At Oxford, Falmouth had made quite a record for himself, and for reasons known only to himself, after completing his Rhodes studies, Falmouth joined the British Secret Service. There was no record anywhere of Falmouth’s early ‘training,’ and M16 was glad to get him. He never went back to Ireland.
‘...with a first-class man.’
Falmouth snapped back to reality.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘there was some static on the line. Could you repeat that?’
‘Sorry. I see this as a two-man operation. You happen to be very well qualified for the play and F ye teamed you up with a first-rate chap.’
‘Who?’
His name is Hinge. He’s younger but he’s been in the Game for several years. He’s quite good, really. I consider him one of our best. He’s been in on four team operations to date and acquitted himself admirably.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry, in my haste I only did an A-level check on you. Have you ever been involved in the switch play?’
‘Rome. Four months ago. But it was a little different. It was the Red Brigades and we had to lift five people out.’
‘Of course, now I remember. A very good show, I might add.’
‘Thank you. It’s still a very risky play.’
‘But most effective when it works.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Do you know Caracas?’
‘I’ve been there, but I don’t know the city that well. I know a driver there who’s as good as they come.’
‘Excellent.’
‘What are we dealing with, some revolutionary gang?’
‘There’s no politics in this. Just a bunch of local gangsters trained by the Rafsaludi, trying to shake down the company, although we have no fix on just how tough these customers are.’
‘Well, the Rafsaludi can get very nasty.’
‘Quite. It’s a bonus job. Seventy-five thousand.’
Falmouth whistled silently to himself. He was already planning ahead.
‘It will have to be done fast. Perhaps even by tomorrow night. Certainly no later than the next day. The risk increases by the hour.’
‘Yes, I know. Let’s see, today is Monday ... you should have Lavander out no later than Wednesday eve.’
‘All right,’ Falmouth said. ‘I’m in. I assume the operation is mine.’
‘Yes, you’ll be in command. Hinge is already cleared. Is Miami convenient?’
‘Fine.’
‘There’s a flight on Pan Am at ten-ten PM from Miami
International. It arrives at thirty-three minutes after midnight.
Hinge will not be there until eight AM. He’s coming in through
Mexico.’
‘Weapons?’
‘Everything you need will be down there. Your contact is Rafael Domignon. The number is 53-34-631. There will be a packet at the airport for you, as usual.’
‘Good. How do I know Hinge?’
‘Photo ID and the Camel ploy.’
‘Fine. I’ll report when it’s over unless we have a problem.’
‘Excellent, sir, excellent. I’m delighted you’re handling this.’
‘Thanks. Later.’
‘Goodbye.’
Goddamn! What a rotten break. What a rotten, fucking break. But if this Hinge had the stuff, Falmouth could be back in the Bahamas by late Wednesday. If O’Hara shows, he thought, he’ll wait.
The packet was delivered by messenger at the Pan Am ticket counter fifty-five minutes before flight time. Falmouth took it to the men’s room, entered a stall and sat on the toilet, studying its contents. It contained a round-trip ticket to Caracas and a passport, license and two credit cards under the name Eric Sloan, five thousand dollars in cash and unsigned traveller’s checks, a three-by-five colour photograph of Hinge, what appeared to be a slightly fuzzy Polaroid shot of Lavander, a list of all executives at the plant in Caracas, confirmed and prepaid hotel reservations at the Tamanaco Hotel, the best hotel in the city, and a filter-tip Camel cigarette wrapped in aluminium foil. He marked the filter tip with a pen aid put the cigarette in his package of Gitanes. He studied the photo of Hinge for several minutes, started to burn it, then changed his mind and slipped it into a compartment of his passport wallet. He signed the traveller’s checks and put them, with the cash, in his passport wallet, along with the
