Globusz^® Publishing 

lexandrov Ivanich Pencovskiy lay on his back, having just woken from a light sleep. Contemplating his navel he flicked some fluff out of the hole and brushed it aside onto the bed linen. He would have been very surprised to be addressed in this manner. Even more surprised than he would have been to receive the bullet in the head which would undoubtedly have accompanied an acknowledgement of the statement. But even this was not his real name. He didn't know who he really was. Born in Mozdok on the banks of the Terek River in Southern Georgia USSR forty-two years ago. He had been left one night in a cardboard box on the steps of the party headquarters. No great effort had been made to trace his mother and he was soon passed to the local orphanage at Groznyj. A nice looking baby, slightly dark skinned which gave him a healthy look and often with a pleasant smile. He was wearing this smile and nothing else as the nurse bathed him an hour after he had arrived in the orphanage when Yelena came to visit. Yelena, the wife of Yuriy Pencovskiy a Major in the Red Army of the USSR, was a barren woman. After discussing it with her husband they had decided to try and adopt a child, the younger the better. There wasn’t going to be any problem for a loyal hard-working army officer ready for promotion. Consequently Alexandrov was born again and that day became his birthday when, just two weeks later, he became Alexandrov Ivanich Pencovskiy. In due course the Major received his promotion and as is common in most armies he was drafted to another unit. This time, much to the pleasant surprise of Yelena, they were sent far away to Moscow and so she had no need to tell anyone that the new baby was adopted.

He was a bright child and with an army colonel for a farther all doors were opened. He soon found he had a flair for languages and with his dark good looks as he matured he was ensconced in Spanish classes at the KGB language school. Here in addition to Spanish he obviously had to learn English, American English that is. After graduating he did some good work at a desk for two years in Moscow and then came his first trip out of the Soviet Union to Cuba. Cuba, a land of sun and sea, where much to his surprise he had some difficulty with the local language. In an attempt to improve and localise his language skills (officially) he took to his bed a mistress who worked in the local Cuban ministry and who also was not averse to passing him low level intelligence. Cuba was communist and to spy on a fellow communist country... well this was just business. He took great pride in recounting this to his friends, a mistress, a spy, and a language teacher all wrapped up in one soft, pliable bundle. She even taught him how to be a good Latin lover, which was to be a great help later in his career. After Cuba it was back to Moscow, but he had grown fond of the sunshine, the freedom and the money. Moscow was too cold, oppressive and regimented for his urbane manner, so when the opportunity came to go to Mexico as second KGB officer, he jumped at it. This embassy warranted two resident KGB persons because of its closeness to the US. Here he was first exposed to some serious foreign currency, the mighty dollar. As KGB he also had access to various passports for different countries. Soon he acquired a good false Brazilian passport, so good even the Brazilian government couldn’t tell it was false. He then set up a personal bank account under that name and managed to liberate some of these dollars for his own use. This was no mean feat whilst in a highly controlled and tight fisted institution like the KGB. From Mexico City he occasionally travelled to other South American countries, which enabled him to invest this money wisely, usually in North American stock and before the time came round for him to return to Moscow he had acquired a substantial sum. It was not a fortune, but enough to manage with and enable him to live comfortably for a while. As he didn’t really fancy going home, now he thought, was the time to disappear. This took some doing, first because he was a diplomat, second because he was KGB. A body, that was supposedly his, was going to be checked and double checked; they had his blood group and his dental records. The trick however was not to give them a body, but to have one reliable person see him killed and his body not to be recovered. Consequently the small aircraft that he was a passenger in, after being seen aboard by his fellow KGB operative, blew up somewhere over the Pacific and the sharks did the rest. The fact that he had previously done two parachute jumps whilst in Brazil was never known. It was all blamed on some obscure terrorist group, and so within a short time he was under the surgeon's knife in Argentina having his nose and ears adjusted whilst they were still mourning his demise in Mexico. A natural dark moustache was allowed to grow. This combined with several trips to the dentist and later, six months as a barman in bar in Buenos Aires to de-tune his language, completed the transformation. He was now known as Fidel Perez Gamboa and he had a passport and a healthy bank account to prove it, the only thing missing was a past.

Twelve years later and the woman beside him stirred, a lazy arm draped over his stomach, her fingers began to play with the hairs on his chest tugging here and there and slowly moving downwards. She played with his recently de-fluffed navel but found little reaction, then raised her self on one arm first to look at the bedside clock, three hours since the last time when they had arrived, her car no more than ten metres behind his. They had practically torn each other’s clothes off, she had his belt undone whilst he unlocked the door and her blouse was off before the front door closed with a bang as he fell against it after tripping over his jeans. Now she leant over the face next to hers and gave him a long kiss enjoying the moustache that tickled her top lip as he responded.

Thirty minutes later Yolanda Fernandez de Cevallos left his house. She looked magnificent, at thirty one years she was still in her prime. With a light tanned complexion, her dark hair now done up in a tight bun. A gold chain supporting a heavy gold cross in her cleavage was the only thing to weigh her down. Wearing sunglasses, a white blouse, black slacks, sandals and a smile she bounced down the steps and climbed into the silver BMW sport. She drove aggressively, the same way she lived life and the same way she loved. Turning out of the drive onto the dirt road with hardly a glance to see if there was other traffic and leaving scattering of dirt kicked up in her wake. She needed to drive fast, that was her way, but also she had yet to establish an alibi in the shops of Sao Agusta. A pretty frock, some tight pants or a dangerous negligee she mused. She was in the sort of mood to tease her husband Carlos Fernandez de Gotari, El Presidante of the South American republic of Cordilla and tonight he would be most susceptible, glad to be home to his adoring wife after the three night state visit to Argentina.

* * *

Angie knew the ways of the rain forest, at least the edges of the forest near civilisation. She also had the intelligence to stay in these fringes of the forest as she made her way back home. For two days she fought her way through the trees and vegetation, living off berries, drinking water that had gathered in the leaves off some plants. On the afternoon of the second day, dirty and dishevelled, her clothes torn, she descended down the hillside, driven out of the forest by hunger. At the very fringe of the forest she sat and waited for the night. She had decided to leave her homecoming until dark, her hair was a mess and having lost the heel off one of her shoes, she had broken the heel of the other so that they matched. Now late in the evening, she entered the outskirts of the city, slowly making her way through streets whilst moving from deep shadows to dark alleys. Nearer home she became extra vigilant at each corner, checking that all was clear before stepping around into the next alley.

The last corner! She peeked round... A car was parked in the road in front of her house. Two men were sitting in the front. Around to the back and there was another man with his back leaning against their wall, the faint glow from a cigarette occasionally lighting up his face.

‘Now what! Relations? Her Uncle?’ She was reluctant to get them involved.

Angie had been brought up in this house and knew all the tricks of getting in and out of her room without her parents knowing. Could she still climb as she had when a child? First sneak around to the far end of the block of houses then after tucking her skirt into her knickers and discarding the remains of her shoes, she began to climb. As a fit young woman it was easy to climb onto the courtyard wall, a foot on the window frame and then the flat roof of the last house. So far so good. Now across the roofs of two houses, a box to help over a crude fence and she was on the roof of her own house. She peeked over the edge of the roof at the front of the house. The car was still in place but from her vantage point she couldn’t see the occupants. Moving to the back of the roof she looked over the edge.

‘Good, I can’t see him as the wall’s too high, so he won’t be able to see me.’ Slowly and very quietly she lowered her self onto the balcony rail and from there to the balcony itself. She lay down to rest a moment whilst getting her breathing back to normal. Now she had to rely on her sister not to switch the light on. Would she remember? Scratch, scratch, on the glass, pause then scratch again.

A young face appeared at the window, eyes loaded with tiredness and worry, a face, full of shock and now mixed with pleasure and relief. Angie held a finger over her lips and gestured for her sister to open the window. A moment later she was inside, her younger sisters arms around her neck as Angie reached up to unscrew the bulb from the light socket. “Get madre and padre, I’ll explain what happened to me then, tell them to be quiet. No lights! There are men out front and back.”

Four times she told the story, once to her mother, farther and sister, then after a nights sleep which stretched well into the morning she told the tale to her uncle. In the afternoon she told the tale for the third time to an elderly gentleman. He had hair going grey at the temples, which topped a kindly much weathered face. Her uncle introduced him as a friend. Each time she left out the bit about what she was doing immediately before the explosion. (They were just sitting, watching the stars and talking quietly). The man with the greying hair wouldn’t let it go, he kept asking about the soldiers as he sat there occasionally flicking a long strand of grey hair away from his face. Did she see any shoulder badges, what did the badges look like, how did she know they where ‘specials’? Then the soldiers on motorbikes, did they have any identification badges.

Angie was getting more and more annoyed so when he asked, “What did they look like?” it was the last straw. “As if I could see what they looked like with their motor bike helmets on.” She answered flippantly.

But this still didn’t stop his questions. “Okay! ... What was written on their helmets, a badge or a name perhaps? Was there a number plate on the motorbikes? Did she see it? What was it?”

“How would I know? It was dark, noisy and they were spitting exhaust fumes at me,” she replied with annoyance.

He was undeterred and made a note of everything she said about the soldiers, the motorbikes and their riders then when she had finished he thanked her profusely before asking her to close her eyes and gently blindfolded her with a scarf.

“Now repeat everything you have told me over again... please... it’s very important. Try and visualise it then describe every little detail.”

He was persuasive and so for the forth time she went over the events leading up to the departure from the motorbikes. At which point he stopped her and removed the blindfold. Then thanking her again he brought in the rest of the family. “No one must say anything about this to another person, including Juan’s family. I will have a word with them. Angie, if you are questioned, tell the truth but don’t mention the specials, all you saw was a man in the light from the fire. Someone fired a lucky, or unlucky, shot at you and later you heard some motorbikes. No details! Tell them that you have not told anyone about what happened. Say you were too frightened of being shot as well. Remember you didn’t see specials, soldiers or any badges it was too dark, just shadows of men.” He paused a moment thinking, brushed some greying hair back of his forehead then continued. “It is best if you tell as much of the truth as possible, including how you got back in the house, but no details... In fact it would be best if you were ‘in the forest for another night’ and didn’t get home until tonight. This is not just for my sake, believe me this is the best for you and your uncle. Okay.”

* * *

The next day Angie slept most of the time only getting out of bed when the curtains were drawn. The watching men in the street were still there, being replaced at regular intervals. To avoid being seen she was unable to leave the house or even show her self at any window. It was a dilemma for her parents, too risky for her to stay and too dangerous to involve her relatives. In the end it was the man with grey hair who came to their rescue the following day. “Would she mind staying in a convent for a short while? It’s out of the city and she could help look after the orphaned children?”

It was agreed and that evening after lots of goodbyes, carrying a small bag with a few of her possessions, Angie retraced her steps across the roofs to be met by a van in the side road. Two hours later after crossing the river and climbing a steep road the man stopped the van and reversed into a gap in the forest. They were just in sight of the gates to a convent. “I don’t want to drive closer, it’s best the van is not seen. Don’t worry, they are expecting you and know you are coming. Just knock on the door and ask the Mother Superior for help. Tell her you have nowhere to live, but don’t attempt to tell her why. It’s best she doesn’t know.”

Angie stepped out of the van and into shadows. The drivers grey hair shone in the interior light of the van as he passed her bag. “I’ll wait here if you like, until you go in. This way the nuns can honestly say you just walked in and asked for help.”

She wanly returned his smile and without another word began to walk towards the imposing gates. The convent was an old large Spanish hacienda built at the turn of the century, the gates unpainted, made of weather beaten panelled timber. Angie was surprised when one gate opened on well-oiled hinges as she pushed against it. The door she saw at the top of the path was even more imposing. A bastion for the hacienda, it had a large double door with iron studs, long hinges and a large iron knocker in the shape of a crucifix, strong enough to front a medieval castle. She was about to reach for the knocker when the door opened before her to reveal the smiling face of a young nun. They looked at each other for a moment, neither spoke until Angie remembered her role. “Can you help me please, I have nowhere to stay.” Without another word she was ushered inside and as the front door closed quietly behind her another elderly nun appeared at a door on her right. She gestured for her to come forward. With some trepidation Angie repeated her request for help.

In a quiet voice, almost a whisper, the elder nun spoke. “Good evening, I am Mother Violeta you are most welcome. Please forgive the lack of greeting but between the evening and morning prayer we have a vow of... silence.” At that moment the lights went out both in the vestibule and the corridor. For a moment it was completely dark, Angie gave a squeak of alarm before she heard the elder nun’s reassurance. “Our vow is of silence and not usually of vision, there is no unnecessary talking; only for those of us in the order of course, but we would be obliged if you would bear this in mind.” There was the sound of movement, a draw being opened, shortly followed by the scrape of a match and to Angie’s relief a candle was lit. Its light flooded the vestibule and revealed the Sister holding the candle. Mother Violeta continued, “If you would follow Sister she will show you to a room and I will talk with you some more in the morning.”

Angie, not frightened any more but rather disoriented and excited, had to speak. “Thank you Mother Violeta... My name is, Angelica... Yes! ... In the morning, and thank you again.”

* * *

Next morning Angie’s sister awoke in a house with sounds back to normal. Her mother was her usual smiling self and everything in the household was as it should be, almost. Whilst going to school she stepped out with renewed vigour and bounce in her step, even smiling at the men in the car outside. ‘We have put one over you, so there.’ She enjoyed the thought that they would be sitting in their car all day wasting time.

* * *

The meeting came to order when the elderly gentleman entered the barn and the conversation stopped amongst the five younger men gathered there. Without ceremony he sat down amongst them on a bale of hay. Then looking round, caught the eyes of each man in turn and nodded.

“I’ve asked you all to come here tonight because our cause has taken a sudden unexpected turn. I have stumbled upon some startling and unbelievable information which we need to confirm... or otherwise, quickly. My informant tells me that the disruptions to the electricity, the sabotage, maybe the kidnapping and the disappearance of some important people are a direct action of... the army specials.” He paused for effect and flicked a long strand of grey hair of his forehead. “That’s right, it appears the specials are instigating the sabotage, they blew up the pylon a few nights ago, and now they are investigating it themselves.” Four of the men burst out instinctively with a similar response.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Jorge. “No! I don’t believe it... What for?”

“Why would they do something like that? Yes? Why!” Spouted the youngest man, Tino.

“How sure are you of this informant, surly it can’t be true? It may be all lies to confuse things,” from Alfredo.

“Wheeeee! It may explain one or two things and it does raise some different questions,” then the fourth man added. “Who! Who tells you this, why would the specials do such a thing.”

The fifth man waited, Vittorio Endara was older and wiser. He listened to what was said, thought some more, then with great deliberation cautiously supported the elderly gentleman. “Well! I would believe almost anything of the specials. They are the lackeys of that noble Norberto Garcia the Minister of the Interior... It may be, it just may be, though I can’t see the motive... There has to be a motive, no one does anything without a reason. I don’t mean the specials, they are being paid to do it, obviously and they’re the ones who lose. Aren’t they?”

“Okay! Quiet all of you. I’ve had two days to think about this. And yes! Vittorio, at first glance it would seem the specials are just causing themselves a lot of work for nothing. But of course they would be getting paid extra for it, and it does sort of justify their existence. So who gains from this, if it is the specials, and we have yet to confirm it. They wouldn’t do anything without orders, which must come from, Seņor Moreno Garcia the Minister of the Interior, he runs the specials with a rod of iron, but he runs them through the Army, I don’t think these orders would come that way. So where do the orders come from, does he have a ‘go between’ and how does he gain by the disruption?”

Vittorio was now the unchallenged 2nd in command and took the rhetorical question literally. “Who gains must be the person giving the orders, yes? Unless there is a very clever and brave man taking the MOI’s name in vain, and I doubt anyone is that foolish.” The others nodded in agreement, it was only the elderly gentleman who noticed he said this man would be very clever and would be foolish. ‘Perhaps you can have clever, foolish men.’

“Vittorio, I want you to watch Seņor Garcia, I want to know who visits this Norberto, when, in what circumstances and for how long. Take one of the others to help you and make notes. But above all don’t get caught, and don’t keep the notes on you for longer than you have to.”

“This could be very dangerous Seņor.”

“I know so watch the ministry building from the other side of the Rio Milagro. Use a pair of binoculars in the forest... Tino, his secretary is very young like you. Her name is Teresa, I want you to befriend her and find out anything you can about his movements and his visitors.”

Tino’s eyes sparkled. “You want me to pump her? Yes?”

“Only for information Tino, only for information, else what will your girl friend think?” The man responded.

“I hope she has the face of a cow.” Commented Alfredo.

Tino turned to him with a frown then brightened. “As long as she has the udders to go with the face.” He snapped back. To which they all burst into laughter, even the elderly gentleman had to smile.

“Enough! ... Jorge, I want you and Alfredo to check out the Barracks of the specials, some of them have motorbikes; I want you to confirm these numbers. I don’t have the whole numbers just part of the numbers from two bikes, but if you can confirm these and tell me what sort of bike they are, colour and so forth, it would go a long way to verifying the information I have... Oh! Yes, and describe the riders.”

“You don’t want much do you? How about a photograph, would you like that?”

“If you can’t do it just say so, then I can get someone else.”

“No! No we can do it. It’s just... well the specials don’t like people spying on them.”

Vitorio now decided he had been left out of the discussion for long enough. “Then don’t be people Jorge. Become workers or ditch cleaners. Who takes any notice of two workers clearing out a ditch at the side of the road? Besides the work could do you some good.”

“Stop! We don’t need arguments between ourselves, but Vitorio’s idea is a good one, Alfredo your truck, change the number plate and it could be anyone's, especially if you washed it as well. You could work with that as partial cover too... On second thoughts put extra dirt on it then wash it afterwards when you change the number plates back. Now all of you. I must emphasise, no risks, I would rather you get no information than they became suspicious.

* * *

The office door with ‘Minister of the Interior’ emblazoned on it slammed shut as he flicked it closed behind him. The ‘flick’, from such a powerful man, made the wall shake. Teresa, his secretary whose desk was close by, cringed. Obviously her boss was annoyed again. This was usual after he had been talking to Seņorita Corbo. Nancy Corbo de Lozada was the Presidents personal assistant and a sort of de facto ‘Minister for Power’. Seņorita Corbo dealt with all aspects of Oil, Natural Gas and Electricity, with special responsibility of the Milagro Dam. At only 24 years old she was very young for such a post. Educated at the University of Mexico in Mexico City and clutching a degree with honours in business studies when she returned. Nancy had only required the smallest chance to prove her self. Her farther ‘The Minister of Defence’ had provided the opportunity. The fact that she was very good at her job mattered not one bit to Norberto Moreno Garcia. She was a woman and that was enough. The fact that she had poise and was also young, intelligent and pretty, just aggravated the situation.

He planted him self heavily into his chair and spun round to gaze out the window. He had managed to generate all sorts of delays to the supply of reliable electricity. Some weeks ago he had ensured they had no spare electricity insulators for the pylons in the country, before the pylon was destroyed. So what happened when they blew up the pylon, she personally had phoned around and had obtained some insulators from Mexico. They were on the plane that morning and were here before they got the repaired pylon hoisted up again. Next after all their effort and scheming to get one of his, or rather Fidel’s, men into the power generating plant. Then to cause the sabotage to the control panel. And all that extra trouble to make it appear to have been assembled wrong and wasn’t sabotage. Then what happens, instead of being out of operation for weeks the electricity generator would be on line again later that day because she, that jumped up daughter of ‘The Minister of Defence’ had ensured they had spares of critical items. ‘Blast the woman, all that effort for half a day down time, I will have to think big, real big, I can’t have this dam reliably producing electricity.’ He tilted his chair further back, put his feet on the windowsill and gazed out at the view.

His office was on the top floor of a four story government building and he had the North East corner, with a window in the two outer walls. He had chosen this position with care, north facing to avoid being over looked, and shaded from the noon sun, though it was usually directly overhead. The East facing window so he could gaze out over the interior which he ministered to. At this moment his gaze rested on the lush green vegetation that climbed the hill on the far bank of the Rio Milagro less than a kilometre away. His thoughts wandered over distant and more obscure sabotage to the electricity and dam project. What was that Fidel had suggested? Toss a steel wire from a cliff so it fell across the grid cables. What about dropping a cable car on to the grid cables? Do they run under the cable car? He couldn’t remember. ‘Perhaps I should go and have another look at the dam and the generator; some idea may come to mind. But how do I pass the visit off, what reason do I have to visit the dam again. Should I take my grand children, No! How could I concentrate with them running around? Sabotage! That’s the reason, to check myself whether it is vulnerable to sabotage.’ He smiled; he rather liked the irony in that excuse. 

Abruptly he spun back to the desk and flicked the intercom switch for his secretary. “Teresa, make arrangements for me to visit the Rio Milagro electricity dam. I want to see for myself if there are any points vulnerable to terrorists so I will want to go over all of it. That means the generator housing and the dam itself. First though get me Seņor Gamboa. No! On second thoughts, ask him to come and see me immediately.” Then switching of the intercom he idly picked up a memo from la policia. Apparently there was an Irish terrorist on the way to some South American country, they were asked to keep a lookout for him and inform Spanish authorities if seen. So Spain wanted him detained, if possible, if he came their way. He confirmed the action to keep watch at the airport before this time spinning to the other window.

The view of the mountains in the East gave way to the steep cliffs on the North side of the valley Milagro which was covered in the vegetation of the rain forest right down to the river. On this side of the river behind him, gentle pastures climbed towards the South. He knew if he stepped close to the window and looked to his right he would be able to see the higher buildings of the International airport but his present view of the interior pleased him and calmed his nerves.

‘That’s all I need, some uncontrolled terrorist bouncing around the country causing further mayhem... On the other hand, if he were controlled, that would be quite different. He could become a very useful disposable asset!’ He turned again to his desk and wrote a note on the memo asking for more information about the man, and which country was his target. He slid the memo to one side as a knock came from the door immediately followed by Fidel as he opened it with a flourish. Not for him to slink into any man’s office. Opening it wide as he stepped through before closing the door gently behind him, in marked contrast to its previous closing. Fidel leant back against the door to ensure it had closed properly before speaking to the man at the desk. “Well Noberto!” He was one of the few men who could address the minister in this manner, and then only in private. “What appears to be the problem, I take it we do have a problem.”

“That dammed woman, she is getting me very annoyed. Do you know what she has done now?”

“I take it you mean the fair Seņorita Corbo. No! What has she done? Has she fixed the power all on her own?” He asked glibly, as he walked over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the office without being invited!

Helping him self to a drink antagonised Noberto even more, but the Minister of the Interior was astute enough to realise that this was Fidel’s way, always pushing the limits. To tell him he couldn’t help him self would be petty. To offer a drink now would be too late and so he quickly chose the only way to assert him self. “Fix me a vodka and lime while you are helping yourself to my drinks, there’s ice in the bucket underneath if it hasn’t all melted. And how did you know, about Seņorita Corbo? How did you know she’d already fixed the control panel, or nearly so?”

On hearing this news the smile on Fidel’s face which had appeared at Noberto’s request for a drink, disappeared as quickly as it came. He paused in his drink mixing, then calmly finishing what he was doing and composing his features he turned to approach the desk. “She’s fixed it?”

“Mmm!”

“That engineer told me the control panel was completely gutted, part of it melted when it arced over or something. She couldn’t have fixed it. Don’t tell me she had spare bits for the control panel in addition to a private stock of insulators. Damn she can have pylons erected and get new insulators with the flick of a finger. Now she fixes control panels. What the hell is she, an engineer, a miracle worker?”

Surprisingly this outburst and the fact that he had surprised Fidel so much, made Norberto feel better. He took the proffered glass, had a sip of the unwanted drink and waved towards a chair. Carefully setting the glass down, he deliberately took his time before answering. “In the first instance she only anticipated some things breaking, going wrong, etc. So she ordered spares didn’t she? As she put it ‘of certain critical items’ one of which was a complete bloody control panel for a generator... They will be back on line again later today.” He picked up his drink and had another sip. “But we knew she didn’t have spare insulators didn’t we. She had some very good contacts to obtain them that quick. What do we do, short of getting rid of her? Her father wouldn't like that.”

Fidel lounged in the chair, pushed his legs forward and tried to make him self more comfortable in a chair that wasn’t designed for comfort. The Minister of the Interior didn’t like his visitors to linger. “If you are going to get rid of her, then I’ll have her.” He raised his eyebrows and leered. “You have to admire the lady though, we spend days working on how to break it and she mends it in half a day.”

“No I don’t have to admire her, she’s become a pain in the ass.” He leant forward rather conspiratorially. “That suggestion you made about tossing a wire over the grid cables. Do it... In about a weeks time, whilst we think of something more permanent.”

“Okay! You’ve got it. I’ve already checked out where to do it. Do you want to know when?”

“No! Best not. It will be more of a pleasant surprise.” The minister grinned and sat back again. “But what do we do for the long term?”

Fidel fidgeted some more “The answer to that question... it’s simple. However the execution is much more difficult.” He sat back in the chair, more upright and crossed his legs. “You, or rather we, have to break something that she doesn't have a spare for. Something that can’t be mended in the foreseeable future, and then you can genuinely say ‘I told you so’ to all and sundry.”

“That’s the very thing that has been crossing my mind, it would have to be big though... In which case we would need a fall guy, otherwise people would search forever to find out who did it.” He reached over for the memo he had been reading and slid it towards his guest. Fidel leant over, took the memo, reading carefully, including the request for more information. “I understand you have some old friends in Mexico Fidel. Perhaps they can be persuaded to find the man and divert this terrorist towards our country. For a suitable price no doubt.”

“Maybe... I could try. For reasons I cannot explain I can’t go to Mexico City myself, but I could talk to someone on the phone. The money, how would we get it to them? There would have to be some ‘up front’ of course.” To him self he added, ‘and we mustn’t forget my cut.’

* * *

Fidel arrived back at his office, one floor lower and at the other end of the building. The office was much smaller than the one he had just left and had one window that looked out over the port and a much smaller window that faced North over the river. It did however have a safe, which he opened to retrieve a little black book then flipping a few pages he found the entry he wanted and the corresponding numbers. The numbers he then transcribed by subtracting a base number which he had memorised. This left him with a telephone number which he dialled on his outside line.

“Seņor Salinas?”... “Guillermo Salinas?”... “I obtained your number from a mutual acquaintance.”... “No! I will not say from whom.”... “My name, you may call me Pedro. I require a service to be done in Mexico. It is perfectly legal but requires some resources that only you may have available. Also the Mexican authorities may try and interfere.” This was followed by silence from the other end. Then a cough. Fidel stated his requirements which were: -

“Find the man Shaun Maile, probably on a flight from Europe. Redirect this man to Sao Agusta, then let me know on which flight he would be travelling and under what name by telephoning this number.”

He gave his mobile phone number. “I will fax a photo to you if you give me a fax number. But he may have changed his appearance. Can you do this?”... “And the fax number?”... “How much would you charge for this service?”... “That would be perfectly acceptable providing you will accept half payment now and the remaining half on completion.”... “I will have it transferred immediately.”... “Would you give me an account number to transfer it to?”... After repeating the account number back he added. “Thank you, it’s a pleasure to do business with you.” He transcribed the total amount, the fax number and account number into his book before putting the book back in the safe.

After adding 20% to the amount and rounding it up, mustn't be too greedy, he rang Noberto and told him the price... “If you would transfer it to the usual account number please.”... “Yes!”... “Inflation!”... “As soon as possible please.”

An hour later he rang his bank and checked that the funds had arrived. They had. He then transferred the first half of the money to the specified account before faxing Shaun Maile’s picture and particulars to Mexico. Closing the safe door he spun the dial, before leaning back with a smile on his face. Yes! He could have taken more, but he was a firm believer in being Mr 20%. Enough to be frowned on if ever found out, but not really enough to be killed for.

* * *

The telescope they had ‘borrowed’ from the college was mounted on it’s tripod with Vittorio’s right eye glued to the eyepiece. They were ensconced in a green tent normally used by bird and animal watchers, another item they had temporarily ‘liberated’. Both items they fully intended to return when their observations of the noble Noberto were complete. The advantage of the astrological telescope they had borrowed was apparent not only by the magnification it had, but from the fact that they could take a photograph through the telescope whenever they required. A suitable camera was already mounted on the telescope. At the moment however the telescope was being used to ‘spy’ through the window of a certain flat in a block of flats that overlooked the harbour. Vittorio was disappointed, a certain lady was not co-operating and he couldn’t see her. He moved the telescope back to the office building directly across the river. To a particular window in the top left of the building, a small adjustment on the focus and he ‘stepped’ into the office of the Minister of the Interior.

“Do you know if he was to hold a document up to the window I swear I would be able to read it from here.”

“How could that be possible, you couldn’t read it even if it was placed in your hand?” His colleague remarked with a smug grin.

Vitorio ignored the barb at his educational achievements and concentrated some more. “Hold on a moment. Yes! His good secretary Teresa has entered the office, and she has put some papers on his desk, now she’s looking out of the window.” Click! Click! From the camera. “Ah! Now she’s... leaving.”

“Now that is very interesting, I wonder what the significance of that can be. Why did you waste film on her?” commented his colleague with lots of sarcasm.

Vittorio pulled away from the scope and rounded on his colleague. “Lets stop these derisive remarks please, we are here to do a job, if you wish, I will sit here and say nothing until something really does happen, but at the moment I am just trying to keep you informed. Okay! ... The pictures are for Tino, to check he is trying for the right girl.”

Alfredo looked displeased. “Yes! You're right, please keep me informed and I will try and suppress my innate desire to be sarcastic... Can I have a look through the telescope for a moment, whilst nothing is going on?” Vittorio stood, careful not to disturb the telescope and moved away allowing his companion to take the seat. He sat down and brought his eye to the telescope. “Wow! It really is like being in the office. I can even see Teresa she has left the door open. I envy Tino, if he can lay her and get information. I wish I had his job... Wait! Yes, Noberto, he’s arrived, he’s just entered the office, closed the door and sat down.”

“Now that is very interesting, I wonder what the significance of that can be.” Said Vitorio, repeating word for word what Alfredo had said previously, but this time with a smile instead of the sarcasm. Suddenly his colleague reacted throwing him self backwards with an oath, the rear legs of the chair he was sitting on broke as he collapsed on the ground. “He’s seen us, Oh! My god! He’s seen us. He looked straight at me. Quick! We’d better get away before la policia arrives.”

Vittorio stepped over to the telescope, and then crouching with difficulty, carefully looked through the eyepiece. What he saw surprised even him. Seņor Moreno Garcia the Minister of the Interior was looking straight at him from mere yards away it seemed. “Don’t be silly he can’t see us, look at him without the telescope, he has his feet on the window sill and can you see that? No! Of course you can’t and he has a worse view of us than that.” Vittorio was livid and kicked Alfredo out of the way before again squatting in front of the telescope. But, he was not about to give up on his companion. “Now after being such a fool what do you need to do?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well I’m not sitting on a two legged chair, so you can mend that one whilst I use the other. I will try and keep you informed of what’s happening in the meantime.”

After a few minutes Vittorio checked with his colleague that he had put the comments down. ”He has a visitor... I can’t se who it is... Yes!” Click, click, could be heard from the camera.

By the end of the day they had photographs of the minister, three visitors and his secretary.