Zane checked a map. ‘The town’s on the west side of the lake.’
‘What lake?’ The Englishman searched for it. ‘That’s not a lake, it’s a puddle.’
‘Huh. It’s much bigger on the map.’
Surrounding the thin patch of water was an expanse of pale, flat ground. It was swathed in what Eddie at first thought was fog before closer observation revealed it as wind-blown dust. The lake had largely dried up, leaving behind a barren wasteland of silt. He guessed that the settlement had originally been built on the shore, but it was now at least half a mile from the water’s edge. Village and lake shared the same name: Lago Amargo — Bitter Lake. ‘So Kroll and his arsewipes are hiding out here?’
‘This is where the IP address originated, yes.’
‘Assuming they didn’t route it through somewhere else first.’
‘It’s possible,’ Zane admitted, ‘but this part of the world was a popular hideout for Nazis after the war. We’re only about sixty kilometres from Bariloche, where there was a whole community of escapees — and there was a compound over the border in Chile, Villa Baviera, that was basically a cult founded by a Nazi. When the Chilean police raided it, they found huge caches of weapons, and even a tank.’
Eddie gave him a disbelieving look. ‘A tank? How the fuck did they get hold of a tank?’
‘These people can get hold of anything. They have the money they stole from Jews and others in the war, and middlemen like Leitz to supply it to them.’
‘Speaking of Leitz, he’s bound to have told that fat bastard about us by now.’
Zane nodded. ‘I spoke to the Mossad after we landed. He’s already left Italy and gone off the grid. We tried to access his computer remotely, but he’s stopped using it. He probably guessed it had been compromised.’
They drove on. Scrub gave way to fields, but from the derelict state of most of the farm buildings, it seemed that the former inhabitants had given up on their profession. ‘So what do we know about this place?’ Eddie asked.
‘Not much. It used to be a mining town, but the mines closed decades ago, so they turned to agriculture.’ Zane looked out across the desolate farmland. ‘Without much success, I’d guess. The population’s more than halved over the past twenty years. Beyond that, though, we couldn’t find much more information.’
‘How are we going to find these Nazis, then? I doubt we’ll get lucky and catch Kroll while he’s buying the morning groceries.’
‘That would save us a lot of time,’ Zane said. ‘But we should see if we can get access to the town records.’ He glanced at a boxy equipment case on the rear seat. ‘I’ve used the cover story of being a photographer before; it’s surprising how much people will open up to you if you tell them they have a pretty home.’
‘You’ll have to be bloody convincing for that to work here.’ They entered the settlement proper, passing a faded sign bearing the village’s name. More empty, crumbling buildings greeted them. They had gone a good hundred yards along the street before seeing their first sign of life: an old woman watching them warily from a doorway before retreating inside. Eddie whistled an ululating five-note tune, following it with ‘Waah waah waaaahh…’
‘What was that?’ Zane asked.
‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.’ The Israeli regarded him blankly. ‘Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it?’
‘It must have been long before my time.’
‘Tchah! Fucking kids.’ Ignoring Zane’s smirk, Eddie guided the Jeep through the village. The buildings became grander, faded relics of a more prosperous era. Before long, they reached the centre, a flaking white church on one side of a small square facing a hotel with a sign optimistically proclaiming it to be the Paradiso. None of the buildings looked anything less than a century old.
‘There’s the satellite link,’ said Zane. A large white dish was mounted on a mast on the hotel’s roof, a couple of smaller ones flanking it. ‘The town’s Internet hub must be in there. We might be able to track down the IP’s physical location if we can access it.’
The new arrivals were now drawing more attention. A couple of old men on a bench stared as the 4x4 passed, and a young woman peered with interest from one of the Paradiso’s upper windows before hurrying from sight. Eddie pulled up outside the hotel. ‘Let me do the talking,’ said Zane as they got out.
‘Why you?’ Eddie demanded.
‘For one thing, you’re English, and England and Argentina have some issues.’ They headed for the entrance.
‘What? The Falklands War was over thirty fucking years ago.’
‘The Second World War was seventy years ago, but we’re still hunting down people who fought in it. And for another, you’re not exactly subtle.’
‘Bollocks!’ Eddie protested loudly as they entered a large and dimly lit bar. He couldn’t help but imagine that he’d stepped through a time portal to the Wild West, so dated were the surroundings. Even the lights were wheel-like wooden chandeliers, one of the few concessions to modernity being electric bulbs. There were half a dozen unenthused patrons, and a single mournful member of staff behind the long counter. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ He marched to the middle of the room. ‘Oi! Anyone seen any Nazis?’
Zane shook his head. ‘Yes, that was really subtle.’
‘Might as well get straight to the point and not piss around.’ He went to the bar and addressed the elderly man behind it. ‘Hi. We’re looking for some people who live around here. Germans, probably turned up around 1946?’
The barman gave him a look of bewilderment. ‘Lo sentimos, pero no sé lo que estás diciendo.’
‘No habló inglés?’ Eddie asked, to equal confusion.
‘You told him that you did not speak English,’ said an amused female voice. A young Hispanic woman came down the stairs. She was around eighteen, and had the flustered air of someone who had just given themselves a last-minute check in the mirror before hurrying to meet a guest.
‘Well, some people don’t understand me even when I am talking English,’ said Eddie. ‘You seem pretty good at it, though.’
‘I learned it from satellite TV,’ she said with pride. ‘And from the Internet.’
‘Hopefully only the nice parts.’
She giggled. ‘I heard you say you were looking for someone? I know everyone in town, I can help you find them.’
Zane cut in before Eddie could speak. ‘We’re photographers; we’re taking pictures of the whole country. But we also want to interview people about what it’s like to live here.’
The young woman gave them a look that revealed considerable perception for her age. ‘That would be easier if you spoke Spanish, yes?’
‘I speak Spanish,’ said Zane. ‘My assistant is only here to carry the cameras.’
‘Oi!’ Eddie objected. ‘Assistant, my arse.’
She ignored him, instead addressing Zane in rapid-fire Spanish. ‘I… yes?’ he eventually replied.
Another giggle. ‘Your Spanish is not as good as you think,’ she said. ‘Unless you really paint your toenails pink?’
‘Oh, he does,’ said Eddie. ‘You should see what he wears for a night out on the town an’ all. Lots of frills.’
‘Will you shut up?’ Zane snapped. Behind him, Eddie noticed one of the patrons heading for the exit — watching the visitors out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly wary, he surveyed the room. The remaining barflies hurriedly looked down at their drinks.
Zane picked up on Eddie’s concern — as did the woman. She lowered her voice. ‘You are not here to take photos — did Roland’s brother send you?’