Read The Captain and the Enemy Online
Authors: Graham Greene
The Captain and the Enemy (19 page)
‘Yes. I wish I could answer that. How? Another question? Who was King Kong?’
‘King Kong?’
‘A code name perhaps?’
‘I wouldn’t know. We don’t use codes on my newspaper.’
‘And you have no news of course of where Jim is? I’m afraid he may well have imitated Mr Smith too closely.’
‘I’ve only seen him once since his father died.’
‘You are generally very scrupulous with numbers, Señor Quigly. Think again.’
Mr Quigly thought again. ‘Well perhaps I should have said two or three times.’
‘You offered him employment, didn’t you?’
‘Nothing was really settled. A stringer’s job. He had very little experience.’
‘I ask you again – who was King Kong?’
‘Some sort of monkey I seem to remember.’
‘A monkey?’
‘Perhaps a gorilla – I don’t really remember which.’
Colonel Martínez gave a little sigh which might have been one of despair. ‘You have a British passport I believe, Señor Quigly?’
‘Yes.’
‘And an American visa?’
‘Yes. I have to visit my paper from time to time in New York.’
‘Of course you know that next month the Canal Treaty will be signed by President Carter and General Torrijos, and then most of the American Zone will be in our hands.’
‘Your General has done a good job and I congratulate you.’
‘It’s important that no stupid problems should occur
before
the Treaty has been signed in Washington. We have our enemies there. I’m sure you will understand that.’
‘Of course.’
‘All the same I do feel a certain responsibility. His so-called father … one might say, I suppose, that he was partly responsible if something has happened to the young man. But you and I have our share of responsibility too.’
‘I’m responsible for nothing.’
‘You probably paid his father on occasion and, as you must certainly know, I paid him too.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep on calling Mr Smith his father.’
‘I’m sorry, we are both a little inexact. Mr Smith’s real name of course was Brown.’
‘Anyway what’s the worry, Colonel? Jim’s probably on his way back to London by now. He told me he might be going home. Smith left him a ticket.’
‘Not much of a home it seems. Let’s be frank with each other, Señor Quigly. You knew, didn’t you, that Smith had taken what I called the wrong direction.’
‘How could I possibly know?’
‘I think you played a bit of comedy when you went to look for his plane. You had already warned the National Guard and Somoza. They shot him down before he reached the bunker. Why? They would have known the Sandinistas had no plane.’
‘You are wrong there, Colonel. They would certainly have known about Smith’s plane. He has been dumping arms up in the Estelí region for quite a while.’
‘I wonder whether it was you who warned them of
that
… Never mind. It’s of little concern now, except …’
Colonel Martínez stared down at the pile of manuscript on his desk. He said, ‘I wish my English was better. I suppose I will have to get the whole of this stuff translated. King Kong might be important.’
‘I’m a busy man, Colonel, if you have no more questions …’
‘No more questions. Only a bit of advice, Señor Quigly. With the signing of the Canal Treaty only a few weeks ahead we are anxious, as I told you, not to have any embarrassments. It’s true you are not an American citizen, but you know how difficult the Senate in Washington can be. They would be only too willing to find an excuse to sabotage the Treaty and their own President. So I have a favour to ask you. For your own safety as well as ours be good enough to pack up your suitcase and walk across the Avenue of Martyrs and enter what is still the United States. Otherwise my colleagues might think something ought to be arranged – I mean of course an accident.’
Colonel Martínez gave an almost inaudible sigh of relief as Mr Quigly rose to leave without argument. He knew well that Mr Quigly was not a man of courage.
(2)
When Mr Quigly had gone, Colonel Martínez called for the translator and settled himself again at his desk to study the pages of the manuscript, seeking in them for a clue to three questions – on whose orders had Mr Smith
taken
the wrong direction with his arms, to Managua instead of to the north, and where was his son now and why had the son left behind this long manuscript? (The name Baxter persisted in escaping his memory.) The young man had known that Pablo was on his way to fetch him. Had he therefore intended Pablo to find the papers in the basket where he had, perhaps purposely, discarded them? The last part of the translation which began with an account of the boy’s arrival in Panama was the only part which interested him. Even with his poor English, when he had glanced at the original, he understood enough to realize that the main interest must lie in his contacts with the man Quigly. The papers were rather like the notes resulting from a long self-interrogation, and the strange name King Kong had immediately caught his eye. Now he had before him the full translation of this last part in Spanish. On the surface it answered none of his questions, and Señor Quigly could not have been expected to identify King Kong. He had talked about a monkey or a gorilla. Perhaps that was a little joke, though Señor Quigly was not a man given to humour.
A knock on the door aroused him. Pablo entered and saluted. ‘We have traced him, sir,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Baxter.’ Pablo had a better memory for foreign names than he.
‘Is he alive?’
‘He’s alive. After he got his visa he booked a seat on a plane to Valparaiso, changing at Santiago.’
‘Valparaiso? What an odd thing to do. Chile is no concern of ours – and his father had nothing to do with Chile, I’m sure of that – nor as far as we know had the
man
Quigly, though of course the Americans are in deep with Pinochet. But surely they would never send an amateur like that young man there. And yet he got his visa without difficulty. I wonder if we should let Señor Quigly stay?’ He hesitated only a moment. ‘No, I’m glad to be rid of him. It’s just possible that their next financial correspondent will be an easier man to work against. All the same why Valparaiso?’
He touched the papers piled on his desk as though the mere feel of them might convey some answer to his question and then he spoke his thoughts aloud: ‘King Kong. It haunts me that name King Kong. King Kong is the only clue we have. Could he be a name in some elementary book code which is all they would have trusted to an amateur like that? A character in Shakespeare perhaps. Some famous line that even the gringos would recognize. Well, the boy’s gone. He can do no harm to us. All the same … how I would like to break that code of his. King Kong.’ Colonel Martínez almost sang the name.
‘I am no expert, but can it be that we have a clue there to the code word Quigly may be using in all the telegrams he sends to his newspaper? We have a lot of them on file. In any case this manuscript is worth preserving. One day it might well be of use to have it published to the world. In case after the Canal Treaty has been safely signed, we need to expose Señor Quigly and his gringo employers when they try to break their agreement, as they certainly will.’ An idea struck him and he gave a little laugh. ‘What a surprise for the boy if he were to see his book published in Spanish. Who knows it might even win a Cuban Prize for the best work on gringo espionage.’
The idea of the Cuban Prize pleased his humour so much that he ignored the telephone when it rang.
‘I am sure if the General recommended the book to Fidel … oh, damn the thing …’ He lifted the receiver and his face clouded. He rang off and sat a moment in silence. Then he told the translator in a tone of sadness, ‘The son has followed the father.’
‘But the father’s dead.’
‘So is the son. He will never see Valparaiso. An accident on the way to the airport. If it was really an accident, which I doubt. It is all the more important that you go on with the translation however irrelevant the earlier parts may seem. The vital question remains – what or who is King Kong?’
No character in this book is based on a living person. One cannot call all one’s characters by letters of the alphabet. Mr Quigly of this novel bears no resemblance in character or spelling to a Mr Quigley whom I encountered for a few minutes in Washington ten years ago. For some unknown reason the name haunted me and I wrote in
Getting to Know the General
‘I can make use of that name one day in God knows what story.’ Many Quigleys wrote to me kindly after that, but this Quigly is my own and unrelated to any of them.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781448128891
Published by Vintage 2011
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Copyright © Graham Greene 1988
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First published in Great Britain in 1988 by Reinhardt Books
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is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099529149