Things unknown are clarified in THE JEWISH PROBLEM, a book by ALFONSO DE CASTRO with a prologue by RUBÉN SALAZAR MALLÉN – a tome of 304 pages at a price of 12 pesetas (13 pesetas in provinces) – EDITORIAL RUBIÑOS, ALCALÁ 104, MADRID

– Advertisement in LA VANGUARDIA, November 14, 1941

Theirs was a dark burlesque of a couple out for an evening stroll. Oscuro remained close at Christine's side, the barrel of his service revolver hidden within his coat but always prodding her waist. There were few people out that late in the evening, but the one or two people they encountered on their way scarcely looked at them as they bade them a good evening. As they left the Avenida del Paralelo and approached the area where the Mercedes was parked, she opened her purse. Her fingers fumbled within, seeking the keys to the car, and touched something smooth and cool as stone: the handle of Raoul's pocketknife.

The only question, Christine decided, was where and when to use the pocketknife – certainly not here, out in the open. The tunnels under Montjuic would be the ideal place, provided she could move well within the darkness there. She went through a mental tally of the various traps Erik had laid. Some were as crude and pedestrian as foothold traps, designed to discourage the accidental explorer. Erik's more sophisticated traps were likelier to prove a distraction to someone like Oscuro.

The 170V's motor roared to life, and the car jerked and shuddered into the road. Oscuro pushed the barrel of the gun into Christine's side so forcefully that she jumped. The motor stalled and died.

"You can drive better than that. I've seen it. Try again." His eyes were flat with cold hatred.

Breathing deeply, she turned the ignition and put the car into gear – this time, smoothly.


José Luis Oscuro felt the joy of his triumph thrum within him, pumping through him like the blood through his veins. The hours he had spent following Deschamps' whore would finally pay off.

He knew the Daaé woman had said nothing of him to Deschamps, intimate as they were. She was the kind of woman who ignored men like himself completely. She would never take him seriously as a friend or as an enemy, or as anything. In fact, at times it seemed as if she looked right through him. That had changed.

Deschamps would never suspect anything until it was too late. Oscuro had been very careful – luck had been in love with him lately. It was the kind of luck that normally led to recklessness, but he was wise enough not to be careless. When they had arrested that Allied spy, he had not guessed that the man would prove so valuable. The man was typical of the sad cases who appeared before him, often falsely accused of spying by a neighbor or someone well placed in the Regime. It was the cyanide capsule that had given the man away. He had been caught trying to bring it to his mouth and had been stopped right in the nick of time. After that, the man had become very useful once he was subjected to Oscuro's expert interrogation techniques. He had sung, given away the goods, spilled the beans. When he mentioned that a soprano at the Victoria was singing messages in Morse code, every window of opportunity in Barcelona seemed to open to him. He knew. Christine was the one who had corrupted Deschamps and turned his loyalty towards the Allies, he was sure of it.

The trouble was that the spy had not given away everything. He knew that there had been a message disseminated at the concert that very afternoon, but he insisted, under great pressure, that he himself had not been the contact at the Victoria that day. Oscuro scowled. Perhaps the man had lied. It was true that Christine had not sung that afternoon, so it was likely that the message had not been released. He would enjoy interrogating Christine about any and all communications she had sent.

Carlotta's arrest had come as a surprise to Oscuro. He had sent his good friend Gonzalo Fernández to investigate the spy's claims, but he had taken the precaution of informing the Gestapo of what was transpiring. Fernández would not be permitted to protect Christine this time. Oscuro had followed his men to the Victoria to watch, unobserved, as Christine fell into the hands of the Gestapo – and into his. When Carlotta was arrested instead, he experienced only mild annoyance – the woman had not been very useful as an informant, and she demanded much more in return than she was worth. As he watched the drama unfold in the Victoria's hall, he had decided that perhaps this was his golden opportunity. Luck was still in love with him.

After all, he knew exactly where Deschamps was this very minute. The spy he had interrogated was just the beginning. The man had named names, and soon his entire network would be arrested. More expert interrogation was required, and Deschamps was about to be very busy, no matter where his loyalties lay. Knowing what the situation required, Oscuro estimated that Deschamps would be at the Laietana station the entire night.

Christine finally stopped the Mercedes at the foot of Montjuic. He could see her withdraw the key from the ignition, hesitating. He pulled out his revolver to where she could see it again, pointing it directly at her face.

"Move it!" Oscuro barked, and they both got out of the car at the same time. He was careful lest she try to run, and soon he was gripping her arm again, the gun hidden but pressed to her side once more.

They climbed up pathways, away from the street, until they approached a wall. Dark ivy cascaded from the top of it, covering most of its surface with its green tendrils. After a moment of hesitation, Christine pulled a key out of her purse and scrutinized the wall. Just as Oscuro was about to ask whether she had lost her mind, she reached through the ivy, unlocking and opening a hidden door in almost a single motion. Beyond the doorway, he could see nothing but blackness. Something within him shivered, but he ignored it.


Oscuro's gun continued to nag at Christine's side as she groped in the darkness for the flashlight.

Christine, come to me whenever you can. If you will not stay with me, at least come to me. I will meet you...

She blinked back tears. By now, Erik's alarms would be going off. More than once, he had met her at the entrance of the Montjuic tunnels, prepared for an enemy, but his eyes glowing with peace as he saw that it was only she. Only Christine. Only you, Christine...

This time it wasn't only Christine, though. She knew now that Oscuro was dangerous, very dangerous, and she prayed that Erik would arrive – and arrive prepared for combat. He, too, was dangerous. He was danger personified! She had never felt grateful for that fact until now. In a flash of insight, she realized that people like Oscuro had formed Erik's life – had made him what he was. Oh, why hadn't she told Erik about Oscuro?

She turned on the flashlight, and the brick arches of the concrete tunnel lay exposed to the light. She trained the beam upward on purpose, hoping that Oscuro would be distracted enough to miss the traps below. The traps that came from above would be further down the tunnel. With a little luck, Oscuro would be dispatched before they had progressed much farther.

"Give me that flashlight." Oscuro's voice interrupted Christine's thoughts.

He pulled the flashlight out of her hand and trained its beam downward. Several ground-traps lay exposed, but right before their feet, camouflaged in the dust, was the trap that Christine hoped Oscuro would trip. But he directed the light downward, carefully examining the dust, and skirted the trap.

"If you don't wish to die immediately, you'll let me know about any other traps like that one, understand?" Oscuro snapped, gripping Christine's arm more tightly. She nodded.

Once Oscuro had returned the flashlight to her, Christine proceeded more slowly through the tunnel. The revolver prodded at her like a phallus, and she summoned up the calm to ignore it, to try to think. Breathing deeply, she wondered vaguely how the comandante's wife could stand him. She led Oscuro around another trapdoor, then started to count steps.

One...Two...and –

"Stop here," Christine directed, and Oscuro halted with her. "I'm never sure how to disarm this one properly."

Her foot found the right spot – she knew it well – and she triggered the mechanism that brought the flames to life. She heard the familiar whoosh, and the fire came so close as to nearly singe them. This time, though, she was outside the trap, watching as the flames gradually grew and tightened around a nonexistent victim.

The gun's pressure against her side disappeared, and in spite of the roar of the inferno before them, she could hear Oscuro stepping back. Discreetly turning off the flashlight, she moved her hands to where one of the sensors was, deactivating Erik's trap of fire. The effect was immediate. With a sound like a vacuum shoop, the flames disappeared into the floor of the tunnel once more. Now there was only complete darkness and the acrid smell of smoke. Christine moved to the side, away from where she judged Oscuro to be.

"Turn on the flashlight! Or were you stupid enough to drop it? Where are you?" came Oscuro's voice.

Calculating Oscuro's position, Christine set the flashlight down, peeled her gloves off, and reached into her purse. Her fingers found the pocketknife, gripped the handle, and flicked open the blade. She dropped her gloves and purse on the floor and waited.

"Get over here!" His tone was irritated but unafraid.

If I could get him to go back five feet...

She moved backwards, trying to position herself beside one of the trapdoors they had passed, just as she perceived Oscuro moving in the darkness. Had he heard her movements, too? Every breath she took seemed to her to broadcast her location. Something hard hit her leg, and she realized it was his knee. She backed up, but it was too late. His hand found her hat, knocking it off, and he pulled at the hair she had collected into a tidy bun. Gripping the knife tighter, Christine swung wildly until the blade connected with what she calculated to be the base of his neck.

Oscuro screamed but gained a purchase on her arm. "Whore!"

They struggled, Christine trying to pull away from him. She transferred the knife to her left arm, which was free, and swung again, thrusting the knife into whatever part of Oscuro it had connected with. She realized with a sinking heart that she had barely penetrated beyond his coat. The knife jerked away from her grip, and she heard it clattering to the floor.

A punch in her shoulder, then another in her back, knocked Christine to the floor. Attempting to get up, she felt a sudden pain in her thigh as Oscuro kicked at her blindly. She folded herself into a fetal position, protecting herself as he kicked her mercilessly, mostly on her arms and legs. He landed a strong blow on her head, and sparks of light floated in her field of vision. Just when she felt she would pass out, the beating stopped.

"Get the flashlight," Oscuro said.

Christine continued on the floor, wishing she could just sleep...or die. But she opened her eyes and jumped as a gunshot thundered into the floor beside her. She coughed as hot dust rose and struggled to her feet. Oscuro gripped her arm once more and shook her.

"The flashlight," he repeated.

Trying to orient herself in the darkness, Christine lifted a trembling hand and found the wall, moving it downward until she came to the ground. She traced the wall with her fingers for about a yard until they bumped against the flashlight. Picking it up, she turned it on, blinking as the bright beam illuminated the tunnel once more. Daring a glance at Oscuro, she saw that he was bleeding just below his left eye. She had nearly blinded him with the knife, and she breathed a sigh of frustration that she had failed to put out his eye. Her own fingers were wet with blood where he had kicked them, and searing pain radiated from her left index finger.

Shaking her again, Oscuro urged her onward with a curse. Christine limped forward. Her legs felt like liquid pain, but she gritted her teeth and continued to the left, down the more narrow tunnels that led to Erik's home.


"It's a damn luxury hotel!" Oscuro exclaimed as he entered Erik's study. His eyes looked hungrily at every object in the room, lingering on the golden bookends, a gem-encrusted vase, and a Moroccan tea set worked in gold. His revolver still dug into Christine's side.

Christine was staring at Erik's piano, though. Music was scattered all over its surface, and much of it was stacked below it – reams of work by hand. There was broken glass and sand on the floor nearby, and she realized that he had broken an hourglass that had once graced one of the mahogany tables.

"Where does he keep those gold bars? Show me now, or I swear I'll kill you!" Oscuro was breathing heavily.

Her heart sank. Even as she led Oscuro to the hallway where the vault was, she knew what she would find. As she turned the lock, using the combination Erik had taught her – the numbers from her own birth date – she knew. Oscuro pulled the heavy door open impatiently, and they both looked inside the vault. It was empty and clean. The gold bars were already on their way to America.

"He's taken them. There used to be bars here, but he's taken them away," Christine said tiredly.

Oscuro cursed, moving slightly into the vault as if to verify the fact that nothing remained. He stood there for several minutes, still gripping Christine's arm, but he had lowered his revolver. Finally, he seemed to awaken from his stupor, and he looked at her with a new, even darker light in his eyes.

"Very well," he said. "Deschamps has cheated me out of the gold. There's still something left to console me, besides those knickknacks in the study. Let's go into the bedroom – at least you can be good for some purpose." He lifted his chin and leered at her.

This was what Oscuro had intended all along, Christine realized. All the times he had made advances on her – even under the veil of politeness – had been a prelude to rape. He resented Erik for some reason, and by association, she had become the object of his black, bottomless hate. Tears rolled down her swollen cheeks. There was only one hope left for her.


As Christine led Oscuro to her bedroom, she barely felt the pain in her finger or throughout her body anymore.

She turned to him, feigning shy subservience, as they reached the foot of the bed. "Won't you let me change, at least? Look, I have some nice lingerie in here." She led him to the wardrobe and opened the door. The evening dress that she had worn the first time Erik had brought her to his home was hanging where she had left it. Reaching towards it, her fingers quickly searched for the cyanide capsule that she had once stitched into its satin hem. It was gone. Erik!

Oscuro was grinning sardonically. "Do you think I give a damn what a whore like you happens to be wearing before I take her to bed? You'll please me, Christine, whether you care to or not. Oh, you'll please me without a stitch of clothing on." He pointed the gun at her again. "Just take everything off, and I'll take charge from there."

This time she fought her tears. Oscuro watched as she took her coat off. It dropped to the floor. She stood before him in her cocktail dress, and he waved the gun up and down slightly, ordering her to continue. She reached back, unzipping the zipper, her fingers in agony, and the tears she had been fighting came to the surface. The dress dropped from her shoulders and pooled around her ankles in a sea of gray silk.

"Shit! You're pregnant!" Oscuro exclaimed, and he started to laugh.

Christine looked down at the girdle she was wearing to hide her expanding midriff. She was in her fifth month by now and just beginning to show, but what Oscuro had said was true. He was the first person besides herself to know it. Even if he had not planned on killing her earlier he was certain to do it now – now that he knew. Her tears turned to sobs.

That was when the piano music started. A slow, quiet melody ascended into a graceful crescendo and continued in a 4/4 time signature. Christine's heart fluttered, then beat more quickly.

Oscuro, who had frozen in place, grasped Christine's bare arm and held the gun to her temple. He pulled her slowly out of the bedroom, silently following the music to the study. In spite of her pain, Christine noted with satisfaction that Oscuro was trembling.

"Deschamps!" Oscuro barked as they entered the study.

Then, both Christine and Oscuro stared. The piano was playing by itself.

"It's a player piano, and he has it on a timer," Christine lied soothingly. She listened carefully to the message within the music even as she spoke.

Oscuro lowered the gun and released her. "How does Deschamps control the thing?" he asked. He frowned in suspicion, but she noticed how his stance had shifted slightly forward. His curiosity was getting the better of him.

Her heart leaped at his opportune question. "There's an electromechanical device just under the keyboard. Did you know Erik is an inventor? I guess not..."

Christine closed her eyes briefly in prayer as Oscuro approached the piano, bending to examine the keyboard, searching for...something.

"I don't see any -" Oscuro's gun discharged as the floor gave way beneath him, and she heard the heavy thud as he hit the bottom of some deep pit. Then there was silence, and she wondered whether he had shot himself or been knocked unconscious.

Just as she sank to the floor, Christine saw the door open. She nearly smiled as a dark form flew towards her, graceful in spite of the panic in its golden eyes.

"Erik," she murmured gratefully. Her eyes closed.