скачать книгу бесплатно
‘How do we get to this Angel person?’ Sigmund asked.
‘All his contacts are handled through his mistress, a woman named Neusa Muñez.’
‘Where do we find her?’
‘She lives in Argentina. Angel has set her up in an apartment in Buenos Aires.’
Thor said, ‘What would the next step be? Who would get in touch with her for us?’
The chairman replied, ‘The Controller has suggested a man named Harry Lantz.’
‘That name sounds familiar.’
The chairman said drily, ‘Yes. He’s been in the newspapers. Harry Lantz is a maverick. He was thrown out of the CIA for setting up his own drug business in Viet Nam. While he was with the CIA, he did a tour in South America, so he knows the territory. He’d be a perfect go-between.’ He paused. ‘I suggest we take a vote. All those in favour of hiring Angel please raise your hands.’
Eight well-manicured hands went into the air.
‘Then it’s settled.’ The chairman rose. ‘The meeting is adjourned. Please observe the usual precautions.’
It was a Monday, and Constable Leslie Hanson was having a picnic in the greenhouse on the castle’s grounds, where he had no right to be. He was not alone, he later had to explain to his superiors. It was warm in the greenhouse, and his companion, Annie, a buxom country lass, had prevailed upon the good constable to bring a picnic hamper.
‘You supply the food,’ Annie giggled, ‘and I’ll supply the dessert.’
The ‘dessert’ was five feet six inches, with beautiful, shapely breasts and hips that a man could sink his teeth into.
Unfortunately, in the middle of dessert Constable Hanson’s concentration was distracted by a limousine driving out of the castle gate.
‘This bloody place is supposed to be closed on Mondays,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t lose your place,’ Annie coaxed.
‘Not likely, pet.’
Twenty minutes later, the constable heard a second car leaving. This time he was curious enough to get up and peer out of the window. It looked like an official limousine, with darkened windows that concealed the passengers.
‘Are you comin’, then, Leslie?’
‘Right. I just can’t figure out who could be in the castle. Except for tour days, it’s closed down.’
‘Exactly what’s going to happen to me, love, if you don’t hop it.’
Twenty minutes later when Constable Hanson heard the third car leave, his libido lost out to his instincts as a policeman. There were five more vehicles, all limousines, all spaced twenty minutes apart. Because one of the cars stopped long enough to let a deer run by, Constable Hanson was able to note the licence-plate number.
‘It’s supposed to be your bloody day off,’ Annie complained.
‘This could be important,’ the constable said. And even as he said it, he wondered whether he was going to report it.
‘What were you doing at Claymore Castle?’ Sergeant Twill demanded.
‘Sight-seeing, sir.’
‘The castle was closed.’
‘Yes, sir. The greenhouse was open.’
‘So you decided to sight-see in the greenhouse?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Alone, of course?’
‘Well, to tell the truth –’
‘Spare me the grotty details, Constable. What made you suspicious of the cars?’
‘Their behaviour, sir.’
‘Cars don’t behave, Hanson. Drivers do.’
‘Of course, sir. The drivers seemed very cautious. The cars left at intervals of twenty minutes.’
‘You are aware, of course, that there are probably a thousand innocent explanations. In fact, Hanson, the only one who doesn’t seem to have an innocent explanation is yourself.’
‘Yes, sir. But I thought I should report this.’
‘Right. Is this the licence number you got?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well. Be off with you.’ He thought of one witticism to add. ‘Remember – it’s dangerous to throw stones at people if you’re in a glass house.’ He chuckled at his bon mot all morning.
When the report on the licence plate came back, Sergeant Twill decided that Hanson had made a mistake. He took his information upstairs to Inspector Pakula and explained the background.
‘I wouldn’t have bothered you with this, Inspector, but the licence-plate number –’
‘Yes. I see. I’ll take care of it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
At SIS headquarters, Inspector Pakula had a brief meeting with one of the senior heads of the British Secret Intelligence Service, a beefy, florid-faced man, Sir Alex Hyde-White.
‘You were quite right to bring this to my attention,’ Sir Alex smiled, ‘but I’m afraid it’s nothing more sinister than trying to arrange a Royal vacation trip without the press being aware of it.’
‘I’m sorry to have bothered you about this, sir.’ Inspector Pakula rose to his feet.
‘Not at all, Inspector. Shows your branch is on its toes. What did you say the name of that young constable was?’
‘Hanson, sir. Leslie Hanson.’
When the door closed behind Inspector Pakula, Sir Alex Hyde-White picked up a red telephone on his desk. ‘I have a message for Balder. We have a small problem. I’ll explain it at the next meeting. Meanwhile, I want you to arrange for three transfers. Police Sergeant Twill, an Inspector Pakula, and Constable Leslie Hanson. Spread them out a few days. I want them sent to separate posts, as far from London as possible. I’ll inform the Controller and see if he wants to take any further action.’
In his hotel room in New York, Harry Lantz was awakened in the middle of the night by the ringing of the telephone.
Who the hell knows I’m here? he wondered. He looked blearily at the bedside clock, then snatched up the phone. ‘It’s four o’fucking clock in the morning! Who the –?’
A soft voice at the other end of the line began speaking, and Lantz sat upright in bed, his heart beginning to pound. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Yes, sir … No, sir, but I can arrange to make myself free.’ He listened for a long time. Finally he said, ‘Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be on the first plane to Buenos Aires. Thank you, sir.’
He replaced the receiver, reached over to the bedside table and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling. The man he had just spoken to was one of the most powerful men in the world, and what he had asked Harry to do …What the hell is going down? Harry Lantz asked himself. Something big. The man was going to pay him $50,000 to deliver a message. It would be fun going back to Argentina. Harry Lantz loved the South American women. I know a dozen bitches there with hot pants who would rather fuck than eat.
The day was starting out great.
At 9 a.m. Lantz picked up the telephone and dialled the number of Aerolineas Argentinas. ‘What time is your first flight to Buenos Aires?’
The 747 arrived at the Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Aires at 5 p.m. the following afternoon. It had been a long flight, but Harry Lantz had not minded it. Fifty thousand dollars for delivering a message. He felt a surge of excitement as the wheels lightly kissed the ground. He had not been to Argentina for almost five years. It would be fun to renew old acquaintances.
As Harry Lantz stepped out of the plane, the blast of hot air startled him for a moment. Of course. It’s summer here.
During the taxi ride into the city, Lantz was amused to see that the graffiti scrawled on the sides of buildings and sidewalks had not changed. Plebiscito las pelotas (Fuck the Plebiscite). Militares, Asesinos (Army, Assassins). Tenemos hambre (We are hungry). Marihuana na libre (Free pot). Droga, sexo y muncho rock (Drugs, sex and rock ’n’ roll). Juicio y castigo a los culpables (Trial and punishment for the guilty).
Yes, it was good to be back.
Siesta was over and the streets were crowded with people lazily walking to and from appointments. When the taxi arrived at the Hotel El Conquistador in the heart of the fashionable Barrio Norte sector, Lantz paid the driver with a million peso note.
‘Keep the change,’ he said. Their money was a joke.
He registered at the desk in the huge, modern lobby, picked up a copy of the Buenos Aires Herald and La Prensa, and let the assistant manager show him to his suite. Sixty dollars a day for a bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen, air-conditioned, with television. In Washington, this set-up would cost an arm and a leg, Harry Lantz thought. I’ll take care of my business with this Neusa broad tomorrow, and stay around a few days and enjoy myself
It was more than two weeks before Harry Lantz was able to track down Neusa Muñez.
His search began with the city telephone directories. Lantz started with the places in the heart of the city: Plaza Constitución, Plaza San Martin, Barrio Norte, Catalinas Norte. None of them had a listing for a Neusa Muñez. Nor was there any listing in the outlying areas of Bahia Blanca or Mar del Plaza.
Where the hell is she? Lantz wondered. He took to the streets, looking up old contacts.
He walked into La Biela, and the bartender cried out, ‘Señor Lantz! Por dios – I heard you were dead.’
Lantz grinned. ‘I was, but I missed you so much, Antonio, I came back.’
‘What are you doing in Buenos Aires?’
Lantz let his voice grow pensive. ‘I came here to find an old girl friend. We were supposed to get married, but her family moved away and I lost track of her. Her name is Neusa Muñez.’
The bartender scratched his head. ‘Never heard of her. Lo siento.’
‘Would you ask around, Antonio?’
‘Por qué no?’
Lantz’s next stop was to see a friend at police headquarters.
‘Lantz! Harry Lantz! Dios! Qué pasa?’
‘Hello, Jorge. Nice to see you, amigo.’
‘Last I heard about you, the CIA kicked you out.’
Harry Lantz laughed. ‘No way, my friend. They begged me to stay. I quit to go into business for myself.’
‘Si? What business are you in?’
‘I opened up my own detective agency. As a matter of fact, that’s what brings me to Buenos Aires. A client of mine died a few weeks ago. He left his daughter a bundle of money, and I’m trying to locate her. All the information I have on her is that she lives in an apartment somewhere in Buenos Aires.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Neusa Muñez.’
‘Wait here a moment.’
The moment stretched into half an hour.
‘Sorry, amigo. I can’t help you. She is not in our computer or in any of our files.’
‘Oh, well. If you should come across any information about her, I’m at the El Conquistador.’
‘Bueno.’
The bars were next. Old familiar haunts. The Pepe Gonzalez and Almeida, Café Tabac.
‘Buenas tardes, amigo. Soy de los Estados Unidos. Estoy buscando una mujer. El nombre es Neusa Muñez. Es una emergencia.’
‘Lo siento, señor. No la conozco.’
The answer was the same everywhere. No one has ever heard of the fucking broad.
Harry Lantz wandered around La Boca, the colourful waterfront area where one could see old ships rusting at anchor in the river. No one around there knew of Neusa Muñez. For the first time, Harry Lantz began to feel he might be on a wild goose chase.
It was at the Pilar, a small bar in the barrios of Flores, that his luck suddenly changed. It was a Friday night, and the bar was filled with working men. It took Lantz ten minutes to get the bartender’s attention. Before Lantz was half way through his prepared speech, the bartender said, ‘Neusa Muñez? Si. I know her. If she wishes to talk to you, she will come here mañana, about midnight.’
The following evening, Harry Lantz returned to the Pilar at eleven o’clock, watching the bar gradually fill up. As midnight approached, he found himself getting more and more nervous. What if she did not show up? What if it was the wrong Neusa Muñez?
Lantz watched as a group of giggling young women came into the bar. They joined some men at a table. She’s got to show up, Lantz thought. If she doesn’t, I can kiss the fifty grand goodbye.
He wondered what she looked like. She had to be a stunner. He was authorized to offer her boyfriend, Angel, a cool two million dollars to assassinate someone, so Angel was probably up to his ass in millions. He would be well able to afford a beautiful young mistress. Hell, he could probably afford a dozen of them. This Neusa had to be an actress or model. Who knows, maybe I can have a littlefun with her before I leave town. Nothing like combining business and pleasure, Harry Lantz thought happily.
The door opened and Lantz looked up expectantly. A woman was walking in alone. She was middle-aged and unattractive, with a fat, bloated body and huge, pendulous breasts that swayed as she walked. Her face was pockmarked, and she had dyed blonde hair, but her dark complexion indicated mestizo blood inherited from an Indian ancestor who had been bedded by a Spaniard. She was dressed in an ill-fitting skirt and sweater meant for a much younger woman. A hooker down on her luck, Lantz decided. But who the hell would want to fuck her?
The woman looked around the bar with vacant, listless eyes. She nodded vaguely to several people and then pushed her way through the crowd. She walked up to the bar.
‘Wanna buy me a drink?’ She had a heavy Spanish accent, and up close she was even more unattractive.
