Chapter 11

I sat at the kitchen table in Margareta’s Lima apartment and gnawed the last few shreds off the stripped T-bone, while my girl poured me another cup of coffee.

“Now tell me about it,” she said. “Why did they burn your house? And how did you succeed in getting here?”

“They got so interested in the fight, they lost their heads,” I said. “That’s the only explanation I can think of. I thought I’d be as safe as a two-dollar watch at a pickpockets’ convention: I figured they’d go to some pains to avoid damaging me. I guessed wrong.”

“But your own people...”

“Maybe they were right: they couldn’t afford to let the Ruskis get me. Funny--if they’d just thought to write me a letter and ask for my co-operation...”

“But how did you get covered with mud? And the blood stains on your back?”

“I had a nice long swim: five hours’ worth. Then another hour getting through a mangrove swamp. Lucky I had a moon. Then a three-hour hike ... and here I am.”

“I hope you’re feeling better now that you’ve had something to eat. You looked terrible.”

“Another block and I wouldn’t have made it. I felt sucked dry. The scratch on my back is nothing, but maybe the shock ... I don’t know.”

“Lie down now and sleep,” said Margareta. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get me some clothes,” I said. “A grey suit, white shirt, black tie and shoes. And go to my bank and draw some money, save five thousand. Oh yeah, see if there’s anything in the papers. If you see anybody hanging around the lobby when you come back, don’t come up; give me a call and I’ll meet you.”

She stood up. “This is really awful,” she said. “Can’t your embassy--”

“Didn’t I mention it? A Mr. Pruffy, of the Embassy, came along to hold Smale’s hand ... not to mention a Colonel Sanchez. I wouldn’t be surprised if the local cops weren’t in the act by now ... unless they all think I’m dead. That impression won’t last long after you show up with a nice fresh check on my account and spend part of it on a man’s suit. I’ll get some sleep and light out as soon as you get back.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ll get to the airport and play it by ear. I don’t think they’ve alerted everybody. It was a hush-hush deal, until it went sour; now they’re still picking up the pieces.”

“The bank won’t be open for hours yet,” said Margareta. “Go to sleep and don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

I made it to the bedroom and slid out on the big wide bed, and consciousness slipped away like a silk curtain falling.

I knew I wasn’t alone as soon as I opened my eyes. I hadn’t heard anything, but I could feel someone in the room. I sat up slowly, looked around.

He was sitting in the embroidered chair by the window: an ordinary-looking fellow in a tan tropical suit, with an unlighted cigarette in his mouth and no particular expression on his face.

“Go ahead, light up,” I said. “Don’t mind me.”

“Thanks,” he said, in a thin voice. He took a lighter from an inner pocket, flipped it, held it to the cigarette.

I stood up. There was a blur of motion from my visitor, and the lighter was gone and a short-nosed revolver was in its place.

“You’ve got the wrong scoop, mister,” I said. “I don’t bite.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t move suddenly, Mr. Legion,” he said. He coughed, his eyes on mine. “My nerves aren’t what they used to be.” The gun was still on me.

“Which side are you working for?” I said. “And can I put my shoes on, or are you afraid I’ll pull a gat out of my sock?”

He rested the pistol on his knee. “Get completely dressed, Mr. Legion.”

“Sorry,” I said. “No can do. No clothes.”

He frowned slightly. “My jacket will be a little small for you,” he said. “But I think you can manage.”

I was sitting on the bed again. “I’m going to get out a cigarette,” I said. “Try not to shoot me.” I reached for a package on the table, lit up. His eyes stayed on mine.

“How come you didn’t figure I was dead?” I asked, blowing smoke at him.

“We checked the house,” he said. “No body.”

“Why, you incompetent asses. You were supposed to think I drowned.”

“That possibility was considered. But we made the routine checks anyway.”

“Nice of you to let me sleep it out. How long have you been here?”

“Only a few minutes,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “We’ll have to be going in another fifteen.”

“What do you want with me?” I said. “You blew up everything you were interested in.”

“The Department wants to ask you a few questions.”

“Look, I’m just a dumb guy,” I whined. “I don’t know nothing about all that stuff. I was just the guy that peddled it, see?”

He took a drag on his cigarette, squinted at me through the smoke. “You ran up an A average in college,” he said, “including English.”

“You boys really do your homework.” I looked at the pistol. “I wonder if you’d really shoot me,” I mused.

“I’ll try to make the position clear,” he said. “Just to avoid any unfortunate misunderstanding. My instructions are to bring you in, alive--if possible. If it appears that you may evade arrest ... or fall into the wrong hands, I’ll be forced to use the gun.”

I pulled my shoes on, thinking it over. My best chance to make a break was now, while there was only one watchdog. But I had a feeling he was telling the truth about shooting me. I had already seen the boys in action at the house.

He got up. “Let’s step into the living room, Mr. Legion.” I moved past him through the door. In the living room the clock on the mantel said eleven. I’d been asleep for five or six hours. Margareta ought to be getting back any minute...

“Put this on,” he said. I took the light jacket, wedged myself into it, looked at my reflection in the big rectangular mirror that occupied most of a wall above the low divan.