The ambassador smiled. He was well aware, as was any English schoolboy, that Test matches always began at 11.30 a.m on a Thursday, and that Peter May didn't open the batting. But then, Britain had never been at war with a nation that played cricket.

'Have we met before, old chap?'

Harry quickly closed the file and looked up at a middle-aged man who clearly lived on 'expenses' lunches. He was clinging to the headrest of the empty seat next to him with one hand, while holding a glass of red wine in the other.

'I don't think so,' said Harry.

'I could have sworn we had,' the man said, peering down at him. 'Perhaps I've mistaken you for someone else.'

Harry heaved a sigh of relief when the man shrugged and walked unsteadily back towards his seat at the front of the cabin. He was just about to open the file again and continue his background study of Martinez, when the man turned round and made his way slowly back towards him.

'Are you famous?'

Harry laughed. 'That's most unlikely. As you can see, I'm a BOAC pilot, and have been for the past twelve years.'

'You don't come from Bristol then?'

'No,' said Harry, sticking to his new persona. 'I was born in Epsom, and I now live in Ewell.'

'It will come to me in a moment who you remind me of.' Once again the man set off back to his seat.

Harry reopened the file, but like Dick Whittington the man turned a third time, before he had a chance to read even another line. This time he picked up Harry's captain's hat and collapsed into the seat beside him. 'You don't write books, by any chance?'

'No,' said Harry even more firmly, as Miss Carrick appeared carrying a tray of cocktails. He raised his eyebrows and gave her what he hoped was a 'please rescue me' look.

'You remind me of an author who comes from Bristol, but I'm damned if I can remember his name. Are you sure you're not from Bristol?' He took a closer look, before releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke in Harry's face.

Harry saw Miss Carrick opening the door of the cockpit.

'It must be an interesting life, being a pilot - '

'This is your captain speaking. We are about to experience some turbulence, so would all passengers please return to their seats and fasten their seat belts.'

Miss Carrick reappeared in the cabin and walked straight to the back of the first-class section.

'I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but the captain has requested that all passengers - '

'Yes, I heard him,' said the man, hauling himself up, but not before he'd blown another cloud of smoke in Harry's direction. 'It'll come to me, who you remind me of,' he said, before making his way slowly back to his seat.

36

DURING THE SECOND leg of the journey to Buenos Aires, Harry completed the file on Don Pedro Martinez.

After the war, the subject bided his time in Argentina, sitting on a mountain of cash. Himmler had committed suicide before coming to trial at Nuremberg, while six of the henchmen on his list were sentenced to death. Eighteen more were sent to prison, including Major Bernhard Kruger. No one came knocking at Don Pedro's door claiming their life insurance.

Harry turned the page to find that the next section of the file was devoted to the subject's family. He rested for some time before he continued.

Martinez had four children. His first born, Diego, was expelled from Harrow after tying a new boy to a boiling-hot radiator. He returned to his native land, without an O level to his name, where he joined his father and, three years later, graduated with honours in crime. Although Diego wore pinstriped, double-breasted suits tailored in Savile Row, he would have spent most of his time in a prison uniform if his father hadn't had countless judges, police officers and politicians on his payroll.

His second son, Luis, immatured from boy to playboy during one summer vacation on the Riviera. He now spent most of his waking hours at the roulette tables in Monte Carlo, gambling with his father's five-pound notes in an attempt to earn them back in a different currency.

Whenever Luis had a good run, a flood of Monegasque Francs would find their way into Don Pedro's account in Geneva. But it still annoyed Martinez that the casino was making a better return than he was.

The third child, Bruno, was not a chip off the old block, as he displayed far more of his mother's qualities than his father's shortcomings, although Martinez was happy to remind his London friends that he had a son who would be going up to Cambridge in September.

Little was known about the fourth child, Maria-Theresa, who was still at Roedean, and always spent the holidays with her mother.

Harry stopped reading when Miss Carrick set up a dinner table for him, but even during the meal, the damn man lingered in his mind.

During the years after the war, Martinez set about building up his bank's resources. The Family Farmers Friendly Bank operated accounts for those clients who possessed land but not money. Martinez's methods were crude but effective. He would loan farmers any amount of money they required, at exorbitant interest rates, as long as the loans were covered by the value of the farmers' land.

If customers were unable to make their quarterly payment, they received a foreclosure notice, giving them ninety days to clear the entire debt. If they failed to do so, and almost all of them did, the deeds for the land were confiscated by the bank, and added to the vast acreage Martinez had already accumulated. Anyone who complained received a visit from Diego, who reshaped their face; so much cheaper and more effective than employing lawyers.

The only thing that might have undermined the avuncular cattle baron image Martinez had worked so hard to cultivate in London was the fact that his wife Consuela finally came to the conclusion that her father had been right all along, and sued for divorce. As the proceedings took place in Buenos Aires, Martinez told anyone in London who asked, that Consuela had sadly died of cancer, thus turning any possible social stigma into sympathy.

After Consuela's father failed to be re-elected as mayor  -  Martinez had backed the opposition candidate  -  she ended up living in a village a few miles outside Buenos Aires. She received a monthly allowance, which didn't allow her many shopping trips in the capital, and no possibility of travelling abroad. And sadly for Consuela, only one of her sons showed any interest in keeping in touch with her, and he now lived in England.

Only one person who was not a member of the Martinez family warranted his own page in Harry's file: Karl Ramirez, whom Martinez employed as a butler/handyman. Although Ramirez had an Argentinian passport, he bore a striking resemblance to one Karl Otto Lunsdorf, a member of the 1936 German Olympic wrestling team who later became a lieutenant in the SS, specializing in interrogation. Ramirez's paperwork was as impressive as Martinez's five-pound notes, and almost certainly came from the same source.

Miss Carrick cleared away the dinner tray and offered Captain May brandy and a cigar, which he politely declined, after thanking her for the turbulence. She smiled.

'Turned out not to be quite as bad as the captain had originally thought,' she said, masking a grin. 'He asked me to let you know that, if you're staying at the Milonga, you'd be most welcome to join us on the BOAC bus, which would allow you to avoid Mr Bolton'  -  Harry raised an eyebrow  -  'the man from Bristol, who's absolutely convinced he's met you somewhere before.'