Twenty-Nine

A fter the first song ended, a woman in a sparkling floor-length gold dress entered the floor. The lights dimmed, and the music started up again. As she moved, it was clear the dress was slit nearly to her hip. She was wearing shoes similar to the ones Hollis had been given—tango shoes. The woman glided across the floor for several minutes, moving her hips and her dress in a way that clearly delighted Carlos. He applauded several times.

Then a man in a pinstripe suit entered the room from the kitchen and walked to the woman. The man and woman circled each other, moving closer until the man grabbed the woman, holding her tightly. At first, he caressed her hair and she moved her lips close to his, then he dipped her and she rolled almost out of his arms. It was planned, clearly, as he caught her at the last minute and drew her back to him. But something had changed in their dance. It was now a passionate, almost angry, tango. The music changed again, and the dance changed with it, becoming sad, as though the couple were saying goodbye.

Carlos had been watching the couple intently, but as the dance ended he slipped over to Hollis and Finn.

“Do you tango?” he asked.

Finn laughed. “I read.”

Carlos looked at Hollis. “I’m afraid not,” Hollis said. “It’s lovely, though. Like the story of a relationship.”

“Exactly. It is a story. A story of love and anger, betrayal and desire.” He held out his hand to Hollis. “I will teach you.”

She took his hand. It didn’t seem likely she had a choice. Carlos faced her, holding her right hand in his. She put her left hand on his shoulder, he put his right hand on her back. It all seemed easy enough, Hollis thought. And then he pulled her close with such ferocity, she nearly gasped.

“I don’t know the steps,” she told him.

“In Argentina, we like to improvise.”

“That’s interesting. You seem like a man who prefers to have a plan.”

Carlos smiled. “Perhaps. But when you tango, you think of nothing but tango.”

The music started again, slow but intimate. Carlos moved his foot forward, and out of instinct Hollis moved hers back.

“You are a natural,” he said. Then he spun her and she almost lost her balance. “The tango comes from the streets, from the working class. It is the music of pride and desire, of people who are hungry for more. I can see in the way you move your body that you understand this, Señora. You know what it is to want excitement, pleasure …”

“I have everything I want.”

“No one has everything they want.”

The music quickened. He dipped her until her hair swept the floor, then spun her. They moved across the restaurant, dancing near the professional couple, then away from them. She began to lose track of where they were, or what was happening. She knew it was important to take the driver’s advice and mirror her partner, so she focused on Carlos. It made them move as one.

She held on, realizing she was thinking only of tango. It was as if she’d been swept away somewhere and all she could think of was the music, and the terrifying strength of the man who had her in his arms. When the music stopped, Hollis finally caught her breath. But before she could pull away, the guitar player began a new tune.

“Maybe that’s enough for now,” she said.

“No.” His voice was firm. “You must dance the tanda with the same partner.”

“The tanda?”

“This …” He nodded toward the musicians. “We dance until they stop, Señora McCabe. If you agree to tango with someone, you must never break the dance. It is the greatest of insults.” He tightened his grip on her waist. “You don’t wish to insult me, do you?”

Hollis did her best to smile. “Never, Señor Gardel.”

The second piece was faster, and Hollis found herself holding Carlos tight just to keep up. By the third song, she was able to glance to her left. Finn and Teresa were dancing a less-intense tango, more swaying and flirting, than the show of power that was her dance with Carlos. Another day she might have been a little jealous watching them, but now all she hoped was that he was getting more information from Teresa than she was getting from Carlos.

“You and your husband have been together many years,” he said. “And yet you still have a burning passion for each other.”

“Do we?”

“I did not realize though that you were Dutch. Your American accent is perfection.”

Hollis was blank for a moment, then remembered the honeymooning couple from Amsterdam. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Finn’s instincts had been right about the room being bugged, but at least the couple occupying it was safe.

When finally the tanda ended and the musicians switched to something quiet, they went back to the table. It gave Hollis a moment to catch her breath. The tango was more work than it appeared, and it required a trust that had surprised her. It was a perfect dance for a man looking to test her loyalty. She only hoped she’d passed.

Silva sat at one end of the table, an empty chair between him and Teresa, with Finn to her left and Carlos and Hollis sitting across from them. As if on cue, the food arrived. There were large steaks, roasted potatoes, and a strong red wine.

“The best of Mendoza …” Carlos said, as he poured each glass almost to the top.

The waiter put out bread and chimichurri sauce, both for dipping and for spreading over the beef and potatoes. Hollis put a little on her plate, but after one taste of the fresh blend of parsley, garlic, olive oil, and vinegar, she went back for more.

“Do you know where chimichurri gets its name?” Carlos asked, but without waiting for an answer he continued. “It is from British soldiers who had tasted it asking gimme curry, gimme curry.” He laughed.

“That’s just a story,” Teresa said. “No one knows how it got its name.”

“But we know it is from Argentina.”

“And Uruguay,” she added.

Carlos laughed. “My wife—my late wife—she would never think to disagree with me in public. Never in private, either. But I marry this one and she delights in it. So much passion.”

Teresa took his hand across the table. She smiled, and it was, to Hollis’s eyes, quite a charming smile. The kind that might convince a man she cared for him. She wondered if Carlos believed it.

As they ate, the music played softly and the professional dancers continued to dance. But no one at the table paid much attention. All eyes were on Carlos. He told stories of Argentina’s history, of his travels around the world, of a grandchild that lived in America, who he rarely saw but deeply loved. The rest of the table listened. By the time dessert arrived, a chocolate cake with salted caramel decorations, Hollis felt she knew everything about the man. But when she stopped to think of what he said, it was almost nothing at all. His world was funny stories that likely hid dark truths.

Silva said almost nothing but kept drinking glass after glass until Hollis was surprised he could still sit upright. Teresa interrupted to correct Carlos more than once. He seemed to enjoy the banter between them, at least in public.

When Teresa got up to use the ladies’ room, Hollis was tempted to follow but Teresa walked too quickly to catch up. She dropped her purse and Eduardo jumped up to get it for her. She smiled at him, perhaps the first genuine smile of the night, and left the room. Carlos told the story of another heist in which he was almost caught. He was enjoying himself, while Hollis could see Silva doing all in his power to hold his tongue.

“You know of course the Borges saying about the Malvinas … the Falklands War,” Carlos said.

Finn nodded. “A fight between two bald men over a comb.”

“This is the secret to my life. I sell combs. I don’t take sides, so no matter who wins the war, I make money.” He laughed.

Teresa returned, sighing. “There’s more to life than money.”

“If there is, I will still win.” Carlos laughed even harder, but this time it seemed the joke was a private one.

The waiter brought more wine and coffee. Hollis knew better than to check the time, but she assumed as she sipped the last of her coffee that the evening would be soon over. She hoped so, anyway. She realized halfway through dinner that she and Finn had been in Argentina less than twenty-four hours. So much had happened that she needed a break from all of it to catch up. And to sleep. She desperately needed more sleep than the two catnaps they’d taken so far. Looking over at Finn struggle to keep his eyes open, she knew the moment they could get away, they would fall into bed. Discussions of what had happened tonight, what he had possibly learned from Teresa, would have to wait until breakfast.

“I’m so grateful you both agreed to be my guests tonight,” Carlos said. “You have been so different than I expected …”

“As have you,” Finn said.

Carlos seemed pleased. “Our evening draws to a close, I think,” he said. “My new friends”—he smiled toward Finn and Hollis—“my old friend”—he looked toward Silva, who had been silent most of the evening—“my wife”—he nodded at Teresa. “I have enjoyed all of tonight but one thing. I’ve been saddened to realize that not all is what it seems. I needed tonight to be sure, but now I am sure. I have been lied to.”

No one moved, no facial expressions changed. Carlos’s voice maintained its lightness. But everything in the room was different. Hollis could see the waiter take a few steps back. Eduardo and Bryan were behind her. She had no idea what they were doing. The dancers were standing still. Hollis could hear the musicians, though. They still played, but it was as if they lost the beat.

Finn locked his eyes on Hollis. He was calm, so she was calm. The door seemed miles away, and they would never be able to make a run for it. Not with guns at their backs. They could talk their way out of it, maybe. That depended on what he knew. Finn smiled a half smile. It will be okay, he was telling her. She smiled back.