The factory

The thought that two British agents will put the life of an Argentine waitress at risk in a planned sting operation seems not to trouble either Javier Milei or his deputy, Diana Mondino. Perhaps they realise, but for Xiomara’s rescue, Giannina would already be dead. The sound of a cork pulled from another bottle of Malbec interrupts my musing, as does the sound of a Belfast accent coming from the pavement outside the restaurant. Within seconds, a figure appears in the doorway, sandy blond hair swept back from his forehead, his metal framed spectacles glinting under fluorescent light from the restaurant signs.

David Cameron looks up and calls out in recognition, ‘Norm old boy, over here if you will.’

Norm - agent K, was present at M’s meeting at the Savoy and was the trusted UK government operative who took charge of affairs at Fundación Mercedes Sosa following Moneypenny’s murder on the steps of Monumento Al Plus Ultra. M had told us that he would be returning to Argentina, but that she had ‘other plans’ for him without specifying their nature.

‘Meet Javier and Diana,’ Cameron says, gesticulating with a fork, ‘Norm is my field agent whilst in Buenos Aires. He will be working with Mr Bond - Xiomara is his handler. Norm flashes a smile and momentarily bows his head in recognition. Meanwhile, I struggle to re-set.

For the second time in two days I discerned that my role here in Argentina had shrunk. In the past I had always enjoyed my independence, setting my own pace. It was now more than clear that Xiomara was totally in charge of the operation and I was present to help take care of the detail, as I had at Duhau.

Xiomara turns to Norm, ‘how’s the factory?’ she asks. ‘They worked through the night and finished it this morning.’

‘The factory?’ I ask, to which Norm replies, ‘We’re to take Lord Cameron there as soon as he finishes his sabayon.’

Within minutes, three Ford Falcons pull up outside the restaurant. Cameron and Milei hug in parting, whilst Diana Mondino walks ahead to wait for the President in the first car. In the second car Norm rides up front with our driver, and David Cameron, Xiomara and I squeeze into the back. Behind us in the third car is Cameron’s security contingent, still holding on to my replacement FN FNX-45.

We set off down Salta to Libertad, somehow managing to avoid the afternoon traffic, then right at Viamonte, the car stopping short of the famous Galerias Pacifico centre. Crossing Tucuman, we continue on foot along pedestrianised Florida.

It is only at this point that I guess the location of ‘the factory’. Readers will remember my arrival in Buenos Aires and my detour through a deserted complex at Florida 537. Arriving, we descend the ramp to the lower level, ahead locale 299 still bears its torn signs declaring ‘Argenper’. Here the only sign of life is a diminutive figure in a shrunken wheel chair, a toy harmonica in his hands and Hugo Diaz’ eerie song, Milonga Triste echoing through the deserted halls. 

A plan emerges

 In the last episode, following the bomb blast at Hotel Duhau, our key players met together at a restaurant in Monserrat, Buenos Aires, no doubt to sort out any fall-out from the event.

As they chat, Xiomara acting as interpreter, it becomes clear that President Javier Milei is as confused about it as are Bond, Xiomara and the British Foreign Secretary. Milei pulls out his iphone and makes a call.

‘Can you get here now, Diana, I’ve got David Cameron, Bond and Xiomara Smith-Cumming here at Gogy’s. We need your help.’

It seems almost surreal- and you, dear reader, may wonder how the Argentine President, his deputy, a British Foreign Secretary and key members of the British Secret Intelligence Service come to share an asado and three bottles of high-altitude Catena Malbec in a back street café in Buenos Aires.

The fact is that, unlike in the USA or Europe, this is precisely how things are done in South America. Just as they love ubiquitous hugs in the street or the subte, Portenos prefer the informality of the kitchen to the pomp of a palace. A small cheer goes up from a group of workmen in one corner as Boca score for the third time, and Diana Mondino arrives.

When speaking of senior beauty we often imagine those that have artificially staved off from their faces, arms and necks the rigours of age, battling the inevitable onslaught of time. Mondino represents an entirely different presence. Her figure is trim, her face flawless with natural quality. Think: clever lawyer Alejandra Rodriguez, at 60 years the oldest contestant in the 2024 Miss Argentina contest, and you may understand!

Behind her walks Eugenio Pendas, Prince Philip to his Queen Elizabeth. He smiles graciously as he passes to join Cameron’s security contingent, knowing that it is not he that we need to see. Javier rises, an unusual twist by a President for his VP. But his response shows the real value of glamour at any age, and almost certainly her value to his presidency.

Once settled with a Fernet-Branca, Diana Mondino tells us precisely what we need to know. She explains how the impending arrival of MI6 agents was leaked by a junior member of staff at Casa Rosada. She speaks of ‘the dark forces’, by which she means supporters of Argentine presidents past, and their determination to stop the rapprochement between the Argentine and UK governments. She mentions the Malvinas as a Peronista guise to maintain dissent.

Looking directly into my eyes she informs me that she is aware that a bullet from my gun killed the bogus paramedic.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Bond, we have already replaced your FN FNX-45 Tactical with one of ours.’

My hand immediately moves to my shoulder holster, only to remember that on entering Parilla Nuevo Gogy I was asked by Cameron’s security posse to leave my firearm at the door.

At least now we know that our adversary is not the Argentine government. But beyond that, who are the forces of darkness? When may they strike again?

River Plate team score, but too late in the game against Boca Juniors and their efforts meet with but a groan from the workmen. Our group goes silent for a moment. Then Xiomara speaks.

‘I have a plan, but I don’t know whether you will like it,’ she says.

‘Go on anyway,’ Diana presses.

‘My dad, Mansfield - who you all know as Q - used to take me fishing. With the right bait we always caught our supper. I fancy a spot of fishing,’ she continued with a grin.

I looked across at her; Javier stopped chewing; David put down his glass; and it was left to Diana to ask the important question, ‘who have you in mind?’

‘The waitress from Duhau - Giannina. They want her out of the way and we currently control both the hook and the bait,’ she added without a moment of hesitation or a breath of emotion.

Milei looks up. ‘Then it is settled,’ he says. ‘Now pass me some riñón. Espionage always makes me hungry!’

Meeting the President

It is the morning of our second day in Buenos Aires. Xiomara has risen early and prepares a breakfast of medialunas and coffee. Way below the terrace, two figures walk towards Plaza General San Martin, Giannina leading her dog Ghost, with Raul struggling to keep up.

‘David is flying into Ezeiza today,’ announces Xiomara as she bites into a pastry. ‘He is concerned that we have got off to a bad start and thinks he needs to fix it,’ she continues. ‘You had better put on your best blazer; M says we are to meet him at 12 noon at ‘Gogys’.

Readers of our last tale will recall that Parilla Nuevo Gogy is the place where Philip May awaited the arrival of his wife, then The Right Honourable Theresa May PM, on her one-and-only visit to Buenos Aires2. Located at the corner of Avenida San Juan and Salta, ‘Gogy’ may not be the most salubrious of restaurants but sits conveniently alongside Av 25 de Mayo where it enters the city centre from the airport. Moreover, it serves the very best meat in the district.

‘David will love it - he keeps on about football,’ adds Xiomara, ‘Mind you, I am not sure he ever excused Maradona for ‘his hand of God!’

‘Yes, I remember the Gogy posters! If Lord Cameron likes football he will definitely approve of Gogys. Being an Aston Villa fan (or is it West Ham)3 he should be most at home there in his blue Boca Juniors strip.’4

‘Shall I call Raul back to drive us in the Bentley,’ I go on to ask, failing to account that within 24 hours of our arrival in Buenos Aires we had already faced an assassination attempt by showing out in public.

‘It’s half an hour by Av 9 de Julio,’ Xiomara states, ‘Nobody will notice us on the bus. We’ll get colectivo 100 to Lima.’

In truth, there is only one sensible way to get around Buenos Aires. You can call a taxi, but at peak times your journey will be painfully slow, sitting in queues of traffic then racing trucks for space at the lights. Subte offers an alternative, with lines that sort-of-connect beneath the sun-drenched streets. But the colectivo is both quick and cheap; and via Av 9 de Julio, the widest road in Argentina, the Metrobus is the perfect way to get across the city to Monserrat.

I stand by an open window holding a flexi-leather strap, whilst Xiomara has slipped into the one free seat alongside a large woman nursing bags of groceries. We race from stop to stop, passing Obelisco and the 1926 Chalet de 9 de Julio5, a perfect villa perched high up on the rooftops above Cerito.

Reaching Gogys, we find that Lord Cameron has beaten us to the restaurant, stripped off his jacket and is tucking into an asado comprising every type of beef from nose to tail. His security contingent sit at an adjacent table drinking Quilmes6. Gogy’s manager has his eyes glued to football on the television, barely registering that the UK Foreign Secretary is his sole diner.

‘Ah, Xio,’ Cameron exclaims, ‘Come here my darling and help me eat this beast.’ ‘Is that Bond with you? I hope he is behaving himself and teaching you well.’

Xiomara takes the seat to Cameron’s left and orders a bottle of Malbec. ‘David, thank goodness you are here. Did you say that Javier is coming to join us?’

Before Cameron can reply an old Ford Falchion pulls up outside the restaurant windows and a dishevelled figure wearing a black leather jacket and sporting wild hair levers himself from the rear nearside seat.

It is remarkable, but save for his driver, he is entirely on his own with not a trace of security presence. Perhaps he has sacked them? Maybe they have been caught by austerity cuts? Maybe, and more likely, is the fact that Javier Milei, President of Argentina, crazily enjoys anonymity when not performing on stage with a chain saw.

First, a hug for David Cameron, then a hug and kisses for Xiomara who immediately engages him in rapid-fire Castellano. Javier seems flattered and rather than sitting in the empty seat to Cameron’s right takes his place alongside Xiomara draping a lazy arm along the back of her chair.

He greets Cameron, ‘Como estás boludo?’ then without waiting for a reply looks up to the TV screen, ‘Boca Juniors,’ he exclaims, ‘Perfecto!’

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1 Clarin - Buenos Aires newspaper
2 Theresa May visited then President Macri in 2018, the only such visit since Tony Blair in 2001.
3 This is where in 2015 David Cameron blamed brain fog when he forgot which team he supported.
4 One of the more important Argentine football clubs of which President Milei was a voting member
5 Built atop a tall furniture store, this villa replica is easily missed, but once seen, never forgotten.
6 If you are tempted to drink beer in Argentina, then it must be Quilmes!