of them went down to breakfast. Miss Carrick was right, he should have taken a bath when he woke in the middle of the night.
Once he was back in his room, Harry shaved and dressed quickly, realizing that he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d stepped off the plane. He locked his room, took the lift down to the ground floor and strolled across the lobby to the breakfast room. As he entered, the first person he spotted was Mr Bolton, sitting on his own, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast. Harry turned and fled. He thought about room service, but not for long.
His appointment with the ambassador wasn’t until ten o’clock, and he knew from his notes that it would take only ten to fifteen minutes to reach the embassy on foot. He would have gone for a walk and looked for a café but for one of Sir Alan’s repeated instructions: no unnecessary exposure. Nevertheless, he decided to leave a little early and walk slowly. He was relieved to find that Mr Bolton wasn’t lurking in the corridor, the lift or the lobby, and he managed to make it out of the hotel without a further encounter.
Three blocks to the right, then two more to the left, and he would find himself in Plaza de Mayo, the tourist guidebook assured him. Ten minutes later, it was proved right. Union Jacks were being raised on flagpoles around the square, and Harry could only wonder why.
He crossed the road, not easy in a city that prided itself on having no traffic lights, and continued down Constitutional Avenue, stopping for a moment to admire a statue of someone called Estrada. His instructions told him that if he kept walking, in 200 yards he’d come to a set of wrought-iron gates emblazoned with the royal coat of arms.
Harry found himself standing outside the embassy at 9.33. Once around the block: 9.43. Once again, even slower: 9.56. Finally, he walked through the gates, across a pebbled courtyard and up a dozen steps, where a large double door was opened for him by a guard whose medals indicated that they had served in the same theatre of war. Lieutenant Harry Clifton of the Texas Rangers would have liked to stop and chat to him, but not today. As he was walking towards the reception desk a young woman stepped forward and asked, ‘Are you Captain May?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘My name is Becky Shaw. I’m the ambassador’s private secretary, and he’s asked me to take you straight through to his office.’
‘Thank you,’ said Harry. She led him down a red carpeted corridor, at the end of which she stopped, knocked gently on an imposing double door and entered without waiting for a response. Any fears Harry might have had of the ambassador not expecting him were proving unfounded.
He entered a large elegant room to find the ambassador sitting behind his desk in front of a vast semi-circle of windows. His Excellency, a small, square-jawed man who exuded energy, stood up and walked briskly over to Harry.
‘How nice to meet you, Captain May,’ he said, shaking him firmly by the hand. ‘Would you care for a coffee, and perhaps some ginger biscuits?’
‘Ginger biscuits,’ repeated Harry. ‘Yes please.’
The ambassador nodded, and his secretary quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Now, I must be frank with you, old chap,’ said the ambassador as he guided Harry towards a pair of comfortable chairs that looked out on to the embassy’s manicured lawn that boasted several beds of roses. They could have been in the Home Counties. ‘I have absolutely no idea what this meeting is about, except that if the cabinet secretary wants me to see you urgently, it has to be important. He’s not a man given to wasting anyone’s time.’
Harry removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the ambassador, along with the thick file he had been entrusted with.
‘I don’t get many of these,’ said His Excellency, looking at the crest on the back of the envelope.
The door opened and Becky returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits, which she placed on the table between them. The ambassador opened the foreign secretary’s letter and read it slowly, but didn’t say anything until Becky had left the room.
‘I thought there was nothing new I could learn about Don Pedro Martinez, but it seems you’re about to prove me wrong. Why don’t you start at the beginning, Captain May?’