Toro

Toro

An International Thriller

Len Camarda

AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2022 Len Camarda. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/31/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4963-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4962-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4975-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022901554

This book is a work of fiction. While there are references to actual places and organizations, they are used to establish credibility for the storyline. Other names and characters, while associated with actual places, organizations, authorities and countries, are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is to be construed as totally a work of fiction and not related to their actual beliefs, policies nor activities.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images and licenses from Adobe

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Strangers on a Train. Movie produced and directed by Alfred Hitchcock, 1951, Translantic Pictures, Warner Brothers.

The Sun Also Rises. Novel by Ernest Hemingway, 1926, Scribner publisher

The Gambler

Words and Music by Don Schlitz

Copyright © 1977 Sony Music Publishing (US) LLC

Copyright Renewed

All Rights Administered by Sony Music Publishing (US) LLC, 424 Church Street, Suite 1200, Nashville, TN 37219 International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

For my son-in-law Bob, who had absolutely nothing to do with the development of this novel, but whose marriage to my daughter ‘George’ (who was a major contributor to this novel) is full of love, happiness, and fun, which makes a father grateful.

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.

—Mohandas K. Gandhi

Chapter One

Alejandro de Portillo, one of the most prominent and influential impresarios of bullfighting in all of Spain, slowly awakens from a drug-induced slumber. There is darkness all around him as his eyes try to focus. He is on the ground—somewhere. As he moves to an awkward sitting position, trying to remain erect with his right hand and arm, he senses he is on dirt—soft, sandy dirt. It is night, as he sees stars in the sky and a slim, crescent moon. He thinks, what is going on? —as he struggles to regain his senses. There is enough ambient light for him to recognize a structure in the distance. A wall, a building, he thinks as he moves his head, which aches tremendously. Now bracing himself with both arms extended to the ground, he senses that this structure is all around him.

He realizes he is still in the clothes he was wearing last night—dark suit, shirt, and tie—when he had dinner at El Bodegón in Madrid. Was it last night? Was it tonight? The fog and pain in his head continue to blur his thoughts. What happened after dinner? He tries to get up, pushing first with one arm and then the other, but his legs tremble at the effort and he remains sitting in the dirt. A small beam of light suddenly illuminates him, blinding him for a moment. Then, another beam of light from above illuminates an area of the structure he has perceived. He quickly realizes he is sitting on the ground in the center of a bullring as he recognizes the barrera—the wooden barrier encircling the ring—and the alcove for one of the gates.

A short blare of a trumpet pierces the night, accompanied by the opening of the gate immersed in light. Then, a bull emerges, taking a few running strides before sharply halting, spraying dirt in front of him. Stopped, he moves his head left and then right, then pausing, staring straight ahead at the circle of light thirty meters away. The bull lowers his head, scrapes the ground with one hoof, then the other, twice, and then bursts forward like a run-away locomotive.

At first, de Portillo is mesmerized by the sight of the bull emerging from the wooden gate. Fear, like he never felt in his life, drives adrenaline through his body, overcoming the debilitating effect of the drugs in his system. He rolls to his knees and then rises, trying to run, but just stumbling forward, away from the beast that is no longer illuminated by the light. He cannot see it but feels the thunder in the ground. If he can make it to one of the burladeros—the wooden shields positioned at the barrier—he could slide behind it and be safe, the way a matador does. But he is only able to generate a few erratic strides before the bull reaches him. At full speed it lowers its head and thrust into the body of de Portillo. As luck would have it, the head of the bull catches de Portillo at his backside, and with an upward thrust of its head, the stumbling man flew at least five meters into the air before crashing to the ground. Sprawled on the arena sand, de Portillo realizes the bull’s horns missed him completely, going on each side of his body without damage. He hurt but felt relief, a reprieve, but that sensation ended quickly. The bull skidded, turned, and stopped, looking toward the man who was trying to get up, before charging again. This time, de Portillo took the full brunt of one of the horns in his left side, bursting bone, tissues, and organs in a torrid thrust. De Portillo’s body is now impaled on the bull’s horn, and with every shake of its head, the man was savagely ripped apart until he was again sprawled in the sand, all life gone.

The body now laid outside the circle of light that continued to illuminate the center of the bullring and the bull, Tormento—Storm, continued to pummel the man, rolling him over and over with relentless attacks. Then, Tormento stopped, looked around and in a slow, trotting gait moved along the perimeter of the ring, near the barrera. The gate from where he emerged was closed, so he continued to circle the ring, not returning to the ravaged body he had destroyed. Overall, not more than two minutes had transpired from the moment Tormento had entered the arena. He continued trotting around the bullring, around and around, and then stopped, and just laid down with his head erect, staring at the light that illuminated the gate. Not tired, just bored.

Chapter Two

Inspector Jefe—Chief Inspector—Mercedes Garcia Rico of the Spanish Cuerpo Nacional de Policia (CNP)—National Police Force—was in her office in Madrid that morning. She had recently cut her hair short, full but short, a substantial difference from the raven-hair, below-the-shoulder length she had worn for many years. She still fidgeted with the hair at the back of her neck, but she could no longer twirl it as she did before when she was locked in thought. At forty years of age, with crystalline blue eyes and a lithe figure on a five foot-six-inch frame, she remained extremely attractive. She was engrossed in reviewing a watch-list of potential terrorists in each area of the country. This kind of surveillance had taken on a new level of importance following the devastating attack on commuter trains entering Madrid on the morning of March 11, 2004. Some fourteen explosive devices were placed on four trains detonating at, or just before, Atocha Station in the heart of the city. Almost two hundred people died and another eighteen hundred were maimed and injured. Moroccan terrorists were identified and eventually brought to justice, but just as 9/11 took the United States to a whole new global reality, 3/11 did the same for Spain. The CNP was ever alert and watchful, and thus far successful in keeping Spaniards safe from the terrorist acts occurring throughout Europe and still, on occasion, in the USA.

At around the same time, an entirely different plot emerged following the killing of a young American woman. This brought then-Lieutenant Garcia, stationed in Granada, in contact with Gene—Gino—Cerone, an ex-USA Secret Service agent and brother of the deceased woman. With no leads as to why Gina Cerone was murdered and the investigation essentially shutting down, Gino Cerone left his position as Attack on Principal Trainer with the Service, moved to Granada, to continue the derailed investigation on his own. Embarrassed by their lack of progress, as potential leads kept dying under suspicious circumstances, Garcia was assigned to work with the American— a saving face gesture. The two eventually uncovered an unfathomable conspiracy, dating back more than five-hundred years when the last vestige of the Moors’ occupation of the Iberian Peninsula, the Kingdom of Granada, surrendered to the Spanish in 1492. The conspiracy was a methodical re-conquest of the country, but by economic means, with the goal of returning Spain to an Islamic monarchy, which was thwarted by Cerone and Garcia. Consequently, both moved to Madrid, Garcia promoted to CNP headquarters and Cerone assisting the government in untangling the vast network of conspirators.

Then, last year, the two again worked together after a Spanish girl and her American friend were kidnapped from the University of Madrid. That investigation led to their uncovering a plot affecting the best and brightest women—leaders amongst their peers—in universities across Europe. Partnering with Interpol, Garcia and Cerone’s investigation eventually took them to the kingdoms of the Middle East, where the abducted women were located and eventually rescued and returned to their homes. That earned Garcia the promotion to Inspector Jefe of the CNP. The close working relationship between Garcia and Cerone grew to a romantic one over the years and the two were eventually married, with Cerone taking a position with Interpol, based in Madrid, focusing on human trafficking.

"Inspector Jefe, Garcia’s administrative assistant excitedly exclaimed, I have two detectives from the Madrid Police Force that need to see you immediately."

Putting her papers off to one side, then taking a quick sip of her coffee, Garcia replied, Send them in Rosa, I need a break.

"Inspector Jefe, a man just short of six feet tall with a full, black moustache, in a nicely tailored gray suit, said, extending his right hand, I am Detective Lieutenant Antonio Alvarez, and this is my colleague—pointing to his left— Detective José Luis Luna." Both men shook hands with Garcia as she rose and leaned over her desk. Sitting again, she resumed sipping her coffee.

With an exasperated expression on his face, he said, "We have an unimaginable tragedy on our hands, Inspector Jefe. This morning, Alejandro de Portillo, one of the most important bullfighting promoters in all of Spain, was found dead in the bullring at Las Ventas. Not only dead but decimated by a bull who was found resting not twenty meters away from the body."

What? How did this happen? Garcia exclaimed, spilling some coffee as she returned the cup to her desk.

No idea yet, Inspector. The body was found by a security guard early this morning, who was subdued, somehow, late last night.

The guard was apparently drugged, said Luna. He is being screened and tested as we speak. He remembers absolutely nothing, as does another guard, who was found unconscious by the first officers that arrived, just after dawn. There will be a full toxicology screen on both, and we will know more later this morning.

It’s a horror, added Alvarez. "We got a call just as we arrived at the precinct from the first officers at the scene, but nobody can do very much until they get the bull out of the arena. Our observations were made from the perimeter wall. With today’s environment regarding animal rights, there is no way we could just shoot it and move to the body. We called our superiors and were told to bring CNP into this. That is why we are here. Las Ventas management was informed, and they are arranging to bring in some matadors if needed to move the bull out of the ring. They also thought about bringing in some cattle from the pens below the stands to coax the bull into one of the gates, the way they do in corridas, when they want to remove an underperforming bull from the ring."

Just then Alverez’s phone rang. He apologized but said it was from one of the officers at the arena. He listened for a moment and then said, "Bueno, gracias."

Management at Las Ventas used the cattle and were able to get the bull out of the ring. He is back in his pen below the stands. We can now get to the body of Señor de Portillo.

I’m not sure I would have wanted to have a bunch of cows running around the crime scene, Detective, commented Garcia, but I understand the need to get the bull out of there. One question. If you could not get to the body, how could you identify it as Alejandro de Portillo?

The guard who discovered the body, Alvarez pausing and looking at a notepad he pulled from his jacket, Tito Suarez, recognized him, despite the distance from the body and despite the destruction caused by the bull, whose name is Tormento, by the way. Suarez kept circling the arena from the perimeter wall until he was able to make out the face.

Just then, Alvarez’s cell phone rang again. Rolling his eyes, he rose from the chair in front of Garcia’s desk and excused himself. He listened and then said, "Gracias."

Turning back to the Inspector, he said, It is confirmed. It is de Portillo. Our forensic people are there as well as the medical examiner. They were able to confirm the identification from his wallet, despite his clothes in tatters, as Alejandro de Portillo.

I know de Portillo, not personally, Garcia commented, and as you said, he is one of the most prominent promoters in the country. He organizes most of the events at Las Ventas, not only bullfighting, and is very renowned.

"That is why we were asked to meet with you, Inspector Jefe. While we have secured the scene, we know this is no accident. The Madrid brass wants CNP’s expertise on this, not only for the forensics but for the investigation as well."

"I agree. I expect I will be receiving a call from my superiors momentarily. This will be all over the press throughout the country. In the meantime, no press at the scene. I do not want to see photos of this in El Pais or any news organization. Instruct your men at Las Ventas to lock it down while I organize a team to get over there. Total lockdown Alvarez. Claro? —Clear? And make sure nobody there uses their cell phones to take pictures. Check cell phones from everybody there."

"Claro, Inspector Jefe, it will be done," replied Alvarez, with Detective Luna nodding in agreement as they rose and departed.

Chapter Three

Inspector Jefe Garcia called out to Rosa to come in. Rosa, call Paloma and José Maria to join me immediately—Paloma Retuerta and José Maria Duarte being the two most experienced forensic investigators in the Scientific Police Division. Also see if Miguel Alonso and Conchita Verdura are here. If you can track them down, we’ll meet in my conference room in fifteen minutes.

It took no more than ten minutes for Garcia’s team to start to arrive. Paloma, a petite, attractive woman in her early fifties with black hair, showing a few strands of gray, pulled into a bun, was the first to arrive. Less than a minute later, Duarte entered the conference room. In his late-thirties, Duarte was a head taller than his boss, Paloma, with thick black hair and a full beard and moustache, making him look older than he was. They took their usual seats at the right of Garcia’s chair.

It took a few more minutes to locate Inspector Alonso and Sub-Inspector Verdura, who were having their morning coffee in the cafeteria. Alonso was about fifty years old, as tall as Duarte, but much thinner with no facial hair and almost bald, save the short brown hair around the sides and back of his head. Conchita Verdura was in her late thirties, about as tall as Inspector Jefe Garcia but a little rounder, all around. She had a pretty face, framed by black, curled, shoulder-length hair and black, trimmed eyebrows above dark-brown eyes. Verdura and Alonso had been partnered together for three years and were the best investigators in Garcia’s unit.

The four investigators began chatting amongst themselves when Garcia entered from her adjoining office. Alonso and Verdura sat to Garcia’s left, each with a notebook in front of them. Retuerta and Duarte favored iPads.

"Buenos días todos—Good morning, all. Have any of you heard the news about Las Ventas today?"—Las Ventas being the largest and most prestigious plaza de toros in all of Spain.

The four shook their heads no, glancing towards each other. Garcia then went on to explain the information she obtained from the two Madrid detectives. "Further, I received a call a few minutes ago from the comisario general—general commissioner—that the CNP will take full responsibility for this investigation, led by this unit, coordinating as necessary, with the Madrid Police Force."

"Is that all we have so far, Jefe? asked Paloma. Nothing more than what you presented?"

That’s it, Garcia replied. "I have ordered the scene, essentially the whole facility, to be locked down. Madrid has crime scene investigators there now, but I want you, Paloma, and José Maria to take charge of that. Their medical examiner is on the scene also, so get everything you can from her—Doctora Cervantes—and determine if we need to bring in someone from CNP.

This is an enormous crime scene, so set up a plan of what you need to fully investigate. You will need toxicology analysis from the guards, but I have been told that Madrid has already set that up, and make sure they do de Portillo as well. He could not have just walked into that arena on his own. You will need to re-interview the guards. Madrid talked to them this morning but who knows how clear their heads were at that time? Looking at Retuerta and Duarte, Garcia kind of shook her head and said, "Fingerprints will be an interesting task. Get them from the guards, and then think of how far do we go? The perimeter wall of the bullring, the pen that held Tormento, the gate to the arena? Must be loaded with prints from the workers, the matadors, and God knows who else? Then who do we print to crossmatch what we get? Paloma, think about this and discuss it with the Madrid CSI people and come up with a recommendation. And how close do we analyze Tormento? I can’t imagine we’ll get anything from that, except that its horns and body is coated with the blood of de Portillo." The four simultaneously rolled their eyes upward and nodded affirmatively.

"Miguel and Conchita, find out all that you can on de Portillo. Where was he yesterday, and particularly, last night? Talk to his office. And we need to figure out the logistics of this assassination—that is what it was, no? How did Portillo get into that building? How was the bull released? This was an ingenious plan. How-the-hell did they pull it off?

And most importantly, we need to identify who would have wanted to do this? What enemies did de Portillo have? Check for any social media activity. Someone in his position had to have created some animosities. Other promoters, the management of Las Ventas and other arenas he has worked with, the matadors and their squads, from picadors, banderilleros, arena employees—anyone who had contact and did business with the man. A monumental challenge, no?"

Are you kidding? said Alonso. A crime scene involving the largest bullring in Spain, where last night, more than twenty thousand spectators watched three teams of matadors do battle with six brave bulls. The place probably wasn’t cleaned up until after midnight. The window to get to de Portillo in there, unseen, would be quite small.

You know, we have to consider looking at the animal rights groups in Spain. The whole issue of sending these magnificent creatures to slaughter is always front and center for those who want to bring an end to bullfighting, added Conchita Verdura.

That’s a very good point, said Garcia. The fact that the government has now classified bullfighting as part of the Spanish culture enraged many of these groups. I’ll put Francisco Prida on that. He’s one of our best analysts and no one is better than him in sitting behind a computer console and digging out things. Miguel, I will get him started on that and he will report to you. God knows there will be dozens of these groups, and we will have to talk to all of them. You will also have to get to de Portillo’s office and find out who may have contacted him regarding complaints or threats associated with his role in this. She paused, then asked, Any questions?

Everyone had some questions, and after another fifteen minutes of discussion, they were sent on their way. Cristo—Christ, Mercedes thought. What a mess.

Chapter Four

The toxicology screens were completed later that day. Both guards tested positive for sevoflurane, a popular anesthetic used in surgery. They remembered someone coming up from behind them and spraying something in their face. Both recalled a cloth being placed on their face and being eased to the ground as they lost consciousness.

De Portillo was