Tango (6 page)

Box stopped. ‘What is this place?’

‘Gustav’s, known locally as the Nazi restaurant.’

‘Nazis?’

‘Not really. One or two, maybe. They must be pretty old now, mustn’t they?’

‘Runs in families.’

‘But at least we won’t bump into the president or any of his left-wing cronies. Opposite ends of the political spectrum.’

‘The spectrum is circular. The two ends meet on the other side. Totalitarians always have more in common with each other than with the rest of us.’ Behind his gold-rimmed glasses
Box’s eyes were unblinking and expressionless.

‘Well, there’s nowhere else I’m not known,’ William lied.

They went in. The furnishings and decorations looked a mixture of
Bierkeller
and alpine hut. There were racks of German wines, bottles of German beer, German newspapers on the counter
and, on the walls, German regimental insignia and pictures of German warships. The background music sounded like a German drinking-song. The few customers looked native.

The waiter spoke Spanish. ‘
Para dos, señor?
’

‘
Gracias
.’

‘No.’ Box pointed to a table for four. ‘That one.’

The waiter appealed to William. ‘
Pero para dos personas, señor?
’

‘
Sí
, for two people.’

‘No.’ Box stood by the other table. ‘Johnny’s coming. That makes three. So we’ll need a table for four.’

‘Johnny?’

‘Coming later.’ Box explained to the waiter in halting Spanish that a friend was coming. The waiter glanced again at William, shrugged and showed them to a table for four.

The other customers watched.

William had not seen Box’s smile before. It was a fleeting parting of the lips, slightly disconcerting. ‘Better table separation,’ Box explained. ‘Makes it harder for
observers to overhear. Useful chap, Johnny.’

‘What happens when he doesn’t turn up?’

‘We go on saying he’s late. Typical of him. Useful but unreliable, as the actress said.’ He laughed, a sharp bark. The other customers looked up again. The waiter’s head
reappeared round the kitchen door.

They ordered wild boar and wine. Box repeated what he had previously said about the country subsiding beneath Soviet dominion. William presumed he didn’t realise he was repeating himself
and listened with the appearance of polite attention while his mind wandered. He wanted to know why he had been chosen. It was true that there weren’t many other British businessmen in the
city. What few British commercial operations remained after years of complacency were generally serviced by managers travelling down from Rio for a few days. They never seemed to be the same people
for more than two visits. Predecessors had always just been sacked or sent for drying out or found to be transvestite or discovered with their fingers in the till. Rio seemed to have that effect on
the British. William supposed that he, by comparison, was on the spot, stable, patriotic and as yet unsacked. Also, he knew Carlos. But how did they know that?

Box finished his peroration and looked suddenly self-conscious. ‘I expect you think I’m seeing Reds under every bed.’

‘Not necessarily. I don’t know.’

‘But you believe what I say?’

William hesitated. ‘Yes.’

‘And you’re happy to help us?’

‘Yes. But why me? There must be others you could have asked.’

‘You know Carlos. No one else does.’

‘But how did you know?’

Box’s lips parted briefly. ‘Trade secret, really, but I’ll tell you since you’re one of us now. We checked through all the records we could find of anyone who could have
known him in England, and then checked them against the list of expatriates who’d registered with the embassy here. Yours was the only name that came up twice. Hope you don’t
mind?’

‘Not at all. I was just curious.’

‘You really are happy to help?’

‘Yes.’

Box’s pallor was tinged with a faint blush. ‘My first recruitment since privatisation.’

‘Recruitment?’

‘Yes, I’ve recruited you. That’s what it’s called.’

‘But I’ve only said I’d help you.’

‘Yes, that’s it. That’s recruitment. I get a bonus, you see – so much for a Brit, more for a foreigner. You don’t have the right to any other passport, I
suppose?’

‘ ’Fraid not.’

‘Never mind, can’t be helped. Let’s drink to our success.’

Afterwards Box wiped his lips with his handkerchief and leaned forward. ‘What I always say is, supposing there really are Reds under the beds? Are we supposed to stay silent?’

‘Of course not.’

‘But if we do speak we’re accused of saying there are Reds under the beds and no one takes any notice.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘It’s jolly hard to know what’s for the best.’ Box put down his glass and, his elbows on the table, clasped his hands and clenched them until his knuckles showed white
and his pale cheeks shook. Then he relaxed and sat back, his palms flat on the table. ‘Always ease mental tension with the physical. Clears the arteries and the mind. Prolongs life. Keeps
weight down, too.’

‘Do you think I should try it?’

‘You could try. But we must sort out how you’re going to meet the president. Brandy with your coffee? All on expenses.’

‘Can’t someone from the embassy see him?’

‘No good if it’s official; you can’t bribe a chap in front of his pals. Actually, “subvert” is what we call it now. Bribery has got such a bad name.’

‘How much?’

Box looked at his glass. ‘A million or two. Plus favourable trade deals, that sort of thing. As I said, it’s a big contract.’

The door opened and Theresa entered, behind her Ines and Manuel Herrera. She smiled quickly at William, who was facing them, and turned to a table in the corner. Ines smiled fulsomely, showing
nearly all her teeth. Manuel raised his hand.

‘What’s happened?’ Box had his back to them.

William told him. Theresa shook her head as she sat and pushed back her hair with both hands. Her fingers lingered a moment before running through it and leaving it spread over her
shoulders.

‘Keep your head still,’ said Box. ‘I’m trying to see their reflections in your glasses. What did you say they do, those women?’

‘They’re singers, I think. They dance and sing.’ Ricardo had added something about that being part of it. ‘I don’t know where.’

‘Herrera’s up to no good.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he’s Herrera. Half-Cuban by birth and all Cuban by training. Also a communist. I checked. He can’t be up to good.’

‘Perhaps he just likes girls.’

‘Of course he likes girls, he’s half-Cuban. They spend their lives liking girls. But it won’t be only that.’

Box stared into William’s left eye. The waiter had gone to the table. Herrera was saying something serious, one hand on the waiter’s arm.

‘Every problem is an opportunity,’ Box continued in an undertone. ‘It’s unfortunate that we’re seen together and Herrera’s probably as unhappy to see us as we
are to see him. But no one’s seen my face, so we’re one up. And he’s probably with the girls because the president took an interest in them, so this is your chance to get to know
them better and use them to take you to the president.’

It had not occurred to William that he could legitimise getting to know Theresa. It was a thought both appealing and worrying. ‘I’m not sure how I could.’

‘Initiative.’ Box spoke the word as if it were a code. ‘Always have an aim, then you find a way of achieving it. Bit of a boy-scout approach but it serves me well. My aim is to
leave here without my face being seen. Yours is not to leave without having had a conversation leading to a further meeting with at least one of the group. I’ll go first. Contact me when you
have something to report: Hotel Britannia, room 42, name of Welling.’

He stood, stepped sideways from the table so as not to show his profile and walked quickly through the nearest swing-door, which led to the kitchen. There were raised voices in a mixture of
Spanish and German. Box backed out and, still without facing the restaurant, walked smartly down the corridor to the toilets. The waiter, who with his three new customers had been watching the
spectacle, hurried into the kitchen. He came out with another man, went to the till and came across to William with the bill. He stood by while William paid.

William had to pass the group on his way to the door.

‘You like German food?’ Ines asked.

‘But your friend does not?’ Manuel held out his hand to be shaken. It was like his face – strong, smooth and confident.

‘Client,’ William said. ‘A prospective client.’

‘Not an obliging one. Is he all right? He seemed to be hurrying.’

Ines laughed. ‘The food does not agree with him?’

‘He said he was going. Perhaps there’s a back way out.’

Manuel pursed his lips. ‘Only the window. A very small window. He must be very determined, your client.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know him very well.’ William felt he should be doing better. Theresa stared down at her spoon, edging it backwards and forwards with her little
finger.

‘I daresay it would be impolite to follow and find out. Unnecessary, perhaps.’ Manuel smiled.

‘I liked your car,’ William said to Theresa. ‘Your Dodge, the old one. It was parked near my shop yesterday. You drove off with a great noise.’

She looked up. ‘It always makes a great noise. But not now. No more noise.’

‘It doesn’t go?’

‘Kaput, they would say here.’

The waiter reappeared with plates. On his way back to the kitchen he hesitated, eyeing the toilet. He took a step towards it, hesitated again, then walked determinedly in.

Everyone laughed. William felt easier. Anything out of the ordinary was more acceptable now. ‘Would you like me to have a look at it?’ he asked.

‘You know about engines?’

‘A little.’

‘It’s a very big engine.’

‘They’re easier to work on.’ One of the company drivers in London had told him that.

She looked down and touched her spoon again. ‘If you like. It’s very kind. You don’t need to.’

‘Where is it and when shall I come?’

‘Plaza San Marco. I will meet you there at seven this evening.’ Her tone was definite, as if to conclude the discussion.

The waiter came out of the toilet and walked thoughtfully into the kitchen. They laughed again.

‘I hope you have better luck with cars than with clients,
Señor
Wooding,’ said Manuel.

William knew nothing about repairing cars. He knew they had big-ends that went, gaskets that blew, clutches that slipped, brakes that seized, gaps that narrowed or widened,
points that corroded; but he didn’t know what to do about any of them. Also, it was his turn to cook and seven was an awkward time. He couldn’t very well start, rush out, repair the car
and rush back, nor did he want to ask Sally to swap nights at the last minute. Nor did he want to lie to her. He spent the afternoon in wretched and futile indecision.

He walked home as usual across the golf course and as he came off the hill towards the sea he saw that
Señor
Finn was there again, hunched over his fire in the clump of pampas
grass. The fire flickered uncertainly and a brisk damp breeze worried the small trees and bushes. The clouds were spitting rain and the sea was leaden and surly.

Señor
Finn, bulky in assorted clothes, sat with his elbows on his knees and poked at the fire. The terrier barked once and got half up before subsiding. The cat sat on the
upturned boat. William raised his hand in greeting.
Señor
Finn did the same.

‘Not so good this evening,’ William called.

‘Rain is coming.’ The wind in the pampas grass and the waves beyond made the old man’s voice indistinct.

‘I didn’t see you the other night.’

Señor
Finn pointed north along the beach. ‘Fish. Good fish.’

‘I see. Good.’ They grinned and nodded at each other. ‘
Buenas noches.
’

‘
Buenas noches.
’

William felt happier during the latter part of his walk. He would tell Sally everything. It was better to be truthful, certainly easier, and lying probably wouldn’t work anyway. He would
tell Box afterwards.

Sally seemed neither surprised nor impressed. William was disappointed.

‘Are you sure he’s not having you on?’ she asked. ‘A privatised secret service seems a bit odd. He might be a gangster or the mafia or something.’

‘I was introduced to him at the embassy by Nightingale and Feather.’

‘That could mean anything. And who exactly are these people you know who know the president?’

‘Well, there’s Herrera – and me, of course – and those two women the president talked to in the market and who were in the restaurant today.’

‘But you hardly count. You haven’t seen Carlos since school and you weren’t all that friendly then. Who are these women?’

‘Singers, I think.’

‘Where from?’

‘I don’t know.’

She laughed. ‘You do get yourself into pickles sometimes. Only you would get mixed up with a privatised secret service, a president, a sinister colonel and a chorus. And now you’ve
got to mend a car and you don’t know one end from another.’

‘It’s just a way of getting closer to the president.’

‘It might get you as far as his garage.’

She was amused in the way she used to be when they had first known each other. He was glad he had done nothing for which he need feel guilty. Nor would he now. He would enjoy Theresa’s
company, certainly, but that was all. Anyway, he wasn’t doing it for that.

‘Might it not be dangerous?’ she asked as he was preparing to go.

‘Oh no, nothing like that.’ The notion of danger hadn’t occured to him.

‘Max Hueffer says that the Russians really are moving in a big way economically and that the government is getting more extreme. People have started disappearing.’

‘Which people?’

‘I don’t know. People who oppose the government.’

‘I wonder if that really is true. The press is fairly free.’

‘Is it?’