“Captain Da Silva’s office. But he isn’t here—”
“I know he isn’t there,” Da Silva said patiently. “Let me talk to Lieutenant Perreira.”
“Of course, Captain. Just a minute.”
There was a lengthy pause; Da Silva used it to clarify his thoughts, to add a few more steps to the plan that was beginning to form nebulously in his mind. Perreira’s voice broke into his concentration.
“Hello, Captain. You wanted me?”
“Yes.” Da Silva reviewed this part of the plan and found it good. Or at least, he admitted to himself, it couldn’t do any harm. “I want you to go to the Miracopa Hotel. They have a guest registered there — a Miss Jill Howard — but she isn’t there at the moment. She hasn’t been there for several days, but her things should still be in her room. I want a purse of hers — a big, brown, leather affair with a shoulder strap. I’m sure she wasn’t using it the night she was snatched. In all probability she was carrying a small evening bag that night, if she was carrying anything at all—”
“Captain?” Perreira was lost.
“Never mind; I was just thinking aloud. In any event, I want that purse. And, Lieutenant—”
“Yes, Captain?”
“If the same room clerk is on duty and he tries to give you a hard time, you have my permission to give him a hard time back. Just as long as you get me that bag.”
“Yes, sir.” Perreira’s tone dismissed the thought that any room clerk on earth could seriously give him a hard time. “What do I do with the purse when I get it?”
“Bring it back to the office. I’ll be there by then.”
“Right, Captain.”
The telephone clicked. Da Silva walked back to his table and sank into his chair again, reaching for his glass. Assuming Perreira found the purse, it still didn’t solve the problems involved. More time passed while Da Silva considered this phase of the matter; at last he shrugged. Ruy would simply have to find a place to have it done; that’s all there was to it. He glanced at his watch and came to his feet again, moving back to the telephone, dropping in a coin and dialing.
The American Embassy, which he was calling, was just across the Avenida Presidente Wilson from where he stood, but he could see himself neither walking across the street with a brandy in his hand nor abandoning the drink when a phone call could do the work. He waited patiently as his call was shuttled through the normal maze of bureaucratic efficiency, until at last he had Wilson on the line. The American sounded short-tempered, quite unusual when speaking with his old friend.
“Hello, Zé. What’s on your mind?”
“First of all, how’s the girl?”
“She’s still unconscious. She’s moving about in bed, restlessly, but she still isn’t awake. Dr. Martins thinks she’s doing fine, but I’m not so sure. They look awful with an intravenous hookup and a respirator, I’ll tell you that! I still have half a mind to put her in a hospital and just keep a sharp eye on her.” He sounded unhappy. “I stopped by there on my way in this morning. I’d like to have stayed, but there’s so damn much work here after a holiday weekend!”
“I know,” Da Silva said sympathetically, and came right to the point of his call. “I won’t keep you. I’ve got to go back up into the Mato Grosso — much as I hate the thought — and I need somebody along who knows something about minerals. What are the chances of borrowing Jack Crandall for a day or so? Together with a Geiger counter, which I assume he owns? Or can get hold of?”
“Jack? If he’s as busy as I am, I don’t know. Good God!” Wilson said with disgust. “This is Brazil. This is your ball park. Can’t you find someone in your own crowd to run your errands?”
“If I had time, I suppose I could,” Da Silva said evenly. “The only one that comes to mind immediately is an old friend from Duque de Caxias, and I’d prefer not to involve him in this for reasons of my own. I merely thought—”
“Wait a minute,” Wilson said slowly. “Wait just a minute! You’re going back up to that hellhole? By choice? Why? You must have run into something new on the case.”
“I have, indeed.”
“You have something that points to the character behind this whole thing? The unspeakable bastard who’s responsible for the condition Jill is in right now?”
“That’s right.”
Wilson’s voice became ominous. “Who is the bastard?”
“The bastard is someone we would prefer to bring to justice in one piece, if possible,” Da Silva said dryly. “In your present mood, frankly, you’ve gotten a bit gun-happy, if you’ll pardon me—”
“Who is he?”
“Besides,” Da Silva continued evenly, “we actually don’t have a damn thing on the man yet, except a lot of circumstantial evidence that a first-year law student would laugh at. No — what I want to do up in that lovely virgin forest replete with mosquitoes is find what I think will pin it right to the seat of his pants.”
“And you think going up there will do it?”
“With the proper technical help, yes.”
“Then you not only get Jack, Geiger counter and all, but you get me as well.” Wilson lowered his voice, but the traces of desperation still showed through. “Zé, I can’t stick around here watching Jill lying in bed the way she is, without going a little crazy. You’ve got to find room for me. Will the plane be big enough?”
“Will it? I’ll insist on it. It’ll give me an excuse to demand a decent five-passenger Beechcraft or something, instead of that Spad, or Camel, or whatever they gave me last time.”
“Good,” Wilson said, satisfied. “When do we leave? Today? Tomorrow?”
Da Silva considered. “No. I have too many things to do tomorrow. We’ll make it the day after tomorrow. Galeão at the Air Force side of the field. At five A.M., rain or shine.”
“We’ll be there.”
“And you’d better bring your own sidearms. It’s still jungle up there, remember.”
“Right. I’ll take care of it. See you then.” Wilson suddenly remembered something else. “Wait a minute. When I stopped by to see Jill this morning, your girlfriend said something about expecting you to drop by.”
Da Silva smiled faintly at the telephone. “I would dearly love to, and I will as soon as I get a chance. But I’m afraid it won’t be until this case is over. There are just too many things to do. I’ll call her, though, just as soon as I’m finished talking with you.”
“Consider yourself finished,” Wilson said, and hung up. Da Silva fished out another token, but before he could drop it, the instrument rang. He raised the receiver automatically.
“Hello?”
“Captain? I recognized your voice. This is Perreira. I didn’t have any trouble with the room clerk, but there are two purses here in the room, and both of them brown.”
“So bring them both, of course. And hurry.” Da Silva suddenly paused, frowning suspiciously at the telephone. “Just how did you know where to call me?”
Lieutenant Perreira swallowed. “Well, Captain—”
“Never mind,” Da Silva said sharply. “I’ll meet you at the office. Don’t you stop at any bars getting there!”
He dropped the receiver on the hook and remained there, frowning at the wall. One of the purses should have what he wanted, and after that it would be up to Ruy to find an outfit to do the job. He walked over to the table, picked up his cigarettes, downed the balance of his drink, and dropped some money on the table. He moved toward the exit; the waiter nodded at him pleasantly.
“Until later, Captain.”
“I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before I’m back here,” Da Silva said, honestly unhappy about the whole thing.