“Of course he did, you fool, walking in like that! Schultz, get the M35 working on that window.”
“If he saw through the disguise why didn’t he arrest?”
“The painting, it is inside that book yes?” Lizveta Zlotnikova asked.
“Yes, it’s in here, but why—”
“Why? Because he did not wish to be involved personally ir sticky international situations. Inside of two minutes uniformed police will be here for a routine passport check and they will be the ones who will grab you. You have to get out.”
“Good-by,” Tony said, starting for the door.
“Not that way, the door is watched, of course. Open yet, Schultz?”
“Just about.”
The agent had produced a chunky hydraulic jack from his bag of equipment and fastened it to the window frame. Now, energized by the powerful pumps of his bulging biceps, the extending piston was quietly pushing the iron window bars from the wall. Sones nodded approval and turned back to Tony.
“Get out of here fast, and out of the hotel as well. We will cover for you as long as we can, run the shower, let them think you are in there, we can give you five minutes. You are to go to Cuautla and exactly at six this evening you will enter the drugstore there named Farmacia los Volcanes and will ask the clerk at the cash register for some Enterovioform.”
“In Spanish or English? It’s Enterovioforma, the specific for the Aztec Two-Step, as it is known, or Montezuma’s Revenge ...”
“Shut up. The instructions did not specify language. You will be informed then how to make contact.” There was a brisk knock at the front door. “Now out, out!”
Tony outed. The jack was removed and he slid easily through the gap and into the prickly hedges outside. Lizveta Zlotnikova, with a deep look of regret, passed him down the book and his Czechoslovakian airline bag, while Billy Schultz seized the bars and, with a single contraction of those great muscles, bent them back into place. Tony saw no more for, like a thief in the night—or rather the afternoon—he was fleeing for his life.
At a slow walk, for he dared do nothing to attract attention, he strolled through the parklike grounds toward the entrance. Happy couples beginning their weekend early came by arm in arm. Children laughed and ran, the sun shone with warm Mexican brilliance; Tony walked beneath a cloud of personal gloom. The welcoming arch of the gate lifted up before him, neatly framing the two police officers who were talking to Lieutenant Gonzales who, incredibly luckily, had his back turned at that moment. Without breaking pace Tony made a right angle turn and headed in the opposite direction. What now-over the wall? It was high and impassable looking wherever he could see; after dark perhaps, but certainly not now. And spacious as the grounds were, he certainly could not hide out all afternoon. The path he was following took him toward the entrance to the lobby of the Hacienda Cocoyoc where people were descending from cabs and cars, snapping lingers for bellboys and calling loudly one to the other. An empty cab pulled away down the drive and Tony, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure the trees were between himself and the entrance, stepped out before it and raised his hand in desperate improvisation.
“Yes?” the driver said, stopping the cab.
“You are for hire?”
“With great certainty.”
“I would like to go to Cuernavaca,” fumbling for his money, “but there is, what might be called, a little difference of familial opinion. There is a certain woman involved ...” He let his eyelid droop and raise slowly in a terribly conspiratorial manner while passing over a hundred-peso note at the same time. “This is of course in addition to the fare.”
“Command me!”
“I simply wish to dispose myself upon the floor of your fine vehicle until we are out of sight of the hotel. My wife ...”
“Understood, everything, enter please, we leave for Cuernavaca.”
Tony slid in through the open door and lay flat, knees tucked, up, an empty package of Alas cigarettes under his head. The cab lurched into motion and ground its way toward the gate, speeding up—then instantly slowing almost to a stop while Tony’s heart behaved in an identical manner.
“Your fly-infested burro is a blight to the eyes and a hazard upon the road,” the cab driver called out cheerily toward an uns party.
“Keep this moving,” an ofEcial voice said just outside the window, almost stopping Tony’s heart completely. Then the cab moved on.
Done. He lay on the floor a bit longer until the weakness had drained away, then crawled up onto the seat.
“Simple enough,” the driver said, dodging around a wooden oxcart that rode upon automobile wheels and tires, narrowly missing explosive destruction against the grill of a truck coming in the opposite direction, both drivers blowing their horns steadily in chivalristic challenge. “Is there a particular address you wish to go to?”
“There is, but I prefer to get out in the town square.”
“A wise man needs no instructors!”
The driver lifted both hands skyward in a gesture of appreciation irregardless of the fact that the cab then proceeded to slew across the road in the direction of an irrigation ditch, regaining control only at the last instant. In this heartily enthusiastic manner they proceeded to Cuernavaca where Tony paid and tipped again, then sought the solace of the nearest bar for a large brandy. There were some hours yet before he had to be in Cuautla, which necessitated passing the entrance to Cocoyoc again, so prudence dictated that he remain here as long as possible. It was not hard to do. The bartender produced a gratuitous plate of cacahuates picantes, peanuts rolled in red pepper, which did fine things for his thirst necessitating beer as well as brandy to slake the fires below. As the sun crept down toward the mountainous horizon his spirits rose in counterpoint until, when he went to find the Cuautla bus, he was feeling no pain at all. The trip was an easy one, and even had one moment of bittersweet pleasure when they stopped at Cocoyoc and he peeked out at the stir and bustle of police cars from behind the security of Terras Guide to Mexico. Lieutenant Gonzales must be very annoyed.
Cuautla was bursting with people as the siesta ended and the sleepers emerged for the joys of evening. Without much difficulty he located the drugstore of the two volcanoes, early as it proved, leaving more than enough time for another brandy. At six precisely he walked through the wide-open front of the store and addressed himself to the gray-haired woman with the purple birthmark who sat behind the cash register.
“Enterovioform, if you please.”
She coughed moistly in response, took the slim white package from the shelf behind her without rising, then wrapped it in a square of brown paper. “Six pesos, fifty.”
He fumbled for his money, not realizing beforehand that a 1 mate purchase would be involved, paid and left with his regulatory prize. Farther down the street he found a doorway in which he could unwrap the box, nor was he very surprised to find within the paper.
WALK NORTH ON AVENUE FIFTH OF MAY
Since he was already on that street, proceeding in the indicated direction, he continued on his way, pills in pocket, bag in hand, book clamped under arm, feeling that unseen eyes were following his every motion. As indeed they were. Two blocks farther on he crossed a street, sealed off for vehicular traffic by an excava and stacked pipes, where a firm hand seized his arm and an e firmer voice grated in his ear.
“Into that car, schnell!”
As they jumped in, the black Packard pulled out, even before the doors were closed. A neat ploy, anyone following on foot would be left behind, while there was no way for a pursuing car to follow at all. Tony glanced sideway at a familiar bulldog jaw, scarred cheeks, shaven head.