'Please, senor sargento,' Vicente said. 'I felt unwell. Piper was about to call the guard.'

'You felt unwell, did you?' Ramirez's eyes bulged with anger. He slapped Vicente hard across the face with his gloved hand. The sound echoed across the quarry like a rifle shot, and the lawyer went down in a heap. Ramirez turned to Bernie.

'You were letting him slack, weren't you? Communist English bastard.' He stepped closer. 'You're one of those who's not beaten inside your head, aren't you? I think you need a day on the cross.' He turned to Rodolfo, who smiled and nodded grimly. Bernie set his lips. He thought of what a stretching would do to his old shoulder wound it ached badly enough after a day out here. He looked into Ramirez's eyes. Something in his look must have angered the captain. Faster than the eye could follow he pulled out his whip and lashed Bernie across the neck. Bernie cried out and staggered, blood welling up between his fingers.

Agustin stepped forward and nervously touched Ramirez's arm. 'Senor sargento.' Ramirez looked round impatiently.

'What?'

Agustin swallowed. 'Senor, the psychiatrist is studying this man. I I do not think the comandante would want him harmed.'

Ramirez frowned. 'Are you sure? This one?' '

Por cierto, sargento.'

Ramirez pursed his lips like a child deprived of a treat. He nodded reluctantly.

'Very well.' He leaned over Bernie, hot breath rancid with garlic blasting into his face. 'Take that as a warning. And you ' he gestured to Vicente 'get back to work.'

He marched away, Rodolfo following. Agustin scurried after them; he did not look at Bernie.

THAT EVENING, as the men lay on their bunks waiting for lights out, Vicente turned to Bernie. The lawyer had slept most of the evening.

'Better?' Bernie asked.

Vicente sighed. 'I have rested at least.' His face was drawn and seamed in the dim candlelight. 'You?'

Bernie lightly touched the long cut on his neck. He had bathed it, he hoped it would not become infected. 'I'll be all right.'

'What happened this morning?' Vicente whispered. 'Why did they let you go?'

'I don't know, I've been trying to work it out all day.' Ramirez's leniency was the talk of the camp; at supper Establo had asked him about it suspiciously. 'Agustin said I was under the psychiatrist, but the psychiatrist wouldn't care what state I was in.'

'Maybe Agustin wants you in his bed.'

'I wondered that but I don't think so. He doesn't look at me in that way.'

'Someone looked at me as we came in,' Vicente said quietly. 'I saw him.'

'Father Eduardo? Yes, I saw too.'

Bernie had had to help the lawyer on the last part of the evening journey back from the quarry, supporting him as he walked. As they crossed the yard he had seen the young priest come out of the classroom hut. He had paused and followed them with his eyes as they hobbled to their hut. 'He has me marked down now,' Vicente said. 'For him I would be a good prize.'

Chapter Twenty-Six.

SANDY'S OFFICE was in a shabby square full of shops and little warehouses advertising bankrupt stock. It was raining, a cold thin rain. An old newspaper seller watched Harry lugubriously from the shelter of his kiosk as he crossed the square. On the other side some men unloading boxes from a cart looked at him curiously. So far as Harry knew no one was following him now, but he felt exposed nonetheless.

A line of electric bells was set into the lintel of a heavy, unpainted wooden door. A steel plaque beside the top one read 'Nuevas Iniciativas'. Harry rang and waited.

Sandy had telephoned him at the embassy. 'Sorry to have taken so long, but about this business opportunity can we meet, at my office, not the cafe? I've got some things to show you. Barbara will be joining us afterwards for coffee.'

Harry had met with Tolhurst and Hillgarth in Tolhurst's office that morning for a briefing. Hillgarth was in a good mood, his saturnine face relaxed, self-satisfied.

'Could this be the gold?' he asked, his eyes dancing.

'He's been very cagey about that,' Harry replied cautiously.

Hillgarth ran a finger down the crease of his trousers, frowning thoughtfully. 'We hear Franco's trying to negotiate supplies of food from the Argentines. They'll want paying, eh, Tolly?'

'Yes, sir.'

Hillgarth nodded and leaned back in his chair. 'Whatever he's offering, I think you should take the bait.' He laughed softly. 'No, that's not quite right, you're the bait and he's the fish. OK, Tolly. The money.'

Tolhurst opened a folder and looked earnestly at Harry. 'You're authorized to offer to invest up to two thousand pounds in any relevant business proposal of Forsyth's. If he asks for more, you can come back to us. We'll provide the money, but you should show Forsyth your own bank book showing you've got funds.'

'I've got it here.' Harry passed over the little cardboard book. Hillgarth studied it carefully.

'It's a lot of money.'

'I got my parents' capital when I was twenty-one. I don't spend much.'

'You ought to live a little. When I was your age I was running a tin mine in Bolivia what I wouldn't have given then for five thousand pounds.'

'Useful that Brett kept it,' Tolhurst said. 'London doesn't like fake bank books.'

Hillgarth's large brown eyes were still fixed on Harry. He shifted a little, remembering he hadn't told them about Enrique. It was stupid and stubborn but he hadn't. What harm could it do?

'Maestre tells me his daughter's heartbroken you haven't been in touch since you went to the Prado,' Hillgarth said.

Harry hesitated, then said, 'I'd rather not see her again, frankly.'

Hillgarth lit a Gold Flake, studying Harry over his lighter. 'Nice little senorita, I'm surprised at you.'

'She's hardly more than a child.'

'Pity. Could be useful diplomatically.'

Harry didn't reply. He was lying to Sandy and Barbara, wasn't that enough deception without adding Milagros?

'I suppose some would say you're an ideal agent, Brett,' Hillgarth said musingly. 'Incorruptible. You don't chase women, you're not interested in money. You don't even drink much, do you?'

'We had a few the other night,' Tolhurst said cheerfully.

'Only most agents are corruptible. They want something, even if it's only excitement. But you don't go for that either, do you?'

'I'm doing this for my country,' Harry said. He knew he sounded stiff and pompous but he didn't care. 'Because I was told it'd help the war effort. It's another form of soldiering.'

Hillgarth nodded slowly. 'All right, that's good. Loyalty.' He considered. 'How much would you do, for loyalty?'

Harry hesitated, but Hillgarth's contemptuous manner had angered him and that made him bold. 'I don't know, sir, it would depend what I was asked.'

Hillgarth nodded. 'But there may be limits?'

'It would depend what I was asked,' he repeated.

'I doubt Forsyth has limits. What do you think?'

'Sandy only lets you see what he wants you to see. I don't really know what he could be capable of.' He paused. 'Probably just about anything.' Like you, he thought.

'Well, we'll see.' Hillgarth leaned back. 'As for today, see what he's offering, say you'll go in with him and then report back.'

'But don't jump at it, Harry,' Tolhurst added. 'Appear doubtful, worried about your money. Say you need to know everything before you commit yourself.'

'Yes,' Hillgarth agreed. 'That's the line to take. That way he'll show you more.'

A PLUMP WOMAN in her fifties with a lined face and grey hair tied in a bun answered the door. 'Yes?' she asked.

'I've an appointment with Senor Forsyth. Senor Brett.'

She led him up a narrow flight of stairs into a little office where a typewriter stood on a battered desk. She knocked on a door and Sandy emerged, smiling broadly. He wore a pinstripe business suit, a red handkerchief in his breast pocket.

'Harry! Welcome to Nuevas Iniciativas.' He smiled at the secretary, who blushed unexpectedly. 'I see you've met Maria, she brews the best tea in Madrid. Two teas and two coffees, Maria.' The secretary bustled away.

'Come in.' Sandy ushered Harry into a surprisingly large room. A big table cluttered with maps and papers took up one wall. Harry was surprised to see several gleaming metal canisters, like big thermos flasks, piled there too. Above the table was a reproduction of a nineteeth-century painting. A tropical sea teemed with savage life, giant reptiles seizing one another in bloody jaws as pterodactyls wheeled in the sky above. Opposite, behind a large oak desk, two men in suits sat smoking.

'Sebastian de Salas of course you know,' Sandy said.

'Buenas tardes.' De Salas rose and bowed, shaking Harry's hand. The other man was small and sallow, dressed in an ill-fitting suit. In contrast to de Salas's sharp neatness, he looked like a dowdy clerk.

'Alberto Otero, the brains of our outfit.' Otero rose briefly, shaking Harry's hand with a moist grip. He didn't smile, studying him expressionlessly.

'I see you noticed my picture,' Sandy said. '"Ancient Dorsetshire" by Henry de la Beche. Painted in 1830, when people were first learning about dinosaurs.'

'It is all wrong, of course,' Otero said severely. 'The animals are grossly exaggerated.'

'Yes, Alberto. But imagine what people must have thought when they realized their nice English landscape had once been full of giant reptiles.' Forsyth smiled and sat down next to de Salas. Sitting facing them, Harry realized all three wore identical narrow moustaches, the badge of the Falange.

Sandy leaned back, folding his arms over his stomach. 'Now then, Harry, you've got some money to invest and we've got a project that could do with further capital. Alberto, though, he wants to know a bit more about the funds available.' He winked. 'Cautious, these Spaniards. Quite right too, of course.'

'I've a fair bit of money in the bank,' Harry said. 'Though I wouldn't want to put too much in one project.'

De Salas nodded but Otero's face remained expressionless. 'Might I ask where this has come from?' he asked. 'I do not want to seem impertinent, but we should know.'

'Certainly. It's the capital from my parents' estate. They died when I was a child.'

'Harry's an old sobersides,' Sandy said. 'Doesn't spend much.'

'Where is the money now?'

'In my bank in England.' Harry produced the bank book. 'Have a look, I don't mind. I thought you might want to see.'

Otero studied the book. 'What about currency restrictions?'

'Don't apply,' Sandy said. 'Embassy staff. Isn't that right, Harry?'

'I'm allowed to invest in a neutral country.'

De Salas smiled. 'And you would not mind investing here? I'm thinking of the political situation. We rather disagreed on that topic when last we met.'

'I support my country against Germany. I've no quarrel with Spain. It has to make its own future. As you said.'

'When there is money to be made, eh, senor?' Sebastian gave Harry a smile; conspiratorial but slightly contemptuous as well.

'What if Spain comes into the war?' Otero asked. 'If nothing else, that would freeze any British investments here.'

'They seem pretty confident at the embassy Franco won't come in,' Harry said. 'Confident enough for me to take the risk.'

Otero nodded slowly. 'How good is your information? Is this the ambassador's thinking?'

Knowledge like that really would be worth money, Harry knew. 'I just hear what the other translators say. Of course I've no access to any secret material.' He let a haughty note enter his voice. 'And I wouldn't dream of breathing a word of it if I did. I only know what people say generally; the Spanish messenger boys probably know as much.'

Sebastian raised a hand. 'Of course, Senor Brett. Forgive my curiosity.'

'Harry's loyal to the King,' Sandy said with a smile. Otero looked at him keenly.

'If we are to tell you about this venture of ours, you would have to keep it entirely confidential.'

'Of course.'

'We would not want it repeated anywhere else. Especially not at the embassy. They might be interested, perhaps?'

'I don't see why,' Harry said, looking naive. 'If it's just a business venture.' He put on a worried look. 'It's nothing illegal, is it?'

Otero smiled. 'Far from it. But it is a matter that could excite considerable interest.'

'Of course I won't say anything to anyone.' He hesitated a moment. 'I promise.'

'Not even Barbara,' Sandy added. 'Honour bright, eh?'

'Of course.'

Sebastian de Salas smiled. 'Sandy has told us of the honour between public-school friends. It is a code, yes?'