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The Spanish Game

Год написания книги
2018
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Black Widow

Thirty-Three

Reina Victoria

Thirty-Four

House of Games

Thirty-Five

La Bufanda

Thirty-Six

Blind Date

Thirty-Seven

The Raven

Thirty-Eight

Columbia

Thirty-Nine

Product

Forty

Line 5

Forty-One

Sleeper

Forty-Two

La Víbora Negra

Forty-Three

Counterplay

Forty-Four

The Vanishing Englishman

Forty-Five

Endgame

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author

Other Books by Charles Cumming

About the Publisher

Author’s Note

The Spanish Game is a work of fiction inspired by real events. With one or two obvious exceptions, the characters depicted in the novel are products of my imagination. The book has been written with respect for opinions on both sides of the Basque conflict.

The story takes place in Madrid in the first half of 2003, many months before the events of 11 March 2004 which left 192 people dead and more than 1,700 injured. At the time of writing, no evidential link between the perpetrators of the Atocha bombings and Basque terrorist groups has ever been established.

C.C.

London, October 2005

Map

ONE

Exile

The door leading into the hotel is already open and I walk through it into a low, wide lobby. Two South American teenagers are playing Gameboys on a sofa near reception, kicking back in hundred-dollar trainers while Daddy picks up the bill. The older of them swears loudly in Spanish and then catches his brother square on the knot of his shoulder with a dead arm that makes him wince in pain. A passing waiter looks down, shrugs and empties an ashtray at their table. There’s a general atmosphere of listless indifference, of time passing by to no end, the pre-rush lull of late afternoons.

‘Buenas tardes, señor.’

The receptionist is wide shouldered and artificially blonde and I play the part of a tourist, making no effort to speak to her in Spanish.

‘Good afternoon. I have a reservation here today.’

‘The name, sir?’

‘Alec Milius.’

‘Yes, sir.’

She ducks down and taps something into a computer. Then there’s a smile, a little nod of recognition and she writes down my details on a small piece of card.

‘The reservation was made over the internet?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Could I see your passport please, sir?’
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