The God In Nothingness

By MARIA GEMA MARÍN PEROZO

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After her collaboration with Emmott in Suspense: Black Dollar, Evil Eyes, Maya Masada has been headhunted to work in Europol in The Hague.

A year after the mysterious disappearance of a young Norwegian student on holiday  on the island of Fuerteventura, the island authorities are totally dismayed by the dramatic fall in Scandinavian tourism and ask for help. Maya Masada is recruited to the task and embarks upon a risky plan that she puts together with a veteran psychiatrist who once worked with the CIA. To get to the heart of the matter and solve the crime, she needs to move inside the head of the murderer.

Genre: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths

Secondary Genre: FICTION / Psychological

Language: Spanish/English

• Language: English
• Publisher: MARIA
• Release date: Apr 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781547523542

Book preview

Contenido

M. Gema Marín

Smashwords Edition

Licencia de uso de la edición de Smashwords

PART 1: THE VISIT FROM THE ISLANDS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

PART 2: THE JOURNEY BETWEEN ISLANDS

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

PART 3: THE ISLAND KID

31

32

33

34

35

36

38

39

40

41

Notes

«Far above and beyond the clumsy angels who stumble and fall over everything

is the hidden God who is present even in nothingness. »

Edgardo Rodríguez Julia

PART 1: THE VISIT FROM THE ISLANDS

I have never been lucky not even by sheer chance. However, over the years, God has shown me time and time again that nothing in this universe is left to chance and that everything has its season, its reason and its lesson to be learnt.

1

I was uncomfortable following Sister Gonzaga along the hospital passageways. By the time we reached the third floor, the smell of iodine, typical of all hospitals, had so overwhelmed me that I no longer registered anything but it. The nun herself was squeakily hygienic, dressed immaculately in white from head to toe. Her skin was lily-white too, almost translucent, a stark contrast to her robust build. She wore a knee-length skirt and her solid legs and thick ankles were free of any stockings. She bore no resemblance whatsoever to the nuns at my old boarding school who were always dressed stylishly in Benetton and Lacoste. She wore silver-framed specs that toned in with the few strands of silver-grey hair that peeped out rebelliously from below the coif of her habit. She had received me with all the educated grace and amiability of a person who has done nothing but serve all her life. She gave no explanations to the receptionist on duty who looked up, alarmed, when she saw that I was returning to the reception desk.

—May I introduce myself? I’m Maya Masada.— I said, looking directly at the nun and pointedly ignoring the receptionist’s presence. The nun graced me with one of the classic smiles of her trade.

—Good morning. The doctor is expecting you,— she said as she shook my hand —. Please be so kind as to follow me—.

Instead of turning back into the hall, she invited me to come behind the reception desk. We went through a back door and along several corridors until we came to an inner patio where employees, doctors and some residents were chatting away together. Everybody fell silent as we crossed.

—From here onwards — the nun commented as we left the patio behind and entered another wing of the building, —is the area devoted to newborn and teenage children. The access is only available to hospital staff. It is also the part of the building devoted to our offices.—

I suddenly noticed that the smell was not the same. Now it smelt of talcum powder.

—How long has your order been in charge?—  I asked in an attempt to strike up a conversation.

The nun did not lose her stride but suddenly turned her head to look at me.

She wore an expression of self-sufficiency.

—Our order has been here in the hospital for fifty years now, — she replied, feigning modesty.

—And you yourself? How long?

She slowed down a little and with a nostalgic smile replied:

—I’ve been here now for twenty years, practically since I left the convent. My, how time flies! I came originally for just one year until I gained the indulgence demanded by my order but when the time came for me to go, I simply couldn’t.

—And why was that? What held you?

—I couldn’t leave my children behind. They caught me up in their tiny webs and I let myself get entangled. And so another nineteen years went by, without counting the ones to come. — She turned to observe me and smiled vaguely.

—Here there are children of all ages, right?

—Of all shapes and sizes. Are you going to work with us? — she asked without giving me another glance or stopping —, we desperately need volunteers.— She looked at me then and I did not like how she did it, as if trying to make me feel guilty for not collaborating with the cause. But she had met her match. I was well versed in dealing with nuns. As of a certain age or a certain time devoted to a cause, they were all tarred with the same brush.

—That’s not the immediate idea unless the doctor considers it advisable.

I was prepared to do anything to get the doctor’s help, even look after the kids, without so much as a peep or a squeak of protest. We came to another more modest reception desk, decorated in excellent taste. Another nun, wearing the exact same habit as Sister Gonzaga, was drowsing over a book.

—This is Sister Nieves, — whispered Sister Gonzaga —: Nieeeves, Nieeeves... — she said sweetly and softly a couple of times before the nun responded by suddenly blinking her eyes open.

—Did I just drop off? — she asked, ashamed of herself. She must have been at least eighty although her skin was barely wrinkled.

—No, dear, but you were so absorbed in your reading that I was afraid I would startle you.

The nun stared at her in astonishment for a few seconds then turned her attention to me, obviously convinced that Gonzaga might be right and that she had not been asleep.

—And now, my dear, hello, — she said affably —: And who might you be?

—My name is Maya.

—She’s come to see the doctor, —Gonzaga explained, as she took a small bottle of water from the pocket of her habit to water a tiny rosebush that stood in a pot on Sister Nieves’ desk.

—Oh, so you’re here to see the doctorsito?— I was tickled to hear her accent that belied her Latin American origins. She closed the book, Los renglones torcidos de Dios*[∗] and devoted her full attention to me, running a scan innocently over all of my person. She took in my clothes and quickly deduced that I was no ordinary patient. That got her intrigued. My visit must have been the highlight of her morning or, who knows, that week or month.

—Yes, he’s expecting us, Sister Nieves, and so we won’t keep you any longer. —Sister Gonzaga took her face in her hands and gave her an affectionate kiss—: You must lend me that book you were reading so avidly when you’re finished.

Sister Nieves looked down at the book as if she had just discovered it there.

—Ah, yes, the book you say! Of course I’ll lend you it. Want some toffees?— She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a handful of sweets. We took one each.

—Thank you, — I said.

We made our way down to a door with a discrete sign that indicated it was the doctor’s office. I felt Sister Nieves’ eyes boring into the back of my neck and turned around to see her sticking her head out like a tortoise to watch our every move.

—Well, I’ll take my leave of you here, — said Sister Gonzaga.

—So kind of you. Thank you.

—Don’t mention it. Have a good day. — And she disappeared down the corridor opposite.

So there I was at last, standing at the door of the man I had been trying to track down for the last few months, lately more insistently. Nieves was still controlling my moves from a distance. I took a deep breath and knocked at the door.

—Come in. — I opened the door and stuck my head around it—. Close the door behind you, please — I recognised the irritable authoritative voice that I had heard on the phone a few days back and went in.

I was faced with a bag of skin and bones seated in a wheelchair. Although slight in appearance, the Doctor’s presence dominated the room that was sparsely furnished with an enormous table and a sofa, where a box of paper handkerchiefs was perched on the headrest. There were none of the vademecums and encyclopaedias that usually adorned the consultancy of doctors. An immaculate white computer stood on the table.

—Let me say that you have your obstinate resolve to thank for this interview. —He looked me over carefully before signalling discretely with his hand that I should come closer.

—I’m sorry to have been such a nuisance but I had no other option, — I said, by way of excuse.

—Make no mistake about it, young lady, you have plenty other options. I, however, was your first option. If I had said no, and I still haven’t said yes, you would have found some other way to proceed.

—I don’t agree, sir. You are one of the few people surviving from Dulles´ team. It took us ages to pin you down.

—Don’t underestimate your intelligence and ability. I for one certainly don’t, and I doubt that an agent of your talent has found it complicated to track me down. I know your work. Please take a seat. — He dragged his wheelchair forward and indicated the sofa. I sat down obediently, trembling—. Why so nervous? — he asked, distractedly.

I hesitated.

—I feel like I’m on trial.

—You feel like you’re on trial? That’s rich!— He raised his eyebrows in exaggerated astonishment —. Well, that’s certainly not my intention so that must all be in your imagination.

I smiled somewhat timidly and tried to steady up.

—You’re quite right, of course. It’s just that I have a lot of hopes pinned on this and if things go wrong, I’ll be back to square one again.

—I feel sure that neither Oldrich nor your boss will hold you responsible for that. —He stared fixedly at me—. But please tell me, what would be —square one— for you, in your opinion?

He seemed relaxed, interested, as if he were trying to piece a mental image of me together from my replies. He leaned forward chin on hand, reducing the physical distance between us.

—Square One would be that you decide not to cooperate, not to help me, —I admitted and looked him square in the face.

—So, am I right in thinking that you feel responsible for getting me to help or not, for my decision?— he paused to gauge my reaction —, because, if that is the case, then I need to say that now you’re underestimating me.

His tone of voice and the reply in itself immediately threw me off balance. My hands began to sweat. This man could read other people like books. He probably knew what was going on inside my head at this very moment and what I was going to do. He was already more than two steps ahead of me, or rather he was miles ahead. What could I do? I decided that the best thing was to say nothing.

—No, that is simply not an option!— he reprimanded after a few moments of silence.

—I don’t know what you mean.

—You can’t just sit there, quiet, scared to put a foot wrong. Go ahead, put your foot in it if you must. —He took a deep breath and continued—. Every mistake you make with me will teach you a valuable lesson of what not to do when carrying out your business, mission, affair, case or whatever you call it.

—Does that mean you’re going to help me?

—Yes —he said—, yes, I’ll help you or at least I’ll try.

I had to control the tears and my nerves. I had been fighting for this for so long.

—Oh no, you don’t. No, no, no. No getting emotional on me now, do me a favour. —He wheeled his chair round and picked up the box of handkerchiefs—. We’ll get nowhere if you don’t learn how to control your emotions.

He handed me a paper hanky.

—I am truly sorry —I took the handkerchief and brushed away my tears with it.

—Come now. —He wheeled the chair around again and made for the full-length window behind his desk. I blew my nose, got up and followed him.

The office was on the corner of the enormous building, facing north. It looked out over the famous banks of the Cenci with the Castillo de San Angelo and the Vatican apparent in the distance. To the right lay Rome.

We spent a few minutes just staring out over the landscape. I had no idea where to start. The Doctor glanced at his watch and, after a few minutes, opened his mouth.

—To get where we want to go, I need to know where we are coming from. So, where exactly are we coming from? —I began to speak and he stopped me—. Or rather, begin by telling me about the case, then about your friend and last, how you feel about both.

2

The Hague’s central headquarters were run off their feet, above all, the department in charge of Islamic terrorist movements. There were various orders of arrest on the Superintendent’s desk.

—So, suddenly it’s all go! We’ve spent a month staring at the ceiling, swatting flies, only to suddenly receive overnight ten orders of arrest in one sole week, all of them from Spain. What’s up? Are they all idiots there or what?

He knew I was Spanish and made no attempt to apologise for his discourtesy. His tie was awry and his balding head glowing with sweat, as he ranted on about how stressed he was. He was rude, unscrupulous and gross. I was lucky not to belong to his division. I would have lasted less than two minutes.

—How’s it going, Emmott? — He shook his hand coldly and correctly, as corresponded to a superior.

Emmott shook his hand back then turned toward me.

—I can’t complain. You know Maya, don’t you?

—Yes, of course. How are you, my girl?

He looked over me rather than at me with no sign of interest as if his rank did not allow him to admit my existence. Nevertheless, he moved in my general direction, intent on giving me the requisite kisses. I was quicker off my mark, however, and extended my hand. He was thrown off balance but accepted it with an ill grace.

—Congratulations on the White Widow, very famous around here! —Emmott relieved the tension somewhat and the Superintendent’s face lit up.

—Those motherfuckers wouldn’t move a finger until Kenya gave the OK and by that time, the bitch had done a runner. Took us ages to track her down.

—How did she manage to get away in 2005?

—Well, we all know how Interpol works, don’t we? Looking after friends and family. Her part in the whole affair wasn’t all that clear at first and when the attacks took place, she was pregnant and giving birth to her second child, heaven knows what happened to them. She publicly condemned the attacks and assured us that Lindsay’s visits to the mosque full of radicals had made her mad. We kept a check on her until she left the UK and set up in Kenya. From there, she went back and forward to Somalia where she met up with members of Al Shabab.

—I see —said Emmott. I said nothing.

—It took the Westgate attack for us to be allowed to send out a red alert. And you know the rest of the story.

—Fucking Islamic terrorists! —meditated Emmott—. There’s no way we can deal with what’s coming.

—You’re right, you know. We’re all over the place. You have no idea of just how mad these fanatics are. But what might I ask brings you here?

—To tell you the truth, your guess is as good as mine! —Emmott lied—. The Deputy Director called for us, heaven knows why.

—You’ve always been a right sly fox, Emmott. Well, keep it to yourself for all I care.

He shook his hand and took his leave saying:

—And give up smoking once and for all. You’re parchment colour already.

We watched him disappear into the lift.

—What a character!

—He’s not really as gross as he seems, — Emmott said by way of apology—: it’s this job that does it ...

—It hasn’t done it to you...

Emmott was my boss. I adored him, had worked years for him. He had sent for me straight away. I was in Madrid because I’d taken some time off so I was able to present myself in The Hague the next morning early. The Deputy Director himself had asked personally for Emmott’s services and had suggested I accompany him. We were videoconferencing with Madrid. That was all we knew or at least I knew. I prayed to God that Pablo would have nothing to do with whatever was going on. I did not look forward to running into him again.

We were getting ready to sit down and make ourselves comfortable for the wait when the secretary informed us that Martinu was already waiting for us. We exchanged a look and made haste to enter. Oldrich Martinu himself was waiting for us inside. He got up and we shook hands. He took us into another room off his office where an enormous screen filled the whole of one wall. There were three men on screen, one of whom was deeply tanned. The man in the centre was our Europol link with the Spanish Police Force, Pablo. His was the only familiar face.

—Good morning, gentlemen, and buenos días —said the Deputy Director in his impeccable Spanish.

—Good morning, Oldrich. ¡Buenos días! How are things there? —Pablo replied, his usual neutral self, the true professional.

—Busy, Pablo, can’t complain. I’d like to introduce you to Emmott and one of our finest agents, Maya Masada, Spanish by birth, as it so happens.

—Emmott, Maya, good to see you again —Pablo said with not the slightest show of emotion.

—I’d like to introduce you to José García, the chief of the Legal Police on my right and, on my left here, the President of the Island Council, Matías Herrera.

—Pleased to meet you. So, let’s get down to business.

Pablo took the floor.

—Here are the facts. A little over a year ago, a Norwegian tourist disappeared on the island of Fuerteventura without leaving a trace. She didn’t leave by boat or plane and the Security Forces and police combed the area. Hours and hours of tapes of the places she visited were rewound and reviewed but nothing. She never returned home. We believe she