Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

where she was standing, she was staring at him. He proposed the offer for her to talk to another officer, but when he looked through the glass partition into the squad room he could see that all the men were busy either with other people or paperwork. Just as he was asking her if she would be willing to wait, a man came bursting through the main doors and all but flew toward the desk. The man stopped there, leaned forward with both hands on the wooden edge and began to speak.

“Por favor… ¿Alguien hable inglés?” Ben asked, sounding breathless.

“Si, yo hablo un poco— pero no muy bien,” the officer answered.

“I don’t care. A little is better than nothing.”

“¿Cuál es el problema, señor?” He paused before trying his English. “The problem?”

“My sister and a friend have been kidnapped. We have every reason to believe that they’re being held here in Pamplona.” He paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come then continued. “We know they boarded the flight from London, but after they landed at the Hondarribia airport, there was no trace of them.”

“Que?No entiendo,” the officer said, shaking his head in frustration.

“Oh great,” Ben said under his breath. “Okay… let me try to make you understand.” He paused while summoning a few words from memory that he hoped would get his message across simply. “Mi hermana y un amiga …” The officer nodded that he understood, and then with his brain spinning, Ben fumbled for the most important word. Suddenly he spit it out. “Secuestrados!”

Ben stared at the officer and waited for a response. The young man’s expression was blank and vacant. Clearly he had no idea what to do with a tourist making far-fetched accusations of kidnapping. Ben broke the uncomfortable silence. “Let me speak to your superior … el Jefe … pronto por favor!”

Annunciata had backed away from the counter, but easily heard the exchange. Under her breath she repeated, “¿Secuestrados?”

The officer became flustered and self-consciously ran the fingers of one hand through his thick dark hair. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, turning slightly to pick up an intercom handset. Ben assumed he was calling for backup—someone better than he was at placating tourists—and he maintained his stance, leaning on the counter, seeming ready to spring into action, yet having no idea as to what kind of action to take. Annunciata inched closer to Ben. She had understood enough of what he had said in Spanish to know why he needed help, and she could see—almost feel—his desperation. The English language was foreign to her but she knew that somehow, she must communicate with him. She believed that her prayers had brought her to this place, at this particular time, and she found herself drawn to the distressed man beside her.

Through the glass partition separating the squad room from the public area, both she and Ben could see the animated conversation between the young man and an officer of higher rank who had come out of a separate office. Eventually the officer, dressed in plain clothes, went back into the office, took his jacket from the back of the desk chair and put it on. He walked toward the door of the squad room, the young man following close behind. Ben backed away from the counter and stood straight, his body stiffened by how badly he needed to be taken seriously and get his message across.

The superior officer came through to the public area and approached Ben. The man was tall and slender, with a classic Spanish profile and abundant wavy hair streaked with gray. In heavily accented English he said, “Señor, I am Gonzalo Macias, Inspektorea Macias. I understand that you have some concerns about relatives who are visiting Pamplona?”

Ben thanked the Inspector for his assistance and proceeded to explain what little he knew about the situation with his sister and ex-wife. He tried to explain the significance of the email they had received about the women’s location and insisted that law enforcement should become involved. Ben knew very little about the specifics of the collaboration between Scotland Yard and Interpol with regard to apprehending the thieves ‘in the act.’ And besides, he wasn’t free to speak about any of it. All he could safely reveal was that they were kidnapped as a way to facilitate someone’s help with a robbery in England, and that an attempt had also been made to abduct him in London.

Annunciata listened carefully, although she didn’t understand what was being said and was limited to observing body language. She recognized the hand gestures made by Inspector Macias in an effort to make Ben to speak more slowly, although he continued to use adamant hand gestures of his own in trying to make himself understood. Finally the words stopped, and both men were quiet. The Inspector was the first to speak.

“Señor, I see that you are much distressed.” He paused and looked squarely at Ben, who heaved a sigh then waited for what he hoped would be a positive result to his plea. The Inspector continued, his tone apologetic. “These ideas you have are vague. Pamplona is not a small town. How could we possibly search for two women who are … oculto … how do you say?” He thought for a moment then said, “They are hidden—hidden in a city that is overrun with tourists, pickpockets and other opportunists.”

“Your English is very good, but my Spanish is not,” Ben replied, “And I understand that this is law enforcement’s busiest time of year, but the safety of guests in your city must be a priority. The women arrived here as tourists, excited at the prospect of taking part in the festival. They disappeared from the airport—never checked in at their hotel. Surely this is cause for you to be concerned as well.”

Inspector Macias answered in a tone both polite and somewhat brusque. “Our concern doesn’t mean that we can be of help to you.” Ben looked at the floor and shook his