Medusa

That evening several of us met in a restaurant near the square in Villa Carlos. But though we talked late into the night we achieved nothing except a fragile sense of solidarity. There were men there who had been in the island many years, but though they tried to kid themselves they were now Menorquins, they knew in their heart of hearts they were still foreigners. We were all of us extranjeros.

I was not in a happy frame of mind when I finally returned home. Soo, thank God, was already in bed and asleep. I undressed in the dark, a breeze blowing the curtains. Lying there, eyes closed, my mind went over and over the events of the day, the talk at that crowded restaurant table. Too much brandy, too much coffee. And then the phone rang.

I thought it might be America. Sometimes Americans forget the time difference. I rolled over, reaching blindly for the receiver, but Soo was before me. ‘Yes?’ She switched on the light. And then, after a moment: ‘For you.’ She passed it across to me and turned over, away from the light, as a man’s voice spoke in my ear: ‘Wade here. We’ve just got the news. You were there, I gather.’

I came awake then, wondering who the hell he was. ‘Who is it? Who’s speaking?’

‘Wade,’ he repeated. ‘Commander Wade.’

I remembered then. ‘Where are you speaking from?’

‘London,’ he said. ‘Where did you think?’ He had a quiet, crisp, well-educated voice. ‘Did you see him?’

‘Who?’

‘The man who shot Martinez, of course. Did you recognise him?’

‘I didn’t see him. How should I? Nobody saw him, not to recognise him.’ And I asked him, ‘What’s it got to do with you, anyway?’

But he ignored that. ‘We have a picture here. It’s just come in. It shows you seated right beside the Mayor. You must have seen what happened.’

‘Of course I did. But the shot came from the villa behind and I was looking at Jorge Martinez, we all were, watching him as he pitched forward down the steps on to the terrace below. The police have full information, they took statements — ’

‘Yes, yes, we’ve got a telex copy of your statement here.’

‘Then why the hell are you phoning me? It’s after one in the morning.’

‘I’m well aware of the time.’ His tone was slightly weary and I guessed he had been at some Navy office most of the evening.

‘What are you, Intelligence?’ I asked. But all he said was, ‘This is an open line, so let’s keep to the point. I’m phoning you because Lloyd Jones reported you’d been very helpful in locating a friend of his.’ His emphasis on the word friend made it clear he didn’t want the man’s name mentioned. ‘I understand you have now exchanged an unfinished villa and an old fishing boat for his catamaran. Where is he, do you know?’ And when I said I had no idea, that he was away fishing somewhere, he asked when I had last seen him.

‘Almost two weeks ago.’ And I added, ‘What business is it of yours? Anyway, you have my statement. You’ve just said so.’

‘Yes, but there’s nothing in it about your dealings with this friend of Lloyd Jones. We need to know where he is now, and where he was at the time the Mayor was shot … Hullo, hullo! Are you still there?’ His voice had sharpened.

‘Yes, I’m still here.’

‘You didn’t answer.’

‘Why should I?’ I was fully awake now and wondering what his real purpose was. ‘I’ve no intention of acting for your organisation.’

‘What organisation?’

‘Intelligence,’ I said. ‘I want no part of it and I’m going to hang up now.’

‘No. Don’t do that. Not for the moment.’ He said it as though he were giving an order on his own quarterdeck.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Ahmed Bey. Remember? And the Mattarella brothers.’

‘What do you mean?’ The receiver was back at my ear, a quite involuntary movement.

‘Kenitra,’ he said. ‘On the coast of Morocco.’ And he added, ‘You see, I’ve had a few enquiries made about you. I don’t think I need say any more. Now answer my questions please.’ There was a coldness in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a certainty that I would do what he asked. ‘Have you seen our friend since you handed the Santa Maria over to him ten days ago?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Have you asked the police where he is?’

‘Why should I? A man out fishing …’

‘You think he’s fishing?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘So you don’t know where he is now or where he’s been?’

‘No.’

‘Well, kindly find out.’

‘I’m busy,’ I said. ‘I have clients …’

‘Just find out for me. Understand? I’ll ring you tomorrow night.’

I opened my mouth to tell him I wouldn’t be in, that there was no point, but instead I heard myself say, ‘When?’

‘Eighteen hundred hours.’

I started to say I would be out then, but the line went suddenly dead.

I lay back, my eyes closed. Ahmed Bey! Jesus! that was more than ten years back. The Jedida-Marseilles run.

‘What did he want?’ Soo was propped up on one elbow, her large, dark eyes staring at me. ‘Who was he?’

‘A client, talking about boats.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘Go to sleep,’ I said. I needed to think.

‘He said his name was Commander something or other. Was it about Gareth?’