The Mayor of Palomares

Chapter 11

11 am, Tuesday 25th January 1966
Drilling Site, Palomares, Spain

The sappers from the engineering brigade in Germany had arrived in a flight of heavy-lift Sikorsky S-61s three days before and had wasted no time in assembling their equipment. A tented village had been established on level ground near the dried-up spring. The noise from the camp was alarming. Men yelled in an attempt to be heard above the noise of three diesel generators. The drilling rig churned noisily, but the loudest sound of all emanated from the borehole itself. A high pitched screeching of metal on rock was only slightly muffled by the surrounding earth. The officer in charge of the engineers was shouting at Major Kinsella to little effect.

'Come over to my office and I'll explain there,' he said with his mouth against the major's ear, then led the way to a tent a hundred yards away.

Inside the tent conversation was possible at a slightly raised level and the officer picked up a sheaf of papers from a folding table.

'This is the geological survey they had done and it seems about right. We drilled through relatively soft sedimentary rock for two days without any real problems, then we hit granite, just as the survey says. If their estimates are correct it's gonna take a couple of weeks to get through it, and we're going to need more diamond-tipped drill heads.'

'Damn! I've got the colonel breathing down my neck to get this done. We need results fast lieutenant. You better start drilling around the clock. I'll get your drill heads, but I want that rig going night and day, understand?'

'No, sir, I don't understand all the urgency and my men have to sleep sometime. What's the panic?'

'That's classified information lieutenant. You just need to concentrate on doing your job. Get more men if you need them. I'll get you the authorisation.'

'Okay ... we'll do our best, major,' the officer agreed grudgingly.

'That's what I expect. I have a Huey coming to pick me up at midday. Colonel Walsh over at Morón wants to see me. I'll be back later tonight to check on your progress.'

***

Major Kinsella knocked on the colonel's office door and waited until he was told to enter. He saluted Walsh and nodded to Smith, Jones and Becker, who were sitting around the colonel's desk, pointing at the photographs of the bomb as Becker read from a report.

'Sir, you wanted to see me?'

'Come in and sit down, Major, we've got some new developments we want to discuss with you.'

Kinsella made himself comfortable and felt a sudden surge of self-importance at being included in such a high-level meeting.

'We've had some expert photo analysts go over these pictures and they've come up with some interesting clues. I'll let Mr Becker explain.'

'Ah, yes, Major,' Becker began. 'First look at photo number one.' He handed a photograph to Kinsella. 'If you look carefully in the top left-hand corner you can see what the analysts say is an area of a rough stone wall. No plaster or paint.'

Kinsella squinted at the picture. To him, the background just looked like a blur, but he nodded and handed it back.

'Now look at number three. At the bottom is something the experts say is probably straw or hay. Oh, and they say all the pictures were taken in poor light, either at night, or in a building with no windows.'

The major nodded slowly putting the clues together.

'So, the bomb is in an old stone building that has hay in it, and hay is only used to feed animals, right? So, it's hidden in a barn of some sort?'

'Exactly, Major! A hay barn,' Colonel Walsh exclaimed. 'All you have to do is find out who has animals and where they're kept and ... bingo!'

'I'll get onto that right away, Colonel.'

'You do that, and how is Delgado doing with the mayor?'

'Getting very friendly, with him and with his female assistant. A little too friendly for my liking. He was painting the goddam ceiling in their pharmacy at the weekend.'

'That might not be a bad thing,' Jones pointed out. 'If he can gain their confidence he might find out something.'

'I suppose you could be right,' Kinsella admitted.

'How is the drilling going?' Smith asked.

'Slowly. They've hit granite. They're going to need more drill heads, and maybe more men to work a shift system.'

'You can have anything you need,' Smith said. 'This is top priority and we need to keep all our options on the table.'

'Yeah, put in a requisition but then get straight back to Palomares and start looking for donkeys or whatever other animals the local sodbusters own.'

'Sir, will do, sir!'

***

Jose Maria busied himself polishing glasses behind the bar as he watched the American major. There were no other customers and he had made one small glass of beer last nearly an hour. Jose Maria wanted to close the café and go to bed but the American seemed engrossed in his work. He was flicking through a small book and copying words down on a notepad. Jose Maria had seen that the small book was a dictionary of Spanish words and phrases, so he assumed the major was making an attempt to learn some Spanish. He had already learnt how to ask for a drink and to say please and thank you, which was a start.

At last, the major stopped writing, stood up, and came to the bar. He put his notebook on the bar and indicated for Jose Maria to look at it. The words, written in Spanish, started with "I want" followed underneath by a short list of farm animals; "Donkey, Horse, Goat, Bull, Cow". At the bottom was written, "I pay 1000 pesetas".

Jose Maria frowned at the American, and then shrugged noncommittally. It seemed a very strange request. Perhaps he was trying to buy food for the soldiers at the drilling site. For all he knew Americans might eat donkeys and horses. That was probably it, the major wanted meat, but he had seriously underestimated the price, unless it was per kilogram, but then it would be far too much. He decided he would tell Senor Garcia and Juan Delgado in the morning. They would understand.

Jose Maria shook his head and the major grunted something in English before going up to his room.