by Lionel White
There was a high point of land immediately to the north at the edge of the cove, and at the top of it was what appeared to be either an abandoned lighthouse or the remnants of an ancient windmill. Next to the binocular case was my Polaroid camera, and I immediately snapped pictures of the abandoned building, as well as other shots of the bay. I was confident that if this was the cove we had found on the sea chart, Angel would be able to identify it from the water side when he made his survey, some time during the next day or two.
If we were right about it, the problem would be one of simple logistics. Certainly, from all appearances, it was isolated and private enough for our purposes. I put the camera and the binoculars back in their respective cases and started to trudge back to the abandoned adobe courtyard where I had left Sharon and the Jaguar.
I had walked less than ten minutes when I spotted them both, and the minute I did, I knew I was in trouble.
The car was some quarter of a mile from the ancient adobe ruin, and it was buried to its hubs in the sand. I guessed immediately what had happened.
Sharon had grown tired of waiting and had decided to come looking for me. I was surprised that she had gotten as far as she had. When I reached the car I was drenched through with sweat and so damned mad that it took all my willpower to resist smacking her. Sharon was standing beside the car attempting to put the top up in order to get some shade.
I didn’t speak to her, nor did I stop. I let her struggle with the top, and continued on to the adobe ruins. I had a couple of drinks while I charcoaled a sandwich steak on the portable barbecue.
Sharon returned to the adobe courtyard some half hour later. I had finished lunch and had stripped down to my shorts. I was still sweating, although I had found a spot in the shade where there was the faintest whisper of a breeze.
Sharon herself was wringing wet from her walk, and she also discarded everything but her brassiere and panties. She sat down beside me, and wordlessly I poured us each another drink.
When we had finished I took the glass from her hand and sat it on the ground. Then deliberately I stripped off the rest of her clothes and my own, and we really started to sweat. After it was over, we lay exhausted for at least an hour, and then I got up and got back into my shoes and shorts. She followed me to the Jaguar, and it took the two of us a good hour and a half to get the car back to the adobe building. I did most of the shoveling and the pushing, and she sat behind the wheel as we inched it slowly through the sand drifts. We were still not on speaking terms.
That night, back at La Casa Pacifica, we were both too exhausted to have dinner. Instead we went up to the room and got royally drunk; too drunk to screw, but not too drunk to enjoy certain interesting variations on the theme. I remember thinking just before I fell asleep that at least it had not been a wasted day. Exhausting, but not wasted.
I didn’t see Angel until late the following afternoon, and this time I did not meet him on his boat. He’d given me the address of a small cantina at the northeast end of the city, and told me it would be safe for me to meet him there. I had no difficulty in finding the place.
Over a tequila I told him of my previous day’s trip and what I had discovered. He was satisfied that I had found the cove we had pinpointed on the chart, and agreed that he would take off the following morning to survey it from the water side.
“And about the truck, amigo. You say that it would never make it through the sand?”
I nodded. “Not within approximately a mile of the beach,” I said. “And that is too far. We will have to manage to get some sort of a four-wheel-drive jeep. Do you think it could be arranged?”
“It may take a day or so, and it may be a little more expensive, but I am sure it can be done. Now assuming our rendezvous point is right, when do you think you would want the pick-up made?”
“If everything falls into place,” I said, “probably around the end of next week.”
“And just how long will I be holding the goods until we keep our rendezvous at sea?”
“Once you have the stuff aboard,” I said, “I will immediately return to the States, arrange to pick up the charter boat. I should say that you will be keeping the cargo on board your fishing boat for not more than four days at the outside.”
“You will try to make it as fast as possible,” Angel said. “I don’t believe there is too big a risk, but you can understand that the sooner I get rid of it, the safer I will be, and the better I will sleep at night.”
“The better we will both sleep, my friend,” I said. “You may be sure I want you to take no more risk than absolutely necessary.”
“And what will you do with the senorita while you are gone?”
I shrugged.
“That is something I must give a little thought to.”
***
One hour later, I discovered that someone else had been giving the matter of what to do with Sharon a little thought, too.
Captain Hernando Morales was in my room at the Casa Pacifica when I returned. The moment I stepped into the lobby and crossed over to pass the desk on my way to my room I.sensed that something was wrong. Billings, the manager, was behind the desk, and there was a slightly startled expression on his face as he looked up and saw me.
“Ah, Mr. Johns,” he said. “Good evening. Perhaps you would have time to join me in a drink in the bar before your retire.”
It wasn’t a particularly unusual request, but for some reason it just didn’t seem to come out quite right. I hesitated a moment and then said, “I think if you don’t mind I’ll take a raincheck. Although I appreciate the offer, I’m rather tired and I���”
He stepped around the corner of the desk and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Oh, come now,” he said. “One drink never hurt anyone, and a nightcap is always relaxing.”
He started to move me toward the bar, and the vague sense of uneasiness that I had had quickly turned into a conviction that he was deliberately attempting to forestall my immediate return to my room. I began a rather feeble protest, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on him, as he almost literally propelled me across the lobby. We entered the barroom, and I was somewhat surprised to see his young wife still behind the bar. She usually retired early in the evening.
He gave her a peculiarly knowing look and said, “Mr. Johns and I will be having a little toddy for a nightcap. You may go now, if you’d like, my dear, and I will close up in a short while.”
He turned his back and was busy mixing a couple of drinks. His wife had already left the room. I said nothing, but quietly turned and stepped to the door. Mrs. Billings was at the desk in the lobby speaking into the telephone. I was positive that I had been deliberately delayed while they contacted someone to inform them that I had returned to the hotel. He was smiling, holding out the drink, as I turned back into the room.
“Do you know if my wife went out this evening?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t believe she did, but I cannot be sure,” he said. “I was out for a while and she might have left without my seeing her. On the other hand, I don’t believe any taxis have arrived from town, so I imagine that she’d still be in your suite.”
It was a good act, but it wasn’t quite good enough. I was convinced now that he was deliberately stalling in an effort to delay me. I shrugged. I didn’t know what it was all about, but I decided that it couldn’t be too important. I would play out the charade. We had a second drink which I insisted upon buying, and then I said that I was really tired and wanted to turn in. He nodded, smiled, and wished me a good night.
Billings’ ploy had been successful but for one small defect. Captain Hernando Morales was fully dressed when I keyed open the door of my suite to find him sitting in the living room casually smoking a thin, Cuban cigar.
Sharon sat across from him, and she had a drink in her hand. She too was fully dressed, but her lipstick was badly smeared. The Captain had been even more careless. He had neglected to zip up his fly. He greeted me b
landly.
“The senorita has been kind enough to pour me a drink while I waited for you,” he said. I looked over at the senorita, and Sharon’s expression was a delightful blend of defiance and guilt. The scene was so obvious that I was almost tempted to laugh. It reminded me of the second act of a very bad bedroom-farce.
I was annoyed, but more amused than really angry.
“Sharon,” I said, “perhaps you’ll excuse us while we have a talk.”
She got up, a surly expression on her face, and slammed the door into the bedroom without a word. Captain Morales was watching me, a cynical expression on his face.
“I believe, my captain, you have neglected something,” I said, and pointed to his opened fly.
He wasn’t fazed. He merely zipped up the zipper, and said, “Careless of me. Please don’t give it a second thought.”
“Not even a first thought, captain,” I said. “Which reminds me; I’ve seen your friends.”
“So I understand. I trust everything went well.”
“Everything is perfect, captain,” I said.
“And you have made your arrangements?”
“We have made arrangements. The deaf will go through sometime next week, according to present plans, and then I’ll be leaving for the States for a few days. I will be taking the senorita with me, as I don’t believe the climate here is too good for her health.”
“Mr. Johns,” Captain Morales said, “I would seriously advise against that. This is really a very healthy climate. I think it would be much better if you leave the senorita here. As a matter of fact, she only just got through telling me how much she adores our country, and how anxious she is to stay for a prolonged visit.”
“In that case, captain, perhaps you would care to relieve me of the responsibility for her. After all, I am here on business and not for pleasure.”
He looked at me, smiled, and shook his head.
“No, I don’t think that would do at all. The fact is that I insist that the senorita stay here and that she stay under the present conditions. You do not, of course, object if I see her periodically during your absence.”
I’ll hand him one thing. He didn’t pull his punches.
“Would it do me any good if I did object?”
He smiled again, that same cynical smile. “No good at all,” he said.
“In that case, I think we fully understand each other.”
We talked on for a few more minutes, and he got up and left.
I sat thinking for a while before I went into the bedroom. I really couldn’t figure out his angle. It was quite obvious that he was determined to see Sharon, and it was equally obvious that he had already laid her and was planning to do so again in the future. I couldn’t understand why he was anxious that she remain with me. Certainly, it would be easy enough for him to put her up in some place of his own. On the other hand, it was quite possible that he didn’t wish to become that involved.
I should, however, have been suspicious of his motives. By this time I was aware of the fact that Captain Morales was a very devious man. He did nothing without a good reason. But finally I shrugged and said to myself, the hell with it. I had enough problems without worrying about Sharon or any relationship she might be having with Morales.
One thing, however, I was determined to do; ditch her as soon as conveniently possible. If she wished to play along with a man like Morales, there was little I could do about it and little I cared to do. I merely wanted to get rid of her. I was down here for one purpose and one purpose only. To make money. I had no time for becoming involved in some cheap romantic triangle. What Sharon did was her own business. She was no longer a child.
8
That first smuggling operation in marijuana worked absolutely perfectly. In fact, almost too perfectly. I can only say now that it probably would have been a lot better for both myself and a number of other persons had I failed.
The very fact that the operation went across as smoothly and successfully as it did should have made me suspicious. I, of course, could have had no idea what was to follow eventually. But I should have known that things never worked out quite as simply as that initial adventure.
On Sunday morning, Angel Cortillo at the wheel of the Rosita Maria departed from the beautifully protected harbor of Todos Santos and left Ensenada behind him as he headed south. He carried with him the Polaroid photographs I had taken of the hidden cove and he told me the following day when he returned that he had had no difficulty finding it and identifying it. He laid off a half mile out, until the tide was at its peak, and then crossed the sand-bar and dropped anchor a quarter of a mile off shore, in approximately four fathoms of water, over a sandy bottom. He had then taken the dinghy and gone ashore, and had experienced some difficulty with a medium surf.
“But getting back through the surf, my friend, was a son-of-a-bitch,” he told me. “I did it, but I was almost swamped. It will be necessary for me to have help when I try to take a cargo off.”
“You will have help,” I said. “I will be there.”
Angel had already arranged to substitute a four-wheel drive jeep for the truck we had originally planned on using. The jeep belonged to another one of his many relatives and was being loaned to us for a very small fee.
On Monday morning, I let Billings know that I would like to be in contact again with the men who had previously visited me. They showed up that night, once more arriving in the long, black Cadillac limousine. I explained to them that I was prepared to go ahead and take delivery on two hundred kilos of Acapulco Gold sometime during the middle of the following week. I said that I would like delivery somewhere off Route 2, approximately seventy miles south of Ensenada.
The younger of the two men excused himself and went down to their car to find a detailed map of the area. When he returned, we studied the map for a number of minutes. Finally he pointed to a spot on the map and spoke.
“This is the Mission de Santo Domingo,” he said. “It is in the mountains, in an isolated location, and there is a narrow, twisting road leading up to it from the main highway. We will have to meet after dark, and we must agree on a specific place and time. I suggest you familiarize yourself with this road in advance. If convenient, I will have a representative meet you tomorrow, and you can drive together and select the spot and then, as I say, we must know the exact hour.”
“Once we’ve agreed on the meeting point,” I said, “I will be returning to the States for several days. I will telephone Casa Pacifica and will give Mr. Billings a specific time, if that will be satisfactory.”
Both men nodded. “And the money,” the younger one said. “You understand it must be in United States dollars, not in pesos.” We had already agreed that I was to pay fifty-five dollars a kilo.
The next day, I once again drove south from Ensenada along Route 2. But this time, Sharon did not accompany me. This time I was accompanied by a slender, handsome boy in his early twenties who had driven up to La Casa Pacifica on a Honda motorcycle at eight o’clock in the morning and had smilingly introduced himself as Juan.
“Senor Johns,” he had said when I opened the door. “I am Juan. I believe I am to show you a very pretty spot in the mountains that you are interested in.” He looked over my shoulder and saw Sharon sprawled out in the chair in a bikini, and he grinned widely at her.
Sharon said, “If you are going out, I’d like to come with you.”
“We are going out and you are staying. I’ll be back in several hours.”
I reached for my hat, and without inviting him in, left the room.
They had described the road as narrow, twisting and mountainous, but it was an understatement. It was probably the worst excuse for a road on which I had ever driven. But one thing I must say in its favor. It was certainly lonely and deserted. After the first mile or so I began looking for a likely rendezvous spot, and finally after several more tortuous and almost unbelievably impossible twists and turns, we came to a place where the road widened and there
was a small clearing on the mountainside to the right.
I pulled over, and after looking around for several moments, we agreed it would make a perfect place for our meeting.
When we arrived back at La Casa Pacifica, Juan got out of the car, smiled and shook hands with me. “We will be meeting again soon, of course, senor,” he said.
I watched him as he climbed onto the Honda and rode out of the courtyard.
Sharon was sitting in the bar when I came in, and I motioned her to follow me to the room.
Closing the door I looked at my watch and saw that it was shortly after three o’clock.
“I am returning to San Diego this evening,” I said. “I would take you with me, but that is impossible. I will be gone for one day, possibly two, and while I am away, you must stay out of trouble.”
She looked at me curiously. “What kind of trouble?”
“The kind of trouble you can get into if you start messing around with Captain Morales.”
“I can’t help it if he wants to see me, can I?” Her voice was sulky. “He likes me. He’s my friend.”
“He’s nobody’s friend, you little idiot,” I said. “But he can be very, very dangerous.”
“But what if he���”
“Listen to me,” I said. “Listen carefully. I am going to give you the name of a certain man, a real friend of mine. A man who can be trusted. I will tell you how to reach him if you have to. Should anything happen before I return, should you need help for any reason, you will contact this man. He will take care of you.”
I gave her Angel Cortillo’s name and explained how she would be able to find him. I told her that if it were necessary to look him up, she should take a cab into town and be careful she was not being followed.
“But only if you really need him,” I said.
“Is he a nice man? Will I like him?”
“You like all men,” I said. “But that is not the point. You are only to look him up if you need help. Now have you got that clear in your silly little head?”