Angel of Destruction

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Ah,’ her new friend said. ‘Salvador. Hey, Salvador, the lady wishes to speak with you.’

  Salvador looked surprised, but he said something to his two crew and then walked towards them, regarding Anna with increasing interest as he approached, before making the standard Spanish greeting. ‘Buenos dias, senorita. Bien?’

  To which Anna made the standard reply, as she had to the first man. ‘Muy bien. Usted?’

  ‘Si, muy bien.’

  ‘The lady is interested in your boat,’ the first man explained.

  Salvador raised his eyebrows.

  ‘It is a big boat,’ Anna explained. ‘Do you have to go far to catch your fish?’

  ‘There are fish everywhere, senorita. But the further out, the better the catch, yes.’

  ‘You have a big engine?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It is a Gardner diesel. You know of this?’

  ‘I have read that Gardners are the best,’ Anna said fervently. ‘What sort of speed does that give you?’

  ‘Eight knots.’

  ‘That’s very good. And what about the range?’

  ‘Oh, we have two thousand kilometres. Not that we have to go so far to find the fish, you understand.’

  ‘Of course. But it is always good to have something in reserve.’ And two thousand kilometres would be more than sufficient for her purpose. ‘Would you show it to me? The engine?’

  He looked her up and down, paying particular attention to her feet, but she was wearing her wedges, which had reasonably soft heels. And the breeze was flattening her shirt against her breasts, a picture as attractive as her fluttering hair; he could tell she was not wearing a brassiere. ‘You understand that the boat is not clean, senorita,’ said the other man. ‘The fish, you know. When it is all landed, they will hose it down.’

  ‘Well,’ Anna said, ‘perhaps I should come back when it has been washed. May I do that, Captain?’

  ‘Of course, senorita.’

  ‘And you will show me over your boat?’

  ‘I will show you anything you wish to see, senorita.’

  ‘That sounds very exciting. Is that a promise?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, looking her up and down again.

  ‘Then shall we say . . . oh! When will you sail again?’

  ‘This morning, when the fish is landed, we clean up and then we go to church. This evening we get drunk. Tomorrow we sleep, and tomorrow evening we put to sea again. It is the season when the fish are running.’

  ‘What an exciting life you lead. I will come to see you tomorrow. When you are awake.’

  ‘I will be awake, senorita, whenever you come.’

  ‘But what time do you sail?’

  ‘We sail at dusk.’

  ‘Well, then, I must come before dusk. You have not told me the name of your boat.’

  ‘The name is Bruja del Mar. You understand this?’

  ‘Oh, yes. In English, that is Sea Witch.’

  He clearly did not understand her. So she added, ‘Hasta la vista, senors. ‘Dios.’

  She left the two men muttering at each other; she had a pretty good idea what they were saying. If the captain obviously could not believe his luck, his friend was equally warning him to be careful about going too far with an – judging by her clothes and jewellery and general appearance – obviously rich tourist, even if out of season, and who, equally obviously, was so innocent as to be slightly fey. But she had an idea the skipper’s lust would prove a more powerful factor than caution.

  *

  She strolled along the dock and soon spotted the sign, El Matador. The interior was gloomy, and did not smell a great deal better than the dock. There were three male customers seated at a table, and a solitary bartender. All their heads turned as she appeared. ‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘Is it possible to have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘You want a cup of coffee?’ the bartender asked.

  ‘I think that’s what I said,’ Anna pointed out.

  ‘Then you sit, eh? I will bring it.’

  ‘That is terribly kind of you.’ Anna chose a table on the far side of the room from the three men, sat down and crossed her legs, the shoulder bag now resting in her lap. The machine gurgled and a few minutes later the bartender brought her a large cup of black coffee. ‘You want sugar?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He was obviously not offering any milk, but returned a moment later with a bowl of coagulated brown sugar in which a spoon was stuck. Anna estimated that it had been there for several days, except when temporarily withdrawn to stir other cups of coffee. On the other hand, her cup was still boiling hot, so she supposed whatever was on the spoon would not do her too much damage.

  ‘You want brandy?’

  As she knew that this was a Spanish habit even at half past nine in the morning, she said, ‘Why not? You have cognac?’

  ‘Cognac?’

  ‘Ah. Well . . .’

  ‘This is made here,’ he said proudly.

  Then it obviously was unlikely to be made from grapes, she reflected. ‘You mean you make your own, here in this bar? Or upstairs in the bathtub? You do have a bathtub?’

  He regarded her for some seconds, then suddenly grinned. ‘Senorita makes the joke.’

  ‘I know, it’s a bad habit I have. Bring on your Argentinian brandy.’

  He returned a moment later with a small glass. ‘This is made from the plum. You drink this . . .’

  ‘And I’ll get hair on my chest. That’s what bothers me. Salut!’ She tasted, and suppressed a shudder. But actually, it wasn’t all that bad.

  The bartender gathered that he had been dismissed, and wandered off. She sipped the brandy and the coffee alternately, watching the doorway. At five to ten a man appeared, and the morning, which had been going quite well, took a sudden turn for the worse. The man entering the bar, wearing a crushed suit and a greasy fedora, with a tie that had clearly not been removed during his last meal, was small and narrow-shouldered, with matching features. Anna was quite prepared to accept that men came in all shapes and sizes, but this one reminded her irresistibly of the Gestapo agent, Feutlanger, who had once tried to torture her. She could feel her hackles rising.

  Having looked around the room, the little man advanced to stand above her and blink at her. ‘Miss O’Rourke?’ His tone was incredulous.

  ‘That’s what it says on my passport,’ Anna acknowledged. ‘And you, I assume, are Lustrum.’

  He sat down, and snapped his fingers. ‘You unhappy with that?’ He switched to English.

  ‘Not really.’ Anna also switched languages. ‘It’s just that you remind me of someone.’

  The bartender had arrived, and Lustrum ordered coffee and brandy. ‘You make that sound as if you didn’t like this guy,’

  ‘Actually, I loathed him.’

  ‘Oh. Still, I guess you can’t choose who you have to work with.’

  ‘That is very true.’

  ‘And you aim to take over watching Edel? For how long? He’ll spot you a mile away. And you’re not resident. And if Guimard has his teeth into you, you’re liable to wind up being deported. After a session in one of his cells. He’ll enjoy messing about with you.’

  Anna gazed at him, and he flushed. Then she gave one of her bright smiles. ‘That is no longer your concern. After this morning, you will never see me again, and thus, happily, I will not see you. What I require from you is the information that our mutual employers tell me you possess. You have the address where Edel is living.’

  ‘I’ve written it down for you.’ He felt in his pocket and gave her a folded piece of paper that was every bit as stained as his tie.

  Anna opened it; at least the handwriting was reasonable legible. ‘Seven Calle Victoriana.’ She refolded it, and put it in her shoulder bag. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I told you. It is where he lives.’

  ‘I understand that. But is it a flat, or a house, or what?’

  ‘It is a flat.’

  ‘In what so
rt of building?’

  ‘It is a new block. Quite up-market. He seems to be well-off.’

  ‘There’s a relief. What floor?’

  ‘The fifth.’

  ‘And is there a lift?’

  ‘Yes. But it doesn’t always work. What, you aiming to get that close?’

  ‘I know: he’ll spot me a mile away. Now, I assume he has some kind of help in the place.’ The way her plan was working out, the job would have to be carried out in the middle of the day.

  ‘There is a woman who goes in every morning.’

  That was a relief.

  ‘But she is only to clean,’ Lustrum said.

  ‘You mean he cooks his own meals. Or does he eat out?’ A possible complication.

  ‘No, no. His wife does the cooking.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘You did not know that he has a wife?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said. That bastard Baxter had not mentioned that small detail. Although perhaps he had not known. ‘This wife is Argentinian, right?’

  ‘No, no. I believe she is Danish.’

  ‘Are you saying that he met and married a Danish woman, here in Argentina? My information is that he only left England a couple of months ago.’

  ‘That is correct. But his wife was already here, waiting for him. Frankly, it’s my opinion that she knew he was going to escape. As far as I have been able to discover, she has lived here for several months, waiting for him to arrive.’

  Therefore Baxter must have known about it. She had a strong temptation just to catch the next plane out of here. But the mere fact that Edel had a wife did not mean that he was any the less a threat to mankind. In fact, if she had been waiting for him to escape, and had a home waiting for him here, she was almost certainly part of whatever he was up to.

  ‘But she’s not too difficult to avoid,’ Lustrum went on. ‘She takes the kid to school every morning, spends most of the rest of the day out, and then picks him up again every afternoon.’

  INCIDENT IN ARGENTINA

  Anna felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. ‘Did you say, kid?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘I guess you didn’t know about that either,’ Lustrum observed, with some satisfaction.

  ‘What sort of kid?’

  ‘A boy.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that, for sure. Somewhere about six, I’d say.’

  ‘Six. And you say she picks him up from school every afternoon. What school?’

  ‘The Convent of the Sacred Heart. It’s only a ten-minute walk from the apartment block. You going to tell me what the real score is?’ He grinned. ‘With the wife and kid?’

  Anna stood up. ‘You can pay for the drinks. And have a nice day.’

  She left the bar and returned to the hotel, picking up a street plan at the desk before going straight up to her room, throwing her hat and bag on a chair, kicking off her shoes, and lying full length across the bed, head buried in her hands.

  It had all been so simple. That was the trouble. It had been too simple. Simply knock on the door, do the job, and leave again. But the timing had to be perfect, so that she arrived on the dock just fifteen minutes before the fishing boat was due to leave. That meant . . . she sat up and unfolded the plan. The Calle Victoriana was about half a mile from the dock, therefore if she left the building at half past five she should make it comfortably. So simple. But the kid, and his mother, would surely be home at half past five. Billy Baxter, she thought, I am going to wring your goddamned neck. Supposing she ever had the opportunity.

  She did not feel like seeing people, so she rang down for a room service lunch, sticking to the fish as it was more digestible and her stomach was feeling distinctly tender. But a couple of glasses of wine helped, then she pushed the trolley into the corridor, locked her door, and went to bed.

  She was up soon after three, dressed in her most casual gear and wore her hair in a bandanna, and went for a walk. At four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon the town seemed totally somnolent; she strolled along the Calle Victoriana, pausing every so often to admire the architecture, such as it was, and paused for a few moments in front of number seven, which appeared, as Lustrum had suggested, to be both new and fairly upmarket. She was about to cross for a closer look when a woman and child came along the street, both very smartly dressed, and clearly having just left church. Anna immediately deduced that this had to be Edel’s wife, because she was blonde, not unattractive, with high cheekbones, and an expression of utterly sad resignation. She did not look the sort of person she would ever wish to kill. And the little boy was a charmer, skipping along the pavement, constantly chattering, although Anna could not hear what he was saying. Nor did his mother pay too much attention to him.

  They reached the apartment, and disappeared inside, the mother using her latchkey. Anna gave them a few moments, then wandered across the street and checked the list of names. Edel was on the fifth floor, as Lustrum had promised. And there was a bell beside each name. That seemed simple enough.

  She surveyed the street. At four thirty it remained empty. But this was a Spanish-oriented social system; people would just be waking up from their siestas. And sure enough, as she continued her walk, the town gradually came to life, bars opening and being filled with custom. Whether or not this would prove to be a help or a hindrance remained to be seen.

  She returned to the hotel, had a room service supper, and considered the situation. She had no doubt that the job had to be done. But it had to be done without endangering either mother or child. Or herself, more than was inevitable. But ideas were already filling her brain.

  As usual, she slept soundly, had a late breakfast, pushed the trolley into the corridor, hung out a Do Not Disturb sign and locked the door, then had a leisurely bath – there was no saying when she would be able to have another – and was just drying herself when there was a tap on the door. She pulled on a dressing gown, feeling distinctly irritated, unlocked the door, pulled it open. ‘Can’t you read the—?’ She stepped back in consternation.

  ‘Oh!’ Carlos Guimard looked her up and down; he could tell that she was wearing nothing under the dressing gown. ‘I am intruding.’

  *

  He was wearing uniform, which included a pistol holster on his belt, and several medal ribbons on his left breast. Anna got her brain into gear. ‘I was having a bath.’

  ‘I am most terribly sorry. This is unforgivable of me. But . . . ah . . . may I come in?’

  ‘One should never argue with the chief of police.’ She stepped back, and he entered the room, closing the door behind him; the latch clicked into place. ‘Is this an official visit?’

  ‘I just happened to be passing, and thought I should stop by and see that you were comfortable.’

  ‘Oh,’ Anna said. ‘And here was I thinking you came to pull out my toenails.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Just a joke. Do sit down.’ She did so herself, allowing the dressing gown to fall away so that her legs were exposed from her thighs to her feet. This was another ploy that had been advantageous in the past when enduring a possibly hostile interview.

  Guimard took the other chair in the room, arranging it so that he exactly faced her without the table in the way. ‘People have been telling tales about me.’

  ‘Only that you are the chief of police. And that’s what policemen do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is that what your police in Ireland do?’

  ‘Absolutely. The number of people in Ireland without toenails is astronomical.’

  He studied her for several seconds. ‘The senorita is very fond of her little jokes.’

  ‘Well, I’m Irish, you see.’

  ‘I think you are enchanting.’

  Anna suppressed a grimace, as she remembered Roberto Capillano. And Adolf Hitler.

  ‘You do not like to be told that?’ Guimard continued to study her.

  ‘A woman always likes to be complimented.’

  ‘That is true. I w
ould like you to have lunch with me.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘You have another appointment?’

  ‘Ah . . . no, no. Of course not. But I will have to get dressed.’

  ‘Of course. And I have my duties to attend to. My car will call for you at two.’

  ‘Two?’ Anna could not prevent her voice going up an octave.

  ‘You would prefer it to be later? Just name the time that would suit you.’

  ‘I would prefer it to be one.’

  ‘One o’clock? You wish to eat at one o’clock?’

  ‘Well, you see, my stomach hasn’t yet got used to your habits. If I don’t eat until two I will be biting holes in the carpet.’

  ‘What an entrancing vision that conjures up. But I would not wish to upset your stomach. My car will call for you at a quarter to one, and I will take the afternoon off, so that we can spend the rest of the day together, eh?’

  Shit, Anna thought. Shit, shit, shit. She said, ‘That sounds absolutely delightful. But are you sure your wife will not object?’

  ‘I do not have a wife, senorita.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you have a husband?’

  ‘Well, actually, not right this minute. I am divorced.’ Which was perfectly true: Ballantine Bordman had divorced her, in absentia, back in 1940, when he had discovered who and what she was.

  ‘Well, then –’ he got up and bent over her hand – ‘I will be counting the minutes.’

  *

  Anna closed and locked the door, then leaned against it while she considered the situation. Clearly the captain was thinking of taking her somewhere after lunch, with sex in mind. And Spanish, and therefore she estimated, Argentinian lunches, were usually lengthy affairs in any event. But supposing the meal lasted until four, there would still be time to visit Edel and reach the dock by a quarter to six. To accomplish that she would have to decline his invitation to move on from the meal, which would undoubtedly disappoint him, and he did not strike her as the sort of man who would readily accept disappointment. On the other hand, there was a simple solution, one that she had used often enough in the past, and it could be sweetened by a promise that the moment her period was over she would happily get together with him. As he would certainly know that she was booked into the hotel for at least a week, there was no reason for him to disbelieve her.