She went back into the apartment and into the bathroom, where she tied one end of the rope around the base of the sink, then she stood on the toilet, opened the window and, with one foot on the sink, raised herself and looked out. A car was just turning into the alley, with Jimmy at the wheel. Perfect.
Barbara tossed the remainder of the rope out the window, then, pushing off the toilet tank, got her upper half out the window and looked down. The car was directly beneath her.
Holding tightly to the rope, she allowed the rest of herself to fall out the window, breaking the fall with the rope. She landed in a sitting position on top of the car, then let herself to the ground. “Hi, there,” she said to Jimmy.
“Hey, babe,” he replied, smiling.
She got into the backseat. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, “but slowly. We have some time, I think.”
Jimmy backed slowly down the alley and into the street, then put the car in drive and headed back the way he had come.
Barbara kept her head down until they had cleared the town, then she crawled over the seat and into the front.
“How long until Acapulco?” she asked.
“A little over an hour.”
“How long before the roadwork?”
“Half that.”
“Stop well before it, and I’ll get into the trunk. We don’t want the workers remembering a car with a woman in it.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “How are you? Was it rough?”
“At times, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“What’s that around your neck?” he asked.
“Ill-gotten gains,” she replied.
Twenty minutes later Jimmy slowed the car. “I think the roadwork is just around the bend ahead.”
They both got out of the car and checked for traffic. Barbara climbed in the trunk. “I’ll let you out when it’s safe,” Jimmy said, then closed it after her.
He got in and drove away, while Barbara did her best to make herself comfortable. Shortly, the car stopped, then moved forward in little spurts, then they were finally past the work and at speed. Jimmy slowed and stopped again, then helped her out of the trunk.
Barbara put on the head scarf and took Jimmy’s sunglasses from him and put them on. “There,” she said. “Did you get the hair dye?”
“It’s in our suite,” he said. “Why don’t we go straight to the airport and get out of here?”
“No,” she said. “They’ll shut that down as soon as I’m missed. Let’s go to the Princess. We’ll check on the airport tomorrow. I don’t care if we have to wait for a few days, until the heat is off.”
“I don’t think the pilot will wait that long,” he said.
“Call him when we get to the hotel and tell him tomorrow. Where’s my suitcase?”
“In the suite,” he replied. “I had everything in it pressed.”
“Good.” As they approached Acapulco, Barbara put her head in Jimmy’s lap. “Wake me when we’re there,” she said.
Jimmy drove to the hotel, passing the main entrance, then stopping at a side door. He handed her a key card. “This will let you in through that door and into the suite. It’s number nine hundred, ninth floor, turn right out of the elevator. I’ll go park the car.”
Barbara got out of the car and let herself into the hotel, then followed Jimmy’s directions to the suite. It was spacious and sunny, with a terrace overlooking the Pacific. She undressed, went into the bathroom and began applying the hair color. By the time Jimmy got upstairs, she was a redhead. She dried her hair, and when she came out of the bathroom, Jimmy was in bed, naked.
“You deserve a reward,” she said, climbing in beside him.
4
When Alvarez awoke it was dark in his office. He stood up and groggily felt for the light switch along the wall above the sofa. Then he took a step and fell heavily on the floor. His trousers were around his ankles.
He pulled them up and buckled his belt, then, holding on to the arm of the sofa, pulled himself to his feet and found the light switch. He was alone in the office. Panicked, he went to the safe and checked the door, but it was locked. Relieved, he sank into his office chair and poured himself a glass of tequila from the open bottle on the desk. Where the hell was the woman? Then he noticed that the door to his apartment was open. Was she in his bed? He’d kill her!
He got up and staggered into the apartment, switching on an overhead light. She was not in the living room, so he went into the bedroom and turned on a bedside lamp. The bed was perfectly made. He tried the bathroom and was stunned to see a rope, one end tied to the sink pedestal, the other end hanging out the window above the toilet. He pulled it in and untied it from the sink, then returned to his office and placed the rope back on his prize saddle. Everything had to be in perfect order when his wife came home.
But where was the woman? He unlocked his office door and stepped into the hallway. No one there. Thank God the guard was gone. He went back into his office and sat down at his desk. She had escaped, and he had to do something, but what? If he sounded the alarm, he would have to explain how she got out of his office. He would be fired out of hand the moment the story hit the papers and TV. What was even worse was that he would have to explain it to his wife.
He looked at his clock on his desk: just after eight P.M. There was a knock on the office door. “Come in!” he called.
The door opened and the guard stood there, looking around the room. “My shift is ending,” she said. “Do you want me to return the American woman to her cell?”
Alvarez, borne on a cloud of tequila, improvised. “The American woman has been transferred,” he replied.
“Transferred? Where?”
“Who knows? I think the woman has connections in the government. They came, they had the proper papers, they took her away. Now go home and forget about it. If anybody asks about her you know nothing, except that she has been transferred. You don’t want to get caught in that particular flypaper.”
“That is true,” the woman said, and closed the door.
Transferred-that was it! Alvarez mopped his brow and poured himself another tequila. The woman was gone, and good riddance! He would stick to his story. There had been a telephone call from the Ministry of Justice. He was to bring the woman to his office, where she would be collected in due course. They had brought a transfer order, properly signed and stamped, and had taken her away. If anyone asked, he knew nothing further. He drank more tequila.
BARBARA AND JIMMY WERE, at that moment, having a room-service dinner on the terrace of their suite, watching the moon rise over the Pacific. Barbara kept an eye on the TV, waiting for her picture to be displayed, but it didn’t happen. What was going on?
“You still looking for yourself on TV?” Jimmy asked.
“Yes, and I don’t understand it.”
“Maybe the warden is still asleep.”
“Possibly,” she said, “Or…”
“Or what?”
“Alvarez is now in a very difficult position,” Barbara said. “I’m gone, and there’s a rope hanging out his bathroom window. What does he do?”
“Sound the alarm?”
“I’ve been gone for hours,” she said. “The Valium had to put him down for quite a while, especially when mixed with the tequila.”
“Yeah, that would do it, if he drank enough.”
“He’s a lush. He drinks all the time.”
“Then maybe he’s still out.”
“It’s been more than eight hours,” she said. “When he wakes up and I’m gone, he’s going to have to figure out what to do, and from his point of view, the absolute worst thing he could do is raise an alarm for my recapture.”