The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller

by Allan Topol

  Gina: You have to tell the president how worried we are that Brazil will attack.

  [A pause.]

  Bryce: I’ll tell the president. He likes you. He wants us to come back again for another movie night with him and Amy at the White House. Like last Tuesday.

  Gina: I see his wife on television all the time. Does she know about Amy?

  Bryce: I don’t think so.

  Gina: You’re not divorced yet? Does your wife know about me?

  Bryce: I don’t care. Can we talk about something else?

  Gina: The president. You have to talk to him.

  Bryce: I’ll do it. I promise, honey. Now I better get dressed and go home.

  The transcript ended. Craig stared at the last page with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The innocent girl he had danced the tango with was a very effective agent for her government. Originally, Craig had planned to burn the transcripts in the fireplace of the suite when he finished reading them, but this one was critical. He had to get it into Betty’s hands as soon as possible. With the reference to Amy, if anyone in the press or rival politicians got hold of it, the political storm would make Watergate seem like a fairy tale. Before deciding how to forward it to Betty without anyone else reading it, he picked up the other volume of transcript. He might want to send that to the spy master as well. As he opened it, the telephone rang again.

  “You’re not going to believe this, pal.” Tim sounded excited.

  Craig was gripping the phone hard. “Yeah, what?”

  “Your friend’s taxi drove east past the law courts.”

  “And?” he asked anxiously.

  “They turned onto Charterhouse Street and he went into number seventeen.”

  “Well?”

  “Don’t you know what’s there?”

  Craig was nonplussed. “Obviously I don’t. It’s not like you said Ten Downing Street.”

  “Okay, pal, don’t get pissed. It’s the international headquarters of DeBeers.”

  “The outfit that controls the world’s diamond market?”

  “Precisely.”

  “How long’s he been in there?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  Craig was thinking. “Can you find out who he’s meeting with?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. This place is like Fort Knox. The building reminds me of a prison—gray and somber. Narrow, sealed windows on all six floors. Armed guards in front.”

  “You used to be a pretty resourceful guy.”

  “Save that con job for somebody else. I’ll tell them I’m writing a book on how they market diamonds from West Africa, being sold by terrorists to support their networks. The DeBeers people always hate to hear that. They might be willing to try and co-opt me.”

  “Do it.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Craig turned back to the second volume of transcript, the record of Gina’s phone call with Estrada.

  Gina: Alfredo, it’s Gina.

  Estrada: How are you, my dear?

  Gina: Bryce told me that the surface-to-air missiles and rocket grenade launchers arrived in Argentina today.

  Estrada: And he’s right. You’re doing so much for Argentina. Your father would be proud of you.

  Gina: Now can I stop seeing Bryce? I’ve persuaded him to do everything you wanted. These weapons were the last thing you asked for.

  Estrada: For now. There will be more in the future.

  [Pause.]

  Gina: I hate spending time with Bryce … that way. I’ve told you that. Can’t I stop? Please, Alfredo.

  Estrada: It’s critical for our country, dear. You know that. Your father was a hero. He gave his life for our country. This is what Argentina needs from you. If there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask you to do it. You know that.

  Gina: But Bryce’s so …

  Estrada: It’s only for a little while longer. That’s all.

  [Pause.]

  Gina: Have you met Barry Gorman, the banker? I think he’s a wonderful man.

  Estrada: Humph. I don’t care about him personally. I’m interested in his money.

  Gina: Well he has $10 billion to invest. I tried to persuade him to invest it in Argentina.

  Estrada: And you did a good job, dear.

  Gina: If Barry Gorman comes back to Washington and calls me again, I want to see him.

  Estrada: That’s alright, but don’t forget you have to keep up your relationship with Edward Bryce.

  Gina: But Alfredo—

  Estrada: There are no buts. Your father and your country require it of you.

  Craig stared at the transcript and shook his head in disgust. To do his bidding, that bastard Estrada was twisting and manipulating Gina in order to force her to climb into bed with Bryce. Appealing to her patriotism and her love for her father made him even more despicable. He felt sorry for Gina, who had no way to extricate herself from the horrible situation.

  Craig glanced at his wristwatch. Even though it was only four thirty in the morning in Washington, he couldn’t wait to call Betty.

  She answered on the second ring. “Yes.”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Ever since I took over this job, I haven’t slept more than an hour or two solidly at night. So don’t worry about that. Where are you?”

  “London.”

  “Secure phone?”

  “Negative.”

  “Get to the Embassy. Ask for Billy Boyle. He’ll be expecting you.”

  “Done.”

  Craig hung up and dressed quickly. It didn’t matter if Estrada returned before he did. He had told the general he had a morning meeting.

  He had the cab drop him at Berkeley Square and walked the last several blocks on foot, making certain no one was following him.

  At the guardhouse in front of the Embassy on Grosvener Square, he used Billy Boyle’s name. That was all it took to gain admittance. No one asked him for an ID. A secretary, young and fresh looking with blond hair flowing over her eyes, who reminded Craig of a woman fresh from the Iowa cornfields he had dated at Carnegie Mellon, escorted him to a communications room in the basement, showed him how to operate the red phone, and departed.

  Betty answered on the first ring.

  “What are you doing in London?”

  “Gambling with your money. You’ll be pleased to know we won $300,000 last evening.”

  “That’s a comfort. Now what are you really doing?”

  “I’m here with Estrada. Just the two of us. He had some business and he invited me to come along.”

  “What have you found out about Dunn?” she asked impatiently.

  Craig swallowed. His heart ached as he recalled what Antonia had told him about the way Dunn had died.

  “He’s dead. He was close to finding out about a meeting Estrada had with people who flew in from Porte Allegre, Brazil, when his cover was blown.”

  “Oh damn.”

  “A couple of Estrada’s troops killed Ted in a farmer’s field while he was getting mauled by a German Shepherd. They hacked up his body and buried it.”

  “Oh God.”

  “This is the first chance I’ve had to tell you. Will you let Alice know? And that Ted had been killed the night he broke communications with you. So there was nothing you or anyone could have done.”

  “Of course.”

  Craig was choked up. “I feel so bad for Alice. Please tell her that. Also, that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell her in person.”

  “I’ll go over to her house and explain it this morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Who blew Dunn’s cover?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nicole?”

  “Negative. She’s a good woman.”

  “You sleeping with her as well as Gina?”

  “What makes you think I’m sleeping with Gina?”

  “I know precisely when you entered her Watergate apartment last Monday evening and when you left. I assume you weren’t watchi
ng television or playing Monopoly.”

  “Negative for both women. Gina and I talked. That’s all. My relationship with Nicole is still strictly professional.”

  “What’s Estrada doing in London?”

  “This morning he had a meeting at DeBeers.”

  “The diamond people?”

  “Exactly. I don’t know why, but it’s obviously a top priority.”

  “What have you learned so far?”

  “Estrada’s objective is to take over the country in an election by the end of the year. The business interests in Argentina are backing him. And most important, I now have solid evidence that Estrada is using Gina to get what he wants from President Treadwell by having her sleep with Bryce.”

  “What’s the evidence?” Her voice didn’t show surprise.

  Craig bit down on his lip before responding. He hoped that Betty wouldn’t get pissed about his domestic surveillance. “Someone happened to deliver a couple of transcripts to me. One from a conversation in Gina’s apartment. Pillow talk with Bryce. After sex. The other one from a phone call Gina made to Estrada.”

  “How convenient.”

  “She talks about troop movements on the Argentine-Brazilian border. I have no idea what that’s about.”

  “We’ve picked those up as well. Units from both armies are on the move toward their border. Each one is blaming the other. The Brazilian president has called Treadwell twice to report that Argentina has fortified its border positions in the northeast. So Brazil’s doing the same. It’s an area that the two of them contested in the past, but not for some time. Garcia has called Treadwell from Buenos Aires claiming that Brazil initiated the activity. We’re following it closely here.”

  “I want to get the two transcripts to you ASAP. One’s very explosive for another reason.”

  “Spell it out.”

  Craig took a deep breath. “There are some extracurricular activities going on at night at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Someone named Amy is involved.”

  “Oh Christ, he’s still doing her,” Betty sounded distressed.

  “What would you like me to do with the transcripts?” Craig asked.

  “Talk to Cynthia Nightingale. She’s one of ours. Tell her you want a gray envelope. ‘For the director’s eyes only.’ Put the transcripts in and seal it yourself. They’ll deliver it to me with a military escort.”

  “Will do.”

  Craig returned to the St. James Club and called Tim. “What’s the status?”

  “Subject is still in the DeBeers building. I haven’t been able to find out squat about what he’s doing. I tried my brilliant writer’s scam to get inside but the chap behind the bulletproof glass window wouldn’t even let me in the reception area. He told me to call Carolyn in the Diamond Information Office. All I got is her voice mail and no call back. A great way to blow off the uninvited. Sorry about that, pal.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just the fact that you found out he went to DeBeers is significant. Keep me posted.”

  With nothing else to do while he waited to hear from Tim, Craig hooked up his laptop and went online, trying to learn as much as he could about DeBeers and the diamond business before Estrada returned.

  Since the 1930s DeBeers had made a concerted effort to maintain a stranglehold over the world diamond business and to keep prices artificially high. In its building on Charterhouse Street, which looked on the computer screen like a six-story dark gray fortress with narrow windows suggesting secrecy, DeBeers controlled the world diamond industry. Within those walls, $500 million a month in rough-cut, gem-quality diamonds were sold to buyers DeBeers selected from a myriad of applicants to be its customers. By the time those stones were cut and made into jewelry, their retail value became many multiples of the $500 million a month.

  Astonishingly, Craig learned that in the past decade, approximately 75 percent of those diamonds had been sold in the United States, but that was now changing. The DeBeers strategy, like any good monopolist, was to keep supply limited and under their control. Thus, whenever any new source of diamonds was discovered, DeBeers moved aggressively to tie up those stones and put them under the DeBeers umbrella.

  Usually it worked, but not always. In the late 1990s, high quality diamonds were discovered in Northern Canada by a Canadian company independent of DeBeers. The Canadians invested huge quantities of cash to mine those diamonds and eventually defied DeBeers and went it alone on marketing. Their diamonds were currently 10 percent of the world market.

  Craig flashed a map of the world on his computer screen, showing the location of diamond sources with estimates of the quantities available. As he expected, Africa dominated. South Africa, Botswana, Sierra Leone, and other locations on the dark continent had a major market share. In comparison, apart from Canada, there were only tiny “estimated resources” in other parts of the world including India, Russia, and South America.

  The phone interrupted Craig. He pounced. It was Tim. “Subject left DeBeers. He’s in a cab, heading in a westerly direction. I’m in a car following behind.”

  “Stay on the phone with me. Give me a running report where you’re going.”

  Craig was trying to piece together what this all meant. He felt as if he now had a complex jigsaw puzzle on the table in front of him. Estrada. Gina. Arms. Money. Argentina. Brazil. Now diamonds. He pushed the pieces around in his mind.

  “We’re leaving Piccadilly Circus,” Tim said. “Heading south on Regent Street.”

  “He’s probably coming back to the St. James Club.”

  “That’s what I figure.”

  “If he returns here and goes inside, you hang back at the corner and watch the entrance. When the two of us leave in a car and my window’s rolled down, you’ll know we’re on our way back to the airport. Then you can close up shop and go home.”

  Twenty minutes later, Craig received a call from Estrada. “I’m ready to fly back whenever you are.”

  Over the Atlantic

  Once the plane took off for Buenos Aires, Craig leaned back in his seat with copies of the morning Financial Times and London Times. He wondered if the general, now dressed in his military uniform, would say anything about his visit to DeBeers.

  “I want to thank you for arranging a great evening last night,” Estrada said. “Those two girls were a treat. I owe you for them.”

  Craig smiled. “Happy to help a friend.”

  “I like coming to London, Barry, although not many of my countrymen agree with me on that. And we’re not exactly popular here.”

  “C’mon, Alfredo,” Craig said laughing. “After the Falklands War, you can’t blame them.”

  Estrada shrugged. “The Falklands have no economic, military, or strategic significance. The British can have them. I prefer to concentrate on more pragmatic objectives.”

  Finally, Craig felt as if he were getting somewhere. “Such as?”

  The plane hit an air pocket and bounced. Estrada waited until they leveled off to answer. “Resuscitating our economy. Rebuilding the military.”

  “Where do you intend to use it?”

  Estrada narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Craig, who met his gaze. He’s a smart man, Craig thought. Better not push so hard that I arouse his suspicions.

  “Our neighbors have powerful armies,” Estrada said. “Who knows when they may wish to embark on an adventure. We have to be vigilant.”

  “Are you worried about Brazil, Paraguay, or Chile?”

  Estrada ducked the question. “Besides, a powerful military is a source of pride for a country. A Japanese leader wrote a hundred years ago: ‘Strong army, strong nation. Weak army. Weak nation.’ Our young people have to realize that Argentina can be a great nation if we have the will to make it so. We have everything. Land. Resources. Wonderful people. We should be to South America what the United States is to the North. Yet, we have become a joke in the world community. It’s time to restore our nation to its rightful place—as the aristocrat of South America. Once we believe we
can succeed, then we will.”

  Estrada was speaking with conviction from the heart, his eyes burning with determination. To Craig, he seemed part visionary, part dreamer, and part lunatic. “We’ve been hurt for years by corrupt leaders and by a feeling of helplessness. We don’t have millions of uneducated people like Brazil. General Peron understood this.”

  “Would you call yourself a Peronist?” Craig asked with curiosity.

  Estrada nodded vigorously. “But of course. Like Peron, I believe it is critical to unite the military, the labor unions, and the industrialists. The entire society. We simply have to do more with what we have. With our talented people. With our magnificent resources. Our destiny is in our hands. As Shakespeare expressed it so well in Julius Caesar, ‘The fault … is not in our stars, but in ourselves that we are underlings.’”

  Craig had no doubt that Estrada meant what he was saying. “Before coming to Argentina, I stopped in Washington to obtain some background information about your country. There I met with Jorge Suarez, the economic attaché at the Argentine Embassy, and also with a reporter for La Nación by the name of Gina Galindo.”

  Estrada was watching Craig carefully, but not displaying any visible reaction. Craig continued, “Miss Galindo’s statements about Argentina’s potential were similar in substance to what you just said.”

  Estrada nodded. “I’m not surprised. I know the young woman. Her father was a great man. A military hero in the war against the Communists.”

  “Did you serve under him?”

  Estrada shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then changed the subject away from Gina’s father. “What did you think of her?”

  Estrada’s boldness surprised him. “She’s extremely intelligent, and—”

  Estrada cut him off. “Beautiful as well.”

  “I noticed that.”

  Estrada laughed and punched Craig playfully in the ribs. “From the look on your face and the sound of your voice, I think that you’re not just interested in Gina for her great brain.”

  Craig pretended to blush, then hesitated, uncertain how to respond. He didn’t want to put Gina into play in the dangerous game he was conducting with Estrada. Finally, he decided that she was already a participant so he said, “You’re very perceptive.”