He appeared to be inviting some comment from me. Despite my disappointment with Richard, my main feeling was one of relief, because it increased the chances that the leak might not be traced to Bevan, and from him to others unknown.
‘Tell me something,’ Tetzahuitl said. ‘When we arrest the culprits – as we intend to do shortly – what would you recommend we do with them?’
I looked at Extepan, then back at him. There was no way of telling whether he was in earnest or simply baiting me. His unfathomable eyes told me nothing.
‘You can’t possibly expect me to answer that,’ I said hotly.
‘I’m not asking for your opinion on the rights and wrongs of their action. I want your advice. The two are quite different. What do you think we should do with them?’
He held the bat in his hand as if it were a cudgel, as if he might at any moment erupt in violence and begin bludgeoning me with it. Yet I was certain there was amusement in his face.
‘You’re a fool if you believe I’ll tell you,’ I said angrily. ‘Or you think I’m one.’
Extepan looked horrified at the insult, but Tetzahuitl raised the bat in a calming motion.
‘I’m not asking the question without self-interest,’ he said to me. ‘I’m hoping to gain some appreciation of the consequences of our actions. What would your people think? Should we be harsh or magnanimous?’
‘What are you saying? That I should tell you what to do to make sure your public image isn’t damaged?’
He was immune to my scorn. Not precisely. I’d simply like to ensure that the punishment won’t appear unduly severe to the fair-minded observer.’
I gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘I wasn’t aware you’d previously shown such concern for the sensibilities of conquered peoples.’
An off-hand gesture. ‘We’ve no desire for vengeance since no outrage was in the end committed against us. Extepan here is eager to pursue as enlightened a policy as possible with respect to the people of these islands.’
‘Then, presumably,’ I said with heavy irony, ‘we can rule out torture?’
Tetzahuitl made a disapproving noise. ‘Torture is the resort of those who fear their position is threatened. Besides, we’re not barbarians. Straightforward executions are an obvious option, but they run the risk of making martyrs of these people.’
Not if you kill them in secret,’ I said bitterly.
‘I think public knowledge of the plot is more widespread than even you imagine. It would be impossible to keep such actions secret. A better alternative might be exile. Of course, it would need to be somewhere far away.’
I became aware that Extepan looked uncomfortable, as if he was unsure where Tetzahuitl was leading. I wondered if he was being mocked by the cihuacoatl for his liberal tendencies. I almost felt a certain solidarity with him then.
‘So,’ Tetzahuitl said, ‘what considered advice would you give us?’
‘Do you think you can manipulate me so easily?’
‘I’m simply asking your opinion. We’re perfectly free to disregard it.’
‘To you, this is just a game. To me, it’s in deadly earnest. Whoever these people are – and whatever you think, I don’t know who they are – they don’t need me to compromise them. They’re your enemies, not mine.’
Tetzahuitl contemplated the dark wood of the bat. ‘What if we were talking about someone you knew?’
Was this a bluff? I had an ominous feeling it wasn’t.
‘Then I couldn’t possibly give unbiased advice. Of course I would want mercy for them. Who wouldn’t?’
The England innings collapsed after lunch, reaching a total of only 202. The afternoon grew hazy and humid while I sat impatiently through the rest of the match. I could not bring myself to talk to Richard but instead listened to Victoria, who chattered about the concert and the party while sipping wine-and-sodas and nibbling pecans from a tray. I saw no point in mentioning the assassination plot; she would find out about it soon enough.
Tetzahuitl and Extepan maintained every appearance of continuing interest in events on the field. I had imagined I might face interrogation or even arrest for refusing to divulge the source of my knowledge of the bomb plot, but no further pressure had been put on me. Did this mean they were already confident that they had rounded up all the perpetrators? Who would they arrest? I longed for immediate answers but was condemned to sit and wait.
As it turned out, the game could not have had a more exciting climax. The Azanians lost their first four wickets cheaply, then staged a middle-order recovery until they stood at 190 for 5. Defeat loomed for England with their fast bowlers tiring and the Azanian batsmen in command. But then the skies clouded over and Jeremy Quaintrell came in to bowl his particular brand of off-spin. Two wickets fell in his first over, then another in his second, with only six more runs added. The new batsman hit a four with his first delivery, then was yorked by the second. Azania stood at 200, with only one wicket left.
Quaintrell moved in to bowl again. The crowd were chanting more fulsomely now, and beer cans were being clacked metronomically together. The batsman blocked the first delivery. Then the second. The third ball was a full toss which the batsman hit with the meat of his bat. The ball soared away. Six runs seemed certain, and victory for Azania. But a fielder at the boundary came racing out of nowhere to pluck the ball from the air. Azania were all out, giving England victory by two runs.
The crowd swarmed on to the pitch as Quaintrell was raised aloft by his teammates and carried away, the man of the match.
We assembled for the presentation. The match trophy, specially made for the occasion, was a tiny bail of Azanian gold, mounted on an onyx block. It looked incredibly vulgar.
Quaintrell accepted the trophy from Tetzahuitl, then turned and raised it to the crowd. They roared and cheered as he shook it above his head, the conquering hero. All around the ground, flags were being waved to celebrate the victory.
Five
Victoria and I declined to join the others at the after-match dinner, and we were flown back to the complex. Victoria, worn out from her revels, immediately went off to bed. I found Chicomeztli waiting outside the door of my suite.
‘Do you wish me to order a meal for you?’ he asked.
Normally it was Bevan who arranged my meals. There was something in Chicomeztli’s face which made me suspicious. I went inside and unlocked the door to Bevan’s apartment.
It was empty, his balcony window locked, the air fresh-smelling. The apartment had been cleaned and the bedsheets changed. I knew that Bevan normally allowed the cleaning staff in only once a week. He was slovenly in his habits, but there was no sign of his occupancy.
I slid open the door of his wardrobe. That, too, was empty.
Chicomeztli was still waiting patiently at my threshold.
‘Where is he?’ I demanded.
‘Do you mean Bevan?’
‘Of course I mean Bevan! Who else would I mean?’
Chicomeztli shrank back from my anger.
‘His mother is unwell. He has been given compassionate leave to visit her in Wales.’
I glared at him. ‘That’s a lie.’
He shook his head. ‘It is true.’
‘He said nothing to me about having to visit anyone.’
‘The news of her illness only came this morning, after you had left for the cricket tournament. He was given permission to leave immediately, under guard.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It is true,’ he repeated.
‘His room’s been cleaned out. There’s not a scrap of clothing left.’