María Dueñas - The Time in Between

“We’re glad that you will be undertaking the mission after all. We trust you, we think you’ll do a good job.”

She spoke without moving, her voice low and with a heavy English accent. Like Hillgarth she used the plural “we.” She didn’t identify herself.

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, looking at her out of the corner of my eye.

I heard the click of a lighter and a familiar smell filled the air.

“We’ve had a request directly from London to provide reinforcements,” she went on. “There are suspicions that a supposed Portuguese collaborator might be playing a double game. He isn’t an agent, but he has an excellent relationship with our diplomatic staff in Lisbon and he’s involved in various deals with British firms. There are indications, however, that he’s beginning to establish parallel relationships with the Germans.”

“What kind of relationships?”

“Commercial relationships—very powerful ones, probably aimed not only at benefiting the Germans but also at boycotting us. It isn’t entirely clear. Food, minerals, perhaps arms: products for the war. As I say, everything is still only within the realm of suspicion.”

“And what would I have to do?”

“We need a foreigner who won’t be suspected of having any relationship with the British. Someone coming from a more or less neutral territory, completely unconnected with our country, who might need to go to Lisbon to acquire stock of something concrete. And you fit that profile.”

“So the idea is that I’m going to Lisbon to buy fabrics, or something like that?” I asked, as I cast another glance over at her that she did not return.

“Precisely. Fabrics and merchandise related to your work,” she confirmed without moving a muscle. She was still in the same position in which I’d found her, with her eyes closed and almost exactly horizontal. “You’ll go under the cover of a dressmaker wanting to obtain materials that are still not possible to get hold of in this ruined Spain.”

“I could have had them sent to me from Tangiers,” I interrupted.

“That, too,” she said after exhaling the smoke from another drag on her cigarette. “But for different reasons you’re going to have to rule out all the other alternatives. Silk from Macao, the Portuguese colony in Asia, for example. One of the sectors in which our suspect has thriving commercial interests is in textile import and export. Normally he works on a large scale, only dealing with wholesalers and not with private buyers, but we’ve managed to arrange for him to meet you personally.”

“How?”

“Thanks to a chain of varied undercover connections: quite common in the world we move in. It’s not the time to go into details now. That way, not only will you arrive in Lisbon free of any suspicion of affinity to the British, but you’ll also be backed up with contacts with direct connections to the Germans.”

That whole widespread network of relationships was quite beyond me, so I chose to ask as little as possible and wait for this stranger to go on dispensing information and instructions.

“The suspect’s name is Manuel Da Silva. He’s a businessman, a good one and very well connected, who seems ready to multiply his fortune in this war even though to do it he’d have to betray the people who have been his friends. He’ll get in touch with you and secure you access to the best fabrics available in Portugal today.”

“Does he speak Spanish?”

“Perfectly. And English. And possibly also German. He speaks all the languages he requires to do his business.”

“And what am I expected to do?”

“Infiltrate his life. Be charming, win his affection, work hard to make him ask you to go out with him, and above all get yourself invited to a meeting with Germans. If you’re finally able to get close to them, what we need is for you to sharpen your senses and register any relevant information that reaches your eyes and ears. Get hold of as complete an account as possible: names, businesses, firms, and products they mention; plans, activities, and any additional pieces of information you consider interesting.”

“You’re telling me that you’re sending me over to seduce a suspect?” I asked in disbelief, sitting up in my chair.

“Use whatever resources you think most appropriate,” she replied, fully justifying my assumption. “It would appear that Da Silva is a confirmed bachelor who likes to wine and dine beautiful women without involving himself in any kind of relationship. He enjoys being seen with elegant, attractive ladies, and if they’re foreign, so much the better. But according to our sources, in his dealings with the female gender he’s also the perfect old-style Portuguese gentleman, so you needn’t worry because he won’t try to go any farther than you’re prepared to go.”

I didn’t know whether to be offended or to burst out laughing. I was being sent over to seduce a seducer, that’s what my thrilling Portuguese mission was going to be. For the first time in the whole conversation, however, the unknown woman in the neighboring chair seemed to read my mind.

“Please don’t believe that your assignment is something frivolous that any beautiful woman could take on in exchange for a few banknotes. It’s a delicate operation, and you’re the person to do it because we have confidence in your abilities. It’s true that your physical appearance, your apparent origins, and the fact that you’re a single woman could help, but your responsibility will go far beyond mere flirtation. You’ll have to win Da Silva’s trust, weighing each step you take with great care; you’ll have to calculate your moves and balance them precisely. You’ll be gauging the scope of situations yourself, controlling the timing, evaluating the risks, and deciding to proceed as each situation demands. We place great value on your experience in the systematic obtaining of information and your capacity to improvise in unexpected situations: you haven’t been selected for this mission at random, but because you’ve demonstrated that you have the resources to get by effectively in difficult circumstances. And on personal matters, as I’ve already said, you needn’t go beyond whatever limits you yourself choose to impose. But please, stick it out for as long as possible until you get the information you need. It’s basically not all that different from your work in Madrid.”

“Except that here I don’t need to flirt with anyone or sneak into private meetings,” I pointed out.

“That’s true, my dear. But it won’t require much time, and with a gentleman who it would appear is far from unattractive.” Her tone of voice surprised me: she wasn’t trying to minimize the matter, but merely making a cool statement of what to her was objective fact. “Just one more thing, something important,” she added. “You won’t have any local contact support, because London doesn’t want any suspicion about your assignment to be aroused in Lisbon. Remember there aren’t any guarantees about Da Silva’s dealings with the Germans, which is why his supposed disloyalty to the British is yet to be proved: as I’ve said, everything is currently in the realm of mere speculation and we don’t want him to suspect anything of our compatriots in Portugal. So no English agent based there is going to know who you are or what your relationship to us is: your mission will be brief, quick, and clean, and we’ll inform London about its conclusions directly from Madrid. Get in, gather the information you need, and come back home. Then we’ll see how things progress from here. No more than that.”

It wasn’t easy for me to reply; the mask had solidified on the skin of my face. I managed at last, barely parting my lips.

“And no less.”