by Mark Arundel
Snowy came straight over to me. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked expectantly. ‘Shall we go?’ He was anxious to leave. I looked at him. His sallow complexion was almost translucent. It had lines like creased rice paper.
‘What did Grace say to you?’ I asked.
‘She said that you would get me away, out of the country, somewhere safe.’
I pulled the police gun from my waistband. At the time of taking it, I had not bothered to pay it much attention. Now, I studied it. The dull, blued steel finish was cold. The pistol was a Brazilian made Taurus PT 24/7, .40 calibre, semi-automatic with a magazine capacity of 15 rounds and a manual safety located on the left side of the frame. I pressed the release button and the magazine fell into my hand. I checked the rounds. It was full. I pushed the magazine back into place and then felt the weight and balance in my hand.
Snowy was watching me carefully. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.
‘I took it from one of the policemen,’ I replied. Snowy stared at me as if wondering whether such a thing was possible. I thought he might ask me how, but he kept silent. His eyes were on the pistol. I raised my arm and pointed it at his head. He flinched and then cowered away.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
I lowered the pistol and replaced it in my waistband.
‘Guns scare me.’
‘We need to return to your room,’ I said. ‘I’ve forgotten something.’
‘What did you forget?’
I had thought of a good reason to return to Snowy’s room. He would not have questioned the excuse. It would have been easy for me to use, but instead, my mouth spoke different words: ‘How long have you been spying for the British?’ Snowy thought for a moment.
‘...four years,’ he said.
‘Why do you do it?’
His colourless eyes livened as he thought of the answer. ‘I love England,’ he said. ‘I’m an anglophile. Is that the word?’ There was no need for me to answer. He knew that it was. ‘My grandfather was English. On Sundays, he would tell me stories about London.’
‘Have you ever been to London?’
‘No, but I will go one day,’ he said. ‘Do you live in London?’ I thought of the rain and the overcrowding.
‘Yes, I do,’ I said. ‘It’s a great place.’ Snowy smiled. ‘Why haven’t you visited for a holiday?’ I asked.
‘It’s a long way,’ he said, ‘and I don’t have anyone to go with.’
‘How did you become a spy?’
‘I met Grace at a financial conference here in Rio. We talked about England. She took me dancing. I had a wonderful time. She was very nice to me.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’
‘What?’
‘Aren’t you betraying the financial secrets of your country?’ Snowy produced that disparaging sound he sometimes made with his lips and shrugged.
‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘The information is just data, statistics, that’s all, and future decisions on rates, purchases and payments.’ He must have thought I needed more convincing because he said, ‘Everyone knows international finance is just a game of bluff. It’s like poker with unlimited stake money where none of the players ever shows their hand. Giving away the bank’s secrets doesn’t change that.’ I realised Snowy’s whiteness matched his naivety. It made him likeable in the same way that a docile, stray dog is likeable. I was staring at him and he was waiting for me to speak.
‘Have the police ever questioned you about anything before?’ I asked. I could see from his expression that he was expecting a question about international finance or the mechanics of how he passed Grace the intelligence he took from the bank. He thought for a moment.
‘...only when my neighbour in the upstairs apartment went crazy and threw a television out of the window,’ he said in an attempt to help. It was as helpful as a hole in the head on a wet day in Ballycastle. I tried again.
‘Tell me why you think someone at the bank knows what you’ve been doing,’ I said.
‘We’ve had a systems audit,’ he said as if that was all the explanation I needed.
‘So you know that the systems audit discovered a trail of your improper activities,’ I said. Snowy’s white eyebrows lowered and he hesitated while he rubbed the palms of his hands down the front of his shirt.
‘Yes, they must have done,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘...because that was what they were looking for,’ he replied.
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ he said defensively.
‘But surely you have authorisation to access the entire bank’s system including all sensitive information. You’re one of the committee that heads the thing and makes all the decisions,’ I said.
‘Yes, but not to copy files and documents. I’m not supposed to do that.’ The conversation paused while I thought about what Snowy had told me. He started to get jittery again.
‘Who knew you were in Rio and staying at this hotel?’ I asked.
‘The people I work with at the bank,’ he said. ‘We have to report our holiday places, always. It’s protocol.’
‘Is there any other reason why the police might want to talk to you?’ I asked. Snowy shrugged and shook his head. ‘...think, it’s important,’ I pressured. Snowy frowned. I had hurt his feelings. He shook his head again.
‘Shouldn’t we go?’ he asked. ‘Don’t we have to go to my room before we leave?’ I paused and for some reason, the memory of Geoffrey Button came to me.
‘Yes, we should leave,’ I said, ‘but we don’t have to go to your room anymore.’
9
THURSDAY, 17:35—18:20
I was not exactly sure of the reason. The demand had come without warning. After the surprise, it just pinned me to the floor with a hold from which escape was impossible. Any struggling on my part was futile.
I supposed there were two aspects to the situation that meant a death sentence was premature: Did the Brazilian authority really know about Snowy and his spying? When a man risks everything to spy for you, it seems unfair even ungrateful to then kill him just because it suits you. Of course, Meriwether was not going to see it like that and possibly not Grace either. My other problem was the absence of a plan, any plan. The situation was not ideal.
I thought about the two police officers and considered how difficult our exit from the hotel might be. Ten minutes or so had elapsed since the encounter in the passageway. I assumed Grace would slip safely away wearing her headscarf and dark glasses. I tried to put myself in the place of the two policemen and consider what they might do. Reporting their failure may not present an appealing thought particularly as I had taken their guns. They would certainly not want it known by their superiors or colleagues what had happened. There was a good chance they would simply report that they were unable to find Snowy and then replace the lost guns themselves. If this was the case then our exit from the hotel ought to be straightforward.
One-step at a time.
I reasoned that given the circumstances my only option was to take Snowy with me to meet Grace at the beach bar and then wing it from there. It perhaps lacked the subtlety, depth and contingency of a good military plan, but I was getting used to that. Anyway, what choice did I have? At least the situation was in my control, but that was my only advantage.
‘What phone do you have?’ I asked. Snowy held it up for me to see. It looked new and shiny. ‘Dial Grace for me, I need to talk to her.’ He spoke to the phone in Portuguese and then passed it to me.
‘It has voice recognition,’ he explained.
Grace answered with a light and non-committal: ‘Hello.’
‘It’s me,’ I said.
‘Is it done?’ she asked.
‘Are you away from the hotel?’
‘I’ve just left,’ she said.
‘Did you have any problems? Were there any police about?’
‘No, no problems. It was all clear,’ she said. ‘Are you le
aving now?’
‘Yes, I’ll see you soon.’ I ended the call and passed back Snowy’s phone.
‘Did she see any police officers?’ he asked.
‘No. She said not.’ Relief lifted Snowy’s face and he attempted an expression of confidence that lacked conviction and only served to confirm his anxiety and fear. I considered giving him a few words of encouragement, but instead said, ‘Let’s go.’ It was plain to see he thought that was a good idea.
Outside the suite, the passageway was empty except for a middle-aged couple returning to their room. We walked to the lift, wheeling our cases and looking exactly like two guests checking out. The lift arrived and it was empty. I pushed the button for the lower ground floor, which would bypass reception and take us to where we could exit beside the pool. I knew from earlier in the day the route.
Exiting the lift, we followed the walkway, which sloped and turned between a bank of dense, hanging foliage, and through the automatic, double glass doors. Outside, the air was humid and held the smell of chlorine from the pool water. The falling afternoon sun lit a haze of floating particles like the vapour trail of a billion infinitesimal jet planes.
I checked ahead in case a police officer was guarding the side entrance. The pathway through the walled garden was deserted and then I discovered the gateway that accessed the side street closed and padlocked. I considered the difficulty of climbing over and while I did so, I checked for any CCTV cameras. I found two. They were high on the corner of the building. One pointed directly at the gateway, purposely covering the street, the entrance and the pathway. I returned to Snowy who had remained in the shade beneath a stand of palm trees. He wore his dark glasses and hat, the soft brim of which flopped over his ears.
‘The sun is still very hot,’ he said disapprovingly.
‘Someone has padlocked the gate,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to go back and take a look at reception.’
‘Is it not early to lock-up?’ he said. I had thought the same thing.
We retraced our steps, but when Snowy headed for the lift, I gave his sleeve a gentle tug. ‘We’ll take the stairs,’ I said. ‘Entering reception from the lift is too restrictive.’
‘...too restrictive?’ he questioned.
‘Arriving in the lift, when the doors open, we’re trapped with only one way to go,’ I explained. Snowy nodded in understanding.
‘Yes, we should take the stairs,’ he agreed. “Trapped” was not a word he wanted to hear.
The flight of stairs was empty and we climbed in silence carrying our bags. In contrast to the rest of the hotel, the stairwell was plain and unloved. It was certainly the poor relation when compared to the marble-clad, mirror-lined lifts.
We stopped at the windowless door and I eased the metal handle until a crack opened just wide enough through which I could peer. Snowy pushed against me, so he too could get a look.
We were in a quiet corner, beyond the lifts and away from the desk. Guests rarely used the stairs. The fire prevention officer probably liked them, but doubtless, he was the only one.
‘What can you see?’ Snowy whispered beside me.
‘The same as you,’ I replied.
‘Open the door wider,’ he suggested helpfully.
Keeping a firm grip on the handle, I eased the door further out and our view improved, but only slightly. The corner of a wall supporting a daub of paint in an expensive frame angled against us, and opposite that, some fool had positioned several floor-standing plants with generously spreading fronds. On their own, they must have accounted for a fair chunk of the shrinking rain forest.
‘What can you see now?’ Snowy whispered. I glanced at him and decided not to answer.
‘Stay here while I go and take a look,’ I said.
‘Yes, all right,’ he agreed, ‘but be careful.’
I stepped unnoticed through the narrow opening, leaving my case behind. The wall with the angled corner provided cover. I almost bumped the picture frame with my arm as I moved forward. Glancing back, I saw Snowy’s face in the narrow opening of the stairwell door. He was peering out from the gloom like a rabbit from its burrow. I signalled with a slow movement of my upturned palm for him to stay. My precaution was probably unnecessary though because he was unlikely to come out until he knew it was safe.
Easing myself away from the wall and into the space beside the plants gave me a narrow, angled side view of reception, which included part of the desk, but little else. The entrance doors, the seating area, all the sidewalls and the access points remained beyond my line of sight. I moved ahead slowly and more of the reception desk came into view. It was busy with guests both arriving and departing. I stopped for a second and watched before stretching out my neck to see the big, glass entrance doors on the far side. A crowd of milling people partly obscured my view. I searched for the sight of police uniforms or either of the two police officers from earlier but saw neither. It seemed Grace was right.
I made two sideways steps to change my angle of vision and then studied the entrance doors again. This time, I saw a man wearing a uniform. It was not a police uniform, but the uniform of a hotel security guard. His peaked cap and brass-buttoned tunic were shiny from regular cleaning and brushing. I tried to recall whether he had been there previously. I thought back. I had noted the presence of hotel security staff, but I was unsure if one had been standing in that position. I considered whether it was significant. His features were heavy and his officious gaze had all the charm of an angry drunk. Perhaps he stood there sometimes until the hotel manager moved him along. His face was more likely to scare the guests than to reassure them.
I decided to move forwards and scan a larger part of the lobby area. A pillar, marshalled by another oversized plant, was ahead of me just a few paces beyond the wall and the protective corner. I stepped towards it and as I did so, the change in angle allowed me to see a second security guard. This one stood against the sidewall, beside the reception counter from where he could see the lifts. He wore the same shiny uniform, but his features were less surly and his wiry frame lacked the overbearing presence of his door attendant colleague. His position against the wall was one in which I had seen a security guard standing before.
Using the pillar and accompanying plant as cover, I carefully surveyed all the new areas my move had opened up. The seating area where I had had tea with Grace earlier in the afternoon was busy with a group of oddly dressed women. They all wore red dresses and green hats. They had spread themselves among the opulent, cream upholstered chairs and looked like strawberries in a surrealist painting. I gave up trying to work out who they were or why they were so dressed and refocused my attention on the entry points that I could now observe. I watched each one in turn while I checked for anyone who might have a surveillance brief and was either observing from a fixed point or walking a circuit or a route of stop and start. Despite my vigilance, I failed to find anyone who gave me concern. I turned my attention to the reception desk. From this new angle, the area behind the counter was fully visible and working at the far end, I saw the pleasing face of Ana Luiza. It surprised me. I would not have expected her to be working again so soon. I thought her shift had ended, but perhaps she had simply been away from the desk on a break. I watched her for a few seconds, while she served a female guest, hoping to see her smile, but I was disappointed. She remained professional throughout with a business-like approach that excluded any hint of her winning smile. I looked away. It had not registered with me as important, but it should have done.
Two hotel security guards, a serious-faced Ana Luiza and a group of women dressed like strawberries was the sum of my reconnaissance. It was not a troublesome list. I considered my options and concluded that boldness was the best approach.
After one final look around, which did not produce anything new I returned to the stairwell door and Snowy. He was in the same position as when I left him. He saw me approaching and moved back. I slipped through the narrow opening and closed the door behind me.
‘I saw two hotel security men,’ I said. ‘One is standing near reception and the other is by the entrance.’
‘Did you see any police officers?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. Snowy was watching me intently and concentrating on every word I spoke.
‘Do you think it is safe?’ he asked. It was the important question.
‘Put on your glasses and hat,’ I said. My answer made him scrunch up his face like a crumpled piece of notepaper. ‘I’ll go first and you follow me. Make sure you keep at least ten paces behind me. Don’t look at the security guards, just look directly ahead and walk straight out as if you own the place.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked in need of reassurance. ‘Shouldn’t we keep closer together?’
‘If we have distance between us and one of us is stopped it gives the other time to react and avoid detection,’ I said. Snowy’s troubled expression deepened as his mind ran through all the permutations. ‘Try not to look worried,’ I said. ‘I’m almost certain that we’ll walk straight out without any trouble at all.’
‘Really,’ he said hopefully. He wanted to believe it.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Remain positive and look confident.’ Snowy’s face brightened a little. ‘Are you ready?’ He nodded hesitantly. ‘Let’s go.’
I opened the stairwell door and walked through carrying my bag. I glanced over my shoulder and in a low voice quickly said, ‘Follow me out, but remember, keep at least ten paces back.’ Snowy gave me an expression that made it clear he already understood the plan and that my reminder was unnecessary.