Saffire (29 page)

“I see.” I couldn't wait. “The relocation of the dammed.”

Miskimon sighed. “You take advantage of my loyalty to Colonel Goethals. Had I any choice, I would be far, far away from you and your dam puns.”

Miskimon winced when he realized what he just said, and put up a hand. “Please. Don't say anything.”

I grinned. Could it be? Was that a slight upturn of Miskimon's mouth, as if the man was fighting a smile?

We resumed our observation of the comings and goings at the administration building. Robert Waldschmidt was nowhere in sight.

“Raoul Amador,” I said, finally. “Colonel Goethals wanted to know who the hunter was. There is your answer.”

“It's not much of an answer. We've known of his involvement since the night he had you tortured by the National Police. We want whoever it is that sent Amador after you. Whatever Amador is doing, he does not have enough influence to do it on his own.”

“Last night—”

“Yes, I'm also aware he disappeared from the party shortly after you did last night. From what was reported to me, he—”

“Who reported it?”

“Odelia, naturally. The same person who knew Cromwell had given Amador the task of getting your tuxedo and had deliberately ordered your suit in the wrong size. She suggested we bring proper attire and would not listen to me when I insisted it wasn't necessary.”

“How did she know?”

“Raquel is like a sister to Odelia. Raquel passed it along after Amador bragged about his little joke. Apparently Raquel has a soft spot for you.”

“As does Odelia for you, Muskie. I offer the lipstick on your neck as proof.”

Miskimon glared at me but chose to ignore the remark. “Amador refused to make a public appearance after you were through with him last night, probably because he looked much the worse for wear. The colonel and I expected to hear from the National Police this morning with a complaint about your abuse of the man. Naturally, we would not have handed you over to them, disappointed as we were at the rough handling you gave him.”

“
My
abuse of
him
?”

“The Wild West days are over, Mr. Holt. Yes, he tried to humiliate you with improperly sized clothing, but to drag a man through horse manure is an overreaction from just about any perspective. Odelia said his nostrils were caked and he kept trying to blow his nose clean.”

“That is ironic, given that you used a shovel as a Peacemaker. For which, by the way, I'm grateful.”

“Mr. Holt?”

“Yes, Muskie.”

“Time is one of the most crucial resources in the Zone. The money spent by our taxpayers every hour simply boggles the mind. My preference would be direct questions and direct statements. It would lessen the time I need to spend with you and increase the time that I can devote to the tasks given to me by the colonel. Your statement about a shovel and a Peacemaker is too obscure for me.”

“Last night. Near the carriage that was to take me away from the party, Amador threatened me with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. You intervened by striking him across the back of the head with the flat of a shovel. You have my gratitude. Is that direct enough?”

“Repeat that, please. But with more detail.”

I did.

Miskimon removed his glasses and polished them with his shirt. I waited as he composed his thoughts. When the glasses were back on his nose, he said, “That was not I. Had I been there, I would have chosen a different method to disarm him. Which leads to a couple of obvious questions. Who wielded the shovel, and why would Amador risk the wrath of the National Police by trying to kill you?”

My turn to show surprise. “Risk the wrath of the National Police?”

“Shall we trade information, Mr. Holt? It is a grudging admission that I believe you to be a man of honor, despite your casual regard of authority and rules and regulations. Tell me what you hoped to gain by inviting Waldschmidt here, and I'll tell you about the National Police.”

“Hoped?”

“If he is indeed working for the Germans, he won't appear. This is the American Zone. The Republic of Panama is his refuge.”

“That's really all I wanted to establish. Whether it still was.”

Miskimon paused as he gave that some thought. “Well done. I would like to know why you think he could believe himself to be in danger in Panama.”

I had two simple answers: the flag had been exposed, and someone gave me photographs with a treasonous constitution. Waldschmidt was the one person I knew who was linked to Amador and could be part of it.

Instead of giving that answer, I said, “You first.”

“Me?”

“National Police.” I wanted—no, needed—a reason to trust Miskimon.

“Very well. After you swear an oath of confidentiality.”

“Muskie.”

He sighed. “The colonel was as furious as I was at how the National Police dealt with you on Sunday night. After I saw the bite of the alligator on your ears, I realized we had put you at too much risk. The obvious solution was to send you home. Except when I reported the events to the colonel, he overruled me. He did something very unusual. He threatened war.”

“War?”

“He met with the governor and the chief of the National Police. He promised them that, regardless of the consequences, if you were harmed in any manner, he would send in two hundred soldiers and commandeer the police station, thereby, in effect, taking control of Panama City. His reputation is such that they understood he was not bluffing. It did not take them long to agree. The Chinese laborer and the Panamanian with a limp, they weren't ours. I'm wondering if they were sent by the republic to learn what you were doing, or to make sure that you didn't get hurt under any circumstances, or both.”

This, then, explained Miskimon's comment the day before about the colonel's firm words.

“Last night, then, Amador was knocked out by one of theirs? Protecting me to ensure the colonel stays happy?”

“That would be my presumption.”

This was my decision point. Would I believe what I'd just been told, given that I'd been followed by spies everywhere since arriving and given all the information that had been withheld from me? I'd wondered all morning whether Goethals and Miskimon were involved in some way with the photographs placed in my clothing. After all, Goethals himself had informed me that while he did not like Cromwell, he needed the man to be able to complete the canal. It came down to this. Either Goethals was colluding in all this intrigue with Cromwell, or he was not. Because Cromwell
was
part of this. He'd established that by asking me and Miskimon to unfurl the flag.

Yet everything I knew about Goethals confirmed he was a man of honor. As was Miskimon.

“Nice to get that kind of protection,” I said.

Miskimon shook his head. “You really do think highly of yourself, don't you? It was a slap of the face to the colonel for them to treat one of his men in that manner. If he didn't stand his ground, it would put him in a weak position. The colonel is not a weak man, and he will not let his authority be challenged. As for the republic, they dare not incur the colonel's wrath. Your safety was simply a matter of politics.”

If so, my fear earlier in the morning that I would be whisked away after meeting Harding had been unfounded. “I trust, then, that in his discussion with the National Police, the colonel discovered who directed them to apply the alligator bite to my ears? The man who hid his identity as he questioned me?”

“They gave him the answer. Raoul Amador.”

While that didn't surprise me, it did not explain his motive, so I asked the natural question. “What was Amador's reason?”

“We would like to know as much as you would. The colonel made it clear that they were to warn Amador that if you were harmed, Goethals would unleash his wrath. Why, then, would Amador again threaten you last night, and so openly?”

“I had the distinct impression he thought I would end up dead and be unable to report his actions.”

“Still, a risk. And what would motivate him to want to question you on Sunday night in the first place, let alone attempt to kill you last night?”

I let out a breath. My decision about who to trust was made. “In regard to last night, I think it was the flag of the new republic that you and I put on display.”

“New republic?” Miskimon started, his brows creasing.

“I think Amador is working for the Germans. Let me tell you what I learned this morning about the cable that broke at the locks.”

First I described Oliver MacDonald's reaction, then suggested the man might not be as honest as he tried to appear. Next I described my time at the isolation cage and the information that Gerald Dawson had confessed. I told Miskimon that Dawson had pointed to the photo of Amador as the man who had paid him to saw the cable.

“My guess,” I finished, “is that after each act of sabotage was committed, Amador found a way to make sure the man behind it died, thus ensuring he would not be linked to those acts. He couldn't find a way to reach Dawson, however, not with the security to keep a man with yellow fever out of the general population. Convenient for Amador that Dawson will soon be as dead as the others. As for my testimony, if I understand the law correctly, it would be considered hearsay.”

“You are correct in that understanding,” Miskimon said. “Furthermore, it's a big leap from learning that Amador hired out the sabotage to the argument that he is working for the Germans.”

“Except for the flag. And this. Look for Amador's signature on the final page. He's a lawyer. It wouldn't surprise me if he drew up the entire document.”

This morning, I'd returned the photographs to the protection of wax paper and placed them inside the envelope, which was damp from my sweat when I pulled it out from under my shirt. The wax paper, however, served its purpose, and the photographs of page after page of the new constitution were glossy and immaculate.

“Six years ago,” I said, “Panama revolted from Colombia thanks to the backing of the United States. It's not a stretch to think that another revolt is being planned now with the backing of Germany.”

Miskimon tapped the photographs. “Conceivable. Many Panamanians feel they signed away too much for too little and have regrets about the treaty. And given that completing the canal is simply a matter of a few more years' work at this point, setting up a naval base on each side of the canal would give Germany control of the oceans.”

Miskimon picked up the photographs and glanced at the final sentence. “Mr. Holt, just above Amador's signature, I see this: ‘We, the undersigned, pledge our loyalty to this new republic and loyalty to all who make this bold step.' ”

“I saw that too. Makes sense. While the reward is great if the coup succeeds and this group forms the new government backed by Germany, but if it fails because someone loses nerve, they are all looking at execution for treason. They'd want to make sure everyone in the group is committed, and their signatures would ensure both that and their silence.”

“Yet,” Miskimon said, “that last page is missing. There is no ‘we, the undersigned,' no group of conspirators. There is only one person who can be found guilty of treason, based on the signature to the constitution. That would be Raoul Amador.”

“The final page is not missing. It's in here.” I pulled one last photograph out of the envelope and handed it to him.

It only took him a quick glance to see that someone had razored out all the signatures, leaving the photographic sheet dotted with small open rectangles. “Strange.”

“Yes,” I said. “Strange.”

It had taken me a half hour to cut out those rectangles. I had done it because Raquel's name and signature had been on that photograph, and the only way to keep her anonymous was to protect all the others too.

Saffire's question to me on Sunday morning at the administration building echoed in my mind…

Choosing between justice and the woman I wanted to love had not been difficult at all.

M
y invitation to the bullfight had been for 2 p.m., giving plenty of time for a diversion before a visit to Waldschmidt. So at my insistence, Miskimon and I disembarked at Pedro Miguel, the train stop down from Culebra, before Miraflores, then Corozal, until Ancón, the final stop at the edge of the republic.

At the sound of muted thunder, I scanned the sky. It was habit. In the Dakotas, you could see storms building miles away. I saw only pale blue, no anvils of dark rising clouds. This was the dry season. I'd been told there would be no storms until March. So the sound, though we were well south, had to be the machinery at the Culebra dig.

“You'll find the walk worthwhile,” I told Miskimon, as I led him away from the train station.

“I have only your word for that,” he said, reaching my side.

“Frightening, isn't it?”

He walked on the outside of one rail, and I walked on the outside of the other.

“Tobias Benjamin,” I said. “Titus maybe? Theo? Bryce?”

“Tedius,” he answered. “Boring. Instead of irrelevant questions, perhaps explain why we are on a trek to steal water?” he said. “I'll remind you again of the importance of efficiencies. If this is some wild goose—”

“What's ahead?” I pointed down the stretch of tracks.

“The construction of the Pacific locks and…”

I had no doubt that Miskimon was quick thinking and intelligent. He had just proven it again. “Yes. That's what's ahead.”

He looked to me. “The spot where men claim to have been struck down from the sky. What have you found?”

“Tut-tut, you have your secrets, I have mine. The difference is that as soon as we get there, my secret will be yours, whereas your refusal to divulge the T and B of your names will haunt me forever.”

“This manufactured mysteriousness is juvenile. But I suppose if the shoe fits—”

“Remind me again how much you haven't told me during my time on the isthmus? Like your affection for our cross-dressing candidate for mayor?”

Miskimon stopped. The expression on his face was a mixture of embarrassment and bemusement.

“I presume this ploy is part of Raquel Sandoval's efforts for women's suffrage?” I asked. “Getting a woman into office as mayor of Panama City by having the woman campaign dressed as a man?”

“You know then? Who told you?”

“Once I'd met both, it wasn't that difficult to decide for myself. Odalis Corillo, the self-proclaimed candidate of choice of Raquel Sandoval? Odelia Cordet, the close friend of Raquel Sandoval?”

He shook his head. “You have no idea how relieved I was myself to learn they were one and the same. Until then, I'd found myself with an unnatural attraction to Mr. Corillo during our lunches with Raquel Sandoval. It was…”

My only interaction with Odelia Cordet had been in the bathroom at the Sandoval ranch as she delivered my tuxedo, but in that brief period, I could tell she enjoyed a degree of impudence. I could imagine her, dressed as a man, flirting with someone uptight like Miskimon just for the chance to discomfort him.

He hesitated a beat longer, then continued. “Mr. Holt, you are a rogue of sorts. I have observed women are attracted to men like you. I am not that kind of man, and I will reluctantly admit that to worsen it, I am shy with the fairer sex. In short, I have little experience. Mr. Corillo seemed to delight in provoking me with sly comments about how attractive I was, and I found it so charming and alluring, I'd even begun to wonder about my own inclinations.”

I couldn't help myself. I roared with laughter.

He gave me a miffed look. “It is of little humor. Really.” Then, for the first time in my presence, he smiled. “Perhaps, yes, some humor.”

I patted his shoulder.

He recoiled.

“Forgot,” I said. “Not good with contact, are you?”

“You won't take it personally?”

“Nope. And contact with Odelia? Are you becoming accustomed to that?”

He sniffed. “I am a gentleman, and gentlemen do not share such details.”

“How about generalities? Does a gentleman share generalities?”

He couldn't help but smile again. “I have discovered that romance is not near as ridiculous as I'd believed it when a mere observer of interactions between a man and a woman.”

“I'm proud of you, Muskie. I'll send a wedding gift. A bottle of fine whiskey. If you're going to join the human species, you might as well experiment with all our weaknesses. After that, you could even break a rule and discover how wonderful it feels.”

“Hmmph.” He began walking.

I fell into step with him.

The two Panamanian boys were at the train switch, the same position as the day before.

As we approached, I said to Miskimon, “When I tell you to steal some water, lean forward as if you are reaching for the dipper. But do not, under any circumstances, touch the dipper. Will you trust me on this?”

“Reluctantly.”

We closed the gap and reached the switch on the tracks. Side by side, we squared off against the boys, as if this were the choreography to a gunfight in a silly Western moving picture.

Like the day before, I pointed at the water.

The taller boy spoke up. “Same price as yesterday. Twenty-five cents. Americano dollars.”

Clearly, my cowboy hat made me easy to remember.

“Twenty-five cents!” Miskimon exclaimed. “That's—”

“I know,” I said. “Highway robbery.”

“Robbery is theft,” he said. “This is extortion.”

“There's a difference?”

The two boys swung their heads back and forth as they watched our bickering.

“Regardless,” Miskimon said, “I refuse to pay twenty-five cents to drink water from a bucket that is undoubtedly as filthy as—”

“I think they speak okay English,” I told him. “We all understand you are outraged.”

The two boys crossed their arms, and the taller one spoke again. “Twenty-five cents.”

“What if I just take it from you?” I asked. “How are you going to stop me?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

But the second boy had reached for his stick.

“You'll hit me with that?”

“Twenty-five cents,” he said.

I turned to Miskimon. “Imagine you've worked hard with a shovel all day. You take a shortcut down these tracks because you don't want to pay train fare. You're thirsty. You're outraged at the price they ask, and it's only you and two boys. Would you feel justified in pushing them aside and taking that dipper hanging on the side of the bucket?”

“I do not give in to emotions, Mr. Holt.”

“I'll ask Odelia about that. Just to prove you are not always correct.”

“Don't make me regret my trust in sharing a confidence with you. Too late. I already do.”

“I apologize. Let me rephrase my question. Could you imagine an indignant laborer pushing these boys aside and grabbing a dipper full of water?”

“Not everyone lives up to my standards.” He paused. “Actually, very few.”

“I'll take that as a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell them you're not going to pay and go ahead and steal some water.”

Miskimon glared at me. “I am not that kind of man.”

“Trust me. Remember?”

He turned to the boys. “Fair warning. I think it is wrong to take advantage of someone in need of water. I'll give you five cents. That's my final offer.”

“Muskie.” Had he forgotten my instructions? “Keep your nickel. Just reach for the dipper.”

“Twenty-five cents,” the tall boy said.

Miskimon leaned forward to reach for the dipper. I was watching the younger boy with the broom handle. Instead of using it to strike Miskimon, he touched the other end of it to the center rail.

Miskimon straightened.

“I did it. Followed your ridiculous instructions. What have we accomplished?”

I motioned for the smaller boy to give me his broom handle. He glanced at his partner, who nodded.

The smaller boy dropped the broom handle and fled, with the taller boy directly behind him. A hundred yards down the track, they turned their heads to see if we were in pursuit.

We were not.

They slowed to a jog. Just as well. Miskimon would have wanted their names for his next typed report to Colonel Goethals.

It was safe to lift the dipper from the bucket, so I did, letting Miskimon come to his own conclusion about the setup.

He saw the wire from the dipper, leading to the broomstick. He saw a groove along the broom stick and where the wire was embedded the entire length to the end, sticking out a few inches like an antenna. He let his eyes rove, then stop at the center rail, the one that supplied electricity to the locomotives on this stretch of track. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. When you made a move for the dipper, the boy with the broomstick reached out and touched the wire to the center rail. The wooden broom handle would insulate him from any shock, and the current would go straight to the dipper.”

“A jolt like that,” Miskimon said with a tone of awe, “would come close to killing a man.”

“At the very least, it would knock him on his back like a hand from the sky. You are welcome to keep my name out of your report.”