by Alan Judd
‘Your friend knows what he’s doing,’ said Carlos, admiringly.
‘He won’t be able to get in,’ said William. ‘I locked the door and told him to look for the lights, like you told me.’
They went quickly downstairs and Carlos reconnected the fuse. The klaxons had stopped but the main corridor lights came on. They decided William should be at the door to receive Box. The chances of his being recognised as the man who had blundered amongst the prisoners were not great, whereas Carlos was certain to be recognised. Exposing Theresa was also out of the question. The soldiers might just be controllable in the presence of the officer but the officer himself could not be trusted, Carlos said.
‘I know my officers,’ he continued. ‘He would be in here in thirty seconds – less, if he is a colonel.’
‘Why if he is a colonel?’
‘Colonels have more honour.’
‘Then couldn’t he be more trusted?’
Carlos smiled. ‘You have an English conception of honour, Wooding. For us it is dishonour not to seduce a beautiful woman. When I was a young officer a colonel of my regiment shot himself because it became known he had failed with the wife of the adjutant. The adjutant shot his wife for bringing dishonour upon him and then himself for bringing dishonour upon the regiment. You see, women are a serious matter for us. Not like with you English.’
‘I think something is happening outside,’ said Theresa.
Carlos took her hand. ‘Wooding will see to it. He will bring his friend to us. We will go back to the surgery and wait.’ He turned to William. ‘You need not hurry.’
William watched in the corridor. He could hear feet marking time, then shouted commands. He knocked up the bar that locked the door.
The hearse was drawn up outside flanked by soldiers at attention. Box gave William a nonchalant wave as he got out.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said in English.
‘What is all this?’
‘EE(C) kit. I want to bury it. It’s all right, no one here speaks English. I told them I’d come to collect a dead admiral. They weren’t going to let me in otherwise – well, they didn’t anyway, I just drove in and kept going until they stopped me. All hell on the loose when I got here. They after someone?’
‘Yes, me, actually.’
‘Good. You’ve been active. Well done.’
The officer was looking on, his sword drawn. ‘What are they doing now?’ William asked.
‘Guard of honour. I told them the admiral died under interrogation and the president wanted him buried in secret. Pretty difficult with my Spanish.’
‘Difficult with any Spanish. There aren’t any admirals. There isn’t a navy.’
‘That must have been what the officer chappie was on about. Couldn’t make it out. “Imposible, imposible,” he kept saying. I slipped him 500 US and then it became “Por su puesto, señor, at once, señor.” Best thing that’s ever come out of old Uncle Sam, the old greenback. Works the world over.’
For the sake of verisimilitude the coffin had to be taken in. Six soldiers were detailed as bearers. They were the peasants Theresa had described, square strong men with broad shoulders and no necks, but even they staggered for a moment beneath the supposedly empty coffin. William told them it was lead-lined. They carried it into the waiting-room and laid it on the creaking table. The officer dismissed them and, seeing the coffee cups, took off his cap.
‘Don’t want him, do we?’ asked Box.
‘No.’
‘Colonel.’ Box went to the officer. There was an exchange of words and their hands touched briefly. The officer put on his cap, saluted and left.
‘Hard to believe this place could really be communist if everyone’s as corrupt as that,’ said William.
‘They’d be ten times worse, only more systematic’ Box put his wallet back in his pocket. ‘Right, fill me in.’
William did so. When he had finished Box stood motionless, arms still folded. ‘You have done well. As I see it, it’s both good and bad. Good in that the president wants help, bad in that he wants American help. Would he accept British?’
‘Possibly, but what could we do? We couldn’t invade.’
‘Probably not.’
‘And even if we could, we couldn’t offer to prop up the country afterwards, could we?’
‘No.’
‘Better do as he asks, then.’
Box shook his head. ‘I don’t like giving away secrets. All very well in the old days but they matter more now. It’s business. London wouldn’t like it. We should try to do something ourselves and pass it on to the Americans only if it doesn’t work.’ He recommenced his pacing around the coffin. ‘One thing puzzles me – nothing for you to worry about, not your fault at all, nothing to do with you – but it’s London. Heard nothing from them, which is very unusual. This is a high priority operation and they haven’t even acknowledged the intelligence I’ve sent so far. Nor has the embassy, of course, though that’s not surprising. But for us nowadays intelligence is money. It’s how we survive. You’d think they’d want more.’
There was a sound from the surgery, like furniture being moved. Box stopped. ‘What was that?’
‘It’s the president. He’s next door.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘The same as before.’
‘With the prostitute?’
‘With the woman I love.’ It made William feel better to say it.
‘Bit soon, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose he’s very ardent.’
‘You’ll have to marry her. It’s the only thing to do if you fall for a prostitute.’
‘I am married.’
‘Point.’ Box took out a hip-flask from his inside pocket. ‘Have a pull at this.’
William took a swig of whisky. He had a vision of the lolling head of the prisoner, normal on one side, red and hairless on the other. ‘It ought to be possible to do something,’ he said, handing back the flask. ‘Carlos will agree to whatever gets him out of his mess.’
Box took a swig and replaced the flask. ‘Of course it’s possible. It’s a question of finding the way through.’ He sat on a chair opposite William. ‘We must think.’
‘May I ask a question?’ William enquired after a while. Box nodded, without expression. ‘What you said about marriage being the only way with prostitutes – you know about that sort of thing, do you?’
Box nodded again. ‘Not that Mrs Box –’
‘No, of course, I didn’t mean –’
‘British, you see. Wouldn’t do in Britain. Prostitutes are sordid there. Here they’re much more acceptable, almost respectable. Only ever marry foreign prostitutes. Anyway, things seem different when you’re abroad. Every man is a bachelor east of Gibraltar, Nelson said.’
‘But we’re west and my wife is with me.’
‘Would you feel guilty if you divorced your wife and married Theresa?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t do it, then.’
Carlos reappeared, pulling on his white jersey over his head. William introduced him to Box. Carlos was distracted by the coffin. Box explained. Carlos didn’t like it.
‘Please understand,’ he said, ‘I am grateful to Special Information Services plc for coming to help me, but I do not like coffins. They remind me of death. Can it not be taken away?’
‘Not until we go,’ said Box.
‘Then we must pretend it is not here. That is what we do all the time, anyway.’ Carlos flopped on to the sofa and turned to William. ‘Again, I am grateful to you. It was very good. Even better. She will make coffee when she is dressed, if you would like some.’
Box took out a notebook and began writing. For a while no one spoke.
When Theresa returned Carlos indicated that she should sit by him on the sofa. At first she sat a little way away but with his long fingers he tapped irritably on the cushion and she moved closer. He put his hand on her thigh. Box, meanwhile, had got to his feet and put his notepad back in his po
cket. He stood facing them with his arms behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet.
‘Now, our aim is the overthrow of the government while retaining the president as president – as it were, knocking away the ladder on which you are standing and replacing it with another, more sympathetic ladder before you fall.’ Box looked at William. ‘Will you interpret?’
‘Carlos speaks English.’
‘But Theresa does not.’
‘She needs to know?’ asked Carlos.
‘Of course.’ Box’s tone was formal and serious.
William had difficulty with the ‘sympathetic ladder’. Carlos helped. Theresa nodded.
‘Problem,’ continued Box. ‘The removal would have to be effected before Soviet or Cuban allies had a chance to interfere. But we should remember that it is necessary only to remove leading elements of the government.’
‘Three people,’ said Carlos.
‘Precisely. The question is how. This is where we come to method.’ Box glanced at William. ‘Translate, please.’
William translated. Carlos repeated and embellished what he had said.
‘We’ll decide method later,’ Box continued. ‘We have a more immediate task: Aim – to get the president back into his quarters undetected and to get ourselves out; Problem – the palace guard; Method – the coffin.’ He tapped it. ‘The president can be carried out in it and unloaded in his chambers. The guard will provide bearers and escort. We, the two interpreters and the undertaker, then leave with the coffin.’
Carlos shook his head. ‘I will not go in that.’
‘There’s plenty of room. It has a raised lid, you see. There’s some equipment in the bottom half but there is space for a man to lie on top. I’ve tried it. It was specially made with airholes.’
‘You’ve been in it?’ Disgust distorted Carlos’s features. ‘I don’t care. I am not travelling in a coffin.’ Carlos got up suddenly, ignoring Theresa. He looked excited and angry. ‘I am the president, the head of the government, in my own palace. I am not going to hide in a coffin.’
Box was unmoved. ‘It will take only ten minutes.’
‘Is this how the great British Secret Service treats presidents and heads of government?’
‘Special Information Services plc treats people well. It is policy. The live body exfiltration method has a long and distinguished history. Presidents and prime ministers, kings, queens, party leaders and nannies have all availed themselves of it.’
‘Nannies?’
‘Very useful people to talk to: they know what goes on in a house, who comes and goes, what is said, what is not said. Some of our best agents have been nannies. Now, let me show you.’ Box stepped forward and undid the coffin lid. With William’s help, he lifted it off to reveal a purple lining and a white mattress about half-way down. There was, as he had said, plenty of room in the high lid.
Carlos peered in. ‘What’s underneath?’
‘Equipment. I told you. It’s quite safe.’
The door at the end of the corridor banged open. William looked through the waiting-room door. The tall colonel was striding towards them.
‘Pay him to go away,’ said Carlos quickly.
‘I’ve paid him twice,’ said Box.
‘How much?’
Box told him.
‘Not enough. He’s a colonel; his honour is more expensive.’
‘Right, leave him to me.’ Box put his hand on Carlos’s arm. ‘Now, you jump in in case he sees you.’
Carlos glanced at the surgery, then at the door. The colonel sounded about half-way down the corridor.
‘Come on, come on,’ urged Box.
Carlos grabbed Theresa and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her passionately on the lips and climbed into the coffin.
‘You two put the lid on,’ Box said and went out into the corridor.
There were six butterfly screws, easily fastened by finger and thumb. The expression on Carlos’s face as they lowered the lid changed from affected nonchalance to uninhibited horror. William caught Theresa’s eye as they fastened the screws. He started to laugh. Her dark eyes moistened and became warmer. Within seconds they were both convulsed with silent, near-helpless laughter. He rested his forehead on the lid and she turned away, her hands over her mouth, her hair shaking.
Box reappeared, closing the door firmly behind him. ‘Honour is not cheap here.’ He stared at them.
‘Sorry,’ said William.
‘Not to worry. Nerves take people like that sometimes, especially in this business. Now.’ Box pushed back his shoulders, a gesture that William recognised as habitual when decisions were to be anounced. ‘The bearer party is on its way. We’d better compose ourselves.’
The soldiers carried the coffin with difficulty back down the green corridor. One of them slipped and banged it against the wall. The officer shouted. He had drawn his sword and for the seventh time, to William’s count, looked long and hard at Theresa.
They all three climbed in the hearse. The colonel formed up the guard on either side.
‘I must have paid him too well,’ said Box. ‘They want to escort us off the premises.’
They set off in time with the slow-marching troops.
‘Where are we going?’ William asked. ‘We don’t know where Carlos’s quarters are. We can’t very well ask him now.’
‘Point. You’ll have to ask the colonel.’
William waved to the colonel to come alongside. He told him that the president wished to inspect the body and it was therefore necessary for the cortège to call first at the president’s private quarters. The colonel was disposed to discuss the matter, his eyes all the time on Theresa. It was very strange for the president to wish to see the body of a prisoner, he said. But this had been a very important prisoner, William told him, a friend of the president’s who had proven treacherous. There had been several such, the colonel said, and the People’s Party Investigation Committee was uncovering more daily. Perhaps the president wished to see the body with his own eyes in order to ensure that his treacherous friend was dead? The colonel’s eyes flickered up and down Theresa’s body until, with a last lingering attempt to catch her glance, he went back to the escort.
The president’s private quarters were in a wing of the palace. The alarm was now over and the lights were out, so it was difficult to see much. They knocked on a door that was manned by a guard in the uniform of the security police. These troops were responsible for the inside of the palace while the army guarded the outside. A security police officer was summoned. He appeared yawning and scratching, his jacket undone. He and the colonel lost their tempers on sight and shouted at each other across the threshold. After intercession from William, it was agreed that the coffin could be brought in while the officer summoned the president, but that the colonel could not remain in the building.
‘Tell them to bring it in quickly,’ William said.
The soldiers stumbled and the coffin was saved only by the door jamb. William wanted to laugh again. He did not dare look at Theresa, beside whom the colonel marched with oppressive attentiveness, his sword erect and quivering. Box walked solemnly ahead, very upright, his hands behind his back.
The coffin was placed on a table in the guards’ mess room. The colonel was again disposed to hang around but Box dismissed him. When they removed the coffin lid Carlos sat up immediately; his face was red and angry. ‘Who was throwing me about?’
‘The bearers slipped,’ said Box.
‘And what is under this mattress? It was digging into me.’
‘Equipment, I told you.’ Box’s manner was brisk and authoritative. ‘Get out and get into your quarters. The officer of the guard has gone to summon you to see if it’s true that you want to view the body. You must go and be summoned and then come back and do it.’
Carlos climbed out. Irritability and sulkiness made him look younger, almost adolescent. ‘I tell you something, Mr Special Information Services plc, I’m not going in another coffin again
, ever, for you or anyone.’
‘Put that in your will.’
Carlos was too taken aback to be offended. He hesitated by the door. ‘Go on,’ urged Box. ‘There’s no one in the corridor.’
Carlos held out his arm towards Theresa. ‘Come with me.’
‘No,’ said Box.
‘But she’s an excuse,’ said Carlos. ‘If I’m seen, she’s what I’ve been doing.’
‘No.’
Carlos left the room. ‘Next thing is to get this in the tomb I told you about,’ said Box. ‘We must do that tonight. If I have to leave the hotel and go to ground, I shall go in the tomb with it. That’s where you’ll find me.’
‘Okay.’
‘You can use it, too, if you need. Now, point four.’
‘Point four?’
‘Of my notes.’ Box tapped his pocket. ‘I learned them. Write, read, remember, never refer. The four Rs. Trick of the trade. Impresses people like Carlos, demonstrates mastery of the situation and gets them to obey. Very important. Appearances count in this business even more than in others.’ He crossed the room to look at the pictures of past presidents hanging on the wall. They were mostly fat, glossy men with enormous moustaches and layers of medals, though the country had never been to war.
‘But what is point four?’
Box turned round. ‘Point four. Yes. Point four is contact arrangements between us and the president. We must agree them when he returns. There is also point five, our plan of action. We’ll have to agree that, too.’
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
William translated for Theresa. He could see her smiling while she conducted a minute examination of the hem of her fur coat.
There were footsteps and voices in the corridor and the door was opened by the officer of the guard, now fully buttoned and assiduously respectful. Carlos entered, looking haughty, behind him the tall colonel. He and the officer of the guard engaged in a silent tussle to follow Carlos into the room.
Carlos frowned at them. ‘Close the door and wait outside.’ He waited until the door was closed, then turned and smiled. ‘I hadn’t reached my quarters when the oficer found me, so I pretended I had been disturbed by the noise and wanted to know what it was all about. I was angry with him. It is easy when you’re president.’ He sat in the chair by Theresa.
