Mexico Set

Frank Harrington headed the Berlin Field Unit. He was an old experienced Whitehall warrior with influence where it really counted: at the very top. I didn't like the idea of Dicky sliding off to meetings with him, especially meetings from which I was deliberately excluded. 'No, I didn't know.'

'Frank was attending some CIA powwow and I buttonholed him to talk about Sti

'It might have been better to have come earlier. It's always so damned hot by lunchtime.'

Dicky chuckled scornfully. 'If I don't jog and have a decent breakfast I can't get going.'

'Perhaps we should have found a hotel right here in town. Going backwards and forwards to Cuernavaca eats up a lot of time.'

'A couple of miles jogging every morning would do you good, Bernard. You're putting on a lot of weight. It's all that stodge you eat.'

'I like stodge,' I said.

'Don't be ridiculous. Look at all these wonderful fresh vegetables and delicious fruit. Look at those great heaps of chillies. There must be fifty different kinds. I wish I'd brought the camera with me now.'

'Does Frank know anything about Sti

'Ye gods. Frank knows everyone in Berlin. You know that, Bernard. Frank says Sti

I nodded. Frank always claimed to have fat files on everything when he was away from his office. It was only when you were with him in Berlin that the 'fat file' turned out to be a small pink card with 'Refer to Data Centre' scribbled on it. 'Good old Frank,' I said.

This end of the market beyond the vegetables was occupied by food stalls. Almost everyone in the market seemed to be eating. They were eating and buying, eating and selling, eating and chatting, and even eating as they smoked and drank. Some of the more dedicated were sitting down to eat, and for these aficionados seats were provided. There were chairs and stools of every kind, age and size, with nothing in common but their infirmity.

Most of the stalls had steaming pots from which stewed mixtures of rice, chicken, pork and every variety of beans were being served. There were charcoal grills too, laden with pieces of scorching meat that filled the air with smoke and appetizing smells. And the ever-present tortillas were being eaten as fast as they could be kneaded, rolled out and cooked. An old lady came up to Dicky and handed him a tortilla. Dicky was disconcerted and tried to argue with her.

'She wants you to feel the texture and admire the colour,' I said.

Dicky gave her one of his big smiles, fingered it as if he was going to have it made up into a three-piece suit, and handed it back with a lot of 'Gracias, adios'.

'Sti

'You were right about Sti

'Does Frank know why Sti

'I think you've answered that already,' said Dicky. 'He's here ru

'Arranging a little money to prop up a trade union or finance an anti-nuke demo? Not exactly something for one of the KGB's brightest people, is it?'

'I'm not so sure,' said Dicky. 'Central America is a top KGB priority, you can't deny that, Bernard.'

'Let me put it another way,' I said. 'Covert financing of that sort is an administration job. It's not something for Sti

'Ho ho,' said Dicky. 'Hint, hint, eh? You mean, you chaps with field experience and fluent languages are wasted on the sort of job that administrators like me can manage?'

It was exactly what I thought, but since it wasn't what I'd intended to say I denied it. 'Why the German name?' I said. 'And why does a man like that work out of Berlin? He must be forty years old; a crucial age for an ambitious man. Why isn't he in Moscow where the really big decisions are made?'

'Si, maestro,' said Dicky very slowly. He looked at me quizzically and ran a fingertip along his thin bloodless lips as if trying to prevent himself smiling. Instead of concealing my own feelings, I'd subconsciously identified with Sti

'Yes, he talked as if he was going soon – "when I've gone back to Europe", he said.'

'He said the Englishwoman had put him in charge of one of her crazy schemes, didn't he?'

'More or less,' I said.

'And we both know who the Englishwoman is, don't we? Your wife is ru

I said nothing.

Dicky stared at me, his mouth pursed, his eyes narrowed. 'Is it right or not?' He smiled. 'Or do you think they might have some other Englishwoman ru

'Probably Fiona,' I said.

'Well, I'm glad we agree on that one,' said Dicky sarcastically. It was only when I heard the contempt in his voice that I realized that he hated working on this job with me as much as I did with him. In the London office our relationship was tolerable; but on this type of job every little difference became abrasive. Dicky turned away from me and took a great interest in the various pots of stew. One of the stallholders opened the lids so that we could sniff. 'Smell that,' I said There's enough chilli in there to put you into orbit.'

'Obit, you mean,' said Dicky, moving on quickly. 'Put you into the Times obit column.' His di

'Is that also what Frank says?'

'No, that's what I'm saying. It's obvious. I don't know why you are being so baroque about it. Maybe it's not a very big deal. But these KGB people like a nice little jaunt to Mexico, fresh lobster salad and a swim in the Pacific to brighten up their working days. Sti

'It doesn't feel right. Biederma

'So what? Biederma

'Stewed pork. He's serving it on chicharrones: pork crackling. You eat the meat, then eat the plate. Biederma