Globusz^® Publishing 

idel was sitting in his office gazing out the window at the docks of Sao Agusta and contemplating the devastation that would occur if a tidal wave of water swept down the river. ‘A breaking wave wouldn’t carry all this way. Would it? Perhaps the river level would rise quickly then gradually subside, after all the dam is fifty or sixty miles up the valley.’ The ring tone of a mobile phone interrupted his thoughts. “Hello!”... “Pablo? Speaking.”... “Seņor Salinas, the money is available now.”... “No! It will be transferred to the same account number on receipt of the goods. The terms are cash on delivery.”... “Direct from Mexico City?”... “Today!”... “Arrives at 17.20 and under what name is he travelling?”... “Brian Daily. Thank you.”... “Rest assured Seņor there will be no problems; I may have further business for you in the future. Good day.”

Absent-mindedly he returned the phone to his jacket pocket. ‘Now what! Do I tell Noberto or should I wait until after Daily or Maile arrives and I have him in custody.’ He glanced at his watch 11.25. There is plenty of time, but Noberto may be out for a long lunch. He picked up the phone and rang Teresa. “Is Seņor Garcia available for a few moments?”... “No! I wish to speak with him in person.”... “11.50 That will be fine. Thank you.” Putting down the phone he smiled. The appointment couldn’t be immediate. It mustn’t appear that the Minister has nothing to do but wait for his call.

Fidel knocked on the door, then without waiting for an answer, opened it and entered. This time, before he could make his way to the drinks cabinet, the Minister of the Interior invited him to sit down. He turned, his back to the minister, and closed the door firmly behind him. Then after slowly looking around the office, walked to the proffered chair and sat. Fidel always managed to get under the ministers skin without even saying a word. Noberto squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as he continued to read the memo that he had ostensibly been studying. With some annoyance he looked up at his visitor. “Well! What do you have for me?”

“He’s on his way, arriving here this afternoon at 5:20. Have you any preference as to how I should handle it? Do you wish to meet him, to brief him yourself?” Fidel answered, deliberately being abrupt, trying to take control of the meeting.

The minister, however, was having none of it and looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. He really did have cause to check it again because he, the completion’s manager from the (IMAF), would also be arriving this afternoon at... yes! 5:20. Obviously they were flying from Mexico City on the same flight. His next immediate thoughts were. ‘Would this cause a problem?’ He was intending to meet this individual, him self. ‘Do I want to be there when this Shaun man arrives and is arrested...? No! Not a good idea.’ He would delegate the chore of meeting the (IMAF) man. ‘The obvious choice would have been Seņorita Corbo but I can’t have that. I don’t want him speaking to her even for a moment. Besides she is flying to New York tomorrow, she will be busy.’ He smiled. ‘The timing was almost perfect but who shall I send then? It will have to be my secretary Teresa. She could meet him in place of me.’

Fidel could stand the silence for so long but now it had gone on for several minutes. It was his turn to fidget. Noberto at last looked up at him and raised his eyebrows... a question on his face. “I had a phone call... this morning. He will be on the flight from Mexico arriving at 17:20, travelling under the name of Brian Daily.” Fidel paused, now he was feeling uncomfortable. He had reported every thing all in one go. There was nothing else to say and still the minister said nothing. “I thought you may be interested,” he added lamely.

“This is that I.R.A. bomber, Shaun... what ever. Were you going to meet and arrest him?”

Fidel, thinking quickly, started talking rapidly trying to arouse more interest with the minister. “Shaun Maile is his real name. No! I had no intention of being there, unless...?” He let the question hang for a moment before continuing. “I thought I would let the immigration people have the honour to arrest him, they can take him to the prison. False papers! Then perhaps you can send them a memo tomorrow, thanking them for apprehending a dangerous criminal. I think it would be best if they don’t know his real name. Why give out information for nothing, too much publicity is not a good thing... I trust you don’t want to meet him?”

Noberto ignored the last question. “Yes! Do that, we are not ready for him just yet. I think it would be best if we left him there in prison for a while. Let him cool his feet as it were. It will soften him up a bit. Make sure no one talks to him in the mean time though... You can control that of course.”

Fidel waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Yes! I will interview him in a couple of days and put the fear of god into him, a threat of turning him over to the Spanish authorities should do it. He would stand trial for terrorism and murder. I’ll let immigration know that he will be arriving.”

That afternoon the minister called Teresa into his office. “I have a clash of appointments this evening, I have to visit someone. I would be obliged if you could greet the man from the (IMAF). You know his name; have his particulars and when he is arriving? Good! Book a limousine and escort him to the hotel. Ensure that he’s comfortable; make a fuss and all that. Pass on my apologies, I will see him tomorrow morning to talk about the dam and electricity supply.”

“Yes! Certainly Minister. I will be delighted to greet him.” She held a large smile on her face trying not to look annoyed. ‘Damn! I will have to put Tino off... Still, I will get to ride in the limo’ and I can’t tell the Minister that I am to busy too do his chores.’ She stood, and as innocent as possible asked. “Can I help you with anything else Minister?”

“No! But don’t discuss business, you understand?”

“Of course minister.”

* * *

For the first time since Edinburgh Peter saw Helen and her husband, just head and shoulders, across the waiting room of the airport at Mexico City. She was dressed in a light grey suit with red trim whilst he wore a dark business suit. Helen hadn’t noticed him, or rather, as he preferred to believe, hadn’t seen him. ‘With that sharp twinkle in her eye, I’d know her anywhere. I wonder if she has those red shoes on,’ he thought. Peter had already been told that they were coming and now it was obvious they were booked on the same flight. ‘We have to work together somehow, so I suppose I had better go and sort out this misunderstanding.’ With these thoughts in mind he climbed to his feet, but the flight for Sao Agusta was called before he’d gathered his flight bag.

Peter made his way onto the aircraft some way behind them when slowly progressing down the aisle between the seats he saw her again. She was turned slightly away from him, stretching up putting her jacket in the overhead rack and hadn’t seen him. His eyes ran over her trim figure from the brown hair down over the white blouse with fine red stripes. Then on to the grey skirt, stocking covered legs and the same red shoes. As his eyes wandered back upwards the dark suit spotted his gaze, and frowned. Peter gave a slight nod of recognition. Helen still hadn’t seen him as he very carefully squeezed past, without touching her or saying a word, not wanting to give David any excuse to make a fuss. Nonetheless he felt the glare on his back all the way along the passage ‘till he found his seat several rows further back across the aisle. ‘What a shame,’ he thought as he sat down. All he could see was the back of her head and her side.

Helen was now having a heated conversation with David. It hadn’t started out so well as no sooner had she sat down than David, indicating with a nod of his head behind them, said to her. “You're friend from Edinburgh is on the plane, why didn’t you say hello when he squeezed past?”

“Friend! Who? I suppose you mean Peter.” She just managed to refrain from turning to look. “Don’t David, he isn’t my friend, and I saw him earlier, waiting in the lounge... Where is he seated?”

“About four rows back on the other side of the aisle.”

“So what do we do about him? Can we ignore him?”

“Not really. Look Helen, I don’t like it but, beside the fact that he made a pass at you, I have to work with the guy to get this job done. So let’s just be civil.”

“Despite the fact that he is investigating us.”

“Yes! Despite he may be investigating us. He’ll only be wasting his time, won’t he? Meanwhile we have to get these problems sorted.”

“Well I don’t have to talk to him, do I?”

The doors shut and the engines of the Boeing 737 started. In no time at all the aircraft was being pushed back off the ramp. Then it was seat belts on until shortly after take off, after which there always seemed to be a serving trolley going up or down the aisle. The chance to resolve their differences and further their acquaintance didn’t seem to arise. Peter, feeling more and more frustrated as time passed, eventually relaxed, they were going to have to work together soon and things would have to be sorted, but not now. It had been a long journey from London and eventually he dozed, only to be awoken as the aircraft engines throttled back for the descent. His head was down, chin resting on his chest and as the aircraft banked he allowed his head to roll slightly, feigning sleep. His eyes were open though, fascinated as he followed a shaft off sunlight that shone through a window like a theatre spotlight, travelled across the aisle to Helen’s red shoes and ankle. Then it travelled up her calf and knee to highlight the small unfashionable side slit in her light grey skirt. She was showing a couple of inches of thigh and must have felt the extra warmth of the sunbeam. Subconsciously she tugged the hem of her skirt down slightly.

There was no walkway at Sao Agusta airport so they had to go down stairs and walk across a short section of the apron into the arrivals lounge. Both Helen and the dark suit were ahead of him through immigration. Peter, some ten persons later, was held up by an altercation ahead of him as a man, protesting vigorously, was lead away into an office. When he eventually caught up with the couple he found them, standing by the luggage carousel, waiting. She looked up at him as he touched David’s sleeve to draw his attention. Trying to forget their last meeting Peter attempted to introduce him self properly. “Mr Mirand. Good to see you again,” he said pushing his hand forward.

The hand was ignored. Then Helen exclaimed in mock surprise. “Why if it isn’t the gentleman stalker, we meet once again.” Then turning towards David added conspiringly. “He must be in love David, you had best beware he’s setting a fine example chasing me around the world. I think he is going to pursue me until I succumb to his charms.”

Peter’s exasperation was now beginning to turn into anger and frustration. He turned on Helen. “Don’t be so silly,” he snapped. “We!” indicating David and him self with a wave of the hand, “have somehow got to work together.”

“Oh! You mean you’re not in love with me?”

“Of course not!”

David at last joined in the conversation. “Never mind dear, I’m in love with you.”

Peter turned his back on Helen trying to exclude her from the conversation. “Look Mr Mirand there appears to have been a misunderstanding; I have not touched or made a pass at your wife. We have only had dinner together when for some reason she took offence. But you and I have to work together not against each other so can we resolve this matter somehow.”

David drew him self up and rather haughtily replied. “Mr Harding, I don’t like you and I particularly don’t like the way you do business. But as you say we have to somehow work together and resolve this problem.”

Peter was astonished at this and left speechless. ‘Where had this friction come from, we have only spoken a few words to each other. So why does he dislike me so much?’ He turned and looked at Helen who smiled politely. ‘It must be her doing. But why?’ Frostily he addressed David. “Yes Mr Mirand we do have to work together, so let’s stick to business.”

There was a loaded silence as Helen searched his face, said nothing and then looked at David for support. He was also looking rather sheepish. Seeing this confusion Peter decided it was worth trying again to mend bridges. “Okay! Let’s say there was a misunderstanding, maybe my fault I shouldn’t have asked to join your wife at dinner. Perhaps I could have explained myself better.” The awkward silence continued, only to be broken when David saw one of their cases coming round the carousel and making his excuses he moved to collect it.

This half apology from Peter made it even worse for Helen; her face had now gone quite red as she grudgingly acknowledged it. Apologising her self, she accepted some of the blame before trying to explain things further.

David, returning, heard the end of his wife’s explanation. “I think now we all understand what happened, let’s just shake hands, forget about it, and get on with the job in hand shall we.”

Peter and David shook hands as David put his other arm around his wife’s waist and drew her towards him. The body language obviously indicating that though this matter was now resolved she is definitely my property.

Helen looked at David, tilting her head to one side and gave him a quizzical look before pushing out her right hand. “Hi! But I have the distinct impression that we have met somewhere before, though I don’t recall the name. I’m sorry I don’t usually forget people.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to look a little puzzled for a moment before recovering as he realised she was implying the incident at dinner was to be forgotten. “As you say we have sort of met before, I’m surprised you recall the occasion at all though... And Oh! ... Those red shoes go perfectly with the rest of your outfit!”

They were all smiling at each other but feigning annoyance, she continued. “You were very impertinent to me in the shop and you closed the shop door without giving me time to reply.”

This broke the ice even more and it wasn’t long before they started talking animatedly, discussing what their requirements were for the job in hand. What their program was to be and how to resolve the various issues.

After leaving customs they were still discussing these issues when Peter noticed a pretty young woman dressed in a smart business suit and carrying a board with his name on it. He acknowledged who he was and introduced his two colleagues. The woman appeared to be a little nervous. “Hello! Good afternoon Seņors, Seņora. My name is Teresa Alvarez; I’m the secretary of the Minister of the Interior, Seņor Moreno Garcia.” Then addressing her self to Peter added. “I believe you are from the International Monetary Aid Foundation. The Minister sends his apologies but he was detained at the last minute; but more of that later, welcome to Cordilla. However I am very sorry,” she continued whilst speaking acceptable English, “but I was only expecting Seņor Harding, do you all anticipate staying at the same hotel? Do you have reservations?”

Helen was the first to respond. “Yes! Seņorita Alvarez, we were asked to come at the last moment, but we do have reservations at the same hotel.”

“In that case may I escort you all to your hotel then? I have a car waiting.”

Teresa shook hands with each in turn before escorted them outside and as they arrived at the curb a long stretch black Mercedes limousine slid to a stop before them. The journey into Sao Agusta took about twenty minutes and during the drive they managed to avoid discussing the purpose of their visit as Teresa started pointing out the various sights. Peter was all-ears hanging on her every word, or so it seemed.

Eventually he interrupted her. “Where is the best place to dine in town?” He asked. After a short while when she had suggested one or two places that ‘In her opinion,’ were very good. Peter repeated, “Yes! But which is the best? I mean the one that serves the best food.”

She just didn’t want to be pinned down and with a chuckle, again wriggled out from under. “But Seņor Harding that depends on what sort of food you like.”

“Peter, that’s my name. Call me Peter. Now if I were a connoisseur of food and wine and you were trying to impress me with the food of your country. Where would you take me?”

From the confines of the rear seat Helen commented to David, but just loud enough to be heard by the other two. “He likes an invitation to dine with young ladies.” But David didn’t reply. He was content to sit back and listen to the verbal banter between them whilst Peter ignored the dig and Teresa appeared not to notice as she slyly asked. “And are you a food connoisseur Seņor.”

“No! But that is irrelevant, because you are not taking me out to dinner. I have a mind to invite yourself, and my two companions. It would be very pleasant if we could all dine in the same restaurant and at the same time. This would of course require a table for four.” He replied, managing somehow to give a small bow whilst still sitting in his seat.

She was now openly laughing with him as she replied. “But why didn’t you say before... Peter. I would love to have dinner with you... Where do you suggest we go?”

Peter slapped a hand to his head in mock exasperation. “Perhaps, as you must know you're city best, you could suggest somewhere suitable Seņorita.”

She was about to ask a further question when David interrupted as he saw they were nearing the hotel. “At the risk of being presumptuous, and as we are nearly at the hotel, may I suggest Miguel’s in the Plaza Centro, it was very nice on my last visit.”

Teresa wrinkled her nose then as the limousine drew to the curb she conceded the discussion. “I will book a table at a place I know, the car will arrive at the hotel at... say 7:30. That will give you just over an hour... No let us say 8 o’clock. Would that be Okay?”

Helen jumped in before Peter could reply and spoke for them all. “That would be lovely Teresa, just time for a shower and tidy up. We’ll see you later at eight.”

* * *

Shaun now had dark hair with a couple of streaks of grey to make him look older. His complexion was much darker and he sported a natural, though much darkened, moustache. The sunglasses he had donned were light but hid the true colour of his blue eyes. The eyes which were described as grey in the passport with the name of Brian Daily, that he now held in his hand. He was a tourist, and he was dressed as a tourist. Come to sample the sun and the night life of Playa Sao Agusta for a couple of weeks or so. When he descended the aircraft steps and walked across the apron there was a new bounce in his stride. The fright he had experienced at Mexico City Airport when those two big guys had appeared, one either side of him, was still vivid in his memory. As they had escorted him outside to the car, he had nearly lost control of his bowels. But now that was in the past and the relief he had felt when told of his new employment was surpassed only by the flight ticket put into his hand... on way to Sao Agusta. He was expecting to be met on arrival. This, they had told him in Mexico, and they had demonstrated how very efficient they were. However it was rather a surprise to be met by la policia before he cleared immigration.

The office they escorted him to was bereft of anything other than two chairs either side of a small table. Sit! Was the order, as if he were a dog. He sat! The official opposite him moved his chair and sat down. His in-flight bag was placed on the table. The second man behind him leant back against the door. Neither of the officials had even loosened the flaps of their holstered weapons. “False papers! You are not a British citizen. What is your real name?”

“But Seņor I assure you I am Brian Daily. It is a new passport as you can see; perhaps our computer has not been updated yet. They are sometimes slow doing this. You may notice the issue date is only ten days ago.”

“False papers!”

At this point Shaun realised he was going to get nowhere. He raised his hands in supplication and turned his eyes to the heavens which was exactly the wrong thing to do. His interrogator immediately took it as an insult and made a sign to the man behind him. Seconds later he was in tight handcuffs, very tight handcuffs. He was then dragged to his feet by the scruff of the neck and searched. First his pockets were emptied, the contents dumped on the table. Shaun cringed at the rough treatment of his disguised detonators which were dumped with his pen, his wallet and various ticket stubs and receipts. Next the contents of his flight bag were tipped on the table before his watch was added to the growing pile. The items were spread over the table and searched none too carefully before roughly being swept off the table back into the flight bag. Once again Shaun flinched as the detonators dropped onto his bag fortunately the eyes of his interrogators were elsewhere. The airline tickets along with his baggage claim were passed through the door and they waited as the official browsed through his wallet. A light tap on the door heralded the arrival of the rest of his luggage and a moment later the contents of the case was unceremoniously dumped on the table. First they searched the case and then went through each item one by one with meticulous care before tossing them back in the case. Nothing suspicious was found.

Minutes later he was marched outside before being pushed into a car. He tried explaining it was all a mistake during the thirty minute car ride. They took no notice. On arrival at the jail he tried again, and once again they ignored the histrionics. His feet paddled furiously as a guard either side lifted him by his elbows before literally throwing him in to a cell where the door slammed shut behind him with a definite finality.

* * *

The car arrived in front of the hotel at precisely 8 o’clock as Peter, David and Helen were ejected from the revolving doors into a pleasant balmy evening. Teresa alighted, barely giving the limo’ time to stop. She had just experienced a hasty hour and a half, booking a table, travelling to and from home and explaining to Tino where she was going before getting changed for the evening. Fortunately the car had a phone which enabled her to save some time. She was now feeling nervous after having to use the minister’s name, Seņor Garcia, to secure a table at the restaurant. She had told el camarero that they were the minister’s guests but that he was unable to dine with them. All perfectly true but... well!

Peter stepped forward first to set the tone for the evening. “Good evening once again Seņorita Alvarez and may I say how gorgeous you look. Do we have a restaurant to go to... or are we going to try them all?”

She laughed at his gallantry, and the reference to their previous conversation. “But of course we have a restaurant and they may even have a table for us as I used the minister’s name. I just hope it is the very best place to dine. There are so many good restaurants to choose from.”

“I trust it also serves good wine? But using the minister’s name... tut tut! I hope you don’t get into trouble,” he commented, as he handed her back into the car.

They settled back for the drive and Helen immediately tried to get into conversation about the purpose of their visit. “What is your minister most concerned with? Can you give us any idea regarding how we may help? Just so we can think about things before we meet him tomorrow.”

This appeared such a change after their light hearted conversation that Teresa reacted sharply to the question. “I’m sorry Seņora but I really cannot discuss business. I am only a secretary and have no mandate for that. However, I can say the whole government including my minister is concerned about having to pay for a system that is not delivering reliable electricity.”

Helen started to comment on the error of this statement. “But surly that isn’t.”...

Peter quickly leaned across and put his hand on her knee. “Leave it Helen! Teresa can’t really discuss business. Well sort all that out tomorrow when we talk to the minister. Let’s keep things light and enjoy the evening.” Then turning to Teresa he asked where they were going.

Helen took the rebuke badly, colour rose to her cheeks, she sat further back in the plush seats and snuggled closer to David as she pulled at the hem of her skirt as if to cover her knees whilst Peter and Teresa continued with their light banter.