The Dream of the City by Andrés Vidal

enigmatically.
    â€œThat’s why we’ll get along, señor.”
    Dimas kept his word and brought the workers to the workshop that night, one by one. They came from the shanties at Peking Beach, next to Camp de la Bota. Héctor Ribes i Pla was waiting for them with two roughnecks with pistols shoved in their belts.
    â€œYou’ll show them what they have to do,” he said to Dimas.
    â€œThat’ll cost extra,” he answered without hesitation.
    â€œHa, ha, ha! You’ve got some balls, Navarro! I like it. Here, is this enough?”
    Dimas took the money, counted it carefully, and only answered in the affirmative once he’d finished. His boss turned around, intending to leave, but when Dimas turned as well, the owner warned him: “I recommend you stay away on Tuesday morning. Your colleagues are going to meet with a nasty surprise.”
    That was the date the workers had settled on to sabotage the machinery. Dimas showed not an ounce of feeling when he saw one of the roughnecks grin.
    â€œI’m going to be here, otherwise they’d notice my absence.”
    â€œWhatever you think; I’ve done my duty by warning you. Good night, Navarro. And welcome to the good guys’ side.”
    Ribes i Pla left with his bodyguards. When he opened the door to step out, a blinding glow met him, as the headlights of his automobile shone toward the entrance. The light disappeared when he closed the door. When the noise of the car died away, everything was silent. Then Dimas turned and gave the first orders and the noise of the tools, the machines, and the frenzied activity began to fill up immensity of the bays.

CHAPTER 5
    Tuesday at dawn, Daniel Montero, ignorant of the secret activities that had drawn to a close in the bays only moments before, was getting ready to execute the first part of his plan. He took a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. When it turned, he pushed open the doors to the storeroom carefully, to keep it from squeaking. Just a few yards away, he saw a number of figures hidden there; one of them gave him a quick greeting. He reminded himself that once they were all inside, he would need to take care to get to the back so that the blows wouldn’t reach him. He moved agilely through the courtyard to the building that housed the substation, just beside the depots. There he took out a clanking ring of keys and opened a small door that led to the path outside. He peeked out, and after making sure no one was there, he left. He put his hands in his pockets and set off on a slow walk.
    All of a sudden, he thought he heard footsteps at his back. He stopped and began to turn back, but it was too late; something hard struck his head, and in less than a second, everything went black. He fell to the ground like a sack of bricks.
    Dimas grabbed Montero’s unconscious body beneath his arms and dragged it toward the door. He laid it down there so that it looked as if he’d fallen asleep. He put Montero’s cap over his eyes, took a small jar of wine from his own jacket, and spilled it beside the foreman before setting off for the predetermined meeting point.
    Many of the workers had gathered and taken shelter in the nearby vegetable plots. Dimas arrived last and met his comrades, who were impatient to begin.
    â€œWhere’s Montero?” someone asked.
    â€œHe must have left the door to the storeroom open. He’ll meet up with us there,” Rubio responded.
    â€œI don’t know,” Arnau grumbled between clenched teeth, waving to Dimas in greeting.
    â€œNow’s not the time to hesitate. Let’s go!” Rubio shouted.
    The group walked briskly toward the doorway to the depot. They moved silently, like hunters on the trail. Their only rule was silence; according to Rubio, they were engaged in a guerrilla action: They would have to enter the bays, grab the tools, try to sabotage as much of the machinery as they could in a few