“You were quite right to bring this to my attention,” Sir Alex smiled, “but I’m afraid it’s nothing more sinister than trying to arrange a royal vacation trip without the press being aware of it.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you about this.” Inspector Pakula rose to his feet.
“Not at all, Inspector. Shows your branch is on its toes. What did you say the name of that young constable was?”
“Hanson, sir. Leslie Hanson.”
When the door closed behind Inspector Pakula, Sir Alex Hyde-White picked up a red telephone on his desk. “I have a message for Balder. We have a small problem. I’ll explain it at the next meeting. Meanwhile, I want you to arrange for three transfers. Police Sergeant Twill, an Inspector Pakula, and Constable Leslie Hanson. Spread them out a few days. I want them sent to separate posts, as far from London as possible. I’ll inform the Controller and see if he wants to take any further action.”
In his hotel room in New York, Harry Lantz was awakened in the middle of the night by the ringing of the telephone.
Who the hell knows I’m here? he wondered. He looked blearily at the bedside clock, then snatched up the phone. “It’s four o’fucking clock in the morning! Who the—?”
A soft voice at the other end of the line began speaking, and Lantz sat upright in bed, his heart beginning to pound. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir…No, sir, but I can arrange to make myself free.” He listened for a long time. Finally he said, “Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be on the first plane to Buenos Aires. Thank you, sir.”
He replaced the receiver and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling. The man he had just spoken to was one of the most powerful men in the world, and what he had asked Harry to do…What the hell is going down? Harry Lantz asked himself. Something big. The man was going to pay him fifty thousand dollars to deliver a message. It would be fun going back to Argentina. Harry Lantz loved the South American women. I know a dozen bitches there with hot pants who would rather fuck than eat.
The day was starting out great.
At nine A.M. Lantz picked up the telephone and dialed the number of Aerolíneas Argentinas. “What time is your first flight to Buenos Aires?”
The 747 arrived at Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Aires at five P.M. the following afternoon. It had been a long flight, but Harry Lantz had not minded it. Fifty thousand dollars for delivering a message. He felt a surge of excitement as the wheels lightly kissed the ground. He had not been to Argentina for almost five years. It would be fun to renew old acquaintances.
As Harry Lantz stepped out of the plane, the blast of hot air startled him for a moment. Of course. It’s summer here.
During the taxi ride into the city, Lantz was amused to see that the graffiti scrawled on the sides of buildings and sidewalks had not changed. PLEBISCITO LAS PELOTAS (Fuck the plebiscite). MILITARES, ASESINOS (Army, assassins). TENEMOS HAMBRE (We are hungry). MARIHUANA LIBRE (Free pot). DROGA, SEXO Y MUCHO ROCK (Drugs, sex and rock ‘n’ roll). JUICIO Y CASTIGO A LOS CULPABLES (Trial and punishment for the guilty).
Yes, it was good to be back.
Siesta was over and the streets were crowded with people lazily walking to and from appointments. When the taxi arrived at the Hotel El Conquistador in the heart of the fashionable Barrio Norte sector, Lantz paid the driver with a million-peso note.
“Keep the change,” he said. Their money was a joke.
He registered at the desk in the huge, modern lobby, picked up a copy of the Buenos Aires Herald and La Prensa, and let the assistant manager show him to his suite. Sixty dollars a day for a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen, air-conditioned, with television. In Washington, this setup would cost an arm and a leg, Harry Lantz thought. I’ll take care of my business with this Neusa broad tomorrow, and stay around a few days and enjoy myself.
It was more than two weeks before Harry Lantz was able to track down Neusa Muñez.