer. Alone, rested the Compostela Key.
His eyes fixated on the silver key. It was long, shiny and slender. Shaped like the cross of St James, it would’ve resembled a sword in miniature were it not for the unique teeth that protruded from the bottom of its shaft. Three bits, intricately cut, each spaced at one hundred and twenty degrees gave the key its distinctive look. But as Stara examined it lovingly, his mind considered the trouble it had brought them and the investigation it now conceived.
There had been phone calls personally from Franco, but they had gone unanswered like the telegrams. The fact that Franco was conducting this investigation mostly via telegram had troubled the lieutenant the most.
Especially considering the level of destruction and mayhem that had taken place on numerous parts of Spanish soil and then the newspaper article, which had published a large spread on the events that had taken place, linking them to a British gangster.
His gaze drifted from the ornate key to the telegram on the desk, which in turn he began to carefully unfold. As he read the words that Ofelia had summed up to him, something on the reverse caught his eye through the paper.
As he turned the telegram over in his hand, his expression changed. Under his breath he whispered to himself the scribbled words. “They’re waiting for you downstairs, they have come to arrest you!”
With a couple of bounds he quickly reached the door, turning the key in the lock, not that he thought it would hold them off, but it may just buy him some time.
He scanned the office, quickly figuring out what to do. Swiftly he concluded that the large windows behind the desk were his only escape from the room. Running back over to them, he stopped momentarily to grab the Compostela Key from the drawer and the diary from off the desk.
He looked up towards the door. Dark huddled shadows grew increasingly large as they stalked down the corridor towards the room. He had to leave, now!
(c) 2009 David Gennard. All Rights Reserved.
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