'How could Bret want to take your job, Dicky? Bret is senior to you.'

The traffic was moving at about five miles an hour. A small dirty-faced child in the back of the VW bus was staring at Dicky with great interest. The insolent stare seemed to disconcert him. Dicky turned to look at me. 'Bret is looking for a job that would suit him; and my job would suit him. Bret will have nothing to do now that his committee is being wound up. There's already an argument about who will have his office space. And about who will have that tall blonde typist who wears the white sweaters.'

'Gloria?' I said.

'Oh? Don't say you've been there?'

'Us workers stick together, Dicky,' I said.

'Very funny,' said Dicky. 'If Bret takes over my job, he'll chase your arse. Working for me will seem like a holiday. I hope you realize that, old pal.'

I didn't know that the brilliant career of Bret was taking a downturn to the point where Dicky was running scared. But Dicky had taken a PhD in office politics so I was prepared to believe him. 'This is the Pink Zone,' I said. 'Why don't you park in one of these hotels and get a cab?'

Dicky seemed relieved at the idea of letting a cab driver find Werner Volkmann's apartment but, being Dicky, he had to argue against it for a couple of minutes. As he pulled into the slow lane the dirty child in the VW smiled and then made a terrible face at us. Dicky glanced at me and said, 'Are you pulling faces at that child? For God's sake, act your age, Bernard.' Dicky was in a bad mood, and talking about his job had made him more touchy.

He turned off the Insurgentes on to a side-street and cruised eastwards until we found a car-park under one of the big hotels. As we went down the ramp into the darkness he switched the headlights on. This was a different world. This was where the Mercedes, Cadillacs and Porsches lived in comfort, shiny with health, smelling of new leather and guarded by two armed security men. One of them pushed a ticket under a wiper and lifted the barrier so that we could drive through.

'So your school chum Werner spots a KGB heavy here in town. Why did Controller (Europe) insist that I come out here at this stinking time of year?' Dicky was cruising very slowly round the dark garage, looking for a place to park.

'Werner didn't spot Erich Stinnes,' I said. 'Werner's wife spotted him. And there's a departmental alert for him. There's a space.'

Too small; this is a big car. Alert? You don't have to tell me that, old boy. I signed the alert, Remember me? Controller of German Stations? But I've never seen Erich Stinnes. I wouldn't know Erich Stinnes from the man in the moon. You're the one who can identify him. Why do I have to come?'

'You're here to decide what we do. I'm not senior enough or reliable enough to make decisions. What about there, next to the white Mercedes?'

'Ummmmm,' said Dicky. He had trouble parking the car in the space marked out by the white lines. One of the security guards – a big poker-faced man in starched khakis and carefully polished high boots -came to watch us. He stood arms akimbo, staring, while Dicky went backwards and forwards trying to squeeze between a white convertible and a concrete stanchion that bore brightly coloured patches of enamel from other cars. 'Did you really make out with that blonde in Bret's office?' said Dicky as he abandoned his task and reversed into another space marked 'reserved'.

'Gloria? I thought everyone knew about me and Gloria,' I said. In fact I knew her no better than Dicky did but I couldn't resist the chance to needle him. 'My wife's left me. I'm a free man again.'

'Your wife defected,' said Dicky spitefully. 'Your wife is working for the bloody Russkies.'

'That's over and done with,' I said. I didn't want to talk about my wife or my children or any other problems. And if I did want to talk about them Dicky would be the last person I'd choose to confide in.

'You and Fiona were very close,' said Dicky accusingly.

'It's not a crime to be in love with your wife,' I said.

'Taboo subject, eh?' It pleased Dicky to touch a nerve and get a reaction. I should have known better than to respond to his taunts, I was guilty by association. I'd become a probationer once more and I'd remain one until I proved my loyalty all over again. Nothing had been said to me officially, but Dicky's little flash of temper was not the first indication of what the department really felt.

'I didn't come on this trip to discuss Fiona,' I said.

'Don't keep bickering,' said Dicky. 'Let's go and talk to your friend Werner and get it over and done with. I can't wait to be out of this filthy hell-hole. January or February; that's the time when people who know what's what go to Mexico. Not in the middle of the rainy season.'

Dicky opened the door of the car and I slid across the seat to get out his side. 'Prohibido aparcar,' said the security guard, and with arms folded he planted himself in our path.

'What's that?' said Dicky, and the man said it again. Dicky smiled and explained, in his schoolboy Spanish, that we were residents of the hotel, we would only be leaving the car there for half an hour, and we were engaged on very important business.

'Prohibido aparcar,' said the guard stolidly

'Give him some money, Dicky,' I said. 'That's all he wants.'

The security guard looked from Dicky to me and stroked his large black moustache with the ball of his thumb. He was a big man, as tall as Dicky and twice as wide.

'I'm not going to give him anything,' said Dicky. 'I'm not going to pay twice.'

'Let me do it,' I said. 'I've got small money here.'

'Stay out of this,' said Dicky. 'You've got to know how to handle these people.' He stared at the guard. 'Nada! Nada! Nada! Entiende?'

The guard looked down at our Chevrolet and then plucked the wiper between finger and thumb and let it fall back against the glass with a thump. 'He'll wreck the car,' I said. 'This is not the time to get into a hassle you can't win.'

'I'm not frightened of him,' said Dicky.

'I know you're not, but I am.' I got in front of him before he took a swing at the guard. There was a hard, almost vicious, streak under Dicky's superficial charm, and he was a keen member of the Foreign Office judo club. Dicky wasn't frightened of anything; that's why I didn't like working with him. I folded some paper money into the guard's ready hand and pushed Dicky towards the sign that said 'Elevator to hotel lobby'. The guard watched us go, his face still without emotion. Dicky wasn't pleased either. He thought I'd tried to protect him against the guard and he felt belittled by my interference.

The hotel lobby was that same ubiquitous combination of tinted mirror, plastic marble and spongy carpet underlay that international travellers are reputed to admire. We sat down under a huge display of plastic flowers and looked at the fountain.

'Machismo,' said Dicky sadly. We were waiting for the top-hatted hotel doorman to find a taxi driver who would take us to Werner's apartment. 'Machismo,' he said again reflectively. 'Every last one of them is obsessed by it. It's why you can't get anything done here. I'm going to report that bastard downstairs to the manager.'

'Wait until after we've collected the car,' I advised.

'At least the embassy sent a Counsellor to meet us. That means that London has told them to give us full diplomatic back-up.'

'Or it means Mexico City embassy staff – including your pal Tiptree – have a lot of time on their hands.'

Dicky looked up from counting his traveller's cheques. 'What do I have to do, Bernard, to make you remember it's Mexico? Not Mexico City; Mexico.'