Exocet

* * *

Carmela Balbuena had never been able to have children and had lavished all her affection on her nephew, son of her only brother. A socialist in her ideas, but no communist, she disliked Galtieri and the military regime that kept him in power, disliked a government that had caused so much repression and had been instrumental in bringing about the disappearance of so many thousands of ordinary people. Like her nephew, for example, who appeared to have been wiped off the face of the earth since his arrest at a student rally three years previously.

And then she'd gone to a cultural evening at the French Embassy and had met Jack Daley, a fresh-faced young American who reminded her so much of her nephew. Daley had been more than attentive, taking her to concerts, the theatre, gradually drawing her out, encouraging her to talk of her work at the Palace.

By the time she discovered he was a Commercial Attache at the American Embassy and probably much more, she didn't really care. Anything he wanted she gave him, which included any information of value from the office.

She phoned him at the Embassy from the first public phone box she came to on her way home and met him an hour later in the Plaza de Mayo where Juan Peron had been so fond of speech making in the old days.

They sat on a bench in one of the gardens and she passed him a newspaper containing the copy of the report.

'I won't hold you,' she said. 'I've read that thing and it's dynamite. I'll see you again.'

Jack Daley, who was in reality an agent of the CIA, hurried back to the Embassy to read the report in peace. Having read it, he didn't waste any time. Twenty minutes later it was being encoded and forwarded to Washington. Within two hours of being received there, it was passed on to Brigadier Charles Ferguson in London by order of the Director of the CIA himself.

7

Raul Montera moved out on to the terrace of the house at Vicente Lopez Floreda and took in the gardens below with a conscious pleasure. Palm trees waved in the slight breeze, water gurgled in the conduits and fountains, and the scent of mimosa was heavy on the air. Beyond the perimeter wall the River Plate sparkled like silver in the evening sun.

His mother and Linda were sitting at a table beside a fountain on the lower terrace and it was the child who saw him first. She cried out in delight and came running towards him, arms outstretched, dressed for riding in jodhpurs and a yellow sweater, hair tied back in a ponytail.

'Papa, we didn't know! We didn't know.'

She clutched him and he held her tightly and she smiled up at him, fierce and proud. 'You were on the television at Rio Gallegos with General Dozo. I saw you. So did all the girls at school.'

'Is that so?'

'And the Skyhawks at Death Valley, we saw that too and I knew you must be flying one of them.'

'Death Valley?' He stopped short. 'How did you know about that?'

'Isn't that what the pilots call it, the place where they make their run on the British fleet? Two girls in my class at school have lost brothers.' She hugged him again. 'Oh, I'm so pleased you're safe. Will you be going back?'

'No, not to Gallegos, but I'm going to France in the morning.'

They reached the table. His mother sat watching him calmly, cool, elegant, perfectly groomed as usual, looking fifteen years younger than her seventy years.

'I'm supposed to be going riding,' Linda said. 'I'll cancel it.'

'Nonsense,' Donna Elena told her. 'Run along now. Your father will be here when you get back.'

Linda turned to him. 'Promise?'

'On my honour.'

She hurried up the steps and Montera turned and reached for Donna Elena's hands. 'Mother,' he said formally as he kissed them. 'It's good to see you.'

Her eyes took in every aspect of the face, so finely drawn, the haunted eyes. 'Oh God,' she whispered. 'My dearest boy, what have they done to you?'

She was, by nature, self-sufficient, controlled, had learned many years before never to give too much of herself away. The result was that they had always enjoyed a highly formalised relationship.

She tossed all that out of the window now, jumped to her feet and flung her arms around him. 'It's so good to have you back safe and well, Raul. So good.'

'Mama.' He hadn't used that term since he was a little boy and felt hot tears of emotion cloud his eyes.

'Come, sit down. Talk to me.'

He lit a cigarette and sprawled back, letting everything go. 'This is wonderful.'

'So, you're not going back?'

'No.'

'I must thank the Virgin for that in some suitable way. A man of your age flying jet planes. What nonsense, Raul. A miracle you are here.'

'Yes, it is, when you come to think of it,' Montera said. 'I'd better light a few candles to someone myself.'

'To the Virgin or to Gabrielle?' He frowned warily, and she said, 'Here, give me a cigarette. I'm not a fool, you know. I've seen you on television three times now in that Skyhawk of yours. One can hardly miss the inscription just below the cockpit. Who is she, Raul?'

'The woman I love,' he said simply, repeating the words he had used to Lami Dozo.

'Tell me about her.'

So he did, pacing up and down the terrace beside her restlessly. When he was finished, she said, 'She sounds a remarkable young woman.'

'An understatement,' Montera told her. 'The most extraordinary human being I have ever met. Extraordinary for me, that is. I plunged head first in love with her the very first moment. It isn't just her quite astonishing beauty; there's a joy to her that goes way beyond physical passion.' He suddenly laughed out loud and the lines seemed to vanish from his face and he no longer looked tired. 'She's so bloody marvellous in every way, Mama. I always had faith that there was something special about life and she's it.'

Donna Elena Llorca de Montera took a deep breath. 'There's no more to be said then, is there? I presume I'll be introduced in your own good time. Now, tell me why you're going to France.'

'Sorry,' he told her. 'Top secret. All I can say is that it's for what our President is pleased to call the cause. He also believes that if I'm successful, it could win us the war.'

'And will it?'

'If he believes that, he'll believe anything. The cause.' He walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out across the river. 'We've lost half our pilots so far, Mama. Half. That's what the newspapers don't tell you. The crowds cry out, wave flags; Galtieri makes speeches; but the reality is the butchery at San Carlos Water.'

She stood up and took his arm. 'Come on, Raul, let's go inside now,' and together they went up the steps.

* * *

At Cavendish Place, Ferguson was seated at the desk, working his way through the CIA signal for the umpteenth time, when Harry Fox came in carrying a couple of files.

'All here, sir. Everything on Felix Donner.'

'Tell me, is Gabrielle still in town or has she gone back to Paris?'

'Still at Kensington Palace Gardens. I was having dinner at Langans last night and she was there with some friends. Why?'

'I should have thought it obvious, Harry. She was considerably smitten by Raul Montera's charms and he with her. We can put that to good use.' He looked at Fox's face and raised a hand. 'Don't start getting moral on me, Harry. This is war we're playing at now, not patty fingers.'

'Yes, well there are days when I definitely would rather be doing something else.'

'Never mind that now. Donner. Tell me about him. Just the salient facts.'

'Multi-millionaire. The Donner Development Corporation has a vast range of interests. Building, shipping, electronics, you name it.'

'And Donner himself?'

'Very popular media figure, as you can see from the file. Started in property development in a very small way. Really took off in the boom of the sixties.'