Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  Dax stood on the galería of the one small hotel and looked over the crowds lining the streets awaiting the arrival of el Presidente. Everywhere there was an air of excitement, peddlers hawking sweets, small boys running in and out of the crowds with tiny flags clutched in their grubby fingers. A roar came up from the crowd further down the street as the head of the presidential cavalcade turned the corner.

  First came a company of mounted cavalrymen on dark chestnut horses. In perfect cadence, four abreast, they came down the narrow street, their red and blue uniforms bright and gay in the sunlight. Behind came the first automobile. Two soldiers were in the front seat, one of them driving. There were two officers in the rear seat. Between them sat el Presidente, dressed in a simple khaki uniform, its very simplicity making him stand out from the others. The crowd began to shout:

  “Viva el Presidente! Viva!”

  El Presidente raised his head, his white teeth flashing in a smile. With a gesture he removed his hat to the crowds. Again they roared their approval. A second car turned in behind them. Again soldiers were in the front seat. This time between the two officers in the rear, her blond hair uncovered and shimmering in the sunlight, sat Amparo. Her face was alive, animated, as she smiled at the crowds. This time there was true affection in their cheers.

  “Viva la princesa! Viva la rubia!”

  Dax turned to Fat Cat. “Quite a reception.”

  Fat Cat’s eyes were narrowed against the sun. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Too many soldiers.”

  “You didn’t expect el Presidente to come alone.”

  “No, but he didn’t have to bring the whole fucking army.”

  The automobiles had stopped in the square. The alcalde came down the steps of the city hall to greet el Presidente. At a command from their officers, the cavalrymen wheeled into formation and came to attention. Slowly el Presidente got out of his car and walked over to assist Amparo. Then they turned and walked over to where the officials were standing.

  The alcalde’s voice was loud enough to be heard all over the square. “It is with deep feelings of humility and honor that the proud city of Asiento welcomes el Presidente and his lovely daughter.”

  Dax turned to Fat Cat. “Come on, let’s go inside for a drink.”

  They sat in the dark, almost cool bar, sipping cold glasses of beer. “I don’t think he will come,” Fat Cat said unexpectedly.

  Dax looked at him.

  “El Condor is no fool. By now he must know how many soldiers el Presidente has brought with him.”

  “The old bandolero is a man of his word. He will come.”

  Fat Cat was silent. He sipped at his beer.

  “It seems almost as if you wish he wouldn’t.”

  Fat Cat looked across the table at Dax. He shook his head gloomily. “If he is smart he will not come.” He picked up his glass and looked into it. “Mark my words, there will be bloodshed if he does.”

  There were footsteps from behind them and they turned. It was Ortiz, the little soldier who had found them in the hills. He saluted smartly. “Señor Xenos?”

  Dax nodded. “Yes, Ortiz.”

  “His excellency wishes you to join him and la princesa in the garden of the alcalde.”

  Dax finished his glass of beer and got to his feet. He looked down at Fat Cat. “Coming?”

  Fat Cat shook his head. “Con su permiso, I shall remain here. The beer is cooler.”

  Dax glanced at his watch, then at Amparo, seated next to him at the long table in the alcalde’s garden. “It is almost time.”

  Amparo stared at him. “Four o’clock?”

  He nodded, looking up. Already the table was being cleared. El Presidente got to his feet and the others also rose. They followed the alcalde through the garden to the galería of the building, which faced out onto the square.

  El Presidente gestured to Amparo. She joined him beside the railing. “You too, my son,” he said to Dax.

  Dax took his place on the other side of Amparo. He looked across the square. The soldiers had drawn up in front of the building in two files, forming a lane between them leading up to the galería. Behind the soldiers the crowd was suddenly quiet. Across the square Dax saw Fat Cat come out of the hotel.

  There was a flutter of excitement as a small boy’s voice shrilled, “They’re coming! They’re coming.”

  Expectantly the crowd looked across the square. Dax caught a glimpse of el Presidente’s face. It was grim and expressionless. Then he joined the others in looking toward the street from which the bandolero would appear.

  El Condor was riding the first horse, a large bay stallion. He rode silently, glancing neither to right nor to left, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his face to shade his eyes. Behind him Dax could see the others. One was el Condor’s son. The boy rode defiantly, glaring back at every curious eye.

  There was still no sound from the crowd as the bandolero rode past and up the lane of soldiers. The old man reined in his horse and held up his hand. The others stopped.

  He took off his hat and the thick black hair seemed to tumble almost to his shoulders. He looked up at el Presidente. “I have come, your excellency,” he said, in a loud clear voice, “in response to your request. I accept your offer of amnesty. Let there be peace between us.”

  El Presidente looked at him for a moment, then quickly came down the steps. Stiffly, the old bandolero dismounted, and behind him the soldiers snapped to attention.

  “In the name of our beloved country,” el Presidente said, “I bid thee welcome. Too long has our house been divided.” He stepped forward and enfolded the old man in an embrace.

  A roar welled up from the crowd. It came from the heart. For this meant the end of terror, of sleepless nights. Of the fear that at any moment the bandoleros or the soldados might turn their beloved city into a battlefield. At last it was over.

  Dax looked out over the heads of the crowd and the horses of the dismounting bandoleros. Fat Cat was nowhere to be seen. He had probably gone back into the bar, disappointed that his predictions had proved false.

  El Presidente was leading the old man up the steps. The reporters hurried forward and the two of them turned for their photographs. Dax glanced at Amparo. “Your father should be proud. It is a wonderful thing he is doing.”

  A strange look crossed her face, but before he had a chance to ask her what it meant he felt a hand on his sleeve. He turned. It was el Condor.

  “I have kept my word,” the old man said. “I have brought my son and hereby hand him over into your care. You will see that he attends the school as you promised?”

  “I shall keep my word.”

  The old man gestured, and the boy came closer. “You will go with Senior Xenos, and you will obey him as you would me.”

  The boy nodded silently.

  “You will be a good boy and someday will return to the mountains with the knowledge and the words that will keep you forever free.” He reached out a hand and lightly touched the boy’s cheek. “You will do nothing that will make me ashamed of you.”

  Almost roughly the old man pushed the boy toward Dax. “His name is José. You may beat him if he does not do what you say.”

  El Presidente stood at the old man’s side now. “Come into the house for a cooling glass of wine,” he said. “There is much we have to talk about.”

  The bandolero laughed. “Wine and talk. The years haven’t changed you at all!”

  107

  “It will take all night to reach Curatu,” Dax said. “We could be at my place in a few hours. Why not spend the night there, then we will go on in the morning.”

  Amparo looked questioningly at her father.

  He nodded. “It is a good suggestion. You will certainly be more comfortable there. I will see you in Curatu tomorrow.”

  “Bueno. I will go and find Fat Cat.”

  But Fat Cat was nowhere to be found. The barman at the hotel remembered him leaving with a soldier shortly after el Condor had arrived. The s
oldier had come back but Fat Cat had not. The soldier was at the table in the corner.

  It was Ortiz and he was sleeping, his arms on the table. Dax shook him awake and he looked up, his eyes drowsy with wine. No, he did not remember where he had left Fat Cat. There had been a cantina, and there had been some women there. Also singing and dancing, but after a while they had left. Then Fat Cat and he had become separated.

  Dax shrugged. Fat Cat had probably found a woman and would come dragging home the next morning. He laughed to himself. Some things never changed.

  Amparo was waiting in one of the cars. Two soldiers were already stationed in the front seat.

  “The car will never make it over the mountains,” Dax said. “There aren’t any roads, only narrow old wagon trails. If we take it we’ll have to drive halfway to Curatu before we can cut back.”

  Amparo seemed to hesitate.

  Dax smiled. “You have changed. I remember when you couldn’t wait to get on a horse.”

  She got out of the car. “Go get a horse for me,” she said, with a trace of temper. “I’ll be ready to leave as soon as I get into some other clothes.”

  Dax went around the hotel to the stable and picked up Fat Cat’s horse and his own. He grinned to himself. Fat Cat would be angry, but it was his own fault.

  He led the horses around to the front. It was just turning dark. As he came out from behind the building he saw the boy standing there, holding his own horse. He had almost forgotten about him.

  “Are we ready to leave, señor?” the boy asked softly, falling into step.

  “Sí.”

  They stopped in front of the alcalde’s house. Dax looked down at the boy. “Do you wish to say good-bye to your father?”

  José’s dark eyes were expressionless. “I have already said good-bye to my father.”

  The night was bright and clear and the moonlight made the path as easy to follow as in daylight. They rode single file, Dax leading, followed by Amparo, and the boy bringing up the rear. At the crest of the mountain Dax stopped and looked back down at the village. The houses were bright with lights and in the still night air occasional distant sounds of music floated up.

  Dax laughed. “There won’t be much sleep in Asiento tonight.”

  “I guess not.”

  A group of fires to the north of the village caught his eyes. “What are those fires, I wonder?” Amparo did not answer.

  “They are the campfires of the soldados,” José said.

  Dax looked at him. “How do you know?”

  “We saw them as we came in. It was then my father sent most of his men back into the mountains.”

  Dax looked at the boy for a moment then turned to Amparo. “What for?”

  She shrugged her shoulders evasively. “Father never goes anywhere without his personal escort.”

  “I thought they entered the town with him.”

  “My father said they were Guiterrez’s guerrilleros.”

  Dax turned in his saddle.

  “I’m tired,” Amparo said suddenly. “Are we going to sit here all night talking?” She turned her horse around and started down the path.

  Dax glanced back at Asiento for a moment, then turned to the boy. José was watching him impassively. “Let’s go.”

  José pulled in behind him silently. They went down the mountain through the night after Amparo, then across the valley and the fields to Dax’s hacienda. It was almost midnight when they arrived. They hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words all the way.

  Dax escorted Amparo to her room. Her face was drawn and pale, and suddenly he felt sorry for her. Being the daughter of el Presidente must not be the easiest job in the world.

  He put José in the room he had occupied when he was a boy and came back downstairs. He lit a thin cigarro and slowly puffed on it. There were questions bothering him, things he felt Amparo should answer. But there would be time enough for them in the morning. This day was over, he thought. But he was wrong.

  He had been asleep for only a few hours when the thud of horses’ hooves awakened him. At first he merely stirred sluggishly in the bed, thinking that Fat Cat was making a lot of unnecessary noise. Then he leaped from the bed, and went to the window. There were two horses coming through the front gate. He recognized the heavy figure of Fat Cat on one but he couldn’t make out who was on the second. Whoever it was was slumped over the saddle, clinging to the pommel and barely managing to retain his seat.

  Quickly Dax slipped on his trousers and ran down to meet them. Fat Cat was getting down off his horse and the other turned his face when Dax ran down the galería steps. It was pale and drawn and caked with dried blood. Dax stared at el Condor, his surprise immobilizing him.

  “Help me get him into the house,” Fat Cat said gruffly. “The soldiers cannot be far behind.”

  Automatically Dax reached out an arm toward the old man. It was amazing how light and fragile the old bandolero had become. “What happened?”

  “I told you there were too many soldiers,” Fat Cat replied. “There were many more outside Asiento.”

  The old bandolero coughed and a new spot of blood bubbled up through his mouth as they put him down on the bench beside the staircase. The hacienda was beginning to come awake. One of the women came in from the rooms behind the kitchen.

  “Get water and towels!” Dax ordered. He looked at Fat Cat. “Send one of my men for the doctor.”

  Fat Cat turned and ran out of the house.

  El Condor coughed and grimaced with pain as he tried to speak. Dax took a damp towel from one of the women and wiped the old man’s face. “Don’t try to talk. We’ve sent for the doctor.”

  El Condor grimaced. “For what?” he asked in a rasping whisper. “I am already a dead man.”

  “You will not die.”

  “I warned you that Guiterrez would kill us all.”

  “It wasn’t Guiterrez.”

  “It was Guiterrez.” Fat Cat’s voice came from the doorway. “We were stupid, the old one was right. He’s now the head of el Presidente’s secret police.”

  Dax stared at him. There were footsteps on the stairs in the hall and he turned to see Amparo descending. Her face was white and drawn. She moved silently down the steps. For a moment Dax caught a glimpse of José’s face behind her, then it disappeared.

  “They set up an ambush as the bandoleros were coming out of the town on their way back to the mountains.”

  Dax’s eyes turned from Fat Cat to Amparo. “You knew about this!”

  Amparo didn’t answer. She moved around Dax and looked down at the old man. There was no expression in her eyes. “Is he dead?”

  Dax looked down. The old man’s jaw hung open; his eyes stared up sightlessly. “He’s dead.”

  A scream came from the staircase and Dax whirled as the boy launched himself at Amparo, the flat edge of his knife extended. Automatically Dax shoved her to one side; she tumbled over a chair as he intercepted the boy. Dax went down to one knee under the impact but the knife clattered to the floor. He kicked it out of reach and got to his feet.

  The boy was still on his hands and knees. He stared up at Dax, his eyes streaked with tears. “You lied! You knew all the time!”

  “I did not,” Dax said, moving forward to help the boy to his feet. “Believe me, I did not!”

  “Don’t touch me!” José sobbed, and shook him off. “Liar! Traitor!” He turned and ran to the door. “Someday I will kill you for this!” He disappeared into the night and a moment later there was the sound of a horse racing off in the darkness.

  Fat Cat started after him. “He’ll go back to the mountains!”

  “Let him go!” Dax said, then turned back to Amparo, still sprawled out on the floor. He bent over her. “Let me help you up.”

  “Don’t move me!” she said, suddenly savage. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding?”

  He looked down at her, his eyes widening. The lower half of her nightgown and robe was already stained.

  “What is
it?”

  She glared at him, a curious mixture of anger and sorrow in her eyes. “You poor damn fool! Can’t you see? I’m losing my baby!”

  He straightened up, a sick feeling inside him. What a fool he must have seemed to them all. With all his knowledge, with all his experience, with all he had learned about the world outside, he must have seemed a child in their hands. There was not one of them who hadn’t lied to him, who hadn’t used him. Even Amparo.

  There was the clatter of many horses outside, then heavy boots on the galería. He turned as the soldiers thronged through the doorway. They filled the hallway with their red and blue uniforms.

  A moment later, Guiterrez pushed his way through them, the silver braid shining on his uniform. His beady dark eyes swept past Dax, taking in the body of el Condor and the sight of Amparo watching them from the floor. He didn’t have to be told the bandolero was dead. His lips moved tightly as he looked at Dax. “Where is the boy?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Guiterrez stared at him. “I don’t believe you.” Then his eyes fell on Fat Cat. “Arrest that man!”

  Dax’s voice held the soldiers motionless. “No!”

  A light began to dance in Guiterrez’s eyes. “El Presidente will not be pleased, señor. That man tried to help the bandolero escape.”

  “I don’t give a damn what el Presidente likes!”

  A faint cold smile came to Guiterrez’s lips. “Your own words betray your treason.” He pulled his revolver from its holster and pointed it at Dax. “Arrest them both!”

  The soldiers pushed forward to get to Dax but before they could reach him, he scooped up the knife that the boy had dropped on the floor.

  Guiterrez leaped backward against the wall. He glared into Dax’s eyes. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said softly, a tight smile coming to his lips as he raised the revolver.

  “So have I!”

  Dax’s arm moved with the blur of light, and the smile on Guiterrez’s face changed to an expression of surprise as the hilt of the knife appeared suddenly in the center of his throat. The revolver fell from his fingers as he raised his hands frantically to grab at the knife. But they never made it; he began falling almost before they were halfway there.