Now, of course, everything was gone.
Jose Arraqui's apartment had been completely cleaned out, such that even the kitchen cabinets were empty, without plates or saltshakers. Marlborough checked the spot where the stash of American money had once been hidden. It too had disappeared. The carpets had been obsessively cleaned, the clothing taken from the closets - everything gone. There was nothing new to see here. Distressed, Guy Marlborough left the apartment and headed down the streets of the city to another place he remembered well, the Taqueria Almendarez. It was just about time for lunch.
"I didn't imagine I'd see you again," a chipper American voice said as its owner claimed another chair at the table. "We heard you'd been kicked out of the country."
"Well, Mr. Summers - I'm back. And this time on official business."
Summers' eyes widened. "Are you one of the negotiators?"
"No." But as soon as he said it Marlborough realized he had no idea who the negotiators were. He asked.
"The people to negotiate the debt business, try to save Venezuela from a European invasion. Weighty stuff. So you're back for that old murder case."
"Indeed I am."
"Now why is that? Why is it in the United Kingdom's interest to send an investigator over to solve the death of a Venezuelan foreign agent?"
"I suppose," Marlborough mused, having never really given the question any thought, "that's another problem I will have to explore."
- - -
"General Juan Vicente Gomez, Chief of the Army." As the orderly held the door open, at a distance, as if with distaste, the barrel-chested figure of Venezuela's top military man asserted a dominant air on the room that he felt rightfully was his. He waved the minion out without any signal from the President, who watched, bored, from behind his desk.
"President Castro," the General began without the usual courtesies, "we have word that some of our nation's more unruly factions are planning a coup. It is of the utmost importance that you relocate to a safer location, under the protection of a military guard."
The President considered this matter briefly and picked a finished cigar up out of a glass bowl on his desk, twirling it around in his fingers.
"That will not be necessary. I will remain here, to deal with the numerous threats we face from the exterior."
The General stood, watching the cigar in its little dance. The stub moved ever more slowly in the silence, until it ceased, locked between two fat fingers. General Gomez waited a moment longer, apparently in deep thought, his eyes occasionally betraying a small, peculiar gleam.
"Yes, sir," he finally replied, now staring at his feet. "It shall be done." And rapidly he wheeled around and left.
- hope you enjoy! As for your guesses - won't say, but it's really intriguing to read them!
