Free The Buenos Aires Quintet by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán Page B

disapprovingly.
    ‘Don’t let him get to you. He’s a wise-guy. Look at Vladimiro. He knows how to take people like him.’
    ‘A cop called Vladimiro! Was your old man a follower of Lenin?’
    Pascuali is not interested in idle chat.
    ‘I’ll be clear and concise. The sooner we find your cousin, the better for him, for us, and for you. We’re not the only ones looking for him. Your cousin saw too much, and escaped by the back door. Fifty years will have to go by before all those involved in that nightmare have vanished. Someone wants him, and if they get him, he’s a dead man. And you’re too old to be playing Philip Marlowe.’
    ‘You’re right, I used to imitate Marlowe. Now I’m too old. My model is Maigret – he’s timeless.’
    ‘What were you after in the Grandmothers’ Association?’
    ‘A little girl.’
    ‘And in The Spirit of New Argentina?’
    ‘Information about cows.’
    ‘And what were you talking about with that Jewish clown?’
    ‘About theatre and suicidal Siamese cats.’
    ‘If you feel someone breathing down your neck, don’t worry, it’ll be me. But if you get a bullet in the back of your head, it won’t be me, and you’ll be the only one to blame.’
    The three men turn into dark shadows beyond the glare of their headlights.
    Not since killing Kennedy has Carvalho been so close to power. He has never set foot inside a ministry: the nearest he’s got is a security headquarters, when he was investigating the murder of the general secretary of the Spanish Communist Party But perhaps in some other life he had even been in power himself, because there’s something very familiar about all the comings and goings of officials, clients, victims and pests in a building that would look obsolete if it were empty, and full, seems somehow unbelievable. Simply mentioning Güelmes’ name has opened all the doors for him, until he reaches his waiting-room, where the secretary tells him she’s Spanish as well.
    ‘But from Galicia, not Catalonia. Here all Spaniards are Galicians, even those from Andalusia. My parents came after the Civil War.’
    ‘Were they Republicans?’
    ‘No, just dirt poor.’
    Güelmes tells him to come in. Carvalho is confronted by a still young, aristocratic-looking man, who almost dances round his desk as if reluctant to sit down again. As the secretary opened the door for him, Carvalho had time to see the deputy minister snorting a line of coke and then wipe up the remains and rub them quickly on his gums. No sooner has Carvalho entered the room than he’s on his feet, shaking his hand, asking after Alma and Norman. Carvalho can’t take his eyes off a framed poster on the wall: The Spirit of New Argentina, with the inevitable cow.
    ‘Everybody here wants to get out to Spain, and yet you Spaniards seem to keep on coming to Buenos Aires.’
    ‘It’s cheaper that way’
    ‘Not any more. Thanks to Menem and his policies, Argentina isn’t bankrupt now. Every day I see a hundred projects from people wanting to invest in Argentina. People feel confident about our future. Alma called, and her wish is my command, but I don’t know much more about it. What is it you want?’
    ‘Were you one of the guerrillas?’
    ‘Thanks to Menem, those who were and those who weren’t are all Perónists again now. Anyone who wasn’t a revolutionary at twenty had no heart, but anyone who still thinks he is at forty, hasn’t got a brain.’
    ‘Power.’
    Güelmes immediately understands that Carvalho’s brief remark is the result of taking in this magnificent office compared to the rest of the shabby building.
    ‘Someone has to wield it, and it’s much better that it’s someone who answers Alma’s calls.’
    ‘Has Raúl Tourón been here?’
    ‘No. Is he in Argentina? I thought he was in Spain. I spent some time in exile in Spain, then in Germany, the United States – it was a long journey out and back. A lot of us Argentines, Chileans, and Uruguayans went to Spain