Spy by Ted Bell Page B

thing. The Americans, who are at this very moment climbing the walls in my office down the hall, were running this fellow Zimmermann in some Mexico City operation. There’s a fresh crisis brewing down Mexico way, and the German is somehow involved. That’s all I can tell you. I can’t touch this man but I won’t give him up to the Americans until you’ve had a chat with him first. Do you follow?”
    “I think so. I just don’t—”
    “I would very much appreciate it if you would go out and see him first thing in the morning.”
    “Jolly good.”
    “There’s one more wrinkle. He refuses to speak.”
    “Makes chatting difficult.”
    “Indeed. That’s why I strongly suggest you take Chief Inspector Ambrose Congreve along for the ride. He was a language scholar at Cambridge, if memory serves?
    “He was.”
    “Yes, I thought so. Any number of languages, I seem to recall.”
    “All of them as far as I can make out,” Hawke smiled.
    “Good, good. This chap refuses to speak anything but German. None of my own valiant charges seem up to the task. Besides, we could use the Chief Inspector’s brain on this thing.”
    “I’ll make sure he brings it along.”
    “But, Alex, please use assumed names when you interview the man. I don’t want this coming back to MI6 under any circumstances. All clear?”
    “Perfectly. Sir.”
    “Good. Well, I’d best be getting back to my Americans. Thanks for dropping by on the spur of the moment, Alex. I’m most appreciative as always for your help.”
    “Sir David?”
    “Yes?”
    “One more thing.”

13
    H awke remained seated despite C’s dismissal. He made a small coughing noise into his fist and said, “I wonder, sir, did you get round to my last report? I marked it ‘Most Urgent.’ ”
    “Your report? I did get round to it, yes,” C said, looking up as if he were surprised to find that Hawke, having been dismissed, was still sitting in his chair. He returned to rifling through some papers on his lap, obviously looking for something in particular.
    Hawke stood to go. C remained seated but now fastened his fierce eyes on Hawke’s.
    “You’d like a reaction. I was going to save it for another time, but since you’ve asked for it, here it is. You posit a possible link between Islamist terrorists and criminal elements throughout Latin America. Doesn’t wash, I’m afraid.”
    “I was sent there to observe. I am merely making projections based on firsthand observation.”
    “Point taken. But we need to know more, Alex, much more, before we can take any action. Especially regarding any potential connections amongst FARC in Colombia, the Shining Path in Peru, and the Montaneros in Argentina. And, finally, Alex, I think you indulge in a bit of hyperbole with your fantasies about Islamic radicals and local guerillas out there in the jungle. It’s just not plausible.”
    “As I say, I saw this operation with my own eyes. This chap I mention in the report, Muhammad Top, is—”
    “No relation to Noordin Top, is he? Fellow who’s running the terrorist operation in East Timor?”
    “His half-brother. At any rate, Top is building a guerilla operation the likes of which we’ve never seen. With all due respect, sir, these bloody jihadistas are a huge factor out there. Why, he—”
    “Jihadistas?”
    “Yes. Sorry. My word.”
    “Good one, too; a neologism I believe it’s called. Look here, Alex, please don’t be cross. And, please don’t misread me. The reason I sent you into the jungle in the first place was to confirm my own personal suspicions about Brazil’s current political situation. Britain, as you well know, has heavy investments there and we’re about to invest a great deal more on that new hydro dam at Diablo Blanco Falls. Don’t forget, Alex, I’m the chap who dreamed up your ‘scientific expedition’to the Amazon. And I am deeply sorry that—”
    “Please, sir. This is not necessary.”
    “I am deeply sorry, in fact, horrified at the tragic