The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  Gaston started to protest, then he grinned and said, “Aha! The purloined letter trick! Nobody expect to find anything hidden in plain sight, atop the tiles, in the open!”

  Helena was trying to follow their exchange in English without much luck and, realizing they might sound rude, Captain Gringo switched to Spanish to explain, “We were talking about my hiding some things.”

  Gaston spoke Spanish, too, as he added, “They can’t stay there after sunrise. We’d better get back there.”

  Captain Gringo nodded but said, “We’ve got all night before anyone spots those boxes on the roof. How did you make out with your recruiting drive?”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “I was only able to find a dozen of the old bunch, here in San Jose. Make that eleven, since Helena, here, told me what happened to poor Brian Mahonney. One, alas, does not find many adventurers in a country that does not go in for blood sports. Like ourselves, the few I found are here because of the climate and the need for a few reward posters to yellow with age.”

  “Eleven will have to do, then. Where are they?”

  “I told each to stay where he was and that I’d get word to them, when and if. Don’t you think we should be getting back to our supplies, Dick? It makes me nervous to think of them unguarded, hidden or not.”

  Captain Gringo said, “We’re going to have to move. I’m getting tired of people dropping by unexpected, too! We can’t leave Helena here, either. She doesn’t know anything, but some son of a bitch with a nasty streak might not know that.”

  Gaston shot a thoughtful look at the girl and said, “You may be right. But we can’t take her with us through the jungle.”

  Helena gasped, “Jungle? I do not wish to go into any jungle!”

  Captain Gringo said, “Relax. We’re not taking you with us on our mission. Just to another house, where you’ll be safe.”

  Gaston looked as relieved as the girl, albeit somewhat more puzzled. He asked, “What are you talking about, Dick? Where can we hide that the other side does not know about?”

  “We’re going to purloin another letter. I’ll explain it on the fly while we’re moving.”

  Chapter Six

  Greystoke sailed in under a full head of steam as Captain Gringo tallied the supplies they’d brought from the other house in Pattycake’s living room. The British agent barely glanced at Helena, seated near the fireplace, as he scowled at Captain Gringo and said, “I say, this is rather high-handed, even for you! Who gave you permission to throw my own people out and take over their house like this?”

  Captain Gringo smiled up at him and said, “We told Pattycake and Sam they could hang around, if they wanted. I seem to make them nervous for some reason. What did they do, run right to you?”

  “Naturally. They tell me you barged in on them with a mule load of your own baggage and threatened Sam with bodily harm when he said you weren’t welcome!”

  The American shrugged and said, “I only bent his shirt a little. I was about to send word to you, once we were set up here. The Germans started to pester us at the other place and someone broke in while we were out. I remembered this joint was built more like a fort and figured there was a chance Kruger doesn’t have the address.”

  Greystoke still looked annoyed as he said, “You’re right about this being a safe hideout, but, dash it all, where are Sam and Patricia to stay?”

  The American shrugged and said, “That’s your problem, if they don’t like our company.” They were speaking English, so he added, with a grin, “You probably already know she’s a great lay. I don’t care who sleeps with Sam.”

  Greystoke suppressed a smile as he said, “All right, what’s done is done. Where’s Gaston Verrier, who’s this girl, and what was your conversation with Kruger about?”

  Captain Gringo stood up, wiping his greasy hands on some cotton waste as he replied, “Gaston went to gather in the fold. We’ve recruited eleven men and it’s safer if we stick together under one roof, now that someone’s playing games. The girl’s an innocent bystander we brought along for safekeeping. She doesn’t know anything, but some moron might rough her up because he thinks she does. Kruger told me you were full of shit and offered to conduct a guided tour of the lowland swamps for us. He gave me a map and some letters of introduction to other Germans in the area.”

  “Cheeky blighter!” Frowned Greystoke, adding, “The map is probably designed to lure you into quicksand or some other trap.”

  The tall American shook his head and said, “I doubt it. It looks like an official German navy chart. He doesn’t expect us to follow it. He was only trying to build character with me. By the way, he offered me money, too.”

  “Good Lord, did you accept it?”

  “No, I told him I already had a job. Of course you know that Colonel Delgado’s taking money from both sides?”

  “Naturally. Most double agents do. How did you find out about Delgado?”

  “Hell, you as much as admitted it and Kruger verified it. I sure like the way you have us working for you in a goldfish bowl. Do you think the guys who spooked Gaston and searched the other house are working for the U.S. Consulate?”

  Greystoke went wooden Indian and asked, cautiously, “What makes you suggest that?”

  “Nobody from the U.S. Consulate has approached us. They have to know we’re on the scene. Didn’t your guys tail the bunch that busted in when I went to look for Gaston?”

  Greystoke started to shake his head. Then he smiled thinly and said, “You’re good, Walker. The agents I had staked out at the other place admired your ploy of putting your things on the roof for safekeeping. How did you spot them?”

  “I didn’t. I just knew you’d want to keep an eye on us after advancing part of our pay. I’m going to need more, by the way. The guys Gaston will be bringing in will expect some front money, too.”

  “Very well. Just give me their names for my vouchers and—”

  “Not on your life!” Captain Gringo cut in, adding, “You told us this was an off-the-books operation and I aim to keep it that way. Gaston’s too old a hand at the game to recruit guys who won’t be useful pros. Some of them have been hiding out, here, and all of them are entitled to some privacy. If this mission goes sour and they have to scatter, they’ll feel better knowing they don’t have to look over their shoulders for anyone but Gaston and me.”

  “Dash it all, Walker, I can hardly pay the salaries of eleven men that I can’t verify as existing!”

  “Sure you can. You just take the money out of your safe. If you’re afraid Gaston and I mean to screw you out of extra money before we double-cross you and desert, forget the whole deal. We’ve spent some of our advance, but we’ll give you back what’s left and you can get someone else.”

  He saw Greystoke didn’t like that suggestion and added, “Next time, it might be a good idea not to let Delgado sit in as you set it up. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that bush-league move, by the way. Why did you have me meet Delgado, knowing he was a double agent?”

  Greystoke grimaced and said, “He’s more than a double agent. He’s the head of Costa Rican Intelligence. I thought you said you knew the Great Game.”

  Captain Gringo thought before he slowly nodded and said, “You’re right. It would be dangerous to have an armed patrol the Costa Rican Army didn’t know about moving through their woods.”

  “Delgado brought the captured German weapons to us, too, doubtless so he could report what we were going to do about it to his German friends.”

  “You agree that Spandau and the other junk was a plant?”

  Greystoke shrugged and said, “We just don’t know. It works as well two ways. Innocent junior Costa Rican soldiers may have stumbled over a real landing and Delgado, knowing it was too late for a cover-up, may have brought it to our attention before we could ask his superiors about it.”

  “That’s reasonable. What’s your second choice?”

  “Kruger may have some razzle-dazzle shell game in mind. If it was a
plant, as you suspect, it’s obvious that they hope to trick us into looking in the wrong area. Naturally, you intend to have a good look at every likely stretch of coast?”

  Captain Gringo said, “That’s another thing I’m bugged about. The country’s not very big, as countries go, but the coast down there runs over a hundred miles as the crow flies, and we’re not crows.”

  “Quite. But you don’t have to cover every inch of the shoreline. Many of the swamps and lagoons are too shallow for ocean-going craft to put in. A submarine base requires even deeper water, if one intends to sneak in and out submerged, eh what?”

  The American nodded and said, “I figure a submerged Holland boat would just clear a twenty-foot bottom. They run on electric batteries underwater, right?”

  “Of course. For surface cruising they switch to an internal combustion engine. It’s the motor power every navy seems to be having trouble with. The petrol engine hasn’t really been perfected to where it’s as reliable as steam, but they tell me an underwater steamboat won’t work, either.”

  “Let’s get back to those batteries. Are they liable to need a shore-based powerhouse to recharge their batteries or can they do it with the gas-buggy engines aboard the sub?”

  Greystoke looked uncertain and replied, “I don’t really know. The Navy chaps I spoke with failed to mention the matter.”

  Captain Gringo sighed and muttered, “Jesus, we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  Greystoke said, “Of course you do. There has to be a harbor. There’ll be shore-based personnel with supply depots, ammo dumps, and all that rot. Naturally, it will be invisible from the sea, but a few hundred feet of seaside jungle growth would do the job. There’s no high ground along the coast and—”

  “Do you think you could get us an observation balloon?” The American cut in.

  Greystoke looked surprised and asked, “A what, for God’s sake?”

  “A balloon. Come on, don’t tell me the British don’t have observation balloons. We used them in the Civil War and both the French and Germans used them back in ’seventy during the siege of Paris.”

  Greystoke shrugged and said, “I assume they may have some such thing, back home in Blighty. I’ve never seen one in Costa Rica. How on earth could you use such a thing in the jungle, anyway?”

  Captain Gringo said, “I’ve been thinking about that steam launch Kruger mentioned. Naturally, I’d hesitate to ask for a German one, but if you could get me one, and a balloon, we could just steam down the coast, towing an observer a mile above us. Nobody’s liable to expect anyone looking down on a jungle clearing.” He grinned wolfishly and added, “If I could get above them with a machine gun and some dynamite the job would be a cinch.”

  Greystoke shook his head wearily and said, “They told me you had a vivid imagination, but this is too much. Who ever heard of attacking anyone from the sky?”

  “Jules Verne? I know it sounds wild, but it would sure beat taking them on with a handful of men slogging through the muck. More important, it would give us a sporting chance of finding the damned place!”

  Greystoke shook his head again and said, “I’m sorry if I seem old-fashioned to you, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to muddle through the usual way. I can get you a boat, but a balloon is out of the question. It would take weeks to ship one in and I can just imagine what they’d say at Whitehall if I sent such a request.”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and dropped it. They exchanged a few more words of small talk and then Greystoke left, apparently satisfied for the moment.

  The moment they were alone again, Helena got up from her seat and came over to him with hurt tears in her eyes. In Spanish, she said,

  “You do not trust me. You think I might betray your secrets.”

  He frowned down at her and asked, “What are you talking about, querida? Who said we didn’t trust you?”

  “I may be only a simple girl, but I am no fool. First you insisted I come with you, so that you could keep an eye on me. Now you have a most important conversation in English, so I will not understand.”

  He laughed and said, “Greystoke doesn’t make such sense in English. I’m sorry, but I didn’t even think of you when he barged in like that.”

  “Does that Englishman not speak Spanish?”

  “I suppose so, but, as I said, we don’t seem able to agree in any language. We were just arguing about unimportant details.”

  She shook her head and insisted, “I understood enough to know he asked something about me.”

  Captain Gringo sighed and said, “Oh, for God’s sake. He asked who you were and I told him not to worry about you. I said you were nice. He could see for himself that you’re pretty.”

  It didn’t work. She still looked as sad-eyed as a kicked cocker spaniel as she asked, “If you trust me, for why do you refuse to tell me what this is all about? Every time I ask why we are rushing about like this you say it is not important. Who do you think I am spying for?”

  She started to cry and he took her in his arms to comfort her as he soothed, “Hey, we’re just trying to protect you. Gaston and I have a few dangerous secrets, although, come to think about it, it’s hard to keep anything secret around here. We just think the less you know the safer you’ll be.”

  She snuggled her face against his chest and said, “I was safe where I was, I thought. I don’t know where I am, now. What am I doing here? Who will clean house for la señora in the morn-mg?

  He realized he’d just missed a chance to ask Greystoke if they didn’t need a maid or something at the British Consulate. He repressed a curse and patted her quivering shoulder as he said, “Forget la señora. We’re going to get you a decent job and a nicer place to stay before we leave.”

  “You are leaving? Where are you going? Can’t I come along?”

  “No. It’s too far and too dangerous. Since you think I’m keeping dark secrets from you, I’ll tell you this much; it’s a mission like your father used to go on, for money.”

  She sobbed and said, “No, I don’t want you to go. They will kill you as they killed my father and I will be alone again!”

  Captain Gringo pursed his lips as he wondered what on earth he’d started, here. The little blonde couldn’t be falling for him. He had enough trouble on his plate already!

  He was suddenly aware of the effect her breasts against him were heaving and moved her gently away. She was pretty as a picture, but there were girls a man could love and leave, and girls who deserved a better break.

  He was still holding Helena at arms’ length when Gaston burst in on them, followed by what looked like a cross between a pirate crew and the sweepings of a flophouse. Gaston grinned and said, “Ah, youth, I hope we have not arrived at an inconvenient time, my old and rare?”

  Captain Gringo let go of Helena and swung around to face Gaston and the men he’d brought. He said, “Howdy, gents, I was hoping for more of you.”

  Gaston said, “Frisco Murphy had second thoughts when I mentioned machine guns. He says machine guns make him nervous.”

  Gaston turned his head to start his introductions, saw the motley crew was standing in a ragged clump and snapped, “God damn! I told you we were hiring soldiers! Don’t any of you know enough to line up and stand at attention when meeting your commanding officer?”

  The ragged-looking men began to shuffle themselves into some semblance of a line, save for one burly man in a striped seaman’s shirt who dismissed Captain Gringo with a sullen glance, frowned down at Gaston, and said, “I don’t go for that military shit, Shorty.”

  Gaston shrugged and kicked him in the balls. As the man doubled over, gasping in agony, Gaston rabbit punched him across the back of his neck, driving him to the floor, then jumped on his head with both boot heels. As he bounced off, he glared like a bandy rooster at the other dumfounded men and asked, “Are there any other questions?”

  Nobody answered. The ten men left were standing at attention, not looking at the spreading pool of blood near
Gaston’s feet.

  Gaston turned on one heel, saluted Captain Gringo, and snapped, “Recon patrol ready for your inspection, Captain.”

  The girl, Helena, had retreated to her corner in horror. Captain Gringo swallowed the green taste in his mouth and said, “At ease, men. Is that guy dead, Gaston?”

  Gaston didn’t look down as he nodded and said, “Mais oui. I felt his skull give under my heels. I explained that we were mounting a military expedition, but I do not think he understood me, hein?”

  Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he looked the other men over. Most of them looked hungry and some were over the hill in age. But they stood quietly at parade rest with the impassive faces of old soldiers, old prison cons, or other old hands at sudden violence. He knew Gaston’s brutality had been the right move. This tough gang of alley fighters liked to know who was boss. He wondered how Gaston could have picked one who’d misbehave right off. Knowing Gaston, the sly pro might well have planned things that way, but he couldn’t ask him in front of the men, so he told Gaston to call the roll.

  He nodded curtly at each man in turn as Gaston introduced them. They all went by names like Bomber Girty or The Detroit Harp. He didn’t try to memorize them. They’d get better acquainted along the way. He waited until the last, an ashen-faced kid called T.B. Jones had been presented. Then he said, “Okay, guys. Gaston will chow you in the kitchen and show you where you can flop. You know the mission. We’ll issue you your arms and partial pay in the morning. Then we’re moving out. Are there any questions?”

  The younger one called T.B. cleared his throat and asked, “Sir? Can I ask what we’re going to do about this dead guy?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. You didn’t see him die and you won’t know where he’s buried if anyone should ever ask. Anyone else have a question?”

  The Detroit Harp asked, “Would the captain be after telling us where we’re going and who we’re to fight? Gaston never mentioned.”

  The tall American said, “You’ll find out along the way. You know Gaston or you wouldn’t be here. You may know my rep, you may not. Suffice to say, neither of us commit suicide if we can avoid it. The money we’re offering should tell a pro that it will be tough and dirty. We’re going into jungle to fight against odds. This is not the usual viva libertad operation where you get to shoot at pigs and chickens. The guys I’m leading you against will be trained regulars, not bandits or guerrillas. One thing more: as Gaston just pointed out, this is a military operation. We’ll be operating under the usual ‘Articles of War.’ Deserters, looters, or rapists will be shot. ‘Misbehavior Before the Enemy’ or refusal to obey a direct order rates the same. If any of this is too rich for your blood, you can leave right now and I promise not to let Gaston jump on your head. Anybody want out?”