He was staring at an image of himself!
Da Silva laughed again. He put his thumb beneath his chin and tugged the rubber mask free, stripping it over his head. He wiped a hand across his sweat-drenched face. “My God, but those things are hot!” His eyes came up, staring steadily at the other. “Dr. Howard, I presume?”
“Yes.” The startled eyes of the younger man turned to the body on the ground and then returned. “I don’t understand.”
Da Silva tilted his head, as if performing an introduction. “That was Mr. Jack Crandall. I think you knew him.”
“I knew him!” Howard’s face hardened at the memory and then became suspicious. “Who are you?”
“My name is Da Silva, and I’m a captain of police. And I carry identification, and that plane on the airstrip is an Air Force plane, if you have any doubts. And I’m going to have a lot of questions to ask you. I’d suggest, though, that we get back to the plane as being more comfortable.” He studied the man with the rifle. “You look as if you belong in these parts.”
Anton paid no attention to the remark. He looked at Howard with a frown. “These aren’t the men you expected?”
“No.”
The blond man’s face hardened. “That Carlos!” He studied Da Silva. “But you’ll take him back to Rio?”
“You can be sure.”
“Then you won’t need me.” He reached out, clasping the younger man in a Brazilian hug but being careful to avoid the still tender shoulder. “Go with God, then.”
Howard responded to the hug and stood back. “You know, Anton,” he said slowly, “for a moment there, back on the trail, I had a terrible feeling that you” — he stumbled over the words and then went on — “that you might have somehow been involved in this. That you might even have hired Crandall—”
The blond hunter frowned at him. “To do what? To shoot you?”
“No! I mean, the bridge.”
Anton studied the other for several moments. “Destroying bridges is no answer. You can’t stop so-called civilization. It’s a plague for which we still have not discovered a cure. All you can do is run from it. That much intelligence I have.”
In the distance there was a shout; it was repeated, and a moment later Wilson burst into the clearing, his revolver in hand, panting.
“I heard two shots—” His eyes widened as he took in the scene. “What—” His eyes went from the sprawled body to the two strangers. His voice hardened. “You with that rifle—”
Da Silva took a deep breath. “Relax. Let’s get back to the plane. This place is getting to be like Grand Central Station.” He answered the question in Wilson’s eyes, his voice harsh. “Don’t look at them. I shot Crandall.”
“You? Why?”
Da Silva pulled the dead body to a slumped position and then lifted it, turning toward the airstrip.
“Because he was a nasty man,” he said shortly, and pushed his way out of the tiny glade.
14
Captain Da Silva, sitting stiffly at attention before the familiar desk at the Itamaratí, stared evenly at the broad back of the minister. He was not surprised that even with his back turned, the minister could manage to express disapproval just in the rigid set of the massive shoulders and the tight grip of the veined hands locked behind his back. The silence in the room continued as the heavyset man frowned from the window; at last he turned and reseated himself, his stern face assessing the men before him.
“You realize, Captain, that whatever your reason or excuse, you still killed a member of a foreign embassy.”
Da Silva met the cold look steadily.
“I know, sir. I had no intention of killing him. I was aiming for his thigh; he fired and crouched just as I shot.” His face was expressionless. “The fact remains, sir, that he did dynamite that bridge and killed a man in the process. A Brazilian national—” Despite the seriousness of the discussion, a faint smile crossed his lips. “Nobody we’ll greatly miss down at headquarters, but still—” His face returned to its stoic, almost Indian gravity. “He also tried to kill a fellow American, and thought he had. Not to mention his shooting at me.”
“All of which I sincerely hope you can prove.”
“I can prove it, sir. The last thing he said to me was, ‘How in hell did you ever live?’ I was wearing a mask — one of those rubber things they use in America to rob banks, and we use here for Carnival. I had it made from a picture of Dr. Howard I took from Miss Howard’s purse. Crandall thought he was shooting a man he’d already killed.”
“To begin with, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and beyond that let’s hope you have more proof than merely your word of a dead man’s statement,” the minister said gravely. “For example, suppose you convince me.”
“It’s scarcely necessary, sir.” There was the slightest touch of smugness in Da Silva’s tone. “Dr. Howard signed a complete deposition regarding the affair. I’m sure there’ll be no trouble from the American authorities.”
The minister’s frown darkened perceptibly.
“You know, Captain, at times you amaze me! For a man I consider to be highly intelligent, you have a wonderful knack at times for sounding stupid. I’ve read that deposition. It says that Crandall appeared at Howard’s office at this university campus, that he offered Howard a lucrative job for the time between holidays, that Howard thought it would be adventurous and accepted it, etc., etc., etc. It says Howard was told the matter was secret and not to mention it to anyone, including his family, etc., etc., etc. The deposition mentions minerals Crandall wanted him to evaluate as a confirmation of his own opinion, etc, etc., etc. And it goes on to say that for some unknown reason Crandall suddenly pulled a gun and shot him. And that he managed to get to the edge of the jungle, was found by a hunter, etc., etc., etc.”
The minister took a deep breath and then slowly expelled it.
“Now, Captain, will you tell me where this deposition says anything at all about Crandall dynamiting a bridge? Or killing a Brazilian? Or anything else that could excuse your shooting the man dead? The gravest accusation the deposition makes is an attempt on the life of a man who today is quite alive!”
The diatribe seemed to have taken the edge from the minister’s irritation. As he continued, he seemed calmer, more relaxed.
“Let me tell you something, Captain. Politics are not necessarily the result of reasoned judgment. Today, with your friend Wilson in the embassy knowing the facts and with the friendly situation between our two countries, the matter may well be accepted and written off. Tomorrow, new governments can appear in both Washington and Brasília, and the whole thing given a new face. Old accusations can be reopened. At such times it’s always nice to have a strong, airtight case in the files should it be needed.” He smiled, his lecture over. “All right, Captain, to get back to where we were. You convince me.”
Da Silva shook his head stubbornly. “By your own reasoning, sir, I don’t see how I can. There were no witnesses to the dynamiting.”
“Most crimes lack witnesses, but that doesn’t stop arrests. I suggest you try, in any event. To begin with, what made you suspect Crandall at all?”
“Sir, if I had any brains, I’d have pegged him the first time I met him,” Da Silva said flatly. “When I was asking him questions in his apartment, I asked him about the geological conditions in the neighborhood of Santa Isabel in the Mato Grosso, and he said, ‘On the Água Branca?’ That was a bad slip on his part, but he was lucky. I must have been blind, or rather, deaf. I certainly was sober enough. That name, Santa Isabel, doesn’t appear on any map, geological or otherwise. Only the people who live there or the very few who have been there know that’s what the village is called!”