Colonel Scott-Hopkins knocked on the door of number 44 Eaton Square at one minute to ten. A few moments later, the front door was opened by a giant of a man who dwarfed the commanding officer of the SAS.
‘My name is Scott-Hopkins. I have an appointment with Mr Martinez.’
Karl gave a slight bow, and opened the door just enough to allow Mr Martinez’s guest to enter. He accompanied the colonel across the hall and knocked on the study door.
‘Come in.’
When the colonel entered the room, Don Pedro rose from behind his desk and looked at his guest suspiciously. He had no idea why the SAS man needed to see him so urgently.
‘Will you have a coffee, colonel?’ asked Don Pedro after the two men had shaken hands. ‘Or perhaps something a little stronger?’
‘No, thank you, sir. It’s a little early in the morning for me.’
‘Then have a seat, and tell me why you wanted to see me urgently.’ He paused. ‘I feel sure you’ll appreciate that I’m a busy man.’
‘I am only too aware how busy you’ve been recently, Mr Martinez, so I’ll come straight to the point.’
Don Pedro tried not to show any reaction as he settled back into his chair and continued to stare at the colonel.
‘My simple purpose is to make sure that Sebastian Clifton has a long and peaceful life.’
The mask of arrogant confidence slipped from Martinez’s face. He quickly recovered and sat bolt upright. ‘What are you suggesting?’ he shouted, as he gripped the arm of his chair.
‘I think you know only too well, Mr Martinez. However, allow me to make the position clear. I’m here to ensure that no further harm comes to any member of the Clifton family.’
Don Pedro leapt out of his seat and jabbed a finger at the colonel. ‘Sebastian Clifton was my son’s closest friend.’
‘I have no doubt he was, Mr Martinez. But my instructions could not be clearer, and they are quite simply to warn you that if Sebastian or any other member of his family were to be involved in another accident, then your sons, Diego and Luis, will be on the next plane back to Argentina, and they won’t be travelling first class, but in the hold, in two wooden boxes.’
‘Who do you think you’re threatening?’ bellowed Martinez, his fists clenched.
‘A two-bit South American gangster, who, because he’s got some money and lives in Eaton Square, thinks he can pass himself off as a gentleman.’
Don Pedro pressed a button underneath his desk. A moment later the door burst open and Karl came charging in. ‘Throw this man out,’ he said, pointing at the colonel, ‘while I get my lawyer on the line.’
‘Good morning, Lieutenant Lunsdorf,’ said the colonel as Karl began to advance towards him. ‘As a former member of the SS, you’ll appreciate the weak position your master is in.’ Karl stopped in his tracks. ‘So allow me to also give you a word of advice. Should Mr Martinez fail to abide by my terms, our plans for you do not include a deportation order to Buenos Aires, where so many of your former colleagues are currently languishing; no, we have another destination in mind, where you’ll find several citizens who will be only too happy to give evidence concerning the role you played as one of Dr Goebbels’ trusted lieutenants, and the lengths you went to in order to extract information from them.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Martinez. ‘You’d never get away with it.’
‘How little you really know about the British, Mr Martinez,’ said the colonel as he rose from his chair and walked across to the window. ‘Allow me to introduce you to a few typical specimens of our island race.’
Martinez and Karl joined him and stared out of the window. On the far side of the road stood three men you wouldn’t want as enemies.
‘Three of my most trusted colleagues,’ explained the colonel. ‘One of them will be watching you night and day, just hoping you’ll make a false move. On the left is Captain Hartley, who was unfortunately cashiered from the Dragoon Guards for pouring petrol over his wife and her lover, who were sleeping peacefully at the time, until he lit a match. Understandably, after leaving prison he found it difficult to secure employment. That was until I picked him up off the streets and put some purpose back in his life.’
Hartley gave them a warm smile, as if he knew they were talking about him.
‘In the middle is Corporal Crann, a carpenter by trade. He so enjoys sawing things up, wood or bone, it doesn’t seem to make any difference to him.’ Crann stared blankly through them. ‘But I confess,’ continued the colonel, ‘my favourite is Sergeant Roberts, a registered sociopath. Harmless most of the time, but I’m afraid he never really settled back into civvy street after the war.’ The colonel turned to Martinez. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him that you made your fortune collaborating with the Nazis, but of course that’s how you met Lieutenant Lunsdorf. A titbit I don’t think I’ll share with Roberts unless you really annoy me, because, you see, Sergeant Roberts’s mother was Jewish.’
Don Pedro turned away from the window to see Karl staring at the colonel as if he would have been happy to strangle him, but accepted that now was not the time or place.
‘I’m so glad to have caught your attention,’ said Scott-Hopkins, ‘because I now feel even more confident that you’ll have worked out what is in your best interests. Good day, gentlemen. I’ll show myself out.’