Montezuma’s Revenge

Fourteen

“Schultz, turn the car around ram this fence what do you mean it is a fake?” Sones was shouting, his cool very definitely gone. Billy jumped into the car while the others huddled around Lizveta Zlotnikova who had the painting fiat on the ground and was kneeling by it with the flashlight.

“Look, so easy to see with all the covering cloth removed. ! scrape away the paint here, so, and it is obvious that a corner of the real painting was attached to this forgery. See where the edge of the original has been shaved down, then glued on. The whole thing is a fake. Not only that but a real art authority/⁵ she blazed a glance in Tony’s direction, “would have seen at once that this is an inferior forgery.”

The events of the past few days suddenly became very, very clear to Tony. The entire slow build-up with all the suspense of foreign intrigue, the refusal to let a real expert examine the painting, the careful timing to enable him to witness the com-memoratory rites, the darkened room, the man in the wheel chair to get his mind off the things it should have been on. Then the doubtlessly well-rehearsed bit of acting, the artistic Italian, the barbarian German, the flash of the knife that removed almost all of the original fragment of painting for examination and authentication. They had been conned, fooled, deluded exceedingly well, all of them, in a highly professional manner.

A continuing sound penetrated his depressed aura of gloom, making itself known to all of them about the same time. They looked up, looked at the car, listened to the grind-grind-grind of the starter turning over and over with no result. The engine would not start.

“The light,” Sones growled, tearing it from Lizveta Zlotnikova’s hand and throwing open the hood. Inside, even to the unmechani-cal eye, things were not quite as they should be. Torn ends of wires gleamed, half of the cables to the spark plugs were pulled loose and hung in a tangle. Sones reached in and pulled out a hooked length of heavy metal rod, of the kind used to reinforce concrete. “While we were all looking the other way someone crawled under the front of the car and pulled the wires loose with this thing. Fix it, Schultz.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Treasury is not gonna like this.”

“No one likes it, Stocker.” Sones controlled his temper with an effort and rounded on Hawkin who raised his hands.

“Now don’t start on me, Sones. I’m no more to blame than anyone else here. We were conned, but good. So now we have to go after these people and get the money back.”

“Thu only way.”

It took Billy Schultz ten long minutes to jury rig enough of the wires so the engine would start, though at least two cylinders kept missing and banging, while only one headlight came on, and it was frozen in the low beam position.

“Go,” Sones ordered. This was, as were all of his recent orders, issued through tight-clenched teeth.

They went. The Cadillac tore through the thin strands of barbed wire and lumbered down the dirt track that twisted through the outskirts of the village, ending at the graveled shoulder of the highway.

“Which way?” Billy asked. There was no answer. Tony saw that there were people sitting outside the nearby house and he opened the door.

“I’ll ask them.”

Instead of running he forced himself into a slow stroll, feeling the daggers of the impatient eyes behind him burning into his back. But he could not rush; there is a different pace for all things in Mexico. As he drew close he saw the women and children withdraw within the mud-brick walls of the adobe house. Only the man remained, his face a dark blur under the wide brim of his hat, leaning against the pole that supported the roof.

“Good evening,” Tony said.

“Good evening.”

“It should be a pleasant night.”

“It usually is.”

“Cigarette?”

“It will be a pleasure.”

They lit the cigarettes and Tony pointed back down the they had come.

“There was a little accident there and the wire fence was torn near the bull ring. If I gave you money for its repair would you be so kind as to pass it on?”

“But why not.”

Tony paid him, then started away—only to call back over his shoulder.

“The other car that went by a few minutes ago, did you happen to notice in what direction it went?”

“I did. It went that way, toward the south.”

“Adios.”

“Adios.”

“Well?” Sones’s temper had not improved with the delay.

“South.”

“You are sure?”

“There is one way to find out.”

They rushed on through the night, tearing down the dim yellow column of the single headlight, dark shapes of cactus swirling by on each side. There was a figure ahead, a solitary hitchhiker who turned and jerked his thumb in anticipatory gesture. Billy swung out to go around him, not slowing.

“Stop the car!” Tony shouted and Billy hit the brakes L flex, sending them into a long squealing bucking slide.

“Explain, Hawkin, it had better be good.”

“That man, he’s their chauffeur.”

They burst out of the car, running as they hit the ground, weapons in their hands, Stacker even ready with a tear-gas grenade. Their prey stood silently, hands at his side as they surround him and the muzzles of guns prodded from all sides.

“I am simple driver,” he said solemnly. “Hired, perhaps because of my German nationality, to do driving. I do as I am told. I am told to leave car and walk back to town. I leave car and walk back to town.”

“The truth now, or else .. !”

“Let me have him for ten minutes!”

“There is sodium pentothal in the bag.”

Tony drew a reluctant Sones away from the seekers after truth. “I can make him talk,” he said.

“How?”

“Simple enough, if you must know. You see he is, well, my contact with the Israelis. If I found out anything about Robl I was to tell Heinrich here.”

“A Kraut!”

“He’s Jewish, a chemist. Let me get him aside where the others can’t hear.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Do we have a choice? Don’t forget the million ...” Soncs’s teeth could be clearly heard grating together.

“Do it, fast, do it.”

The flashlight was trained on them, guns clearly visible beneath it, as Tony took Heinrich over to the side of the road.

“Would you please tell me what is happening.”

“Just what I said, with the exception that I stopped your car. I was supposed to get off the road. They are on the run. They paid me off.”

“Do you know where they are going?”

“No. About that they were very closemouthed. But perhaps I can help you, but I will have to telephone Jacob Goldstein first. And don’t ask!” He raised his hands, palms outward. “Nothing more can I say until I talk to Jacob.”

Tony waved Sones over to join them.

“This man may be able to help us, but he has to make a phone call first,”

“I do not like this, Hawkin.”

“Do you have any better ideas? Short of torturing him, is there anything else we can do?”

Sones ruminated all the way to Cuernavaca while Heinrich sat stolidly in their midst ignoring the guns that pressed into him from both sides. When the first street lights appeared Sones straightened up and looked around, then tapped Billy Schultz on the shoulder and pointed to the sign that read taller mecanico.

“Pull in there, I want this car fixed up before we go any further.” He glowered a final glower at Heinrich. “You, get on the phone, but we will be with you all the time.”

“Ah don’t like this.” Stocker was unhappy, caressing his gun.

“Well, I do. And this is my operation. If you want that bundle back for Treasury you will do as I say.”

Tony dialed the number himself while the others surrounded the driver. A familiar voice answered.

“There has been some trouble. Heinrich is here and wants to talk to you.”

“We all got troubles. Put him on.”

The conversation was in guttural and incomprehensible Hebrew which Sones did not enjoy hearing. Tony went to talk to the master mechanic, who was shaking his head in amazement at the wanton damage, and encouraged him to do both rapid and excellent repairs. Lizveta Zlotnikova sat in the back of the car with the forged painting, examining it and muttering over it.

“It could still be restored,” she said; there were tears in her eyes, “If we could find the rest of the painting. Why would they do a thing like this?”

“I have no idea,” Tony said. “Maybe they want to pull this confidence racket three more times with the other corners of the painting.” They shuddered together at the thought. “Or maybe that corner of the painting was all they had.”

“That does not make sense.”

“Very little of what has been happening makes much sense.”

Sones called to him and he joined the huddled group in the small office. A year-old calendar on the wall proclaimed the virtues of General Popo tires, the illustration of the General himself, his body apparently constructed out of tires, backing up these assertations. Euzkadi tires had a stronger argument with a calendar of the current year as well as a colored photograph of a young woman naked except for an Aztec headdress. Heinrich blew his nose in a large red handkerchief and, when examination of the results satisfied him, spoke.

“I have a message from Goldstein. He says he is happy to cooperate with the FBI and the Treasury Department of the United States to enable them to track this car and the men in it. He will be here within the hour.”

“And what does he think he can do?” Sones asked, gun ready in pocket.

“Lots. On his instructions I installed a device under the frame of the car that is attached to the radio. My understanding is that it is a high-powered transmitter that emits a very strong signal.”

“Do you know the wave length?”

“My knowledge ends there. All I know is that it is turned on. For the rest, ask Goldstein.”

Waiting was not easy for any of them other than Heinrich who fell quietly asleep in the rear of the car. Tony felt a preliminary rumble of hunger in his stomach, he had been eating an awful lot in Mexico, must be the altitude, so he went to a nearby restaurant and bought a bag of sandwiches. They were received with little enthusiasm by the others, yet were still eaten. The repairs were finished and the bill discussed in detail, then paid, Heinrich slept on, snoring quietly; a truck pulled up in the street blocking the driveway, panaderia la aquila, the ornate lettering on the side read, decorated with a colorful portrait of the eagle himself bearing off a great loaf of bread in his talons as he would a lamb. Goldstein climbed down from the front seat.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said to the hard-eyed men who slowly surrounded him, “I guess introductions are in order, but first let me guess. Tony I know, a nice boy. You must be Sones, the man in charge. And you are probably Stocker of the Treasury. That was a good job you did on those two gentlemen in the Liberia exchange.”

“Ah had no choice, the little one went for his gun.”

“Enough of this,” Sones said. “Are you tracking the car in question?”

“Why should I tell you?” Hands flashed to hidden weapons, “Now don’t get me wrong, trouble I am not looking for. What 1 am looking for is the truth, a rare commodity in our chosen field of endeavor. Then we co-operate. We are interested in the same people but for different reasons. If we work together we all make out. If you will tell me everything that has happened so far, be frank since I know a good deal of it already, I will be happy to tell you all I know, and aid you in finding the car and its occupants.”

They all looked at Sones who was grinding his teeth again, weighing all the factors.

“A million dollars,” Tony said, just as a gentle reminder.

“All right. We will do it.”

“A wise decision. The radio equipment is in the truck. We triangulated from Mexico City and from here. The car is to the south, at least sixty miles away, and still moving. Either on 95D or the old road to Taxco.”

“Schultz, start the car.”

“A moment please. I suggest that your car follow behind the truck with the detection gear. I also suggest that my associate Heinrich be permitted to leave now. This is not his kind of operation. Then I can travel with you and we can chat.”

“The Russian girl is in our car.”

“No problem, she can travel in the truck so we can enjoy absolute candor in our conversation.”

“Stay with her, Hawkin. Keep an eye on her.”

The seating arrangements were getting complicated with much changing about and slamming of doors. Heinrich went by, yawning, and Tony waved.

“Good luck. I hope you’ll be teaching again soon.”

“And the same to you. You and I, both. Even the Arabs will look good after some of these people. My students should only know. They think I’m on a sabbatical at MIT. Hah!”

Tony helped Lizveta Zlotnikova into the truck, still carrying the painting, and she stopped dead. “You!” she shouted.

Nahum, the sabra agent, looked up from the radio apparatus and smiled, waving them toward the bench. “Get comfortable. The car we follow is still moving. Dobriy vyechyer, tovarisch oche chornyia?

“Svinya!” Lizveta Zlotnikova hissed in return. “What is this about? Who are these people? What is happening?”

“Patience, patience,” Tony said, suddenly weary, sitting down and taking the painting from her. “You know, it is still not obvious this is a forgery. Not to a quick examination with all this dirt on it The brushwork—”

“Ignore the brushwork.” She hurled a last daggerlike glance at the smiling Israeli, then stabbed a finger at the painting. “It is stamped forgery all over. These fly specks, coffee grounds. The stained canvas, tea. It is more like a cheap menu than a painting,” She lurched against him, a gentle collision, as the truck started.

Very quickly excitement gave way to fatigue; it had indeed been a long and trying day, and even thoughts of the million dollars could not keep Tony awake. He found his head falling onto Lizveta Zlotnikova’s shoulder, she made no protests, where he dozed fitfully. There were stops and starts and shouted instructions that woke him, and after that a continuous run that lulled him deeply asleep. It wasn’t until light poured in through the open rear door that he woke again, blinking and chomping, slowly becoming aware that he was sweetly entangled with Lizveta Zlotnikova who was still asleep.

“A pleasant rest, I hope?” Jacob Goldstein said from the doorway.

“Where are we?” Tony asked, looking out at dawn haze and green trees with the sun just glancing through the tops of them.

“We’ll be coming into Acapulco soon. Your friend Sones, and very agreeable he is once he relaxes, would like to see you. Anything new, Nahum?”

The Israeli shook his head. “On the road ahead, strong signal.” He had been at the set all night yet was as wide awake and alert as ever.

Tony disentangled the long blond hair from the buttons of his shirt and slipped from the enjoyable embrace. Yawning and Stretching himself awake he walked back to the Cadillac, which was parked on the shoulder of the road behind them. To his left, beyond the row of painted white stones that inadequately took the place of a guardrail, the hillside fell away in jungled curves to a distant river and the roofs of a habitation, morning fires sending up thin vertical columns of smoke. Three pairs of bloodshot eyes stared back at him from the shaded interior of the car.

“Take the wheel, Hawkin,” Sones ordered. “Schultz is bushed.”

“Othuh car still there?”

“Right ahead, signal loud and clear.”

Billy Schultz slid over, folded his arms, closed his eyes, and instantly went to sleep. Tony started the engine and pulled out when the truck moved away. There was silence from the back seat, either from sleep or sorrow, and Tony didn’t try to find out. He was still only half awake himself and needed all that const fraction of his consciousness for the road ahead, fiendishly snakelike, twisting and turning, with occasional rocks that had fallen from the cliffs above during the night.

Coming around a blind hairpin turn he saw the truck ahead, stopped dead in the road before him. He stabbed the brakes in instant fear, locking them, skidding with a great shrieking of peeled-off rubber to collide lightly with the rear of the truck. There were muffled curses from the back seat, but before they could be amplified the back door of the truck swung open and Goldstein stuck his head out.

“The radio signal has gone dead,” he called out. “Completely dead. I think we have lost them.”