The Five Arrows

  _Chapter six_

  The American Embassy was three blocks beyond the Presidencia. Hallwanted to walk to the party, but when he reached the street he becameself-conscious about his palm-beach tuxedo jacket, and he hailed astrange cab.

  The Embassy was housed in an old Spanish palace which a formerAmbassador had left to the United States Government in his will. Afterthe first World War, when the government had taken title to the palace,Washington sent an architect and an office efficiency man to San Hermanoto redesign the structure. The outside remained more or less intact. Butinside, many changes had been effected. The spacious street floor,designed as the slave quarters in the seventeenth century and laterconverted to storerooms and servants' quarters, was now a hive ofoffices and waiting rooms. The second floor was devoted largely to atremendous ballroom, a state dining room, and the tapestried privateoffices of the Ambassador himself. The living quarters of the Ambassadortook up the third floor, while the low-ceilinged fourth floor,originally designed for soldiers, was now given over to servants' rooms.

  A secretary at the entrance checked Hall's name off against a list on ateak table. He took the carpeted stairs to the ballroom. Two butlersstood at a screen in the doorway to the big room. The first butlerannounced his name, but not loud enough to disturb any of theAmbassador's two hundred-odd guests. The second butler nodded to Hall,and led the way through a maze of dignitaries, diplomats' wives, andyoung people trying to dance to the music a rumba band was producingfrom a bandstand in a corner. Hall followed him patiently, looking for asign of Jerry's red hair. The butler nodded gravely at a young girldancing with a thin Latin in tails. She left her dancing partner andadvanced on Hall with an outstretched hand.

  "Mr. Matthew Hall, Miss Margaret," the butler whispered.

  "I'm so glad you came, Mr. Hall. I'm Margaret Skidmore." Her hand, thinand remarkably strong, was covered with a white net glove that reachedto her elbow.

  "It's nice of you to have me," Hall said.

  Margaret Skidmore took his arm. "We must get you a drink," she said,"and introduce you to some of the more interesting people here. And oh,yes, to my father. But I warn you, he's not in the first category." Shewas short; much smaller than Jerry, Hall thought, but a bird of adifferent color. As they crossed the room, a wisp of the black hairpiled on top of her head dropped over her eye. Hall was amused by theway she blew the hair to one side twice before deciding to lift it withher gloved hand.

  "This is my Dad's favorite punch," she said at the buffet table. "Iforgot to tell you that the party is to celebrate the third anniversaryof his mission."

  Hall ladled out two cups. "Here's to the next three years," he toasted.

  "The next three years are the ones that will count," Margaret Skidmoresaid. She was smiling at Hall and at some other guests when she said it,but it was not polite banter.

  "The Press Secretary of the Embassy is sore at you," she said. "He'sangry because you tried to get to Gamburdo without him."

  "I'm sorry," Hall said. "If you'll introduce me to him, I'll try to makeamends."

  "Don't bother," she laughed. "Smitty's a stuffed shirt who needs to betaken down a peg or two. But I must say that you look a lot differentthan I thought you would, Mr. Hall."

  "I know. I'm supposed to look like a hero and I have the face of a mugg.Or a gorilla." He was still looking for Jerry. "You're a surprise, too."

  "Am I so different?" There was coquettish amusement in her hazel eyes.She tilted her fragile doll's nose, forced a haughty cast to hersmall-girl's face. "Is an Ambassador's daughter supposed to be ahigh-and-mighty lady like this?"

  "No. I like you better the other way."

  "Thanks. It's my only way."

  Hall spotted Jerry on the dance floor with Varela Ansaldo. Jerry lookedvery happy, and Ansaldo had lost some of his undertaker's grimness. Hetried in vain to catch her eye.

  "Here comes my father."

  Hall found himself shaking hands with a portly, middle-aged American whowore tails as if to the manor born. J. Burton Skidmore had the mostimposing head of wavy gray hair in the entire hemisphere, and he knewit. His face, still ruddy and youngish, was pink and smelled of finecologne.

  "_Con mucho gusto_," the Ambassador said, holding Hall's hand and bowingslightly from the waist.

  "I'm glad to meet you, sir," Hall said.

  "Father, Mr. Hall is an American. He is Matthew Hall, the writer. Youknow. Matthew Hall." The childish, well-bred-daughter smile on MargaretSkidmore's face could not conceal the acid contempt in her voice. "Mr.Hall is an American, from New York."

  "Oh, yes, oh, yes, indeed. Hall. Of course, Mr. Hall. Been in SanHermano long, Mr. Hall?"

  "No, sir. Less than a week."

  "Fine place, Mr. Hall. Fine people. Have you met Smitty yet? Dear, haveyou seen Smitty? I think he and Mr.--Mr. Hall could find much in common,Margaret."

  "Tomorrow," Margaret Skidmore said, and the Ambassador helped himself toa cup of punch.

  "_Amigo Mateo!_"

  Without turning around, Hall said, in Spanish, "Only one man in all theworld has a scratchy voice like that," and then he turned around andembraced Felipe Duarte.

  "What brings you to San Hermano?" he asked Duarte.

  "I am now a diplomat. First Counselor of the Mexican Embassy in SanHermano and guest professor of literature at the University."

  Hall and Duarte had last met in Spain, where Duarte had served as aLieutenant-Colonel with the regular Spanish People's Army. "_Coronel_Pancho Villa" was the name his men gave him, and the thin, ganglingMexican scholar had fought like a terror to live up to this name. OfDuarte, the General Staff officers said that he was as bad a strategistas he was brave a man, which would have made him one of the worststrategists in military history. But during the Ebro retreat, Duarte hadtaught the veteran professional officers a few things about the tacticsof guerrilla warfare which raised his standing as a soldier.

  Duarte took Margaret Skidmore's hand and raised it to his lips."_Enchante_," he sighed, and she knew at once that he was laughing ather.

  "Senor Ambassador," Duarte said, speaking rapid Spanish, "this is one ofthe most magnificent parties I have ever attended. How do you manage togive such splendid parties with only your chit of a daughter to help youshove food down the ulcerous throats of these sons of whore mothers,dear Senor Ambassador? It is stupendous. It is colossal."

  The Ambassador smiled, shook Duarte's hand, and bowing slightly, hemurmured, "_Con mucho gusto_." Then, still smiling, he turned and walkedaway.

  "Don't let this guy fool you," Hall said to the Ambassador's daughter."He speaks English as well as we do."

  "Better," Duarte said. "Ah learned mah English in Texas, Ah'll haveyo'all know, suh. And Mateo, don't let Margaret's innocent smile foolyou. She knows almost enough Spanish to know what I just told herdistinguished papa."

  "Some day I'm going to know enough," Margaret laughed. "And when I do,you're going to get your face slapped in front of everyone, I'm afraid.Tell me, Mateo, does _hijos de la gran puta_ mean what I think it does?"

  "That sounds like slang to me," Hall said. "I learned my Spanish on theLinguaphone."

  "You're a fast boy, Matt," she said. "Call me Margaret, if you wish."She straightened Hall's tie with a perfumed glove. "I'll give you alittle time with Felipe, and then I'll steal you back. There are manypeople here tonight who want to meet you."

  "Hurry back," Duarte said. "He bores me stiff when I have him on myhands too long."

  "You bastard," Hall said. "You're a diplomat now. Don't you ever stopclowning?"

  "Sure. When I kill fascists I am very serious. You know that, Mateo. Buthere, if I did not clown, I would die of boredom. For example, whenSkidmore gives a party, the politicos in my Embassy, they all findreasons for being out of town. I am not a politico. I am a professor ofliterature and a killer of fascists, by profession; a diplomat becausesomeone wanted to do Lombardo a favor and at the same time remove myface from the domestic scene. _Claro?_ So it is clown or die. And if Im
ust die, I prefer to die having a second crack at Franco."

  "_Claro, amigo._ But must you wear a suit like this one?"

  Duarte's evening clothes were his cloak of independence. He wore a cheaptuxedo he had bought in New York for twenty dollars and a pair of wornpatent-leather shoes that creaked as he walked. On state occasions, hewore the medals he had earned on the battlefields in Spain. For privateparties, he simply wore an enameled gold Mexican flag on his lapel.Tonight, he wore only the flag.

  All this he explained to Hall in his gay, rasping Spanish. "When theFalangist Embassy was still on good terms, I wore my Republican medalsall the time. But just before Don Anibal took sick, he insulted theCaudillo in a speech before the University faculty, and when the FrancoAmbassador called to ask for an apology Tabio told him that the truthcalled for no apologies. So the Caudillo got sore and he called hisAmbassador home. The Embassy is still open, but a clerk is in charge,and there isn't a Spanish diplomat in San Hermano of high enoughstanding to be invited to any Embassy."

  Jerry joined them, and when Hall presented her to Duarte, the Mexicankissed her hand and murmured, "_Enchante_."

  "Miss Olmstead is Dr. Ansaldo's nurse," Hall said.

  "How very interesting," Duarte said. "May I have this dance with thenurse of Dr. Ansaldo?" and before she had a chance to say that her feetwere killing her, the dexterous Duarte was guiding her through the stepsof an intricate rumba he improvised at that moment.

  Hall took another glass of punch. Duarte was his friend, but at themoment he wanted to break his neck. He wanted Jerry for himself, and hehated the idea of admitting or showing it. He watched them so intentlythat he failed to see Margaret return to the punch bowl.

  "Deserted?" she asked. "Our friend Felipe would desert his mother for aredhead."

  "He's quite a guy," Hall laughed.

  "Come on," she said. "There's a crowd that's been dying to meet you. Thecountry's biggest publisher and some of the more important businessmen."

  "Fernandez?"

  "That's right. He publishes _El Imparcial_. Confidentially, his paper isgetting the Cabot Prize this year. Dad arranged it."

  Fernandez was standing with a group of three Hermanitos and a blondefortyish woman in a tight dress whom Hall recognized instantly as anAmerican. "I'm Giselle Prescott," she said, her smile revealing flecksof lipstick on her yellow teeth.

  "Take care of the amenities, will you, Gis?" Margaret Skidmore said."Dad is flagging me over at the other end." She picked up her skirts,hurried to her father's rescue.

  Giselle Prescott introduced Hall to Jose Fernandez, tall, handsome, inhis early fifties. Fernandez presented him to Segundo Vardieno,Francisco Davila, and Alfonso Quinones. Davila was a man of one age andbuild with Fernandez, the other two were shorter and about ten yearsyounger. Breathlessly, Giselle Prescott told Hall that Vardieno andQuinones were among the ten largest landowners in the nation, and Davilaits leading attorney. They all made modest denials.

  Quinones asked Giselle to dance, and she accepted gladly. Her myriadblonde ringlets neatly blocked her partner's forward view.

  "Very accomplished writer," Hall said. "In the popular magazine field,Miss Prescott is supreme."

  "She is very able," Davila said. Like Quinones and Vardieno, he wore theemblem of the Cross and the Sword in his lapel. Fernandez wore only theribbon of the French Legion of Honor.

  "My niece told me that you had some difficulties at the Press Bureautoday," Vardieno said.

  "Your niece?" Then he remembered the golden Cross and Sword danglingfrom the thin golden chain. "Oh, yes, the young lady who speaks Englishso well."

  Vardieno explained to Fernandez that Hall had been unable to arrange foran interview with Gamburdo. "Don't you think you could help Senor Hall?"Davila asked, and Fernandez assured the three men that the matter wouldbe taken care of in the morning. Of course, it might not be possibleuntil after the Congress convened, but then politics in San Hermanobeing what they were, the illustrious colleague from North America wouldsurely be understanding.

  "What's the inside on the political picture?" Hall asked, and the threemen, talking in unison and talking singly gave him one picture.

  Their picture was very detailed. "El Tovarich--our Red President, youknow," had lined up the unruly elements behind a dangerous program ofconfiscating the estates of their rightful owners and turning them overto communist gunmen. In addition to this land-piracy scheme, Tabio alsointended to drive the Catholic Church underground and impose heavypenalty taxes on the parents who sent their children to Catholicparochial schools. To aid in this program, Tabio was throwing open thegates of the nation to Red agitators disguised as Jewish and Spanishrefugees.

  "So it's as bad as that," Hall said.

  "Worse." Fernandez looked around him. "Come closer," he said. "There'ssomething I must tell you about your own safety."

  "My safety?"

  "Yes, Senor." Fernandez had his right hand on Hall's shoulder. "Latethis afternoon I received a confidential information that the CommunistParty in San Hermano had privately denounced you to its members."

  "Denounced me? But why?"

  "Yes, Senor. And it was a most dangerous denunciation, too. A prominentcommunist leader telephoned the editor of the official Red paper anddenounced you for being an enemy of Tovarich Tabio and a supporter ofSenor Gamburdo."

  Hall smiled. "But that couldn't be so bad," he demurred. "The Reds arealways denouncing someone. Tomorrow the Communist Party paper willattack me as a fascist, and I guess that will be the end of the wholething."

  "No, that is not what will happen," Segundo Vardieno insisted. "Tell himthe rest of the information, Don Jose."

  Again Jose Fernandez looked around to make sure that he was not beingoverheard. "Senor Vardieno is right, my friend. You see," he said, "theRed who phoned the _Mundo Obrero_ ordered the editor _not_ to print aword about you--yet. Do you understand what that means?"

  Davila, the lawyer, explained. "What Don Jose means," he said, "is thata secret denunciation generally precedes an assassination. You see,Senor Hall, if the Reds denounce you in their press, you would be markedbefore the world as an enemy of the Tovarich. Then, if anything happenedto you--they are not only blameless, but even after killing you they canmake great propaganda about how the alleged fascists killed you becauseyou are a noted American patriot who stands for free enterprise."

  "Pretty clever," Hall said.

  "Jewish cleverness!" Segundo Vardieno was shaking with rage. "Give a Jewa hundred pesos and in a day he has a thousand and you'll never know howhe did it. But will he apply his cleverness for the good of the country?No! Only for communism."

  "Is Tabio a Jew?" Hall asked.

  "Confidentially," Vardieno answered, "El Tovarich is a Sephardic Jew.But we're not making it public because we are gentlemen."

  "And only because we are gentlemen," Fernandez added. "I don't think ElTovarich will be among us much longer."

  "Is he really that sick?"

  "Oh, yes," Davila said. "You know what happened to him, don't you? No?Well, it's almost like the Hand of Divine Retribution." He told Hallthat Tabio had turned over to one of his henchman a vineyard confiscatedfrom an old family, and that in gratitude the henchman had started todistill a special brandy for the Tovarich. "And now, the excess alcoholfrom too much of the stolen grape has taken its toll."

  "Well, what do you know!" Hall said.

  "It is the gospel truth," Fernandez said. "I have ways of confirming thestory."

  "Some mess, isn't it?" Hall said.

  "It is filled with dangers," Vardieno said. "Your calmness is admirable,Senor Hall, but you had better watch out. The Reds are out to kill you."

  Hall accepted a cigar from Jose Fernandez, took his time about lightingit before answering Vardieno. "Oh, I don't know," he said, casually."Perhaps you might know that earlier in this war, I was on board aBritish warship which the Nazis sunk with aerial torpedoes. I not onlysurvived, but I came through without a scratch. Since then I just can
'tget too excited about a threat." He looked at the three men to see ifhis braggart's act succeeded. Fernandez was obviously the most impressedof the three.

  "_Bueno! Muy caballero!_" Fernandez said. "But you had better becareful. The Reds in San Hermano have none of the sporting codes of theNazi airman."

  "Well, now that you mention it," Hall said, "I did catch some bastardfollowing me the other day."

  In a small voice, Davila asked, "Did you get a good look at him?"

  "I most certainly did. He was a big, clumsy brute in the white linensuit of a respectable business man and a panama hat. But I'll bet a goodbox of Havana cigars that he was a longshoreman or a miner. I know thetype."

  Davila looked at Vardieno and Fernandez. A slow grin crept over thelawyer's face, and then the other two Hermanitos were grinning too. "Sothey started, eh?" he said. "Well, don't let that big one worry you toomuch. Should he, Don Jose?"

  The publisher grunted. "No. Don't worry about that one." Hall couldsense that Fernandez was picking up his cue from the lawyer.

  "As a matter of fact," Davila said, "I'll wager that you can find thepicture of the man in the white suit in Don Jose's confidential file onthe Reds. He keeps it in his office in the _Imparcial_ building."

  "I would be honored if you visited me in my office," Jose Fernandez saidto Hall.

  "Perhaps I can make it this week," Hall said.

  "Sst," Davila warned. "Miss Prescott is coming back. Let's change thesubject."

  "Of course," Vardieno said. "There is no sense in involving her inthis."

  "This is quite a turnout," Hall was saying when Giselle Prescott andQuinones rejoined the group. "I think that every nation is representedby its Ambassador here."

  "Every nation but Spain," Quinones said. "El Tovarich took care of thatby insulting the Ambassador and the Chief of the Spanish State."

  "It's true," Vardieno said. "Spain is a good customer for our nation,but El Tovarich is so angry at Generalissimo Franco for destroyingcommunism in the Motherland that he is deliberately trying to destroythis trade in order to get even with Franco."

  "He not only insulted Spain," Quinones said. "In his speech to theUniversity, El Tovarich said that only the so-called fascists in SanHermano supported Franco."

  "Sounds like our pinkos back home," Giselle Prescott said to Hall.

  Fernandez exploded. "I am a good Catholic," he snapped. "I am pious.During the Civil War I supported Franco. I was proud to support him. Inot only supported Franco, but I was delighted to hail Hitler andMussolini as noble allies in the struggle against Jewish Bolshevism. Butam I a fascist? I defy any man to call me a fascist or a Falangist to myface!"

  Davila turned to both Hall and Giselle Prescott. "Now don't jump to anyfalse conclusions about Don Jose," he smiled. "After all, you Americansare not Reds because you welcome the godless Russian armies of Stalin asyour allies in this present war, are you?"

  "Bull's-eye!" Giselle Prescott laughed. "I'm delighted to hear you bothtalk like this. Back home only the Reds and the pinkos were for theso-called Spanish Loyalists during the war." She opened her tiny purseand found a leather address book. "Gimme a pencil or a pen, will you,Hall?"

  "Sure. What for?"

  "I want to put down what Senor Fernandez and Senor Davila just saidbefore I forget. I'm doing a piece for a mag and these quotes would justfit in. May I quote you, gentlemen?"

  "I have nothing to conceal," Fernandez said proudly.

  Davila was very gracious. "Of course you may use these remarks. Butplease don't use Don Jose's name in your article. It might bemisunderstood. You see, Don Jose has many enemies in the Jewish andradical press in your country."

  "On my honor as a Girl Scout," she said, "I'll use the quotes but notthe names."

  "You've got quite a story there," Hall said. He was looking into the mobon the dance floor for a sign of Jerry. Her red hair was not to befound, but Margaret Skidmore, dancing with a bemedaled diplomat, caughthis eye and gestured that she would join him at the end of that dance.She took him away from the group in a few minutes and led him toward theAmerican bar she had rigged up for the party.

  "They sure were talking at you for a while," she said. "I could see themgiving it to you with both barrels."

  "That they were. What is the lowdown, anyway? Are those boys completelyright about Tabio?"

  Margaret was amused. "Oh, they're a gang of hotheads, I warn you. Butnice. I suspect that our friend Giselle is going to find Don Joseparticularly nice."

  "Meow!"

  "I'm not a cat. I just know Giselle."

  "Let's talk about San Hermano politics. I think you know plenty in thatlittle head of yours."

  "Oh, I do. But tonight's a party. I've got to be Daddy's good littleHostess."

  "Like it?"

  "Bores me silly," Margaret said.

  "Perhaps we can talk some other time?"

  "Tomorrow would be swell. I have to go to my place in Juarez early inthe morning. Why don't you come out for lunch? It's a two-hour ride bytrain from San Hermano. I think you can make a train at eleven."

  "Tomorrow?" Hall hesitated.

  "I wish you'd make it," the girl said with a sudden intensity.

  "It's a date."

  "I'll meet you at the station."

  They joined her father and one of the Embassy secretaries at the bar.Hall had a Cuba Libre, and was introduced to a South American painter.He listened to the painter talk to the Ambassador about the beauties ofArizona, watched J. Burton Skidmore gravely shake hands with the painterand mutter, "_Con mucho gusto_." Then the painter asked Margaret todance and, when she left, Hall wandered off to look for Jerry.

  He found her at the punch bowl with Ansaldo. "May I ask Miss Olmsteadfor this dance?" he asked the doctor.

  "Just this one dance," Jerry said, "I'll be right back."

  She put her cheek against his, softly hummed the tune the band wasplaying.

  "It's nice to have you in my arms," he said.

  "It's nice to be in your arms."

  He held her closer. They danced well together. So well that when Jerrysaid it would be better if they did not dance again that night, Hallmade up his mind to leave at once. "I can't hang around and watch youdancing with Ansaldo all night," he said.

  "Why, Massa Hall," she said, "Ah swain Ah do believe you-all arejealous!"

  "Did Duarte give you English lessons in one rumba, too?"

  "You're a goof," she laughed.

  He took her back to Ansaldo, paid his respects to the Ambassador, andlooked for Duarte. The Mexican was talking to the tall young wife of theVichy Ambassador.

  "Felipe," Hall tugged at Duarte's sleeve, "I am afraid that I must gonow."

  "I'll go with you, if you're alone. Madame, _enchante_ ..." He winked atHall as he kissed Madame la Comtesse's hand. "Now we must pay ourrespects to our host."

  "I already have."

  "Come with me while I do. I never miss it. He has kept me fromsquandering my money. I bet with myself on him, and I always lose. SoFelipe pays Duarte, and Duarte supports Felipe."

  "What the hell are you babbling about now?"

  "Your Ambassador. He is an original, Mateo. For three years he draws meto his parties as a lodestone draws baser metals. In three years, he haslearned exactly three words of Spanish: _'Con mucho gusto_.' Of coursehe still says them with a gringo accent, but anyone can recognize whathe means.

  "For three years I am waiting for him to learn a new word, any word._Si. No. Pan. Mantequilla._ Right now, I'd settle for just one newword.

  "In the beginning, when I was green in the business of diplomacy, I wasyounger and more optimistic. Then I would not have settled for a word. Iwanted a whole new phrase. Nothing complicated, you understand. Anysimple phrase would have satisfied me. _Tiene usted un fosforo?_ Oreven--_Donde esta la sala de caballeros?_ But no. Tennyson's brookburbles forever, and unto eternity J. Burton Skidmore will not learnmore than his three words, and damn it, he won't even learn how to speakthem correctly."

&n
bsp; "And you're still betting on him?" Hall asked.

  "What can I do?" Duarte said. "We stupid Mexican peons have such a deepfaith in mankind that we are always betrayed."

  "Here comes the Ambassador now."

  "_Oiga!_" Duarte stopped Skidmore, took his hand, and let loose a streamof Mexican obscenities, spoken in dulcet, smiling tones. When he pausedfor breath, Skidmore smiled genially, bowed slightly from the hips, andsaid, "_Con mucho gusto_."

  Hall nearly collapsed with laughter when he and Duarte reached thestreet. "You bastard," he said, "you'll kill me before my time."

  "Let's have a drink before you die."

  "Sure. But let's run over to the Bolivar first. I want to see if there'sa message. Besides, we could stand some fresh air."

  Duarte agreed. "I saw Fernandez and Vardieno trying to gas you," hesaid. "You could use some air."

  "You're not kidding, Felipe."

  "How do you like the Falange in San Hermano?"

  "You mean Fernandez and his friends?"

  "Of course. That Pepito Fernandez, there is an _hijo de la chingada_ foryou, Mateo. Once, when he was keeping a woman in Paris ..." and Duartewas off on a long hilarious story about the publisher and his lady ofthe hour. He was still telling the story when they reached the darkenedPlaza de la Republica and Hall suggested that they cut across thecobbles rather than walk two-thirds of the way around the square.

  Hall stepped off the sidewalk and took three steps before he noticed thelarge Rolls-Royce bearing down on them with her throttle wide open andher lights off. "Jump!" he shouted, but Duarte, who saw it first, hadalready yanked Hall back to the sidewalk.

  "Get behind this pillar, quick!" Duarte had a small pistol in his hand.He stood watching the Rolls roar across the Plaza and disappear into thealley leading to the Avenida de la Liberacion.

  "It's almost like old times," Hall said.

  "He tried to kill you, Mateo."

  "Better put your gun away. And we'll have that drink first, I think."

  "I'm going to phone for a car from the Mexican Embassy from the nextphone, _chico_. Those bastards weren't playing."

  "Put the gun away. It was a bluff."

  "You mean you expected it?"

  "Hell, no! I didn't think it would take so soon. But they had nointention of killing me tonight."

  "The Arrows?"

  "I think so."

  Duarte put the gun in his pocket. "I don't understand. It seems a littletoo subtle for the Falange. Are you working for your government now?"

  "No. They turned me down. They said I was pro-Loyalist during the war.Right now that makes you a Red in Washington. I'm traveling on my own."

  "On your own?"

  "I'm well-heeled. My last book sold like hell. So now I'm young DonQuixote."

  "And your Sancho Panza?"

  "I have none. Or rather, I have thousands of them. Exiles. Taxi drivers.Union leaders. Communists. First Secretaries of Mexican Embassies."

  "What are you after?"

  "The Falange."

  "Good. I can help you, _chico_."

  "You'll have to. Wait, I'm going into the hotel for a minute. Come onalong. I'll only be a second."

  Duarte took a seat in the lobby while Hall talked to Souza. There wasstill no letter from Havana, but Souza had some information about theRenault Androtten had used. "It is a for-hire car owned by the PhoenixGarage on Reyes Street."

  "Can you find out who hired it the other night?"

  "That will not be so easy, _Companero_ Hall. The mechanics in thePhoenix are not union members. But we are trying to reach someone there.Perhaps by tomorrow we will know."

  "There's something else you can find out. Perhaps from the MechanicsUnion. Find out how many Rolls-Royce roadsters there are in San Hermano.I know it will be hard, but it's important."

  "I will try. Must you know soon?"

  "Very soon, Fernando. A Rolls-Royce roadster, it was painted black ordark blue, I think, and just tried to run down Duarte and me in thePlaza."

  Souza made some notes on a slip of paper. "Maybe we can find outtonight," he said.

  "Good. I'll be back in an hour. Is Androtten in his room?"

  "No. He's been out all evening."

  Duarte knew a quiet little bar a few blocks from the Bolivar. "They callit a lover's retreat," he said when they got there. "You can see why."Most of the tables were surrounded with lattice walls, and those tableswhich were occupied were monopolized by couples who looked into oneanother's eyes and said little.

  "There's Ansaldo's _maricon_," Duarte laughed. "In the table at theback. I know the boy who's with him, too. He's a blue blood from theVichy Embassy."

  Hall watched Marina and the French boy. They had pink drinks made withgin and grenadine and raw eggs. The French boy was giggling. "Thebastards," Hall said.

  "Sit here and order a Cuba Libre for me," Duarte said. "I'm going tophone for a car."

  Now that the action had begun, Hall felt better. The tension had beenbroken. Hands were starting to be shown. Now the moves would come morequickly, he thought, and they would be more definite in form. Diversefacts would synthesize, and when the letter came from Havana, perhapsthe whole thing would start to form one pattern.

  "We can't talk here," Duarte said. "Let's have a drink and then, when mycar comes, we'll go to my house. I rented a place on the beach."

  "Sorry, boy. That's out tonight. Have to stick around the hotel."

  "But we should talk, Mateo."

  "I'll have breakfast with you at your house. Do you eat in?"

  "Sometimes. We'll eat in tomorrow morning."

  "Eight o'clock too early?"

  "No. I'll get you out of bed, Felipe. Well, here's to Mexico!"