A Woman Involved (14 page)

She massaged her forehead. ‘Don’t you think the British government could find out which banks Max used, simply by asking the Swiss government? And the same in America?’

Morgan shook his head. ‘Not Switzerland. Banking secrecy is sacred there. If the British could have done that they hardly needed to send me to Grenada to find you. No, they would have to apply to the Swiss courts for a special court order to get that information. They’d have to prove that a crime had been committed and the proof lay in the box. Tell the whole story. And what crime can they prove has been committed?’ He shook his head. ‘And I doubt they could do it in America, either. It would be unconstitutional.’

‘That wouldn’t stop the CIA.’

‘But they’d have to break the law to do it. And there’d be hell to pay. You could sue the American government for millions. Then the whole, secret would come out, be public knowledge. They wouldn’t want that.’

She sat, thinking.

‘I don’t like the sound of this José Luis. Max knew a lot of important people all over South America. I think I know somebody who’d help us.’

Morgan had the feeling she had been testing his views before putting forward a better plan of her own. ‘Who? And would you trust him?’

‘I wouldn’t tell him the truth. But I would trust him to keep his mouth shut. He’s a very powerful man. Called Horst
Vasquez. Half German, half Spanish. A friend of Max’s father. He’s mixed up in politics, and he’s a Mason, like Max was. He’s got a huge ranch here in Venezuela. He’s about sixty, I suppose. He’s always been very fond of me.’ She added: ‘Always flirts with me.’

‘Could he get us false passports?’

‘Probably. And he’s got his own aeroplane. Two, in fact.’

‘But is he a crook, or just well connected, or what?’

‘He’s like Max, fingers in lots of pies. No, he’s not a crook, but everything is for sale in South America. I’m sure he can grease the right palms to get us passports.’

Morgan sat back in his chair.

‘Excellent. That would solve half our problems. But what story are you going to tell him? Those passports must be in false names, remember. He’ll be very curious to know why.’

‘I simply tell him that I’m on the run because of the coup in Grenada – I need to lie low. He knows Max was involved with the revolutionary government, it’s credible therefore that I’m in trouble too. And you’re helping me.’

Morgan sat forward, his hands laced. ‘You think he’ll buy that?’

‘He knows Max was politically active all over the place. String-pulling, wheeling, dealing. Horst is the same sort of man. South America is run like that. He won’t find it incredible. Particularly if I act frantic and tearful.’ She added bleakly: ‘Which won’t be hard.’

Morgan thought. ‘Could you tell him that we’ve been lovers for years? That now that Max is gone your new name is – or is going to be …  Anna Armstrong?’

She shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t like that. He respected Max, though he thought he was a heel for treating me badly.’

Morgan sat back.

‘And your other friends in the region?’

She said: ‘Several. But Horst is the best bet.’

‘Where’s his ranch?’

‘Without looking at a map, I’d say about three hundred miles from here.’ She added: ‘Stupendous place. Vast plains. Thousands of cattle.’

Morgan said: ‘And these aeroplanes of his? You think he would fly us to some point in America?’

‘It’s possible. He’s got a pilot. I’ve flown his planes myself. But I could hardly steal one.’

‘Why not? We hijacked Big King’s boat. You could send Horst an apologetic telegram from Florida telling him where it is. What fuel range has it got?’

‘The big one’s a Cessna Twin. About a thousand miles.’

Morgan visualized the map. ‘We’d have to refuel somewhere.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘If it works, this is the answer to our immediate problems. Even if we don’t get his plane, just the passports. Well – we better get our story straight, so we don’t contradict each other. And the next job is to find a car to rent. Can you telephone Horst first, to make sure he’s there?’

‘Yes. Though South American telephones are not the most reliable.’ She looked at her watch. ‘He’ll be up by now.’

Morgan said, ‘Don’t say anything compromising. Just find out whether he’s there.’

There was an antique telephone in the café.

Morgan sat in the far corner, watching Anna repeatedly dial, wait, then hang up and dial again. Finally her face lit up and he heard her speak in Spanish, her free hand over her ear.

She spoke, then listened, then spoke again. Then she replaced the receiver in exasperation. She dialled again.

It rang and it rang. He saw her speak again. Then she slowly replaced the receiver.

She turned and walked back to the table. She was pale.

‘He won’t talk to me.’

Morgan looked at her. ‘Tell me the whole conversation.’

She took a breath.

‘He answered the phone himself. I said, “Hullo, Horst, know who this is?” There was a surprised silence. Then he said, “Is that you?” I said “Yes, dearest, can I come to see you today?” He sounded shocked. He stuttered. Then he said “No, impossible!” And he hung up.’

‘Oh, Jesus …’

‘So I thought he had misunderstood who I was. So I dialled again. It rang a long time. Finally the maid answered, María. I said, “María, this is Anna, let me speak with the señor.” She sounded flustered. She said “He cannot speak with you.” I said
“Tell him it’s
Anna
.” She said, “He knows nobody by that name.” And she hung up.’

Morgan rested his forehead in his hand and sighed.

‘Oh Jesus …  So they’ve already been onto him. Was your friendship with him that well known?’

‘He came to Grenada sometimes. Always stayed with us. The Russians know, because Max introduced Horst to Bishop ages ago. But I’m surprised if the British know.’

‘On an island that size everybody knows everybody’s business. What’s surprising is if the Russians already know we’ve escaped from British custody – it was only twelve hours ago.’

She said, ‘Big King?’

Morgan shook his head. ‘He’s still in the middle of the ocean right now. And I took the valve out of his two-way radio.’ He breathed angrily. ‘Well, we better not try any of your other friends.’

She said grimly: ‘So it’s José Luis.’

‘And find a place to hide. A pensión. And get some hairdye and clothes.’

Bar García is on a corner overlooking the harbour of Garrucha, a nice old place spoilt with a new chrome counter and formica-top tables. Morgan had hoped for a more private place, but José Luis felt that private business was best done in public.

‘This is my campo,’ he said, ‘my town.’ He spoke no English, so Anna did the talking. He waved his hand. ‘Some people, like Big King, think I am a gangster, but I am merely a simple businessman. I do not sell drugs.’

‘Good,’ Anna said. ‘All we want is to get on an aeroplane to America.’

José Luis looked puzzled, very puzzled. ‘At Caracas airport there are many airlines.’

‘They’re no good to us.’

José Luis went on: ‘Now, some of my
friends
sometimes deal in drugs, I believe.’

Morgan was frustrated that he did not understand the Spanish. Anna said, ‘We won’t want anything to do with drugs. I only want to charter a small plane. With pilot. Or get on a plane that is taking people to America.’

José Luis looked regretful. ‘Ah, some of my friends do deal in passengers. But they do not talk to strangers. But maybe I could give them a message for you?’

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘I’m a very kind person, Señora. But, alas, my friends do not do passenger work to America, they feel that is too risky. The United States Coastguard have planes too, you know, and much radar. My friends only carry passengers as far as the Bahamas. But that is only a short distance by boat from Florida.’

Morgan understood the last part. He visualized the map. The Bahamas – hundreds of tropical islands, a hundred miles or so off the Florida coast.

‘And how much does it cost?’

‘Three thousand dollars each person.’

Anna translated to Morgan. He said, ‘Okay. Ask him when we go. It must be tonight. Or tomorrow at the latest.’

Anna translated. José Luis said: ‘I must ask my friends. But next week, I think.’

‘Next
week
? That’s impossible.’

José Luis shrugged.

Anna said, ‘A
chartered
plane. There must be dozens for charter, with all this drug-running.’

José Luis shrugged. ‘Impossible.’

Of course it wasn’t impossible. ‘How much?’

José Luis shrugged. ‘My friends? …  Thirty thousand dollars.’

Anna glared at him. They had less than twenty thousand. And they were going to need it. She said: ‘Ten.’

José Luis rolled his eyes. ‘Pff …  Impossible.’

She was inclined to believe him – ten thousand might be cheap for a job like that. ‘Eleven.’

‘Impossible.’

Anna slapped both hands on the table and stood up. So, it was to be Caracas after all. Start all over again.

‘What’s happening?’ Morgan demanded.

Anna told him.

José Luis said: ‘Maybe my friends will listen to twenty.’

‘Sorry, José, I’ve only got twelve.’ Anna turned to go.

José Luis said: ‘Twelve thousand dollars, and maybe my friends will fetch you at your pensión after darkness.’

Relief flooded through her. But she did not show it. ‘How long is the trip?’

‘About eight hours.’

‘Where do we end up?’

‘On the island of Andros. Bahamas.’

‘And what about a boat from Andros?’

José Luis shrugged. ‘There are many people in the Bahamas with boats.’

The pensión had only one toilet, which did not flush properly, alongside of which was a cold water shower, without a nozzle, which did not drain properly; the bed in their room was hard, and they slept in their clothes so they could run for it at a moment’s warning; but thank God none of that had stopped them sleeping. The exhaustion of days of tension followed by their relief that they were getting out of Venezuela so quickly laid them both out for eight solid hours.

Morgan woke up with a groggy start; he looked at his watch – seven o’clock. Morning or night? He dropped back on the pillow, collecting himself. Then he heard the knock on the door again. That’s what had woken him. He scrambled up. ‘Anna?’ He snatched up the gun and hurried to the door. He opened it a crack.

A young man stood there. He said something in Spanish. Anna came to the door, blinking. The man spoke again. She interpreted: ‘His name is Paco. José Luis sent him.’

‘Get the bag.’

They followed him down the stairs. Still half-dazed with sleep. They came out into the dark street.

An old car was waiting down the block. Another man was sitting in the back. Paco motioned Anna into the back seat, Morgan into the front.

The other man’s name was Fernando, they learned. They drove in silence down narrow, poorly lit streets, past shops and
houses and shacks. Then they were in the country. Heavy tropical foliage flashing by in the headlights.

The car wound into jungle. There were some cleared pastures, cattle. There was a moon. Paco drove fast, a man who enjoyed driving. After twenty minutes, he swung off the dirt road. The trees parted.

Ahead was a long strip of open, grassy earth. They bounced down the rough airstrip, to the end. Paco swung the car around to face the way they had come.

He switched off the headlights. He said something in Spanish. Anna interpreted: ‘We wait.’

They did not talk. Within five minutes Morgan heard a drone. He peered, and saw a small shape looming down over the black jungle. Paco switched on his headlights. The beam lit up the airstrip.

The plane came steeply down towards the airfield, then it levelled, and touched down. It came careening down the grass, bouncing and droning. Morgan saw that it was a twin-engine Cessna. It came straight at the car, slowing; then it turned ponderously around.

It came to a stop, its propellers still turning. They all got out of the car. The co-pilot’s door opened and a man climbed out onto the wing. Paco turned to Morgan. He held out his hand. ‘
Dinero, por favor
.’

Morgan went to the car’s headlights. He pulled the money out of his pocket. He crouched down with Paco in the headlights and started counting it out.

Fernando had gone to the boot of the car. He hefted out three sacks. He slung one over his shoulder, and ran to the aeroplane with it. He loaded it into a luggage door in the fuselage. He spoke to the co-pilot. The co-pilot shouted something up to the pilot. Fernando ran back to the car. He got another sack. The co-pilot started walking towards the car.

Morgan looked up and saw a hard face glaring down at him in the headlights. He snapped something in Spanish. Paco looked up, clutching the money. He spoke earnestly in Spanish. The man glared then said in a harsh American accent: ‘No
way, compadre
!’

He turned and strode back towards the plane. Paco hurried after him. Fernando was loading the second sack into the
fuselage. Morgan turned to Anna. ‘What’s the guy loading?’

‘Oh God – what do you think? Drugs, of course!’

‘
Oh God no!
’ He turned furiously for Paco. Anna said: ‘The pilot doesn’t want to take us.’

‘Of course he doesn’t!’

He started after Paco. The pilot’s door opened and a man climbed out. He dropped to the ground. Fernando was running back to the car for the third sack. The two pilots spoke. Then the pilot came walking slowly through the moonlight towards Morgan and Anna. He stopped in front of them.

‘Who the
hell
are you, buddie?’

Morgan said, ‘Customers of José Luis. We chartered this plane.’

The pilot glared, then said, ‘Jesus …’ He turned and shouted to Fernando. ‘
Rápido
!’ He beckoned to Paco. ‘Come here, pal.’

Paco walked away with him. They stopped out of earshot. They were arguing. Then the American turned abruptly and shouted at them angrily: ‘
Get in.
’

Anna grabbed Morgan’s arm. ‘Do we want to do this?’

Morgan clenched his teeth furiously.