“Nothing. Nothing except that Deputy Serrador is disinclined to hold any discussions at the moment.”
“What?” Aideen said.
“It would be most inappropriate,” Serrador stated.
“We don’t agree,” McCaskey replied. He looked at Aideen. “Deputy Serrador says that the arrangement was made with Martha. That it was her experience and her ethnic background that enabled him to convince the Basques and Catalonians to consider possible U.S. mediation.”
Aideen regarded Serrador. “Martha was a respected and highly skilled diplomat—”
“A remarkable woman,” Serrador said with a flourish.
“Yes, but as gifted a negotiator as Martha was, she was not indispensible,” Aideen went on.
Serrador stepped back. His expression was disapproving. “You disappoint me, señorita.”
“Do I?”
“Your colleague has just been murdered!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deputy,” Aideen said, “but the issue is not my sense of occasion—”
“That is true,” said Serrador. “The issues are experience and security. And until I’m convinced that we have both, the talks will be postponed. Not canceled, Señor McCaskey, Señorita Marley. Merely delayed.”
“Deputy Serrador,” McCaskey said, “you know as well as I that there may not be time for a delay. Before Ms. Marley arrived I was telling you about her credentials, trying to convince you that the talks can go ahead. Ms. Marley has experience and she isn’t timid, you can see that.”
Serrador looked disapprovingly at the woman.
“We can carry on,” McCaskey said. “As for security, let’s assume for the moment that word of this meeting did get out. That Martha was the target of an assassination. What does that mean? That someone wants to scare away American diplomats. They want to see your nation come apart.”
“Perhaps the goal isn’t even a political one,” Aideen said. “Martha thinks — Martha thought that perhaps someone is hoping to make money on an armed secession.”
Serrador cleared his throat. He looked away at his desk.
“Mr. Deputy, please,” McCaskey said. “Sit down with us. Tell us what you know. We’ll take the information back with us and help you put a plan in place before it’s too late.”
Serrador shook his head slowly. “I have already spoken with my allies in the Congress. They are even more unwilling than I am to involve you now. You must understand, Señor McCaskey. We were talking with the various separatist parties before this — and we will do so again. It was my personal hope that if the United States could be brought into the discussions unofficially, and the leaders of both sides could be persuaded to make concessions, Spain could be saved. Now I’m afraid we’ll have to try and solve the problem internally.”
“And how do you think that will end?” Aideen demanded.
“I don’t know,” Serrador replied. “I only know, regrettably, how your association with this process must end.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thanks to the death of one who was brave enough to lead… and the retreat of one who wasn’t.”
“Aideen!” McCaskey said.
Serrador held up a hand. “It’s all right, Señor McCaskey. Señorita Marley is overwrought. I suggest you take her back to the hotel.”
Aideen glared at the deputy. She wasn’t going to be bullied into silence and she wasn’t going to do an end run. She just wasn’t.
“Fine,” she said. “Play it cautiously, Mr. Deputy. But don’t forget this. When I dealt with revolutionary factions in Mexico the results were always the same. The government inevitably relied on muscle to crush the rebels. But it was never enough to destroy them completely, of course, and the insurrectionists went underground. They didn’t flourish but they didn’t die. Only people who were caught in the crossfire died. And that’s what’s going to happen here, Deputy Serrador. You can’t tamp down centuries of resentment without a very big boot.”
“Ah. You have a crystal ball?”
“No,” she replied sharply. “Just some experience in the psychology of oppression.”
“In Mexico,” Serrador pointed out. “Not in Spain. You’ll find that the people are not just — what do you call them? Haves and have-nots. They are also passionate about their heritage.”
“Aideen,” McCaskey said, his voice stern, edgy. “That’s enough. No one knows what’s going to happen anywhere. That’s what these meetings were supposed to be about. They were supposed to be fact-finding, sharing ideas, a chance to find a peaceful resolution to the tensions.”
“And we may yet have those explorations,” Serrador said, once again the diplomat. “I mean no disrespect to the loss of your colleague but we’ve lost just one opportunity. There will be other ways to avoid spilling blood. Our immediate concern is to find out who was responsible for this crime and how the information got out of my office. Then — we will see.”
“That could take weeks, months,” McCaskey said.
“While haste, Señor McCaskey, may cost us more lives.”
“I’m willing to take that risk,” Aideen muttered. “The cost of retreat and inactivity may be much higher.”
Serrador walked behind the desk. “Prudence is neither of those.” He pressed a button on the telephone. “I sought the help of the distinguished Señorita Mackall. She has been taken from us. I sought and may still seek the help of the United States. Is that still available, Señor McCaskey, should I call on it?”
“You know it is, Mr. Deputy,” McCaskey answered.
Serrador dipped his head. “Gracias.”
“De nada,” McCaskey replied.
The door opened. A young aide in a dark suit took a step into the office. He stood with his arms stiffly at his sides.
“Hernandez,” said the deputy, “please take our guests out through the private entrance and tell my driver to see that they get safely back to their hotel.” He looked at McCaskey. “That is where you wish to go?”
“For the moment, yes. If possible, I’d like to go wherever the investigation is being handled.”
“I see. You have a background in law enforcement, I recall.”
“That’s right,” said McCaskey. “I spent a lot of time working with Interpol when I was at the FBI.”
Serrador nodded. “I’ll look into it, of course. Is there anything else I can do for either of you?”
McCaskey shook his head. Aideen did not move. She was seething. Again, politics. Not leadership, not vision. Just a cautious “T-step,” as they used to call a little dance move back in Boston. She wished she’d saved some of the mierda de perro for this meeting.
“My automobile is bulletproof and two of the guards will accompany you,” Serrador said. “You will be safe. In the meantime, I will speak with those of my colleagues who were scheduled to participate in today’s meeting. I will contact you in a few days — in Washington, I imagine? — to let you know how and if we wish to proceed.”
“Of course,” McCaskey replied.
“Thank you.” Serrador smiled thinly. “Thank you very much.”
The deputy extended his hand across the large mahogany desk. McCaskey shook it. Serrador swung his hand toward Aideen. She shook it as well, very briefly. There was no warmth in the short look they exchanged.
McCaskey had eased his hand onto Aideen’s back. He half-guided, half-pushed her out the door and they walked the corridor in silence.
When they were inside the deputy’s limousine, McCaskey turned to Aideen. “So.”
“So. Go ahead. Tell me I was out of line.”
“You were.”
“I know,” she replied. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the next plane home.” This was becoming the theme of the day. Or maybe it was something larger, the wrong fit of Aideen Marley and ivory tower diplomacy.