Best Kept Secret

she stopped, knocked gently on an imposing double door and entered without waiting for a
response. Any fears Harry might have had of the ambassador not expecting him were proving unfounded.
    He entered a large elegant room to find the ambassador sitting behind his desk in front of a vast semi-circle of windows. His Excellency, a small, square-jawed man who exuded energy, stood up
and walked briskly over to Harry.
    ‘How nice to meet you, Captain May,’ he said, shaking him firmly by the hand. ‘Would you care for a coffee, and perhaps some ginger biscuits?’
    ‘Ginger biscuits,’ repeated Harry. ‘Yes please.’
    The ambassador nodded, and his secretary quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
    ‘Now, I must be frank with you, old chap,’ said the ambassador as he guided Harry towards a pair of comfortable chairs that looked out on to the embassy’s manicured lawn that
boasted several beds of roses. They could have been in the Home Counties. ‘I have absolutely no idea what this meeting is about, except that if the cabinet secretary wants me to see you
urgently, it has to be important. He’s not a man given to wasting anyone’s time.’
    Harry removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the ambassador, along with the thick file he had been entrusted with.
    ‘I don’t get many of these,’ said His Excellency, looking at the crest on the back of the envelope.
    The door opened and Becky returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits, which she placed on the table between them. The ambassador opened the foreign secretary’s letter and read it slowly,
but didn’t say anything until Becky had left the room.
    ‘I thought there was nothing new I could learn about Don Pedro Martinez, but it seems you’re about to prove me wrong. Why don’t you start at the beginning, Captain
May?’
    ‘My name is Harry Clifton,’ he began, and two cups of coffee and six biscuits later, he had explained why he was staying at the Hotel Milonga and why he’d been unable to
telephone his son and let him know that he should return to England immediately.
    The ambassador’s response took Harry by surprise. ‘Do you know, Mr Clifton, if the foreign secretary had instructed me to assassinate Martinez, I would have carried out the order
with considerable pleasure. I cannot begin to imagine how many lives that man has ruined.’
    ‘And I fear my son may be next in line.’
    ‘Not if I have anything to do with it. Now, as I see it, our first priority is to ensure your son’s safety. Our second, and I suspect Sir Alan thinks it’s equally important, is
to discover how Martinez intends to smuggle such a large sum of money through customs. It’s clear that Sir Alan believes’ – he glanced at the letter – ‘that your son
might be the one person who can find out how he plans to go about that. Is that a fair assessment?’
    ‘Yes, sir, but he won’t be able to achieve that unless I can speak to him without Martinez being aware of it.’
    ‘Understood.’ The ambassador leant back, closed his eyes and placed his fingertips together as if he was deep in prayer. ‘The trick,’ he said, his eyes remaining closed,
‘will be to offer Martinez something money cannot buy.’
    He jumped up, marched across to the window and stared out on to the lawn, where several members of his staff were busying themselves preparing for a garden party.
    ‘You said that Martinez and your son aren’t due to arrive in Buenos Aires until tomorrow?’
    ‘Their SS
South America
docks at around six tomorrow morning, sir.’
    ‘And you’re no doubt aware of the imminent arrival of Princess Margaret, on an official visit?’
    ‘So that’s why there were so many Union Jacks in Plaza de Mayo.’
    The ambassador smiled. ‘HRH will only be with us for forty-eight hours. The highlight of her trip will be a garden party held in her honour here at the embassy on Monday afternoon, to
which the great and the good of Buenos Aires have been invited. Martinez was not included, for obvious reasons, despite making it abundantly clear to me on more than one occasion how much he would
like to be. But if my plan is to succeed, we’re going to have to move, and move quickly.’
    The ambassador swung round and pressed a button under his desk. Moments later Miss Shaw reappeared, pad and pencil in hand.
    ‘I want you to send an invitation to Don Pedro Martinez for the royal garden party on Monday.’ If his secretary was