‘I very much doubt whether the English press would dare to publish it,’ he said from the sideboard, his back still turned. ‘In fact I can guarantee they wouldn’t.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Philis admitted, unabashed, ‘but I’ve heard they have a far more liberal attitude on the continent. Magazines like Der Spiegel, for example.’
‘I suppose I couldn’t persuade you to change your mind?’
‘You might be able to,’ Philis admitted. ‘Of course, it would rather depend on what you’re prepared to offer.’
His glass filled to his satisfaction, Pawson returned to his armchair, no longer bothering to conceal his amusement.
‘I’ll offer you a passport,’ he said once he was seated, ‘and a job with SR(2). As a bonus I’ll forget the money we had to pay that Brazilian police inspector.’
‘A passport?’
Philis was visibly taken aback.
‘Yes, the immigration people are very strict about them. I know you’re British, you know you’re British, but for all Customs know you could be a white Pakistani. Once they discovered you didn’t have a genuine passport, only that forged affair Collins arranged for you, they’d ship you straight back to Brazil. You might find it quite a problem to persuade the Rio Grande police to return the documents they’re looking after for you.’
Philis took it remarkably well, far better than Pawson could have expected, and there was no rancour in his laugh.
‘You bastard,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I call you sir?’
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