The Crowded Grave

intently.
    “I’ll explain all this to my minister,” the brigadier said. “Iacknowledge what you’ve said without endorsing it. You’ve flouted every principle of the cooperation tomorrow’s summit is supposed to celebrate and I won’t forget that. May we count on your full cooperation from now on?”
    Carlos nodded wearily and pushed a file across the table. “This is everything we have on Todor, the man who was killed twenty-four years ago. His father was shot and killed while resisting arrest. His mother died in the Amorebieta prison after giving birth. They were both arrested for their role in the abortive attempt to blow up a train carrying Franco supporters to a commemoration in San Sebastián in 1961, one of the first ETA operations.
    “Todor himself was raised, along with many other children of enemies of the state, in the orphanage of Sabinosa, an old TB sanatorium on a peninsula near Tarragona,” he said. They were raised to be good Catholics and good Spaniards, with no knowledge of their family’s past, he explained. “Basque militants and families knew of the place and tried to track the orphans down after their release. Most of the boys were sent into the military, and some were recruited for ETA while still in the ranks. Todor, along with several others, found out about his past and was an easy recruit for ETA. He took part in their operations in Spain and here in France and that was why he was killed.”
    Bruno passed the photocopy of the anonymous letter across the table to Carlos.
    “Did you write that?”
    “Yes,” said Carlos. “I’m sorry. But after the car bomb, maybe you realize how high the stakes are for us in Spain.”

30
    At the top of the ridge, Bruno slowed his horse and waited for Gigi to catch up. He turned to watch, smiling at the spectacle of his dog’s ears flapping and jowls bouncing in that chaotically enthusiastic way peculiar to basset hounds. Bruno had come directly to Pamela’s home from the château, and thought he could combine Hector’s evening ride with a final check at the Domaine. Later this evening, the brigadier’s security teams were scheduled to arrive there, but Bruno recalled the old army saying that time spent in reconnaissance was seldom wasted.
    He gazed down at the wide sweep of the valley, St. Denis hugging the broad curve of the river to his right. The ordered precision of the Domaine’s vineyards lay below him on the far side of the river. Far off to the left was the old hillside village of Limeuil with its château watching over the double bridge where the Dordogne and Vézère Rivers met. The land was greening with the coming of spring, and yellow splashes of forsythia bushes speckled his view. Another month and the stumps in the vineyards would be green and the trees bushy and vibrant with new leaves.
    A panting almost beneath Bruno’s horse signaled the arrivalof Gigi, who began nuzzling at Hector’s hooves. The two animals seemed to have reached a good understanding, and Gigi had been curled up in a corner of Hector’s stall when Bruno had arrived. As they started to move down toward the river and the Domaine, Bruno let Hector find his own way while he looked out for the ford. Normally at this point in spring, the river would be too high to cross, but there had been no rain in the past week. Gigi might have to swim.
    When he reached the riverbank near Gérard’s canoe rental center, the water was not all that deep, but it was flowing too fast for Gigi. Bruno wondered if Hector would accept a novel passenger. He dismounted, picked up Gigi and placed the dog in front of his saddle, making Gigi lie down so that his belly was against Hector’s back. He smoothed his dog’s back to tell him not to try to stand. Then Bruno patted Hector’s neck and swung up into the saddle. One hand on his reins, the other holding Gigi firmly, he let Hector pick his way over the mud and stones of the ford and scramble through the brush on the far bank.
    “You’ve got a good horse there,” came a voice from the bushes. “I never thought he’d accept that dog on his back.” Bruno looked around, seeing nothing, but then came a blur of camouflage and the paratrooper major stepped out into a glade. He walked forward and began stroking Hector’s muzzle and then looked with amusement at Gigi trying to wag his tail in greeting as he slumped over the horse’s back.
    “We’ve been walking the riverbank, checking on shallows and access points,”