Free Operation Garbo by Juan Pujol Garcia Page B

nostalgia. I have heard
fados
sung many times since, but none with the intensity they had in those Lisbon cafés, which were shrines of tradition.
    In order to repay him for his generosity, I decided to ask Jaime to visit the casino at Estoril with me, although my finances were in a parlous state. I had sold the heavy gold chain brought from Spain, but had spent nearly all the money and now had no other source of income.
    My invitation was not entirely without an ulterior motive. I wanted to take a photograph of Jaime’s diplomatic visa without in any way hurting him; honour after all demands loyalty to friends. If I could make a copy of such a document, I could show it to Federico as proof that I was serious about my projected trip to England, so I proceeded to borrow a sophisticated camera.
    We put up at the Monte-Estoril Hotel, which was near the Lisbon–Cascais coastal railway line and only about three streets away from the casino. We not only shared the same room but we each put 10,000 escudos into a common purse to gamble with and agreed to split our gains and losses evenly between us. We played with great caution, moderation was our motto, and ended the week slightly up on what we had started with.
    One afternoon, while we were gambling at the casino, I began to complain of abdominal cramps and told Jaime that I’d have to go back to the hotel but I hoped it wouldn’t be for toolong; I suggested he continue to play as we seemed to be on a winning streak. Once back at the hotel, I quickly photographed his diplomatic visa and then returned to the casino.
    At the end of the week I paid both our hotel bills and was able to leave Estoril with only a few escudos less than I’d had on arrival. Once back in Lisbon, I had two enlargements made of the photograph I’d taken. I then cut the Spanish coat of arms off one of the enlargements, took it to a firm of engravers and asked them to make me a plate. Armed with this plate and the other enlargement, I went to an old printing works – Bertrand Irmãos, 7 Rua Condessa do Rio – and, posing as someone from the Spanish Chancery staff, gave them the plate and the enlargement and ordered 200 copies. When these had been printed, I collected them without anyone asking any questions and then went elsewhere to order an identical rubber stamp to the one visible in the enlargement. Using the same false identity as before, I said nonchalantly that the previous stamp had deteriorated to such an extent that it was now useless. I never knew, nor indeed was interested in finding out, whether or not they believed my story: all I do know is that having been paid, they produced the stamp.
    Jaime had been ringing Pan American Airways every day to see if there was any chance of him getting a seat; he was worried that a long delay might lead to his trip being cancelled altogether. To help him, I suggested that he sound out one of the airline staff about his chances or give someone there a tip so that he was offered the first seat that came up. I presume he did as I suggested, for a few days later he left for South America on what he called a ‘political and cultural mission’, without once having suspected any of my stratagems.
    Although I still hadn’t a very clear idea of exactly how I was going to make use of my newly printed visa forms, I did not think I’d need very many, so I got rid of all but ten or twelve; it was going to be difficult enough to smuggle even that number back into Spain as it was. If I was returning to Spain,you may well ask, why ever had I come to Portugal in the first place? Well, I had come with the sole aim of being classified as a Lisbon resident. This, you may argue, was not in itself of great value. But I always considered it exceptionally important, for it meant that I would never have to apply for an exit visa again, as I now qualified as permanently resident abroad, and this would enable me to move about much more freely.
    I was fully aware of the risks I