O'Farrell's Law

had talked about the unsound laws of the time. And evidence he considered insufficient to obtain safe and proper convictions under those laws. The most chilling disclosure of all was the one O’Farrell found the easiest to understand. The fear that maybe once—and once was all it had to be—the wrong man, an innocent man, might be sentenced to death.

O’Farrell collected his bags from the carousel, passed unhindered through Customs, and quickly got a taxi to the city. He’d never had that problem, he thought, the familiar reassurance. Never an innocent man. The Vietnamese had been guilty, and the PLO hijacker had been guilty—convicted out of his own mouth—and Leonid Makarevich had been the most guilty of all. With Makarevich the cliche really did fit: that time assassination really had saved lives.

As he began to enter die city, O’Farrell felt the first stir of unease but was not perturbed by it. It wasn’t like the London uncertainties. Or even before, when he really started drinking. There was an objective, professional reason here. This time it had to be hurried—everything planned and completed in less than a week—without the normal allowance for preparation. And O’Farrell, the pattern-and-habit man, didn’t like any departure from normal. He hoped it would all be okay when he became accustomed to the place: became acclimatized.

Even the usual changes of accommodation wouldn’t be possible. His hotel was the Tirol, on the Calle de Princesa, a wide, horn-echoing highway; O’Farrell wished it were quieter. The last time, he consoled himself; just a few days and then never again. He was a Senior Financial Adviser now, a man with an accredited position.

The CIA station chief at the American embassy was a cheerful man. red-faced from obvious blood pressure, named Dick Lewis. He acknowledged Washington’s advice of O’Farrell’s arrival but carefully scrutinized O’Farrell’s documentation before handing over the material Langley had instructed him to collate.

“Been working for weeks on this goddamned conference.” said the man. It was a complaint without any real feeling, the predictable moan of the local operative against faraway headquarters who never understood. “Can’t understand what’s so important about it.”

“You know what Washington bureaucracy is like,” O’Farrell commiserated, entering into the required performance. From Petty he knew there was a twenty-strong contingent coming from the Commerce Department, with some observers from die World Bank. He said, “I very much appreciate your getting all this together for me.”

Lewis flicked dismissively at the manila package. “What you wanted was easy,” he said. “You very much involved, or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You shouldn’t ask,” O’Farrell said. “Actually I’m only caught up peripherally. I’m going to have to use communications later. Ship some stuff in, too, in the diplomatic bag.”

“That’s my job,” Lewis said. “Postmaster to the free world. You gonna have time for a drink or dinner while you’re here, maybe?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know,” O’Farrell said, avoiding the outright refusal. He said, “What’s the Spanish security like? Adequate?”

“I’d choose another side to fight a war with,” Lewis said. “I feel sorry for them, though. There’re the Basques, in the north, fighting a separatist campaign. Virtually the same thing with Catalan, in the east. With this international conference in the middle, like a ripe plum.”

“You expect trouble, then?” O’Farrell asked.

“I’d lay odds,” Lewis said. “They’re calling on the army and Christ knows what else, but they still can’t cover everything. The shit’ll hit the fan somewhere, believe me, or Mama didn’t call me dick after the size of my appendage.”

Lewis was telling him nothing he had not learned from the final meeting with Petty. It was another reason for O’Farrell to be worried. He hadn’t operated in a situation like this before, with security authorities anticipating an outrage. He hadn’t ever operated with security authorities on alert, in fact. He said, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Anytime,” Lewis said. “Don’t forget that drink.”

The local embassy package consisted entirely of maps and plans and sketches and memoranda, most included to disguise those with which O’Farrell was truly concerned: the plans of the Cuban embassy, and those of the official residence of the Cuban ambassador to Spain, where Rivera was to stay; the protected routes to and from the conference hall; the plans of the conference hall itself; and the timings for the delegates’ movements. It was fortunate, O’Farrell supposed, that America’s participation had given them access to all this advance information. O’Farrell added a detailed map of the center of the city and with it traced the routes, thoroughly acquainting himself with the locations of the buildings.

Even before reconnoitering on foot, O’Farrell instinctively knew it was going to be difficult, the most difficult yet. Everything was too wide open, too public. Not enough time to prepare chanted through his mind. Security everywhere. Army contingents too.

O’Farrell stored and locked all the documentation in his briefcase and sat for several moments staring at it, the doubts jostling for importance in his mind. Abruptly, without warning, he was convulsed by a shudder, his arms and legs visibly vibrating. It hadn’t gone, he knew. Despite Lambert’s reasoned arguments and logical persuasion— the arguments and the logic he’d said he could accept and really thought he had—O’Farrell recognized the fact that he hadn’t been convinced at all.

That he couldn’t do it.

But he had to do it. All he had at the moment was a title, three fatuous words. And he wouldn’t get it, not until he completed this assignment. However much Petty might protest and posture, it had been an ultimatum; was still an ultimatum.

O’Farrell sighed, very deeply. With so little time he should go out now, tonight, to begin the reconnoiter at once. He decided upon a drink instead. Maybe two.

THIRTY-TWO

THE LINE was engaged. Rivera stood in the public kiosk, tightly controlling his nervousness, the busy signal mocking in his ear. He’d tensed himself to hear Belac’s voice, half thought of the words to say in reply to finalize their meeting. He had never considered a busy signal. It was an understandable setback if he were calling a public kiosk as Mendez guessed, but it disturbed him. As frightened as Rivera was, everything had omens and this was not a good one. He replaced the receiver and pressed the lever to regain his money, shrugging to Mendez beyond the glass. The intelligence chief was the nearest to him, with the others close at hand: two sat in a cafe just across the road, drinking coffee, and two were leaning against the canal rail, but were looking back toward him. Rivera’s most vivid childhood memory was his reluctant appearance in a school drama production, exposed upon a stage before what at the time had seemed hundreds of people. He’d hated it and forgotten his lines and made a fool of himself; he could remember still his embarrassment and felt it again now, the object of attention from an audience judging his performance.

He dialed again, fleetingly wondering whether he’d called the wrong number on the first occasion, although he didn’t think he had. It was still busy. Every digit had been correct that time. He recovered his money again and shrugged once more at Mendez.

The intelligence chief came right up to the kiosk, frowning. Before the man could speak Rivera said, “It’s engaged.”

“Engaged? Or out of order?”

Rivera’s stomach lurched at the thought of not being able to establish contact at all; there were too many implications in that for his disordered mind to assimilate. “Engaged,” he said uncertainly.

“Try again.”

Rivera did. and this time it rang clear. Rivera’s feelings switchbacked from apprehension to relief and immediately back to apprehension. Mendez remained close to him, close enough perhaps to hear the conversation and Rivera wasn’t sure he could risk that. Telephone in hand, he looked pointedly at the intelligence man, who stared back challengingly. He didn’t move.

“Yes?” It was Belac’s voice.

“I rang at the arranged time,” Rivera said. With Mendez so near he would be