‘Take a look at these,’ said Naylor.
He put two photos in front of Munro. Two men. There were names on the photos. One man was dark, Asian maybe. His name was Sam Tajik. The second man looked European – German or Scandinavian. Jonas Beck.
‘Sam Tajik. Jonas Beck,’ said Naylor. ‘Dangerous men. Terrorists.’
Munro waited. He worked for Naylor. And Naylor never gave him easy jobs.
‘Yesterday I had an email from our man in the Caribbean,’ said Naylor. ‘He saw these two men at the same table in the same hotel.’
Naylor showed Munro a third photo. Beck and Tajik were in a hotel restaurant. Naylor looked up at Munro.
‘I’m not happy,’ he said. ‘Beck always works in Europe – so what’s he doing in the Caribbean? Having a holiday? No. He’s not.’
Naylor looked down at Tajik’s photo.
‘And Tajik is an animal, a killer,’ he said. ‘He hates Americans. He hates Europeans. He hates the West. Why is he talking to Beck? What’s he doing in the same room as Beck?’
Naylor sat back.
‘They’re talking and laughing and having a good time. They’re “friends”. I don’t like it.’
‘Where in the Caribbean are they?’ asked Munro.
‘Tobago,’ replied Naylor. ‘At the Mount Irvine Bay Hotel. That’s where you’re going. There’s a
room for you at the hotel from tomorrow night.’
There was a file on the table: ‘The Caribbean File’.
Naylor put the photos into the file and gave it to Munro.
‘Take this and read it,’ he said. ‘Go. Watch. Listen. Why are they there? What are they doing? I want some answers.’
* * *
At six o’clock the next evening Munro got out of a taxi in front of the Mount Irvine Bay Hotel. He loved the Caribbean: the sun, the sea, the palm trees, the friendly people. He walked into the hotel.
‘You have a room for me,’ Munro told the receptionist. ‘The name’s Munro.’
The receptionist looked on his computer. Just then a woman came into the hotel behind Munro.
He turned to look at her.
She was beautiful – tall, with short dark hair and dark eyes.
Munro smiled at her.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hello.’ She smiled warmly back.
The receptionist looked up.
‘Excuse me,’ the woman said to Munro. Then she said to the receptionist, ‘I’d like some tea in my room, please.’
‘Of course, Ms Salgado,’ he replied. ‘Two minutes.’
‘Argentina or Uruguay?’ Munro asked Salgado.
Salgado looked at him, a question in her eyes.
‘Your English is very good,’ said Munro, ‘but I think you’re from Argentina or maybe Uruguay.’
‘Ah!’ said Salgado. ‘Well, you’re right.’ She smiled at Munro again. ‘I am from one of those
countries.’ And she turned and walked away.
‘Nice answer!’ thought Munro, and he laughed.