Death in High Places (A Renegade Western Book 7) Page 3

  “Pick up the nearest phone and have me arrested on any number of charges, true or false. There’s a U.S. consulate in every goddamned country in the world, Gaston. On the other hand, what can Colombia do to us, once we get in and out safely?”

  Gaston grimaced as he tucked his weapon away. “The key word is safely, mon vieux. You are trés imaginatif, and God knows you can be destructive. But I have been in the Colombian highlands. Can you say as much?”

  “No. That’s why I’ll need you when I go. I’m not even sure where Bogotá is, for God’s sake!” He sat on the edge of the bed and began to load his spare weapon.

  The dapper little Frenchman perched on a nearby bent-wood chair and said, “Listen to an older and wiser head, my impetuous youth. I told you I have been up into the high country. It was a long time ago, when I was with the legion. I served as a guard at the embassy.”

  “Good. You’ll know your way around.”

  “Merde alors! We are not speaking about a street map. Bogotá is a most ordinary city, in appearance. Any tourist’s booklet will tell you how to find the opera house. Any bartender will point out the nearest brothel. But this ‘getting around’ you speak of is another matter. You have heard of the clans of Scotland? You know about the Black Hand in Sicily, or the Camorra of Naples?”

  Captain Gringo put the gun under his fresh jacket and nodded. “Sure. Lots of towns have secret societies running the local criminal activity.”

  “You are missing my point. In Colombia the inbred secret clans don’t control mere crime. The old Creole oligarchy controls everything! They run the police as well as the crooks. The government is the crooks.”

  “Yeah, those guys at the consulate said the government up there was corrupt.”

  “Bah, you still don’t understand. There is no corruption in Bogotá. To have corruption, one must have police and politicians who break the law, true?”

  “Of course.”

  “In that case, the conservative Creole party is trés honorable, Dick. They break no laws. This is because they simply have no laws to break.”

  Captain Gringo frowned and asked, “What are you talking about? Are you saying Colombia has no written constitution or criminal code?”

  “Aha! Now you are beginning to listen. That is exactly what I am saying, Dick. Oh, they have laws on the books, they say. But nobody who does not take tea with the ruling junta is ever allowed to read these laws. In other words, if one is not in good with the powers that be, one is subject to any laws they feel like enforcing. The law, for poor native peones as well as for any other powerless person passing through, is exactly what any member of the ruling clique happens to say it is at that particular time.”

  “Hmm, I can see how that San Francisco mining outfit may have had a hard time with the fine print in their mining claim.”

  “It could have been worse. The junta was content to simply rob them. I have heard grimmer tales about visitors who really annoyed a member of the in group. They execute by firing squad. A capital offense is any so-called crime a stranger may be accused of. They follow one of the less liberal parts of the Code Napoleon. The accused is always guilty unless proven innocent. And no Bogotá lawyer in living memory has ever seen fit to defend an outsider accused by an insider.”

  Captain Gringo whistled softly and said, “No wonder everybody’s pissed off. You’re only supposed to treat Indians like that. But aren’t there any decent Colombians?”

  Gaston nodded and said, “But of course. At the risk of sounding sentimental, most people are.”

  “Then why do they put up with such a shitty government?”

  “Merde alors, what choice does one have when a tight clique controls the military, the economy, the very food on one’s table?”

  “You mean there’s no resistance at all?”

  “I mean no such thing. Of course there is resistance. The Creole conservatives call anyone who does not approve of them a bandit. Colombia is said to be handsomely furnished with bandits. Many, it is true, have no guns, but they are executed regularly in any case.”

  The tall American smiled crookedly, commenting, “In that case, the bunch that’s giving everyone a hard time may just need a gentle shove.”

  Before Gaston could answer, there was a gentle knock on the door.

  The two soldiers of fortune exchanged glances. Gaston shook his head and murmured, “But no. I told no one else about this place, Dick.”

  Captain Gringo moved over to the door, drawing his pistol as he stood out of line from a bullet through the panels and asked, “¿Quien es?”

  “Greystoke, here. British Intelligence.”

  Muttering “What the fuck?” the American opened the door.

  A familiar dapper-decadent figure came in to join them, saying, “Mum’s the word, eh what, chaps? I wouldn’t want it banded about that I came to see you.”

  “We’re particular about our reputations, too, Greystoke. What the hell do you want?”

  Greystoke carefully shut the door behind him before he said, “Heard you chaps were on your way to the Colombian highlands, and I say one hand washes the other, eh what?”

  “You mean you limeys have been spying on the American Consulate?”

  “Of course. Don’t they spy on us? I assure you there’s no conflict of interest here, old chap. Her Majesty’s Government is prepared to make it worth your while if you’ll be good enough to do us a small favor as you go your merry way.”

  “I remember the last small favor we did for you guys. You tried to double-cross us.”

  “Now, don’t be beastly, Captain Gringo. I’ll admit we tried to use you. But double-cross is a bit harsh, don’t you think? Bogotá. Vital mission and all that rot. The ruddy country is quite simple. It won’t interfere with your mission for the Yanks and shouldn’t take you far out of your way.”

  “That’s what you said the last time. Needless to say, if we tell you to go fly a kite, you’ll spill the beans all over town about us?”

  “Oh, certainly. That’s the way we pressure chaps like you. On the other hand, it would ill behove us to spread it about if you were doing us a favor, eh what?”

  The two soldiers of fortune exchanged glances. Gaston said, “He came alone. Let’s kill him.”

  Captain Gringo said, “He probably has some cover in the neighborhood, and I’ll never get any sleep tonight if I don’t listen to his pitch. But level with us, this time, Greystoke. I know it’s an effort for you, but it sure saves a lot of confusion when we have some vague idea what you really want.”

  Greystoke smiled and said, “This time it’s quite simple. As a matter of fact, it will help you chaps in your own mission. The Colombian Secret Police will be expecting two of you and – I say, that blond disguise is rather grotesque.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Right. We want you to deliver a British agent safely in Bogotá. Vital mission and all that rot. The ruddy country is bandit-infested and we’ve reason to suspect the Colombian Secret Police are expecting our move, too. They’ll be watching for a single Anglo-Saxon. They’ll be expecting you two. The three of you, arriving, together, should have a better chance of slipping by customs, eh what?”

  Greystoke noted the wary look in Captain Gringo’s eye and quickly added, “There’s a spot of sweetener to tempt you further. Aside from being paid by us as well as the Yanks, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing passports for you chaps.”

  “We’ve already got passports, Greystoke.”

  “Oh, quite, with your new names and numbers rather common knowledge in local intelligence circles, too.”

  Gaston clapped a palm against his brow and said, “Merde! I knew it! You Americans have no flair for espionage, Dick.”

  Captain Gringo ignored him to frown at Greystoke and ask, “Who’s the leak – that Williams asshole at the consulate?”

  Greystoke shook his head and said, “No, that saucy blond you spent the earlier part of the evening with has a direct line to Butcher Weyler an
d the Cuban Army of Occupation. Fortunately, we have her telephone tapped.”

  Greystoke saw the dawning horror in Captain Gringo’s gunmetal eyes and quickly added, “Don’t excite yourself. We share your country’s enthusiasm for an independent Cuba. Anything’s better than having to deal with the ruddy dons, and we’ll have seen the last of the blighters in this hemisphere, once they lose their last mismanaged colony. We knew Spanish agents would stake out your schooner and the guns, so we took the liberty of moving them while you were playing slap-and-tickle with Miss Consuela. Real Cuban rebels have them, now.”

  “Do they know Consuela is a spy planted among them by the Spanish?”

  “Of course. She’s a rather convenient way to feed the other side false information, and – as you know – a fantastic little bod in bed.”

  Captain Gringo started to ask if they had Consuela’s room bugged and decided he didn’t really want to know. “Okay, assuming Consuela works for Spain, why would she tell Colombia the right time? Colombia rebelled against Spain a long time ago, right?”

  Greystoke shrugged and said, “The Colombian aristocracy seems rather intertwined with the Spanish Royalists, but even if they’re not, why take chances?”

  He reached in his jacket and took out a manila envelope as he added, “Here are some travelers’ checks and your new passports. We thought it would be best if you entered Colombia as Canadians. You should have little trouble passing as a Canadian, Walker.”

  “What about me?” Gaston put in, frowning.

  “French Canadian, of course. Since everyone in town seems to know you intended to enter the country as engineers, I took the liberty of making you a pair of Canadian journalists. Should anyone check, they’ll find you accredited to the Ottawa Observer. Bilingual weekly, published in the capital and, needless to say, funded by British Intelligence. I didn’t have to tell you this much, but it may tend to steady your nerves, what?”

  Captain Gringo opened the envelope and took out the impressive cover, but growled, “Jesus, why not go as circus performers? Newspapermen attract attention, Greystoke!”

  The British agent nodded and said, “Exactly. Especially if they should be shot against a wall or simply disappear, eh what? For heaven’s sake, Walker, Yank engineers are always vanishing down here. But even a military dictatorship hesitates before it steps on a journalist! Bad publicity in the international press, eh what?”

  Captain Gringo nodded. “Fair is fair. This cover has some limitations we’ll have to rethink, but I can see the advantages in flashing a press card at a nosy cop.” He turned to Gaston and added, “What do you say? Should we take the queen up on her offer?”

  Gaston arched his eyebrows. “Have we any choice? At least we seem to be getting paid this time.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Okay, you’re on. We plan a roundabout approach. We’ll leave Costa Rica under our fake U.S. passports, then turn into somebody else as soon as we know we’re not being watched. We should be in Bogotá about this time next week. When do we meet this guy you want us to take along?”

  Greystoke looked away and said, “Ah, I forgot to tell you. The agent who’ll be traveling with you isn’t a man. A male agent would hardly need your help in slipping into a country unobserved, eh what?”

  “Oh, shit, it’s a fucking woman you’re expecting us to smuggle up to the highlands?”

  Greystoke said, “I can’t say whether she fucks all that much, but you have the gender correct. She’s a very good research chemist, when she’s not working for us. Unfortunately, she’s attractive, and you know how these Latin chaps tend to get excited about a woman traveling alone, even if she’s ugly. We’re still working on her cover. Do you think she’d blend into the scenery better as a reporter for your newspaper, or would you feel more comfortable taking her along as simply your wife?”

  Captain Gringo frowned and said, “I don’t know. I’d have to see her first.”

  Chapter Four

  Lieutenant Colonel Diego Maldonado was not an evil man. He was an officer and a gentleman, devoted to his One True Faith and dedicated to the service of his country, which just happened to be a rather vicious dictatorship at the moment.

  The current government of Colombia was not for Maldonado to question. His oath of loyalty was to the land he loved, not the oligarchy running it. He was sworn to protect his country from all enemies, foreign and domestic, and a good soldier let the politicians decide who these might be. And so this rather nice man in charge of Colombian Military Intelligence was one of the most dangerous soldier-bureaucrats in Latin America.

  Unlike many of his peers and/or superiors, Maldonado kept his emotional and professional lives separate. He never took it out on a junior officer or even a prisoner when his wife had given him a hard time at the breakfast table. He never gave a possible victim a break because he was in a mellow mood. He ran his section the way a chess master plays a championship game: coldly and logically, regarding every pawn on the board as a thing to be used, saved, or sacrificed as the next move called for. He was dimly aware that his underlings called him El Arano –“the spider.” He felt neither flattered nor insulted by the nickname. Maldonado enjoyed playing with his children; he was a considerate lover to his wife; he could be amusing as well as charming at the officer’s club. At his desk, he didn’t kid around.

  So his adjutant wasn’t surprised this morning to see the boss sticking pins in a large wall map as he consulted a sheaf of cablegrams in his free hand. Maldonado nodded and said, “Good morning, Major,” and the adjutant shot a worried glance at the wall clock.

  “I am sorry if I seem late, Colonel.”

  Maldonado smiled thinly and said, “You are not late. I am early. The wires were busy last night.”

  “Trouble, sir?”

  “It’s too early to tell. Do you remember that American soldier of fortune they call Captain Gringo?”

  “The one who gave you so much trouble down in the Panama sector, sir?”

  “Correction, Major. Captain Gringo did not give me trouble. It was my late superior he made a fool of. That is why I now hold his rank as well as position. You see, they didn’t listen to me when I explained my own plans regarding Captain Gringo and his ragtag guerrillas. The results were all too predictable. But we are speaking of ancient history. The railroads have been repaired, the dead have been buried, and, in the end, the rebels he led for a short have frittered away their momentary advantage, as they always do.”

  The adjutant tried to make some sense out of the colonel’s map as he asked, “What is this Captain Gringo up to, now, my colonel?”

  Maldonado shrugged and said, “I don’t know yet. An agent in Limón spotted him coming from the U.S. Consulate. It has to be something big.”

  “May one ask why, my colonel? Since the man is an American, is it not possible he was just seeing someone about his passport?”

  Maldonado’s voice was bleak as he said, “I see you have not memorized the dossiers of known enemies of the state. Captain Gringo is wanted for murder and desertion by the U.S. Government.”

  “But if one of our spies saw him leaving the American consulate…”

  “Exactly. Los Yanquis are rather stuffy and unsophisticated about their laws, and there is a marine detachment at the consulate. Ergo, the story about Captain Gringo being a wanted renegade from the U.S. is a cover story, or else Uncle Sam has something more important in mind than the usual legalities.”

  “Another try for the Canal Zone, Colonel?”

  ‘That would seem logical. Perhaps too logical. We know Washington has already funded would-be Panamanian Nationalists. Why send in another itinerant machine gunner? The jungle down there is crawling with soldiers of fortune. Washington must know, by now, that they’ll never seize the isthmus from us by proxy.”

  The major smiled and said, “In that case, they’ll never take it at all. Right, sir?”

  Maldonado didn’t answer. He’d long ago worked it out to the last decimal point. But
when he’d tried to tell the junta it would be more logical to agree to Washington’s generous terms, since they were bound to take the place in any case, he’d been told not to concern himself with political decisions. Yet, as a soldier, he knew only too well that Colombia didn’t have enough forces in the lowlands to stand up to a couple of gunboats and a detachment of marines. The Americans had to know this, too. So what was the point in sending in the notorious Captain Gringo again? One man couldn’t take Panama without a serious intervention by the U.S. Military. One man was redundant if and when the Americans took off the gloves. It had to be something else.

  A sergeant came in with another cablegram from Costa Rica. It was in code, of course, but Maldonado read it without consulting the code books and told the major, “Captain Gringo’s schooner just left Limón, manned by Cuban rebels. Neither the American nor his French comrade seem to be aboard.”

  “Shall I notify the Spanish Embassy, my colonel?”

  Maldonado considered before he replied. Like many a pure professional, the cold-blooded colonel viewed the activities of Butcher Weyler with distaste. The notorious head of the Spanish Occupation was a man who obviously enjoyed his work; Maldonado, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of butchering unruly peones, but he didn’t take pleasure in it, or order it when he didn’t feel it necessary.

  So he said, “I hardly feel we owe anything to His Most Catholic Majesty. Those Cubans are not rebelling against Colombia. More important, Uncle Sam and the Hearst newspapers find the Cuban Liberation Movement most interesting. Perhaps more interesting than remote squabbles over canal rights, eh?”

  Maldonado put another pin in the map, accounting for the schooner. The adjutant pursed his lips and said, “Perhaps this mission the Americans have sent their Captain Gringo on has nothing at all to do with us. Just because he is not aboard his boat does not mean he’s given up all interest in the Cuban problem, eh?”

  Maldonado said, “I hope you’re right. For the moment, we’ve lost contact with the adventurer. It seems impossible for such an unusual person to have slipped out of a small seaport unseen, but we know the big blond Yanqui is slippery as an eel. Stay here and take any other messages as they come in. I have to fill the colonel in on the little we have.”