asked Max, smiling amiably. The ambassador set his pipe on the ashtray and reclined his chair, which tipped back beneath his weight. “I’ve been in Montevideo six years, son. I arrived just before the Revolution of sixty-four.” Max was disconcerted by the use of son. Without exactly sounding false, there was something insincere about it. And then there was the question of this partnership still hanging in the air between them. “Marcílio, in four months, I’ll be replaced by a big shot from the old guard, whose name I can’t reveal just yet. But it’s irrelevant. What matters is that you’re going to get along very well. He’s polite and pleasant enough. But my replacement is coming here solely to push papers. The one running things at the embassy will be his number two. A man in whom I have complete confidence, my protégé, so to speak. We’ve served together twice, the last time in Germany, before I was transferred here. And he’s the one you’ll be dealing with. The partnership I want to form is with the two of you.
