"I take it you have little regard for the Cubans, Mr. Silver." He thought he saw a flicker of amusement from Mrs. Silver.
"It depends what your historical thrust is, Carter. That bearded idiot is not one of my favorites."
"Even so," Carter said, "there are those who say Dr. Castro is greatly preferable to the late General Batista."
Silver grew impatient, which was what Carter wanted. "But of course, the reason for your being here is to discuss politics, eh, Carter?" The balding little man still did not betray a country or language of origin. His English was flat, nasal, correct; he might easily have gone to an English school or studied the language at an elite school for English diplomats* children somewhere abroad.
Mrs. Silver crossed her legs demurely. It was not by any account a provocative gesture, but her physical beauty and her seemingly great reserves of dignity touched Carter.
Silver didn't miss Carter's attraction to his wife. "Yes," Silver said. "Consuela is a great treasure. One could almost call her a national treasure. She is certainly worth a good deal."
After the maid returned with drinks, Carter noticed that Silver spoke to her in a flawless Spanish with Mexican accents and intonations. He dismissed the maid, then in English dismissed Mrs. Silver. Carter watched her go with great reluctance.
"May I add to my impertinence at being here by asking you your profession, Mr. Silver?"
Silver used a wooden match to fire a cherry-red glow to the tip of his cigar. The fragrant tobacco made Carter salivate. He wished David Hawk had such tastes. "I am a diamond merchant, Carter."
Carter played on the man's vanity. "Yes, we know about that."
Silver's left brow twitched in response. "There was a time when I was a diamond cutter, and I must say I was a rather gifted one, being an apprentice of my late uncle, one of the great European diamond cutters. But as in all things in this life, Carter, art is not enough. A diamond cutter can live well, but not so well as this." He spread his hand to indicate the shelves, laden with artifacts of turquoise, jade, obsidian, and ceramic. "Not with things in his house that once belonged to the great Hernan Cortez, eh?"
"Is that how you know Piet Bezeidenhout?"
"Right to the point, eh? You ask purposeful questions, Carter. Are you a lawyer?"
Carter shook his head, then sipped his cognac. He was letting Silver's curiosity build.
"Ah, then, some other kind of professional, eh?" He showed Carter a wide grin filled with irony and a great deal of costly dental work. "I think it only fair that you tell me what you do. Senorita Huerta suggested you have something to do with diamonds."
"As you know, sir, the diamond cartel has a security force. Piet Bezeidenhout is a high-ranking member." He paused to drop his bomb. "I, too, am a high-ranking member of that organization."
Carter watched Silver's reaction. He was guardedly curious.
"All right. Since I have agreed to discuss the matter with you, let us begin, eh? Allow me to anticipate your first question: Piet Bezeidenhout was in this house two weeks ago with a gathering of perhaps twelve others."
Puffing leisurely on his cigar, Robert Silver told of meeting Piet Bezeidenhout when he was learning the diamond trade in Brussels. The Afrikaner seemed always to have an eye for works of art that increased in value. Equally, he was always interested in the pleasures of the dining room and, of course, the bedroom.
When Silver was transferred to Amsterdam to begin grading diamonds and actually marking the better stones for cutting by the top cutters, Bezeidenhout appeared again from time to time, and while Silver would not want to say they were fast friends, nevertheless, one becomes bonded to a person one has gone out drinking, dining, and whoring with over a period of time.
"And so," Carter said, "as Bezeidenhout grew in power with the diamond security police, he began spending more time away from Johannesburg and Capetown and more time abroad, making sure the interests of the diamond cartel were strictly upheld. The two of you probably had occasion to meet in places like Paris, Rome, Antwerp, New York, and Beverly Hills, eh?"
Silver watched Carter carefully.
Using his excellent memory, Carter went on describing Bezeidenhout to Silver just as Bezeidenhout had been described to him in the dispatches left for him back in the private jet that had taken him from Toronto to Phoenix. The effect on Silver was unsettling.
"Why are his own people so interested in him all of a sudden?" Silver asked.
Carter made it a rule not to let someone he was interrogating take over the questioning. "Why do you think we're interested?"
"He is a headstrong man. He has his own beliefs."
"We are also headstrong," Carter persisted. "What did he talk about when he was last here, in this place?"
Robert Silver furrowed his brow and swirled his cognac. "You want everything, eh, Carter? Piet spoke of the growing difficulties of protecting personal investments or fortunes. He reminded some of us that the same is growing true in Mexico as well. It is becoming more and more difficult to use barricades, fences, and barbed wire to keep out the poor. Do you have any idea how many there are here in the capital alone??
"This is what he talked about? The poor?"
"He talked about the need to keep incentives alive for those who were interested in advancing their goals of security."
"Why do I have the feeling that you're speaking in generalities, Mr. Silver?"
Silver took a large toss of his cognac. "Ah, yes, you would like it if I told you that Piet was talking about apartheid and perhaps even the purity of races. You'd like that, eh, Carter?" He stood abruptly. "Well, I'm not going to give you that. Piet is a businessman, not an ideologue. He was here discussing business."
"You understand that his business is our business?"
"Dammit, Carter, you go too far as it is. He did not discuss the diamond business."
Carter was sure his time in the big house was coming to an end. "Did he extend an offer to you, Mr. Silver?"
"That was your last question, Carter, and the answer is yes, he extended an offer to me and to all the others. I will have you shown out now. I have been more than hospitable. I have no idea what you will make of this or how you will proceed, but you leave with more than when you came and so my conscience is clear."
"So is your devotion to Bezeidenhout," Carter said. "You should be careful in your dealings with him."
"Is that a warning, Mr. Carter, or just an observation?"
The Killmaster met him eye to eye. "A warning," he said. A moment later the maid came to see him to the main gate.
Carter headed for the square and a taxi back to the Zocalo, deciding that Silver had been disturbed by his questions. This probe had touched something tender.
He'd gone only a block or so when he had the feeling of movement behind him and turned to note a cream-white Mercedes with tinted windows slowly moving toward him, drawing abreast of him, then stopping. The door on the passenger side was pushed open.
Consuela Silver had looked demure and elegant seated in her husband's den. There was nothing demure about her now, the angle of the seat and the driving pedals causing her full skirt to fall back over her trim legs, revealing knees and thighs. She was aware of Carter's admiration but made no move to tug her skirt down. "I need to talk to you, Senor Carter." There was an edge in her voice that Carter could not read. "In private."