CHAPTER FOUR
"A soft woman is simply a wolf caught in meditation."
-Pavana
Gareth steadfastly refused to succumb to jetlag. He rose a quarter after six on the second morning of the trip and resolved to go for a run outdoors. They'd been driven on the road running alongside the cliff called the Malecón several times by now to get to and from the Embassy. The cliffside path was suitable for pedestrians and offered a stunning view of the ocean. In a lightweight pullover, sweatpants and trainers, he felt unobtrusive enough. He made no noise, leaving his room and stepping into the hall. Again his colleagues were either still asleep or tucking into the breakfast buffet. He made sure his room key was secure in his pocket and continued to the elevator.
The exit on the ground floor was staffed by Peruvian nationals working for the embassy, young men to whom he said, "Good morning" as he passed. It was warmer that day. Warm enough for him to regret wearing a pullover instead of one of the t-shirts he'd balled up at the bottom of his suitcase. To compensate, he focused on breathing properly. The views really did make the experience far more pleasant than it might have been otherwise. He didn't pass too many others along the way, only local residents with their dogs and people biking perhaps to work. Running in Lima made a nice change from his usual workout at the fitness club back home.
Gareth ran until he felt it prudent to use his remaining strength to make it back to the embassy. By his estimation, he'd gone about five kilometres. Not too far but just enough to wake him up and clear his head. A quick shower and shave, and he was dressed in a light blue collared shirt beneath a casual grey suit. He took only his wallet, passport and phone as they had another full day of plans and he didn't want to fuss about.
"Good morning, Gareth." Martha Nelson greeted him as he helped himself to fresh bread and scrambled eggs at breakfast. She was of the resilient, upbeat sort, as many women at that level in government positions tended to be. Her sense of humour was so dry it was often difficult to tell if she was joking half the time. Nonetheless, Martha was one of his favorite colleagues.
"Morning. Sleep well?" He watched as she refilled her coffee mug and went about adding cream and sugar.
"All too well! I stayed up later than I thought after speaking with my chief of staff and fell asleep dreaming of outreach efforts in Stoke Newington and Peruvian boobies."
"I won't ask you to elaborate on that second point." He said through a mouthful of eggs.
Martha scoffed. "Honestly, Mallory did you read the itinerary at all? We're going to the Ballesta Islands tomorrow to tour the fertilizer plant. They create organic fertiliser from the massive amounts of bird excrement there and export it worldwide. A lot of it goes to the UK actually."
McTaggart and Valls joined them at the breakfast table, both of them looked a bit peaky at the mention of bird excrement. Gareth wore his best poker face when asking, "Remind me how this has anything to do with national security?"
"I think the committee planners were out of serious items and this was a last ditch addition." Valls grumbled from behind his coffee. He and McTaggart were around fifteen or so years his and Martha's senior, decidedly more conventional than their female colleague.
"Fair enough. Perhaps we can work together to find a way to use bird shit for fighter-jet fuel." Martha deadpanned.
The three men couldn't help but laugh outright at that, in the safety of their own embassy where none of their hosts could possibly be offended. The rest of the meal was spent in serious discussion of the events ahead. At eight o'clock, Sam from their security team informed them the van was ready and it was time to first visit was to the Peruvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, right at the center of colonial Lima. Senior Peruvian and UK diplomats from the Lima branch of the Foreign Office were to meet them. From there, the delegation would embark on a thorough tour of the city center and its historical sites.
Claire Vasquez was the senior political director at the British Embassy in Lima and thus had the most meaningful connections with the Ministry's leadership. It didn't hurt that she held dual English and Spanish nationalities. She'd been the primary consultant for their delegation and was helpful with Gareth's defence-related inquiries. Straightforward in her phone manner, she knew exactly what sort of information he needed and what was naff.
Claire introduced them to her Peruvian counterpart, a man by the name of Luis Málaga Lopez. Gareth judged him to be mid-thirties from his energy. The man's movements had an economic brand of grace as he said, "Welcome, or as we say bienvenido, to our headquarters and our city's center. I hope you have all had a pleasant start to your trip." Lopez introduced his senior staff who were similarly polite but whose English was more heavily accented.
"The warmth and hospitality we've experienced is unparalleled." Martha said with genuine appreciation. The men of the group concurred with the statement.
"Emphasis on the warmth! It deserves our utmost gratitude, we'd just gotten through a nasty storm when we left." McTaggart added with no small amount of cheek. This prompted laughter all 'round. Gareth was pleased how it set the tone on a good note for the rest of the day.
The security teams then introduced themselves to each other, and to the different principals of both nations. The Peruvian security looked especially capable, tall and strong in uniform, in contrast to the British team's plain clothes. Ros greeted Claire and Lopez in surprisingly fluent Spanish-the change of language modified her posh English accent to a more robust sound. Yet another intriguing transformation, Gareth noted, against his will. He lingered in the back with McTaggart in exploring the Latin American art of the office lobby, all the bursts of colour and form in the otherwise staid room.
The group's remarks and general attitude went over very well with the Peruvians, and soon enough they were on their tour. Gareth was engrossed enough in the history and architecture that surrounded them to not consciously tune into Ros's every move. She was on duty, along with David, Sam, and the Peruvian ministry's guards. As they were primarily moving on foot, the security situation was more porous than it would have been if they were in the van. He couldn't help calling to mind what the Mayor said about Shining Path's attempts to bomb this section of Lima. It caused him to shiver slightly despite the afternoon heat.
It turned out Valls was an amateur photographer. He slowed the group down a bit to document the impressive façade of the Cathedral and Plaza de Armas, but their minders humoured him. It seemed this truly was the heart of the city, as major government buildings, shops and cafes lined the area around it. Crowds of tourist flocked to see the changing of the guard at the Palacio Presidencial. They didn't stay long. Maybe the Peruvians didn't want them to question why they hadn't received an executive welcome.
Gareth was walking with Claire as the group wound its way through the Plaza. They were discussing the Peruvian navy's purchase of British ships meant to patrol the southeastern drug cartel territories. They kept their voices sotto voce in case their minders realised they were talking about some of the more controversial subjects in Peruvian politics.
"The cocaine is shipped out toward the port city of Callao via the rivers, from there heavily armed drug mules carry the shipments on foot. The mules are often young boys looking to make money to support their families. When the police target the mules, both suffer heavy casualties." Claire muttered sadly.
"Makes it a hell of a lot harder to condemn drug trafficking when you learn the demand comes from North America and Europe." Gareth replied.
"We run some entrepreneurial outreach programs and microfinance training with the municipalities to create opportunities that keep young kids away from the drug trade but that can only do so much. It's a culture, a way of life in some of the rural parts."
"You do excellent work here. Britain couldn't have asked for a better rep nor Peru for a more dedicated partner."
"Don't let the Yanks hear you say that." Claire winked.
The perseverance that frontline FCO diplomats possessed never failed to impress Gareth. Claire not only had an excellent grasp of the country and language but also humility that prevented her from becoming complacent. She was staring at something ahead, rather intently.
"Damn that cheeky bastard." Claire sighed with disapproval.
Gareth followed Claire's line of sight. Valls was still snapping photos of everything they passed, Martha was chatting happily with Lopez, McTaggart was trying to avoid being pickpocketed by street kids and the security team was evenly dispersed ahead. Then Gareth saw what Claire saw.
Ros and one of the Peruvian guards were walking too closely together for it to be considered professional. Her back was rigid as she strode forward but her pace couldn't deter the guard. Every few steps, the guard would raise his hand to the small of her back. Though Ros didn't welcome or dissuade the contact, Gareth knew she had to have been irritated by it. He couldn't see either of their faces as this carried on a few more times. Claire watched him react and he decided he needed to see if everything was alright.
"Excuse me, I need to ask Rosalind something. I'll be right back." He excused himself and lengthened his steps.
"Rosalind, do you have an extra copy of the maps we were handed earlier?" Gareth blurted out the first thing that came to mind, interrupting whatever the pair had been saying between themselves. The guard's hand flew back to his side where it belonged and both he and Ros turned halfway to glance back at him. He was right; her eyes flashed dangerously and her smile was almost deadly. He wondered why she didn't tell the guard to back off.
"Let me check, sir." Ros then looked at the guard and said, "Perdón, tengo que responder a la pregunta del Señor.**"
The guard nodded and gave them some distance. Gareth sighed. They were probably near their lunch location by now and it was nearing one thirty. They still had much left to cover. Ros lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, just continued walking. Her eyes constantly scanned their environment. He wondered if he wasn't much better than the poor chap he'd driven away if his own presence was just as much of a hindrance to her.
"He's awfully friendly, no?" It slipped past his lips before he could filter his thoughts. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Ros narrowed her eyes. "He's Latin." When he refused to let it go, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "If my choices are to grit my teeth and bear it, or cause an international incident while the Peruvians are hosting a UK delegation, I think the optimum choice is clear."
Gareth didn't intend to patronise her further but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ros was more than capable of holding her own and he was stupid to doubt she could.
Nonetheless, he began, "If he tries, anything-"
"If he tries anything he'll get a swift one in the solar plexus. Satisfied?" Her nonchalant tone didn't fool him at all. The whole exchange suddenly seemed so ludicrous that he couldn't help but laugh. He laughed loudly, unable to help himself. It seemed to be infectious because she looked like she was struggling to reign in her own laughter. A small giggle that was so unlike her almost had him checking if pigs were flying. She got herself under control before they drew further attention to themselves.
At lunch, they ate splendidly. He and Claire involved Martha in the more politically correct version of their earlier conversation and got Lopez to weigh in on the drug situation. Facts and figures dominated the hour. All the while, Gareth wondered what it would sound like if Ros really truly laughed and how he could make it happen.
The tour of old Lima ended with Lopez's farewell, and the group boarded their van for the journey south toward the region of Ica. Their main goal was to see the northern shipping port on the Paracas peninsula, which was one of the sites where some British aircraft carriers stopped while patrolling the Pacific. Gareth privately acknowledged that this was related to their committee's mission, so he had no complaints. The infrastructure on the way down from Lima had steadily deteriorated, however. It took a very long three hours to reach Paracas, a seaside town near the port and the Ballesta Islands.
A half hour boat ride brought them out to the islands, and all anyone could focus on was the stench. Bird shit indeed-there were thousands of Peruvian boobies that dwelt on the islands, second to them were the packs of sea lions that lazed about on the rocks. They were able to view the scientific research station as well as the fertiliser plant from the boat's position.
On the way back, they docked at the shipping port and disembarked to tour the facility. Their guide spoke Spanish only and Ros was the only one of the group who could translate. Gareth used the excuse to look at her and listen. He would ask her how she attained such fluency at some point.
It was well past ten o'clock when they finally settled into their little seaside hotel back in Paracas. There was a small bar in the lobby but it went unstaffed at that time of night. Martha, Valls and McTaggart were exhausted and nowhere to be found. Gareth was tired to his bones but thought a glass of something stronger than water was very appealing at the moment. He searched the shelves behind the bar and when he was about to change his mind about drinking, he turned around to find Rosalind staring back at him expectantly.
"There's some pisco on the back shelf. Just there." She nodded with her chin. "If you don't want to drink alone, pour me a shot."
He did as he was told wordlessly. Sitting across from her at an uneven wooden table, Gareth found he already felt drunk-jetlag and his own muddled feelings made one intoxicating blend. He was about to take a swig but she held a single finger up in warning.
"There's a way to do this You have to smell the alcohol. Let your senses acclimate first."
He watched her do it and followed her lead.
"Now, you take the whole drink into your mouth but do not swallow. You have to hold it in your mouth for three whole seconds. As if you're gargling while brushing your teeth."
"Ready?" He said in a challenging tone. She just smirked and tossed the drink back. When he tried to do as she explained, he was mortified when his eyes teared up and he felt like the entire inside of his mouth was on fire. She looked nonplussed. He watched her count to three on one hand, each of her slender digits lifting exaggeratedly slow.
They swallowed, and not a moment too soon.
"Fucking christ!" Gareth wheezed. He slammed the shot glass upside down and sat back in his chair, coughing.
He was stunned when Ros threw her head back and laughed, a full-bodied rich laugh that warmed him far more than the Peruvian alcohol.