by Mark Arundel
‘Mm, well,’ he said as if considering a crossword clue. ‘That is a puzzler.’ “Puzzler” may not have been my own choice of word but then I may not be as erudite as Meriwether. The seconds passed. As he seemed to have turned mute once more, I thought it only polite to ask the obvious question.
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Discover who authorised the sanction and for what reason,’ he said without a trace of concern in his voice.
‘Bradshaw said that the instruction didn’t contain a requested method of implementation, which he said usually meant opting for drug-induced heart failure.’
‘Yes, I am aware of the etiquette and code of practice,’ Meriwether replied.
‘Does it have to have originated from within the Circus or is it possible for someone outside to instruct them?’
‘That’s a very good question,’ he said without giving me an answer.
‘You do realise, I suppose, that whoever is chosen from the roster could attempt to kill you at any time, maybe even today.’
‘Yes, as I said I know the procedure.’ Meriwether was silent again for a few seconds before he said, ‘I expect it’s politically motivated or retaliatory for some perceived transgression, which is all very silly and so unnecessary.’ It sounded more like the mafia to me than the British establishment, but perhaps the two were a lot more alike than they first appeared. After all, men have always settled their power struggles by killing each other in one way or another. You can take the caveman out of the cave but not out of the man.
‘You’ve got two options,’ I said. ‘Until you find out who’s behind it and can get it cancelled you’ll have to either run and hide or stay and protect yourself.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Meriwether said reflectively. He was quiet again while he considered. ‘I don’t want to run and hide. It will make it harder for me to discover what is going on and then to resolve the matter.’
‘Then you’re going to need protecting, by a professional. I can’t do it, I’m not there.’
‘You could fly back tonight,’ he said. I made a mental note that if I ever had another holiday not to tell a living soul where I was going.
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘Oh, why not?’ he asked.
‘I think you know why not.’ I had just agreed to find Snowy and keep him alive while giving Charlotte time to decide what to do.
‘Oh, do I?’ Meriwether said with a lift of innocence.
‘I don’t know what’s going on between you and C. over this Grace thing, but I wish I wasn’t caught in the middle.’
‘Couldn’t you return to the pavilion on this one?’ he asked. ‘Retire injured, ninety-nine not out, as it were.’
‘I’m in too deep to pull out now. I’m going to see it through. I do have one thought, however.’
‘Oh, yes, what’s that?’
‘I wonder if any connection exists between what’s happening here and your problem there.’
‘Mm,’ Meriwether said without elaborating further. ‘Well, if you’re not going to come back and protect me then what do you suggest I do?’
‘If you can contact Xing and I expect that you can you should ask her to help you. Explain the situation without keeping anything from her and see if she’ll do it. If I was choosing a protector in your situation and don’t forget I know many elite soldiers Xing would be my first choice. There is one thing. If she agrees to it and you want to stay alive then do exactly what she tells you when she tells you. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, yes, I understand.’
‘The other positive of using Xing is that she’s trustworthy, risk-free and never fails.’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘you’ve persuaded me. I’ll ask her.’ Meriwether then paused again, which was unlike him. ‘In respect of this Grace business,’ he said, ‘I’d like to help you but unfortunately, it isn’t possible at this time.’
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Try not to get killed over it,’ he said helpfully.
‘You too,’ I replied.
17
THURSDAY, 21:17—21:36
After ending the call with Meriwether I realised the painkillers had begun to work. The pain was much easier and I was feeling much stronger. The dizziness was gone and the man working the pneumatic drill inside my head was on a well-earned break.
Leaving the support of the low wall I returned to the busy strip and selected a dark, crowded, open fronted bar. Inside, once I had threaded my way through the mass of bodies, I found the washroom at the back.
Standing in front of the mirror under the brightness of a naked bulb, I examined the damage. The horrific face of a battered man looked back. The shop assistant had done well not to scream. Head wounds always donate generously.
I pulled off my blood covered “funk” t-shirt, turned on the tap and washed my head, face and neck taking care with the injured parts. Using the t-shirt as a towel, I dabbed the water away and then leaving the t-shirt off examined my reflection again. With the blood gone, I was less scary although the bruising gave me the look of a recently defeated cage fighter.
I binned the t-shirt and walked back through the bar bare-chested. After dark in Rio, a man without a shirt is not a rare sight. There were a number of them in the bar and my appearance went mostly unnoticed.
Outside again, the air was turning heavy despite the close presence of the ocean. I returned to the beachfront shop where I had bought the painkillers and the Coke. Inside, I selected a tourist t-shirt from the rack with the words “Rio de Janeiro” printed across the front. It was the same assistant at the counter. In spite of not having the blood camouflage, she recognised me and smiled. I lifted up the t-shirt and handed over the money. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’m much better, thanks,’ I replied and put the new t-shirt on over my head.
‘No more dogs,’ she advised in a wise voice.
‘No more dogs,’ I agreed and gave her my reassuring smile. Just then, Grace’s K106 rang. It was Charlotte calling me back. Turning away from the counter and walking out of the shop, I answered the call.
‘I’m sending the tracker location to your K106 now,’ Charlotte said. ‘You should see it in a few seconds.’
‘I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking.’ She ignored me.
‘Have you got it?’ she asked. I looked at it. Bruno was back at the taxi rank where first I had found him, which was not a surprise. It was the first place I would have looked for him anyway. I needed to reach him before he disappeared on his next fare.
‘Yes, I’ve got it,’ I said and started to jog. After checking the distance, I calculated that it would take me ten minutes to get there at a steady running pace. ‘Are you ready to tell me what’s going on yet?’ I asked.
‘What did Billy really want to talk to you about?’ she asked.
‘If we’re going to swop secrets then I’d rather you went first,’ I said.
‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘The reason I want Snowy kept alive is because he has important information.’
‘Meriwether told me that Snowy didn’t have any intelligence that you didn’t already know. He called him a “real-time” spy.’
‘It isn’t that kind of information,’ she said.
‘What kind is it then?’ All the while I was talking to Charlotte I was having to weave my way through the pedestrians. Fortunately, the pathway was wide enough to allow for my lack of abstract clarity. I kept a careful watch for any dog walkers. While running, the leads can act like tripwires.
‘Arbitrage,’ she said.
‘Arbitrage,’ I repeated. ‘What the hell is arbitrage?’
‘It’s taking advantage of the price difference between markets. In this case, it’s the difference between currency markets.’
‘Charlotte, you’re going to have to explain it a bit more than that,’ I said while jumping over the white lead of a white Schnoodle. His colour helped me to see him. The man walking t
he dog shouted after me in Portuguese. He sounded angry. Clearly, he was very protective of his Schnoodle.
‘Currency market trades,’ Charlotte said. ‘For some time now a Swiss bank has acted as the broker, quite legally, for ever increasing arbitrage trades on the foreign exchange markets. The amounts are huge. Each trade always has the same currency on one side. That currency is the Brazilian real. The Swiss bank brokers the trades for a customer they know only by a codename and can identify only by their own supplied security numbers and protocol. The codename is Santiago. It’s certain that the intelligence Snowy provides enables these trades. I think Snowy has knowledge that can help me uncover the identity of Santiago.’
‘If it isn’t illegal why are you bothering with it?’
‘Although the trades themselves are not illegal the information obtained on which the trades are based is. It’s a form of insider trading.’
‘Why does it matter?’ I asked.
‘It makes us look bad,’ she said. ‘There is disquiet within the intelligence services of other countries. They want the trades to stop.’
‘Well, with the death of Snowy they would.’
‘Yes, but the identity of Santiago would remain a mystery.’
‘Perhaps Santiago and Snowy is the same person.’
‘Does he strike you as a man with a big Swiss bank account?’
‘How much money is it?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know exactly, the Swiss bank won’t tell me, but I’ve had an expert look at the trades and he says the profit figure is north of fifty billion pounds.’
‘No, you’re right. Snowy doesn’t strike me as a man with fifty billion pounds in a Swiss bank account.’
‘No, I didn’t think so.’
‘Well, when I find him again and if he’s still alive I’ll ask him for you,’ I said. ‘How many people have access to Snowy’s intelligence?’
‘There are some,’ she said.
‘How many of them have the means to do something like this?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me, what did Billy want?’
‘Yesterday, during his last day as head of the S.T. office, he received a new instruction. The name on the instruction was such a surprise that he rechecked the protocol to ensure it was genuine. Who do you think it was?’
‘Bartholomew Meriwether,’ Charlotte said in a way that made me think she had just realised something important.
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘I didn’t know. Listen, I have to go. Call me when you’ve found Snowy.’ Charlotte ended the call. I had lost my concentration and almost bumped into a woman. Then I very nearly stepped on her Shih Tzu.
In the darkness of late evening, the tree-lined street had a sinister appearance. Overhanging branches cast spooky shadows of pointing fingers and in the sepia lamplight, the men had the faces of ghouls.
I rested for a moment. The run had not caused me a problem except for worsening the ache again behind my eyes. A ten-minute jog, even one after dark along the Rio beachfront, was not, I decided, the ideal treatment for a head wound.
Bruno’s taxi was second from the end, parked against the kerb in a row of only four. I watched for a few seconds and while I watched, I found myself considering what Meriwether had meant by the phrase “all taken care of”. I moved along the street for one final check, but it was all clear.
Talking energetically with a fellow driver, Bruno was outside his cab, standing on the pavement. He held a lit cigar, which he waved in the air as he spoke. I watched him lift it to his lips before he tipped back his face and blew grey smoke that quickly vanished in the yellow light above his head. It barely interrupted his animated conversation. I wondered if he was telling the story of how he had driven bravely into the favela to help rescue the colourless man with the white eyes.
It was easy for me to approach unseen and to stand beside his waving arm before he even knew I was there.
‘Hello Bruno,’ I said in a friendly voice. The shock made his body jolt and then his eyes turned sharply. With recognition came a huge smile. The other driver used the interruption to walk away.
‘Senhor, you are alive,’ he said with amazed disbelief. Why was it that whenever someone saw me after not seeing me for a while they were surprised to find I was still alive?
‘You drove off and left me,’ I said.
‘Ah, yes, it was terrible, but what could I do?’ With open hands, he shook his head in deep regret. ‘The big dog had you and the favela men were very close. If I had not left...’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I understand.’
‘How did you escape?’ he asked with genuine interest. His eyes squinted and then he studied my face and arm. ‘You are a wizard?’
‘I got lucky,’ I said.
‘Quickly, let us find a lotto seller,’ he suggested and then laughed.
‘I have to find the woman and the man,’ I said. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and shrugged. I pulled out the money from my pocket. ‘You kept your life and your money. You really are a wizard.’
‘Where did you take them?’ I asked. Bruno puffed on his cigar and looked thoughtful. I peeled off two notes and gave them to him. He pocketed the money and smiled.
‘I will take you there,’ he said.
I rode in the front passenger seat beside Bruno and after the way things had gone, I fastened the safety belt.
‘I still have your bag,’ he said and glanced sideways at me. ‘Who is the man, the white man?’
‘How bad was his head injury?’ I asked. Bruno shrugged and waved his cigar.
‘It was not bad. There was some blood, but it was not bad.’
‘You let the woman use your phone,’ I said.
‘She gave me money,’ he explained, ‘and she has the eyes of Iemanjá. I could not refuse her.’ I knew what he meant about the eyes. ‘Who is she?’ As with his previous question about the identity of Snowy, I remained silent. ‘She is not carioca, but she has passion.’
‘What did she say to you about me?’ I asked. Bruno pretended to concentrate on his driving. ‘Tell me,’ I said. He glanced at me.
‘She said you were a fool and she said the favela men would kill you and it was your own fault.’
‘What did the man say?’
‘He was upset. He held his head and moaned like the sea in the night. He kept saying you saved him. He said it over and over.’
‘Where did you take them?’ I asked.
‘We are close. It is here,’ he said and pointed ahead with his cigar hand. ‘You will see.’
We were driving along a residential street in Ipanema. It was not far from the beachfront, Bruno’s taxi rank or the hotel where my luxury suite was now just a fond memory. We reached the junction and Bruno braked. He chose a parking spot, pulled into the kerb and stopped.
‘It’s a restaurant,’ I said.
‘Yes, a bistro,’ Bruno corrected me. ‘It is very good.’
The lively restaurant occupied the property that made up the street corner. Originally used as homes the bright lights and busy, evening atmosphere now made the buildings unmistakably a Rio bistro. Outside, the Portuguese styled pavement of wavy lines accommodated a row of people who sat on a bench attached to the wall. To make it more comfortable the bench came with a collection of colourful cushions.
Beyond the wall and the entrance steps was an open area of tables and chairs filled with diners. The sloping glass canopy gave it the appearance of a European portico.
Over the doorway, a chandelier sparkled against the night sky and from inside an apron-clad waiter brought out a tray of drinks.
I searched for Grace and Snowy, but my line of sight was not great. ‘Do you know why they came here?’ I asked. Bruno spread his hands.
‘The woman said she was hungry. The white man said he could not eat, but when the woman told me here, he did not argue. I brought them here.’ It was nice to know that Grace’s
appetite was unaffected by the thought of my death.
‘Wait here,’ I said. ‘I’m going to see if they’re still eating.’ Bruno nodded and sat back in his seat.
‘I will wait,’ he said.
Outside the taxi, the distinct sounds of outdoor dining carried untroubled through the hot, suburban air.
Taking care over my approach, I stopped beside the bench away from the nearest lamp and peered over the wall. Every table had customers, but Grace and Snowy were not among them. I wondered if they had already left.
The entrance steps led to a glass door wedged open by a metal stay. I walked in slowly and checked the tables. Sitting against the far wall in the corner at a table for two, I saw the face of Grace and the back of Snowy’s head. Other than coffee cups, the table was clear.
I moved beyond the line of sight and scanned the remaining tables and the bar. The place was colourful, bathed gently in shaded light and livened by acoustic guitar playing. Other than the guitar music, I could not find anything to trouble me. After considering for a few more seconds, I decided to approach the table and join them. It was only then that I saw him.
In the opposite corner, against the sidewall was an open, turned staircase. He was at the top of the first flight when I spotted him. His gangly legs bent deeply at the knees as he took each step. His loose fitting shirt and cotton slacks appeared expensive and almost softened his harsh, bony face. Not a face I particularly wanted to see again. It was Marsh.
I stepped quickly out of sight and then moved back to a concealed spot from where I could observe the far wall without showing myself. The angles of the open room and the soft lighting provided cover in the shadow beyond the crowded tables. I took it. A busy waiter saw me, but he chose not to stop and make enquiries of what he must have thought was odd behaviour. Perhaps he thought I was spying on an unfaithful lover. Anyway, uncertain of what was happening I watched Marsh closely. Unprepared, I hoped it would not become necessary for me to intervene. I found myself stepping forwards to lessen the distance just in case.