MAMista by Len Deighton

the probable source of them. The Union of Government Servants has asked their members to cooperate fully against this new campaign of murder. Even the PEKINista high command has protested. In a statement this afternoon, they say they are opposed to the bombing campaign of the MAMistas.’
    â€˜Can we expect arrests?’
    Chori switched off the TV. The police colonel wobbled and expired. ‘You can see what they are trying to do,’ Chori told the world at large. ‘Trying to lever the Pekinista guerrillas apart from us. If you went to the hospital you’d find a couple of people with scratches.’
    Paz nodded, but the chances that his explosion had blown the windows out, and injured someone in the street below, were not to be dismissed.
    Chori picked up Lucas’ can of beer, shook it to be sure it was empty, then raised an enquiring eyebrow.
    â€˜Yes, if you can spare it,’ said Lucas. He was being stuffy and British. He felt he should make an effort to be cordial.
    Chori said, ‘The airport shakedown was just a stunt to push the bomb into second place on the news.’
    â€˜I was there,’ said Lucas. ‘The police seemed to be concentrating upon the Indian families.’
    â€˜That’s the joke,’ said Chori, handing Lucas his beer. ‘You saw them, did you? They are the cocaleros . Those Indian farmers are the people who are growing that shit. They take their crops to the jungle laboratories that are owned by Benz and his government cronies. What a joke.’
    â€˜Are they rich?’ Lucas asked.
    â€˜The cocaleros? No. You saw them. Poor bastards scrape together a few pesetas to have a cheap plane trip here to buy shoes twice a year. But they are making more than they’d make from growing coffee.’
    Lucas got up and walked back to the window, as if a view across the rooftops would help him understand what was going on here. At the intersection he saw curious curved marks on the road. They were familiar and yet he couldn’t place them. It was only when he noticed that the cop on traffic duty had a machine gun over his shoulder that he recognized the marks as the damage done when a tank turns a corner. Tanks. Despite so many outward appearances of normalcy, this was a damned dangerous town.
    â€˜It’s hot,’ said Angel Paz.
    â€˜It will be hotter in the south,’ Chori said.
    So the young man was going south too. ‘And cold nights until the rains begin,’ Lucas added.
    The foreigners looked at each other as they realized that both of them would be going to the MAMista permanent base. No newspaper people were ever allowed there and those who’d gone without permission had not returned to tell the story. Angel Paz said, ‘How long will you be there?’
    â€˜I am not political,’ Lucas said. He wanted to get that straight before they shared any of their wretched secrets with him. ‘Strictly business. I am doing a health check. In and out: a week or ten days.’
    Paz said, ‘Uncommitted. In this part of the world the uncommitted get caught in the cross-fire.’
    â€˜You should get your hair cut before we leave,’ Lucas said. ‘Right, Chori?’
    â€˜You’ll be running with lice otherwise,’ said Chori.
    â€˜We’ll see,’ said Angel Paz, running a hand back through his wavy locks. His hair had taken a long time to grow this long, and it looked good this way.
    Lucas was getting hungry and there was no sign that food would be coming. ‘Can I buy you a meal?’ he said.
    Chori said, ‘There is a party at The Daily American . There will be plenty to eat and drink.’
    â€˜What is it?’ asked Lucas.
    Chori said, ‘A Yankee newspaper. In English. They invite liberals and left-wingers for hamburgers and wine. You know the kind of thing. There will be plenty of everything. If you are still hungry, the San Giorgio across the street does a decent plate of