The Adventurers (97 page)

I felt a strange guilt, a personal sense of tragedy and loss that I had not known since the death of my father. I felt the sudden pressure and warmth of tears pressing against my eyes.

"What does it mean?" Dania repeated.

"It means," I replied dully, "that in everything I have ever done—everything I have tried—I have failed."

CHAPTER
27

By the time I reached the consulate there was no time for self-reproach. I pushed my way through the throng of reporters with a curt "No comment," and managed finally to get inside. Fat Cat and one of the clerks had to lean against the door again until it was securely locked.

"Call the police," I ordered. 'Ask their assistance in keeping the entrance clear." I turned to Fat Cat. "Come with me."

My secretary looked up from her desk, an expression of relief on her face. "There are many telephone calls," she said.

"El Presidente has been trying to reach you. So has the State Department in Washington—"

"Bring the list into my office," I said tersely. I shut my office door behind Fat Cat and myself, and turned. "Is it as bad as the television says?"

Fat Cat shrugged, his face impassive. "Quien sabe? No one is telling the truth at a time like this. But it is not good, that is for sure."

I nodded. "Is Giraldo still around?"

"Yes, he's upstairs monitoring the radio."

"Get him down here."

Fat Cat left the room without a word and I took the list of calls from my secretary. "Get el Presidente," I said before I even looked at the list.

"Yes, excellency."

I sat down and studied the messages. It looked like for the first time the world was suddenly aware of Corteguay. There were calls from everyone—from the UN, from consulates of various countries, and from the newspapers. Not only had the State Department called but there had also been calls from the senator and the two other congressmen who had been at the dinner in Washington.

The telephone buzzed and I picked it up.

El Presidente's voice was harsh and angry. "Where in hell were you?" he demanded. "I have been trying to get you all night!"

I had no excuse to offer. I remained silent.

"If you were here I'd have had you shot!" he shouted.

I'd had enough. This kind of talk was leading nowhere. "Shoot me next week," I said grimly. "If we're still in business, that is. Meanwhile, exactly what is the situation?"

El Presidente was silent for a moment, then what I had said got through to him. His voice became calmer. "It is rough but I think we can hold out if the rest of the army remains loyal."

"Will they?"

"I don't know," he said, and for the first time I heard the weariness in his voice. "Some of those I thought would be with me to the death—Vasquez, Pardo, Mosquera—have already taken their regiments over to the rebels. Others, who I had thought would be the first to go, like Zuluaga and Tulia, are still with me. It all depends now on how long I can keep them convinced that we will win."

"Will we?" I asked.

"If we get help, and if we can hold out long enough. I have a feeling the rebels decided to attack now because they knew the guns had been stopped. If they had waited longer their supplies would have dwindled away. For them it was now or never."

How exquisite an irony, I thought. The very thing I had hoped to accomplish on Marcel's death had resulted in the exact opposite of what I had planned. "What kind of help do you need?"

"Any kind I can get. Ask everyone—the United Nations, the United States, anyone who will listen. We need men, arms, money, anything they will give. They should realize by now that if they don't uphold us the Communists will take over."

"They might want to know who the Communists are," I said. "They are suspicious of name-calling."

"There will be a list on your telex within the hour. El Condor, Mendoza—"

"Mendoza got through?"

"Yes, he shaved off his mustache and walked past our police as if he were invisible. They were too busy staring at your girl."

"The girl is all right?"

"She is safe," he replied tersely. "What is the reaction up there? Do you think we can count on any support?"

"I don't know. It's too early to tell. I've had more telephone calls than I could answer."

"Then get on with it!"

"The newspapers are yelling for a statement," I said.

"Have they printed my speeches?"

"Yes. I have also heard excerpts on television."

"Then that's all they need know at the moment," el Presidente said, a pleased note in his voice. "I'll let you know when other statements are to be made."

I put down the telephone, and a moment later Fat Cat and Giraldo entered my office.

"How goes it?" Fat Cat asked.

"Under control, so far."

"Bueno."

"You wanted to see me, excelencia?" Giraldo asked.

"Yes. You said you were checked out in small aircraft. Can you fly a twin-engine Beechcraft?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," I said. I looked at Fat Cat. "Take him out to the airport and have him checked out in my plane. If he can fly it I want you both to take it to Florida."

"I can fly it, sir."

"O.K. I want you to take it into Broward Airport in Fort Lauderdale, just outside Miami. If you went into Miami you'd attract too much attention. When you get there call me. I may want to get to Corteguay in a hurry. Pan American has shut down its flight."

"Yes, sir," Giraldo said. He turned and left the office.

"You're a fool if you go now," Fat Cat said bluntly. "There's nothing you can do."

"I'm not planning to go now. I merely want the plane there in case I have to go."

"Then you'd be even more of a fool. The best thing you can do is stay here. You'll only get yourself killed."

Probably he was right. But there was nothing else I could do. For too long I had held myself aloof from things. "My father would have gone," I said.

Fat Cat looked at me silently for a moment. There were times when I could never be sure what he was thinking, and this was one of them. Finally he shrugged, his face still impassive. "If it is what you wish."

I watched the door close behind Fat Cat and looked down at the list of telephone messages on my desk. I picked up the phone and told my secretary to begin returning the calls. Everyone I spoke to sympathized with the situation but no one was willing to offer any concrete help. They were all watching and waiting.

The Secretary of the UN was most polite but also quite definite; it was not a matter for the Security Council. As far as the UN was concerned it was an internal matter and they had no right to interfere in the internal affairs of any country. But he thought it might be possible for me to address the General Assembly if the necessary waivers could be secured from members whose speeches were already scheduled for tomorrow's meeting. However, that was all he could do; he could promise nothing more.

The State Department merely wanted to talk about what provisions had been made for the safety of Americans in Corteguay. They had a destroyer standing off the coast ready to take out such Americans if necessary, and I assured them that all possible precautions were being taken, and that they would be advised if any further action was necessary.

The Latin American countries were all sympathetic but had similar problems. And Europe was only curious to the extent that they would be in any power play; they regarded it simply as a struggle between Western and Eastern spheres of influence. While I sensed they favored us, I felt they were willing to go along with the rebels should it become necessary. The only thing that was certain was that they did not want to become involved in any conflict. And to the emerging nations of Africa and Asia ours was a familiar story, and reminiscent of the very same problems they themselves were facing.

I finally got down the list to the senator, who came right to the point. "I'd like to see you tomorrow. Can you come down here?"

"I'm sorry. I'm expecting to address the General Assembly at the UN tomorrow afternoon."

The senator hesitated a moment. "Have you spoken to either of the congressmen?"

"No. I haven't had time to return all the calls."

"You don't need to," he said, "we'll come up there tomorrow. Do you think you could slip over to my sister's apartment without being observed?"

"I can try."

"What time?"

"Make it as early in the morning as you can," I said. "There's less chance of the reporters being wide awake."

"How about breakfast at six?"

"Good. I'll be there."

And I put down the telephone and thought for a moment. I wondered what the senator had on his mind. What more could he do when his government had turned me down cold? There seemed to be no immediate answers so I picked up the telephone again.

Fat Cat came in while I was waiting for the next call. "Why do I have to go with Giraldo? You know I know nothing about planes."

"But you could keep an eye on it."

Fat Cat was silent for a moment. "Don't you trust him?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm taking no chances. That plane is the only way we have of getting home if we have to. So I don't want anything to happen to it."

"What do I do if he decides to sabotage it while we're in the air?"

I eyed him grimly. "Start praying," I said as the telephone began to ring. "Vaya con Dios."

CHAPTER
28

I made it without being observed by going out the basement door of the consulate and through the alleyway to the apartment next door. From there it was only a few minutes to the apartment of the senator's sister, so I walked over to Madison Avenue and hailed a taxi.

I had spoken twice during the night to el Presidente. The news had not been promising. The bandoleros in the north had pushed to within forty miles of Curatu and captured the gateway city to the road south. El Presidente had sent reserves to Santa Clara with orders to make a stand there or die. And Santa Clara was only eighteen miles from Curatu, just beyond the airport.

The only news that was good was by virtue of its not being bad. The defecting regiments in the south were stalled, apparently more by confusion than by any opposition they faced. Already several colonels were squabbling among themselves, yet despite this no great successes had been achieved by loyal troops. But at least this served to keep the rebels from going around Curatu and joining up with their comrades to the north. Once they achieved this Curatu would be cut off and the war would be as good as over.

The senator's sister let me in. Her face was serious. Like her brother she wasted no time on the amenities. "They're waiting in the dining room."

The senator was seated at the head of the table, the others grouped around him. There was one among them I had not expected. George Baldwin, from the American consulate in Curatu. I wondered how he came to be there.

The question was answered soon enough. He had been in Washington for the past week furnishing them his latest information. "We've been expecting something like this for a long time," he said, "but none of us knew exactly when."

"May I?" I asked, reaching for the percolator. The senator nodded and I filled my cup. I took a big swallow. "Gentlemen, you wanted to see me. Here I am."

"All of us here," the senator began without hesitation, "feel that we have done you a grave injustice. And because of it have perhaps made a very disastrous mistake."

I looked at him. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

The senator glanced at Baldwin, then back at me. "We had all assumed that you were involved in the death of Dr. Guayanos. When Baldwin got here last week he set us straight."

"That's right," Baldwin said. "We had it on pretty good authority that Mendoza had killed him."

"Mendoza?"

"Yes. Apparently Mendoza realized that if Guayanos took advantage of your president's offer, his own power and influence would soon disappear. It might even lead to his own exposure as the Communist in back of the gun-running. So Mendoza made arrangements to have Guayanos gunned down, aware that everyone would assume that either you or el Presidente had ordered it. The only reason he got hit was that after he threw himself to the ground a ricocheting bullet caught him in the arm."

"Who told you?" I asked.

"We have our sources of information. And in New York ours are better than yours."

I didn't argue that. It was ironic that all the time Beatriz had been blaming me for her father's death she was helping his real murderer escape. I turned back to the senator.

"This is to the good. I am most grateful to know of your change of attitude."

But they were aware that what I did not say was more important than what I had said. The important thing was what were they prepared to do. The senator took it upon himself to answer that. "All of us, including George, are willing to urge immediate consideration of a Corteguayan loan."

I looked at him steadily. "Thank you. I'm in no position to refuse but my own feelings are that as usual your government is too late to be of any significant help."

The senator looked at me. "What could we do that might help?"

I met his eyes. "You could ask your government to send in troops to restore order. Not to ensure el Presidente's continuation but to give the people a chance to elect their own government in an objective election."

The senator's voice was shocked. "You know we couldn't do that! The whole world would censure us for interference."

I finished my coffee in silence. "Ask yourselves this one question, gentlemen. What have you been doing all these years if not interfering? By doing nothing, by not recognizing our government until it was virtually impossible to ignore it, and by offering a loan only if I usurped power. Don't you consider that interference, or is it merely good politics?"

I didn't wait for them to answer. I got to my feet. "My own feeling, gentlemen, is that the great powers of this world—and this includes you as well as Russia and China— are constantly interfering in the affairs of their smaller neighbors. Despite the nobility of your motives, which I am quite willing to concede, it is nothing more than that. Interference."