Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  Obviously, this was what Meriwether had meant when he said that if anything should happen while I was “keeping an eye on things” I would know what to do. I think I knew exactly what to do.

  They knocked again loudly on the door. The police officers were becoming impatient. One of them shouted something in Portuguese.

  I considered using my Interpol identification but decided against it as it ran the risk of becoming too complicated a lie.

  ‘What shall I do?’ Grace asked again. I walked over to her.

  ‘Let me do the talking. Translate for me if necessary. Once they’re both inside close the door behind them and then step away. Try not to make it look odd, but move into a position from where you can quickly step clear. Just follow my lead: we’re married.’

  ‘...we’re married!’ Grace repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Grace nodded and I felt confident that she understood. ‘All right, let them in.’ Grace released the security bar and pulled open the door.

  There were two men just as she had said. They both wore lightweight, soft grey suits with open neck shirts. Neither of them was ever going to win a beauty contest. Grace stepped aside and I stepped back. Both men entered the room and then Grace closed the door. She squeezed past them and moved to my side from where she could easily step clear into the main part of the room.

  The first man fixed me with a cold stare and asked me in Portuguese who I was. I smiled and in English said, ‘My wife and I are here on holiday. She tells me you are police officers. How can we help you?’ For a brief moment, he hesitated and then looked at Grace and spoke to her in Portuguese. Grace listened politely and then turned to me.

  ‘Darling,’ she said in English, ‘they are looking for a man named Leonardo Horacio Cavaco da Silva. Apparently, they think this is his room.’

  I forced my face to show what I hoped was a bemused expression and said to the man, ‘I don’t know anybody by that name and this is our room.’ The man breathed deeply and then turned to his partner and they spoke briefly. He then looked at Grace and spoke to her. She replied in Portuguese and, I think, confirmed what I had said.

  It was now the crunch moment. Would they leave and check their information about the room number or would they ask to see identification or ask to search the room. I waited and prepared myself. The man was thinking. He reached a decision and then spoke to Grace. She listened and then nodded politely. The police officers turned to leave. I felt relief. It was much better this way. They opened the door and with a final “goodbye”, they left. Grace locked the door and then looked at me. The blueness of her eyes seemed to have faded behind a sudden haze and her expression told me little about how she felt.

  ‘We were lucky,’ she said. ‘I was sure they would ask to search the room.’ I remained silent. It was not an observation that required comment.

  Leonardo Horacio Cavaco da Silva or as we called him “Snowy” jumped up from his hiding place and began to panic with true conviction. Unable to keep still he moved about the room talking to himself in Portuguese and displaying the signs of unquestionable foreboding.

  ‘Snowy,’ I said in a strong, low voice, ‘stop that.’ He looked at me. ‘Get your bag ready and grab everything you need. We’re leaving in one minute and we won’t be coming back to this room again.’ He stared at me with the contorted face of a whitewashed gargoyle before rushing to his bag and frantically packing.

  ‘Grace,’ I said, ‘on which floor is your room?’

  ‘It’s this floor, on the south side,’ she said. My suite was three floors above on the seventh.

  ‘Check outside the door to see if they’ve gone,’ I said.

  Her head disappeared from sight and then reappeared nodding. The relief showed on her face. ‘Yes, the corridor is empty,’ she said.

  ‘Snowy, are you ready?’

  He mumbled something in Portuguese while zipping shut his suitcase.

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘we’ll go to Grace’s room, which is on the other side of this floor. Snowy, put on your hat and glasses. Grace and I will walk together in front and you behind so that it doesn’t look like we are together. If anything should happen then, Snowy, go to my room, number 703 and wait there until I come.’ I passed him my room key card, so he could get in.

  ‘What might happen?’ he asked nervously. I wanted to avoid alarming him as much as possible.

  ‘Nothing will happen. It’s just a precaution,’ I said reassuringly. I think Grace’s tactful presence was affecting me. ‘Grace, I want you to stay with me. I may need your translating skills.’

  ‘What might happen?’ she asked. ‘You should tell us. We need to know.’ She was right, of course.

  ‘Nothing will happen,’ I repeated. They both continued to stare at me. ‘Walking between the rooms makes us vulnerable, that’s all.’ They were both silent while they considered what that meant. I decided not to elaborate. Taking precautions whenever possible is sensible, but guessing the future is pointless. ‘Are we ready?’ I asked. In response, I received two uncertain nods. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  I opened the door and checked outside. The corridor was still empty. I nodded to Grace and Snowy. They left the room with Snowy wheeling his suitcase. I removed the key card, put it in my pocket, pulled shut the door and joined them. The corridor was silent like a small town library. Its carpet was thick enough to muffle any footsteps. We needed to move fast, but at a pace that would appear normal. I took Grace’s arm and we walked to the corner. I glanced back. Snowy was following too closely. ‘Drop back,’ I said quietly. He looked at me and frowned with disapproval, but fell back a further two paces.

  Ahead, the corridor appeared to stretch the whole length of the hotel’s west side, but I knew there was actually a break halfway where a glass walkway bridged a garden beneath. A number of double doors that were in place to meet fire regulations provided an architectural series of segments that had encouraged the interior designer to colour each one differently. The bright pastels made me think of an infant school. We reached the first fire door and passed through. Grace held it open for Snowy causing us all to bunch together. ‘Snowy, drop back,’ I said. ‘Grace, let him open the doors himself. We don’t want to appear as if we’re walking together.’

  The noise came from over my shoulder. It sounded loud and sudden inside the plush confine of the passageway. I spun rapidly. It was an automatic reaction. The door opened inwards. Someone was coming out. My hands lifted and I felt my feet involuntarily move to an even balance. It had all happened in only a second, but then just as quickly the situation completely diffused. It was just an elderly couple leaving their room. The grey haired woman smiled at me.

  ‘Is that what you meant by “vulnerable”?’ asked Grace quietly. I glanced at her. She seemed different as if the worry she felt now shared a layer of sadness that showed on her face. Snowy had caught us up again, so I walked faster and left them both behind. I looked back and noticed the elderly couple had walked in the other direction towards the lifts on the east side. It was then that I saw them.

  Through the glass in the doors, I saw them walking side by side. They passed the elderly couple and then quickened their pace. They had recognised us or at least Grace and me. Snowy, they had not seen before, but Snowy was the one they were after. It was the two police officers. They must have checked the room number and now they were back and in search of their quarry. Unfortunately, they had returned faster than I had hoped. This was always the danger. I considered my options. Earlier, in the room, we had had some luck and managed to get away. I believe in luck but not in fate. This time, a confrontation appeared inevitable and it seemed action rather than luck was my only choice. My hope of an easy escape had hit the rocks and this was only the beginning.

  Grace must have seen a change in my expression because her brow lowered with alarm and then she spun her head to see through the doors at what I was looking.

  ‘Snowy,’ I said, ‘hurry to me.’ His white eyes immediately found m
y face and without hesitation and only a scared glance to Grace, he rushed towards me. Grace turned and followed him closely. The two police officers burst through the double doors, opening one each with outstretched hands and then shouted to us in Portuguese. Grace’s translation was unnecessary. They wanted us to stop. I spoke hurriedly, in a low voice and with a timbre of command that I hoped instilled obedient action. ‘Snowy, go now to my suite. Stay there until I come for you.’ Without any hesitation, he rushed away. Obviously, my voice contained the right balance of certainty and authority. Although, given his fear, running away from the police was not a difficult thing to get him to do. I turned to Grace. ‘Stay with me but keep back. I don’t want you to get hurt.’ Her only reply came from the sudden flash of eyes that told me getting hurt was not something that ever happened to her. It seemed to me that the colour of her eyes reflected her mood. The colour I now saw had a burnished shine like cold blue steel.

  I eyed both policemen to gauge their disposition and intent before making my final decision. The distance between us had now narrowed considerably. Neither of their ugly faces was going to break a smile anytime soon. In fact, both men carried expressions that I would have described as somewhere between annoyed and infuriated. Seeing Snowy rush away was not what they wanted. The first man, a step or two in front of his colleague shouted again and then placed his hand inside his jacket.

  I made my decision.

  I realised the importance of taking them down hard and fast. Both men were approaching me with a hurried, extended gait, which was rapidly closing the gap between us and very soon, I would have a gun pointed at me. I saw little need for either subtlety or rules. I raced the three strides to meet the first man and then, assisted by his forward momentum, I delivered a perfect front kick. I lifted my leg, balanced, turned and with great force slammed the ball of my foot into his unprotected sternum. I could almost hear the man’s ribs rattle like a shaken bag of bones. He stopped with the abruptness of a cartoon dog that had reached the limit of its chain. His body appeared to open and then close before his legs failed and he fell heavily to the carpet.

  Immediately, I focused on the second man. The expression on his face distorted dramatically from shock to anger. His hand dived inside his jacket as he went for his gun. Two steps were all it took. I could see the desperation crease the corners of his mouth as he realised I was much too quick for him. The palm of my hand shot out in a penetrating straight-arm strike. I aimed for his clavicle and felt the softness of his neck depress severely beneath the heel of my hand. His head looked as if it had lost all muscular support and lolled uncontrollably. Instinctively, he raised both hands to his injured neck and clasped with his fingers in what seemed like an attempt to stop his head from falling off.

  I glanced at the first man to check his status. He was still down and lying on his side in a hunched position, holding his chest and clearly in considerable distress. My kick had made perfect contact. His own rushing momentum had added to the force and the impact had caught him unprepared. His condition did not come as any surprise.

  I returned to the second man. Despite his damaged neck, he had removed one hand from its ministration and was using it to pull his gun from inside his jacket.

  ‘Look out,’ Grace yelled. Fortunately, I had turned back just in time. I stood close enough to grab his wrist and twist. The man gasped with pain when his arm reached breaking point and the gun fell to the carpet. I stepped forward and swung a vicious forearm that landed solidly on the man’s jawbone. The blow was sufficient to knock him down. I picked up the gun, stuck it in my waistband and then looked at Grace. She looked back at me, but neither of us spoke.

  The first man lifted his head and groaned. Then, surprisingly, he went for his gun. Using my foot, I pressed down on his neck until his face disappeared in the thick carpet. He spluttered and cried out. I relieved him of his gun and let his face up.

  ‘Put this in your handbag,’ I said and passed Grace the second gun. I checked both men. Both were feeling the injuries I had inflicted. I had had to hurt them. None of the damage was serious, just debilitating in the short term. It enabled us to get away.

  I looked at Grace again and gave her a gentle nudge. ‘Let’s go,’ I said. She turned away and we hurried off together.

  We took the stairs to the seventh floor. Grace only spoke when we reached the end of the corridor close to my suite. ‘I don’t like violence,’ she said. I remained silent. ‘Watching you has made me feel uneasy. You hit those men so hard. You really hurt them. Neither of them could breathe properly.’ We stopped outside the door to suite 703. In the flat light of the corridor, Grace’s eyes looked silver blue like a clear northern Irish sky in January.

  I tried to think of something reassuring to say. Instead, I said, ‘I had to stop them from taking Snowy. Hurting them was my only option.’

  Grace tried the suite door handle and then knocked. She looked at me and I thought she was going to say something important. She hesitated and then Snowy opened the door and the moment passed. We went inside and I locked the door.

  Snowy was extremely agitated. ‘What happened? Where are the police officers? What are we going to do?’

  ‘I’ve bought us a little time,’ I said, ‘but we must leave the hotel immediately.’ Snowy nodded his white head in agreement and then resumed his anxiety by pacing like a worried man who was late for something very important.

  ‘Let’s go now,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘I just need to pack,’ I said and started throwing things into my open suitcase. ‘Grace, do you need to return to your room?’ No reply came, so I looked over at her. She was standing by the door making a phone call. Her voice was low and her body turned away from me, which made her words just soft murmurs.

  Snowy stopped pacing. ‘Who’s she talking to?’ he asked and then not getting an answer resumed his pacing. I finished packing, zipped closed my bag and then walked over to Grace. She turned towards me and lifted her face. In the dullness of the room, her eyes were now dark indigo and gave me an uneasy feeling that seemed to foretell a coming darkness. She continued to listen for a second or two longer and then without speaking handed me the phone. I took her K106, held it to my ear and said, ‘Hello.’

  In a grave voice as if he was announcing something of national importance, Bartholomew Meriwether said, ‘A very bad business. I don’t suppose there’s any doubt about the police officers reason for wanting to speak with Snowy?’

  ‘It’s unlikely,’ I said, ‘but we didn’t actually find out for sure.’

  ‘No, quite, Grace has explained. Well,’ he paused, ‘it’s a very bad business. I’m sorry this has had to happen on your holiday. I really did hope nothing would come of it and that Snowy was imagining things, but there it is. Unfortunately, we only have one option.’

  ‘Only one option,’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Meriwether said.

  ‘...which is?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re going to have to kill Snowy.’

  8

  THURSDAY, 17:20—17:35

  It would seem that Grace’s eyes really did have mystical powers. The feeling they had given me of impending doom had come true. I thought, for a second, I had misheard what Meriwether had said, but no, his words were clear enough even for me to understand. I knew him well enough to know that condemning a man to death was as easy for him as asking his tailor to increase the size of his jacket lapels or asking the barman to add a little more gin to his martini. The silence drifted and then I asked, ‘Why?’

  Meriwether’s voice was clear and certain. ‘His deception is now known by the Brazilian authority. His ability to spy for us is over. However, it is not for that reason alone. Once the police have him they will interrogate him, he will tell them all about Grace and everything else he knows about us, which will mean the end of her network; her total network. At present, we have only lost Snowy, and with him unable to talk, the rest can remain intact and functioning success
fully. So you see he really does have to go I’m afraid.’

  ‘What if we’ve got it wrong and the police want him for something else?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it is possible but unlikely. We cannot take that chance.’ Meriwether’s voice remained grave. I tried to think of another reason to keep Snowy alive.

  ‘Isn’t he still useful to us? Doesn’t he know things?’

  ‘No, he’s what we call “real-time”, which means he passes us current information as it becomes available to him. He doesn’t have any stored knowledge that we can extract. He’s not a political spy; he’s just a man with access to sensitive financial intelligence, mostly monetary stuff and exchange rates, that sort of thing.’

  My mind was still working on the problem. ‘Couldn’t we get him out of the country and put him somewhere safe out of the way?’

  ‘It’s too risky I’m afraid and, anyway, it’s much simpler this way—all over and done with before bedtime, so to speak.’

  I had run out of ideas.

  ‘Now then,’ Meriwether said, ‘I understand from Grace you have acquired a police pistol, excellent. I suggest a single shot; preferably in Snowy’s own room, leaving the pistol behind without any prints and then leave the hotel immediately. I’ll take care of hotel reception and so on from here. I’ve told Grace the same thing. Just get out safely and leave the rest to me. Call me once you’re clear and I’ll advise you of your new arrangements.’ Meriwether ended the call. The discussion was over and I had my orders.

  I lowered the phone from my ear and looked over at Snowy. He was talking to Grace in a fretful way like a man who had lost something valuable and needed help finding it again. Grace turned her head. She saw I had finished the call with Meriwether and walked over to me. I tried to read her face, but she had it fixed in an expressionless mask. Her eyes too were aloof and shaded. She held out her hand. I placed the phone on her upturned palm and she put it away in her handbag. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she said, ‘to get my things.’ She took her headscarf and sunglasses from her handbag and put them on. While I watched her cover her hair and shield her eyes I wondered at her coolness or was it coldness. Meriwether must have told her. ‘I’ll meet you at the beach bar,’ she said, ‘where we were this morning.’ She walked past me and without a single glance back or a goodbye she opened the door and left.