The Rocket Man (38 page)

Or Tolya might tell the KGB
rezident
at the Embassy. No, he wouldn't do that, he'd be in trouble, the KGB were always complaining how the straight diplomats gossiped. But then, he needn't say that he had given away the information. He, Dmitry, might have found it out for himself. But there was no point in going if he hadn't contacted Katie; she might, after all, be safely in Asunción. On the other hand, he didn't know what the CIA might do. It was not beyond them to put a bomb in Richter's car, and Katie might be in it. They didn't care who else they killed.

He couldn't sleep; at three a.m. he took a sleeping pill and set the alarm for half-past seven. His flight to Vienna left Ezeiza airport at twelve-thirty-five, he would have to check in by eleven-forty-five, that gave him four hours. He woke up feeling drugged and exhausted. He showered and shaved and left the hotel before breakfast. He asked the receptionist to confirm his flight and told her that he would return to collect his baggage, which was packed and ready in his room.

He walked a few blocks to the nearest café and ordered a roll and coffee. Then he went to the telephone and looked up a private detective in the Buenos Aires phone directory.

There were quite a few. He picked one that looked promising and rang the number. He thought it was too early, nobody would be there, but a man answered. Dmitry asked to speak to the
jefe
, the man replied lazily that he was the
jefe
. His name was Luís Portillo.

Dmitry said, ‘I want to know if you can get me an address and telephone number in Paraguay.'

‘There's the phone book,' said Portillo lazily.

‘This number won't be listed in the phone book. It's in the Chaco. I just want to know if you can get it or not.'

‘Of course I can get it, for a price. I have a contact on the international exchange.'

‘I need it this morning.'

‘Well, that shouldn't be a problem, I have some Paraguayan contacts who can help me. Whose number is it you want?'

Dmitry told him. After a short silence, Portillo said, ‘I see. This might be at little more expensive. It will cost you five hundred dollars.'

‘That's okay. I'll pay in dollars, cash, in a couple of hours.'

He went out to a call-box and phoned the hotel. Oh yes, said the receptionist, somebody had been in to ask after him. A Russian gentleman; two gentlemen, in fact. Did he want to leave a message where he could be contacted?

Dmitry said he would be back at eleven and wanted her to have a taxi ready to take him to the airport.

He bought a South American travel guide at a news-stand and turned to the pages on Paraguay. He read it drinking a coffee at a bar and then went to Portillo's office. It was half-past ten. He climbed up a narrow flight of stairs to the offices on the first floor. In the reception area a surly-faced girl typed up a report from a tape. She took Dmitry through to Portillo's office.

He was a small, plump man, in a baggy suit. Piles of files, papers, directories covered his desk; there were two phones, wired up to a tape recorder; a map of Argentina on the wall; two battered filing cabinets. Dmitry stood there, awkwardly, taken over by a sudden sense of unreality; Portillo waved him into a chair.

‘It wasn't difficult; rather too easy in fact, everyone knows everything in Paraguay, it's such a small place. But since you're paying good money, I'll fill you in on what I know. You have the money?'

Dmitry counted it out and handed it over. Portillo left it lying on the desk between them.

‘Before I give you this information, I think I should first ask who you are and why you want it.'

‘I'm an old colleague of his, I'm visiting Paraguay, I want to look him up.'

Portillo looked utterly unconvinced.

Dmitry said, after a pause, ‘If I wanted to kill him I would hardly say so.'

‘No. But I've been in this business a long time, one gets the feel of things. You are also German?'

‘I'm from Vienna.'

Portillo sighed, then shrugged and leaned forward on his desk. ‘In the Chaco, they are using this big
estancia
in the region north of Mariscal Estigarribia. There is a road running north towards Cerro León; it is in the wilderness. They have had electricity taken out there, water, everything. This is a rough map of the region. I don't suppose you'd get near it, the whole area is a military zone. There is a phone number for the house, here it is.' Portillo handed him a piece of paper, and then, with a swift movement, swept up the dollar bills and stuffed them in his pocket.

Anatoly and another Russian were waiting for him with his luggage at the hotel. Tolya appeared genial; only his eyes betrayed something more calculated. ‘Mitya, I came to see you off. I wanted to say I was sorry about last night. You are on the Lufthansa flight?'

‘I'm sure you checked.'

‘You have a car coming for you? We are going out to the airport ourselves. You don't want a lift?'

‘I've ordered a taxi.'

‘Good. Good. Well, look after yourself, won't you?'

They shook hands.

On arrival at Ezeiza International Airport Dmitry checked in his suitcase. He looked around for Anatoly but couldn't see him; he did, however, spot the other man browsing through the papers in the kiosk. The flight was called, and Dmitry passed the security checkpoint, out of sight of the departure hall. Dmitry walked a few steps with him, glancing back. He saw no sign of Anatoly's companion; perhaps they thought this evidence enough of his departure. He went back to one of the phone booths and slowly dialled the number in the Chaco; he did not even know why he was doing it, it seemed pointless. There was a long silence; the line did not connect. He hung up, picked up the receiver again, and dialled one last time.

The phone rang and rang, but no-one answered. He dialled again, one last time in desperation. A woman's voice answered; it was Katie.

Katie was standing in a pool of sunlight by the window. She was on her own in the house, and when the phone rang she hadn't bothered to answer at first, thinking it wouldn't be for her. When it rang the second time Katie answered cautiously, ‘Hello?'

‘It's me, Mitya.'

She was so stunned to hear his voice that she didn't know what to say. Then she said, ‘Where are you?'

‘In Buenos Aires. At the airport. I – '

The line went dead. Katie looked at the handset, bewildered; then she quickly hung up. She would not have believed that the sound of his voice could cause so much pain. She looked at the silent phone as if it were hostile; then, as she knew it would, it began to ring again. She snatched it up but again the line was dead. She hung up, unclenched her hands and stood listening to the silence. She waited, but nothing happened. She went slowly into the kitchen to get some coffee. She looked out of the window while she waited for the kettle to boil, looking at the shadows shifting almost imperceptibly on the wooden floor. Then suddenly the phone started to ring again.

She darted towards it, hesitated for a second, then picked it up. ‘Yes?'

‘There was something wrong with that phone, I couldn't get the tokens in. Listen to me, this is important. Did you get my fax?'

‘Yes, just two days ago, on my way here. How did you find me here?'

‘With difficulty. But you must leave at once. Can you get away?'

‘Why? I'm coming back at the end of the week.'

‘You have to leave there now, at once. There is going to be trouble.'

‘What sort of trouble? I don't know if I can leave. You don't understand, we are miles away from anywhere. There aren't even any proper roads.'

‘But there is a road. I've looked at the map. Aren't you near this place – Mariscal Estigarribia?'

‘Yes, but the road is just a dirt track. It's the main smuggling route from Bolivia. I couldn't go by myself. I don't understand.'

There was silence; Katie thought the line had been broken; then Dmitry's voice came back, clear and decisive. He said, ‘Katie, you are in danger. You must leave and not tell anyone, no-one, do you understand? I can get a flight to Asunción today or tomorrow and try to meet you.'

‘Mitya, I can't get to Asunción.'

‘Then I'll meet you in Mariscal Estigarribia. Do you know the town?'

‘No, I've never been there. I'll try to, but it's a military town, there's nothing there'

‘The guide book says there's a hotel – the Hotel Alemán. I can be there tomorrow night. Will you do this for me? Will you promise me – oh shit, the money's running out.'

Katie said, ‘Give me your number,' but then she heard the long, high, disconnected tone. She waited by the phone, hoping he might ring back, but the phone stubbornly remained silent.

At the Lufthansa desk the girl looked as if Dmitry had gone mad when he asked if they could retrieve his baggage because he wasn't going on the flight.

She said, ‘You're checked in. There is no refund.'

‘I don't care. I just want my suitcase.'

‘Well, I hope you realise we will probably have to delay the flight. We would have to retrieve your baggage in any case. Give me your ticket and boarding pass.'

He handed them over. She came back in a few minutes, handed it to him, and said, ‘I have informed them. You will get your suitcase. Please wait here. Do you wish to re-book?'

‘Not until I know my plans. Can I pick up the suitcase later? I have an urgent appointment to make.'

The girl looked at him oddly and he went hot all over; he realised they might think the suitcase had a bomb in it, no doubt they would check it thoroughly. He turned and walked away but no-one stopped him. He took a taxi back into the centre to the UN offices and asked to see the resident representative on an urgent matter. He had to wait some thirty minutes, then the secretary showed him in.

The res. rep. was a dour-faced Dutchman. He got up from his desk to shake Dmitry's hand and gestured to the chair, but Dmitry didn't sit down.

Dmitry explained that he had been at the nuclear energy conference. He said, ‘I've had to change my travel plans. I need to get a visa for Paraguay. I know all travel is supposed to be approved in advance, but this is exceptional.'

The res. rep. looked tired and bored. ‘Paraguay. But you're from the IAEA, aren't you? They're not going for nuclear power in Paraguay, surely? They've got all this hydroelectric power from Itaipú.' He raised his eyebrows slightly, clearly waiting for enlightenment.

‘I was supposed to see somebody here, but I discovered he's in Paraguay. Someone from the Paraguayan Atomic Energy Commission. I thought I could go and see him on my way back.'

‘Is this official business or unofficial?'

‘It's… it should have been official. I mean, if I had seen him here it would have been official.'

‘Can I see your laissez-passer?'

Dmitry handed it over. The res. rep. studied it carefully. Then he looked up at Dmitry. There was obviously something about this that he didn't like. He said, ‘You must know how the system works. Any private detour has to be included in your travel authorisation. Can I see it, please?'