White Lines

by Mel Stein

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself. Now can I please go and catch my plane?’

  Branco pursed his mouth in anticipation of a nasty taste.

  ‘You’re not telling the truth, Miss Delaney, you’re not being honest at all. I know when you bought your ticket to come here. I know you had no hotel reservation. I know you had an open return ticket and that Mr Rossetti got you on the plane that is about to depart. I think it will depart without you. I have seen your filofax. A great invention the filofax, far preferable to the computer with its code words and frustrating inaccessibility. You had notes in there, notes I think you had written in England. So all in all I do not think your story stacks up.’

  Patti hesitated, wondering whether to come clean or bluff it out. He could be bluffing himself. Surely he could do nothing to her in the heart of an international airport? But he’d got himself in this room, he had obviously bought off the first few officials she had seen, so who was to say that he could not do exactly as he desired?

  She decided to take her chances on the bluff.

  ‘How do you know I made my notes about you in England? I’ve admitted I’d heard your name before I saw you at the match. It had cropped up in conversation the night before over dinner. So I wrote a few things down. It occurred to me that it – you – might make for an interesting article. Maybe, if I had stayed on a few days then I would have contacted you; but it was coincidence that we sat near each other at the match and I just seized the opportunity. As for me not having a hotel or a return date, well things hadn’t been going too well between me and Mark. Of course, I hoped we’d make it up and he’d want me to share his room, but if things hadn’t worked out then I planned to fly to New York for a few days where I used to work and where I’ve got friends to crash out with.’

  Branco seemed to lose concentration as she rambled on. Something had caught his fancy earlier in the speech and he was homing in on it.

  ‘You seized the opportunity. Or perhaps the nettle, or the poisoned chalice. You see I know these English sayings.’

  She didn’t think right then was the moment to congratulate him on his English.

  ‘The opportunity, the nettle, the chalice, whatever. Can I go now?’

  She thought she’d pitched it right. She’d held back the information out of a combination of pride, stubbornness and fear, then she’d explained the half-truth and felt she had been convincing, hoped she had got away with it.

  Branco was not yet finished.

  ‘This dinner conversation the night before. Who were your dining companions?’

  In itself this was the most difficult question of all. If he was going to let her go then she would be safe, at home, in London, but Luis would be here, and she did not think that Branco would take kindly to being the subject of idle gossip. And anyway it would not be fair. Luis had not volunteered the information to her. It was she who had pestered him.

  ‘There were loads of people at the bar in the hotel. Mark knew a few of them. I just picked up on the chat and must have asked one of them as the evening wore on.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I was exhausted by the flight and I’d had a fair bit to drink by then.’

  ‘Ah yes, the drink. I am told that Mr Rossetti does not. Or at least cannot. So you drink for two. But you know, Miss Delaney, earlier on you said you had been told over dinner. Were all these acquaintances of Mr Rossetti with you at dinner?’

  He didn’t miss a trick and she wasn’t thinking as clearly as she would have liked. She said nothing. She had probably said too much already. There was no point in digging the hole any bigger. If he wanted to insult her or Mark then he could do that until the cows came home.

  ‘You see,’ Branco continued, ‘if people talk about me, then I assume they know me and, irrational as you may think it, I like to know who knows me and who chooses to talk about me.’

  ‘They may just know of you. I’m told you’re a very charitable person.’

  Branco looked carefully into her eyes. She realised that his eyes had absolutely no expression in them. They were hard, dark rocks, there purely for utilitarian purposes, not to show emotion. If the eyes were the window of the soul, then this man had no soul. They bore into her, seeking a hint of sarcasm, but she looked absolutely straight back at him, with an expression that would have looked genuine on a choirboy.

  ‘Now, let us sum up. Let us see what we have got. On an impulse you fly thousands of miles to South America just to go to bed with a man you can sleep with whenever you want and to watch a meaningless, friendly football match. A casual acquaintance, whose name you do not know, mentions my name and you make the effort to write me up in your little black book. Chance throws us together and with your photographic, journalistic memory you immediately recognise me and ask for an interview. And then you get cold feet and do not turn up, but instead go off with Luis Cano.’ She took in an involuntary gasp of air, and broke into a coughing fit as the stale smoke filled her lungs.

  ‘I can see you did not realise we were watching you. Did you really think I would turn up for an assignation with a total stranger without taking some basic precautions? Was it Cano who told you about me and then the same Cano who prevented us from meeting?’

  His voice dropped to a whisper, as if the question were addressed to himself rather than to her.

  ‘No, I am sorry, the answers are not good enough. I think we have to spend more time working on them, perhaps together, perhaps not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice, trying to keep back the tears that were beginning to build up within her.

  ‘I mentioned a reserve plan. I do believe we now have to bring that into play.’

  He pressed a small bell by the side of the door that she had not previously noticed. The two men who had begun the interview returned with a battered cardboard box containing her belongings. The three of them spoke rapidly and so great was her panic that she could barely understand a single word, although she heard Delaney a few times. Finally Branco turned to her.

  ‘We are being very rude, speaking as if you were not here about matters that concern you so greatly. You see, these gentlemen are here to charge you.’

  ‘Charge me with what?’ she asked, her voice rising on the last word, near to hysteria.

  ‘Narcotics smuggling, or at least attempted narcotics smuggling,’ and with that he pulled a small bag of pure cocaine from her handbag, and held it up in the air like child triumphant in a game of hunt the slipper.

  CHAPTER 23

  Mark felt himself a man divided, unable to cope with one crisis, let alone two. If ever he had needed a drink in the past, then he needed one now, although he also knew with absolute certainty that if he fell off the wagon he would never be able to climb back on. They’d taken both Patti and Barry off to the central police station. Mark had arranged for his and Patti’s baggage to be taken off the plane, but Kenny Cunningham had indicated that he had no intention of missing the flight.

  ‘Don’t you think you should stay?’ Mark asked him.

  The England manager shrugged.

  ‘I can’t believe the lad’s let the side down like this. He’s got himself into this mess, there’s not a lot I can do to get him out of it.’

  ‘So you’re going home and abandoning him to his fate?’

  ‘What else am I supposed to do, Mark? I’ve got the rest of the team to think of. Can you imagine what the Press are going to do when they get back? I’m not abandoning him. One of the Football Association people here, George Mulgrave, is a solicitor. He’s arranging to liaise with the British Embassy and get him a local lawyer who speaks English and can hopefully get him out as soon as possible.’

  Cunningham shook Mark’s hand and wished him good luck. For a few moments Mark watched from the window as the English party were led across the tarmac. He could see them all clearly as they boarded the plane, watched until the doors closed and then turned away before it b
egan to taxi down the runway. He felt isolated enough already and the departure of so many familiar faces was not likely to help.

  He needed to get Patti a lawyer, but he had to find somebody honest and competent, and he didn’t think that was going to be too easy in a place like Bogota. He had the feeling that both their existence and ability to survive to make a living were rarities. The only person he felt he could rely upon in the city was Luis, but would it be fair to involve him in something like this? He went to the phone and called the British embassy first. The man at the other end of the line whistled.

  ‘Seems to have been a busy day at the airport. We’ve just despatched somebody to sort out this soccer johnny.’

  Soccer, Mark thought, that’s all I need, somebody who calls football soccer, a rugby-playing public-school type, who had a cushy posting and wouldn’t want to do anything to upset the status quo.

  ‘They have their own way of doing things here, and in their own time,’ the man continued in plummy tones. ‘When they want to let her go, then they will.’

  ‘That’s really helpful, thanks,’ Mark said angrily.

  ‘Look, old chum, I’m not being deliberately difficult. I just know my own patch. Obviously we’ll send somebody down if it looks like they’re going to bang her up. Lawyer and all that sort of good thing. Keep in touch, won’t you?’

  Barry Reed was also his concern, but not his main one. He knew the kid was asking for him, because Kenny Cunningham had told him so. He’d told him something else as well before going through to the lounge.

  ‘Take my advice, Mark, and don’t get too involved. I’ve got the feeling this lad’s bad news. I was a bit worried about his attitude the whole time he was here.’

  ‘He was worried, Kenny. Didn’t you try and find out what was wrong?’

  ‘All of these kids have got problems. I’m an international football manager for Christ’s sake, not a samaritan. Drugs and sport. He might as well have a sign around his neck that says beware of the plague.’

  ‘Why have you decided that he’s guilty, Kenny?’

  ‘I haven’t, Mark, but look at it from our side of the fence. The lad played a blinder, scores a goal that’s out of this world. Believe me, I never thought he’d turn it on like he did. I was looking for a solid hour or so and then I was going to substitute him, but he performs as if he’s high on something and, lo and behold, they test him, and he is. What do you want me to say? That he’s pure as the driven snow. The only snow in my mind at the moment is the stuff that Barry probably snorts up his nose. I know the sort of background he comes from. They’re all at it up at the nightclubs. If he hadn’t had the talent in his feet, he’d never have been able to make it in his head and he’d probably be on probation by now.’

  Mark had shaken his head.

  ‘You’re supposed to be the manager. You’re supposed to stand by your team.’

  ‘And I do, Mark. Through thick and thin. First match I was in charge, don’t you remember the allegations by the Swedish girl that a couple of the younger lads had taken turns with her? I looked at it, I listened, I asked questions and we discovered that one of the Sunday tabloids had paid her in advance to try and set them up. But she’d not been able to. The kids were too scared to let her in their room, let alone shag her. But this is different. We’re talking hard facts, we’re talking scientific tests. A doctor, a FIFA official, all the rules were followed, all the forms filled out. What can I say? What can he say?’

  ‘What does he say?’ Mark asked. ‘Does he deny it?’

  ‘Of course he fucking well denies it. He says he doesn’t know anything about it. What else is he going to say? He’s been caught with the scullery maid with his trousers down and he’s too old to claim that they were playing doctors and nurses and hope that nobody thinks he’s done anything wrong.’

  Mark had to put Barry to one side for the moment and leave him to the embassy. He’d called Luis straight after speaking to the British official and arranged to be picked up by him just outside the main terminal. Luis arrived in a beat-up old mini that juddered to a halt in front of Mark.

  ‘Sorry about the car. My Mercedes was stolen and the police have never recovered a stolen vehicle in the history of Bogota. The insurers do not rush to pay out. Last night I had a luxury limo, today I borrowed this from a friend. Life has its ups and downs. At the moment Patti is down, but we will pick her up. Come, we need somewhere to talk.’

  He put the car into a car park at the terminal and they walked back to one of the bars.

  ‘You see, this car they will not steal. It is beneath the dignity of a car thief to remove such a vehicle.’

  Mark tried to raise a smile, but failed miserably. Luis ordered two coffees and they took their steaming cups into a corner.

  ‘What’s this all about, Luis?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Your friend, Patti. You are certain she would not be taking any drugs with her. She was out on the streets on her own last night. She could easily have been offered them, easily bought them.’

  ‘No way. Of that I’m certain.’

  ‘Maybe she has this idea to write a certain story. About how easy it is to buy drugs in Colombia. How simple it is to get them out of the country. She is a journalist. These sort of games are not unusual for her profession.’

  ‘She is crazy at times, but she wouldn’t try something like that. Apart from anything else, even if she thought she had a chance of getting it out easily at this end she wouldn’t have taken her chances back home.’

  Luis gave an expressive shrug that said many things.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t bother to take them home. She’s done what she wanted. She gets a photo taken here or on the plane then flushes the whole lot down the toilet mid-flight.’

  ‘No, Luis. You’re into the realms of fantasy.’

  ‘Very well. I am only playing the lawyer to the diablo.’

  ‘Devil’s advocate.’

  ‘My friend, I know she is not the devil, so maybe I am just trying to prepare the defence.’

  ‘Hopefully she doesn’t need a defence. I know she’s not guilty. So, what happens now?’

  Luis lit up a small cigar and inhaled thoughtfully.

  ‘We assume she is innocent, your Patti. We then have to assume she has upset somebody here. The somebody could well be Branco. I warned you, I warned her. She is not at school now, she is playing with the big boys and they have real weapons. Maybe she already asked the wrong questions about the wrong people, so they set her up.’

  ‘Let’s talk about Branco, then,’ Mark said. A man at the neighbouring table turned his head in their direction and Luis put his finger to his lips.

  ‘It is not good to suggest that man is involved, even if it is indeed the case.’

  ‘But you think he is behind this?’

  Luis spoke so quietly that Mark had to lean across the table to catch the words.

  ‘If Patti is innocent, then I’m sure he is behind this.’

  ‘I’ve phoned the British embassy once, maybe I should call them again and warn them what this is all about. Do I rely on them to find me a lawyer or can you help?’

  ‘There is no point in telling them anything about the man we discussed. They will be helpless. As for a lawyer anybody they find will be useless, believe me. I will find you a lawyer, a special lawyer. It will cost money, big money, I’m afraid, but he will be worth it.’

  ‘Can we at least get her out of the hands of the police?’

  ‘I hope so. We will at least try. I do not wish to worry you, but the inside of a Colombian prison is not a pleasant place, particularly if you are a woman used to the better things in life. Wait here a moment, I go to make a call.’

  Mark stirred the dregs of his coffee around the bottom of his mug. Considering this was supposed to be the coffee centre of the world the drink had been lousy, tasting like muddy water at low tide. He could only assume they exported all the best stuff or saved it for the better hotels and restaurants. He looked around him
. It was a typical airport scene, handluggage strewn all over the bar, people in transit using every available seat, the inevitable haze of smoke rising above the crush as passengers took their last drag before climbing aboard their non-smoking flights. Mark had a feeling that he was under surveillance. He could not put an exact fix on the watchers, but every time he looked up there seemed to be a different pair of eyes following his every move, yet turning away at the split second that their gaze met. Maybe he was becoming paranoid. That would not do Patti any good, any more than the bottle of whisky for which he had such a craving.

  He was relieved to see Luis approaching with the smile on his face of the cat who has not only got the cream but has caught the mouse to eat with it as well.

  ‘It is arranged,’ Luis said without bothering to resume his seat. ‘I have engaged for you the services of Eduardo Salazar.’

  He made the announcement so proudly that Mark felt a sense of inadequacy that he had never heard of the man. Luis noted the blank expression on his face.

  ‘His name may mean little to you, but here he is a national hero, particularly amongst those who would wish us to be a true democracy. He is a campaigner, a politician as well as a lawyer. There have been three attempts on his life.’

  ‘And that’s a recommendation? I want somebody who’ll survive to see this thing to a satisfactory conclusion.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Luis said, putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder, ‘he is a survivor. He does not take on every case. It has to be special.’

  ‘And Patti’s special.’

  ‘She is innocent. That makes it special. Or so I have persuaded Salazar.’

  Mark did not take a great deal of comfort from that. If Luis or the lawyer had said that this sort of thing happened all the time and you were expected to buy your way out, then he could have understood that. But they hadn’t said that. They had said that the case was special and he had a sinking feeling that this sort of thing did not happen all the time and no amount of bribery would set Patti free.