Death in High Places (A Renegade Western Book 7)

by Lou Cameron

  “They do. But no one or two men are about to take out the CCC holdings. They’re big. They’re heavily guarded. The fuckers found emeralds in what we thought was a chromium mine and all emeralds belong to the establishment. Every workman going in or out is searched, and I mean searched. They even make them bend over and spread their cheeks. One poor bozo they suspected of having swallowed some uncut emeralds was cut open, sans anesthetics.”

  “Jesus, that must smart!”

  “He died, of course. He hadn’t swallowed any emeralds, either. But that should give you an idea of how rough they play up here. You’d never get in the mine on your own, even if you looked like a native, which you don’t. That’s where La Paloma and her rebels come in. They don’t want the emeralds. They don’t care who owns the mine. They just want to kill Colombian soldiers, and there are a shithouse full of them around the CCC. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

  Captain Gringo sipped his drink and said, “Yes. I need some facts and figures to go on.”

  “La Paloma has over a hundred followers. Most of them have at least a muzzle loader. How good they are is up for grabs, but they’ve been knocking off soldiers, police, and an occasional aristocrat, so at least we know they’re sincere. The situation up here is unstable as hell. It only needs one egg in the electric fan and all hell will break loose.”

  “This is good for Uncle Sam? I thought you put up with assholes like Diaz because Washington had a hard-on for so-called stable governments.”

  The pink man chuckled and said, “They do. But I can’t think of anybody that considers the current government stable, unless it’s the assholes trying to hold it together. Anything has to be an improvement. The whole diplomatic community will recognize anything that calls itself a government, once the dust settles.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I’m starting to get the picture. Uncle Sam’s not just trying to teach people not to seize American holdings. He wants them out of business. But, for the record, are we betting on liberals or conservatives in the coming election by gunfire?”

  The pink man shrugged. “Who cares? La Paloma’s group are liberals. There are sensible conservatives who feel it’s time for a change, too.”

  “Jesus, you’re not talking about a revolution. You’re talking about a civil war! A lot of pigs and chickens figure to get shot up in the total chaos you seem to be planning.”

  “Chaos never lasts long. Some guy on a white horse always comes along to restore order after everyone is tired of the bloodletting.”

  “Even clearer. You’ve got a candidate on a white horse in mind. And I don’t think it’s a rebel peasant girl. Am I allowed to get them out alive or are they supposed to go in the wastebasket when we’re done with them?”

  The pink man poured himself another drink as he said, “You have a brutal way of putting things, son.”

  “I’m not your son and it’s a brutal business. You guys who plan things in the back room ought to see what it looks like on the line sometime. I’m waiting for an answer on the pawns you want me to lead.”

  The pink man said, “Look, we don’t want needless bloodshed. If La Paloma and her people come out alive, swell. As long as they do the job.”

  “Okay, the job is the destruction of the CCC mine, and after that, Gaston and me take our money and run. I didn’t hire out for a revolution. I agreed to what I thought was industrial sabotage. I can see how we’re being used and I don’t like it, but a deal is a deal. What about arms and equipment?”

  “Arms and what?”

  “Come on, you just said the rebels are packing muzzle loaders. The Colombian Army isn’t all that much, but the ones I’ve seen have bolt-action Mausers and machine guns. I’ll need at least two machine guns, a couple dozen magazine rifles, and plenty of explosives.”

  The field agent looked pained and said, “We don’t have anything like that for you. They told us you were good at improvising.”

  “Are you crazy? Between us, Gaston and I have two pistols and a box of ammo.”

  “I know. It’s hard to smuggle arms this far inland. They’ve closed down all the American mine holdings, so that means they, not we, are sitting on all the dynamite and blasting caps.”

  “Okay, what about the Marine Guard at the consulate? They must have some bolt-action Krags and a few machine guns.”

  “They do. You can’t have them, for two reasons. The local consul is a half-ass political appointee who doesn’t know what we’re up to and might not approve. If the egg does hit the fan, we’ll need those marines, with all their weapons, to guard the consulate until things simmer down. So—”

  “So I think I wanna go home,” Captain Gringo cut in, adding, “I didn’t like the sound of this deal much in the beginning, and that was before I knew you were either nuts or trying to get us killed. I’m crediting you with brains. So let’s stop shitting each other. You don’t care if I knock out that mine or not. You just want a lot of noise. No doubt somebody will tell the local military that the notorious Captain Gringo is leading La Paloma’s rebels and no doubt the guy you’re really backing will take over while the army is chasing us over hill and dale.”

  The pink man sighed and didn’t answer. Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I love the way you bastards do business, but get yourself another boy.”

  The field agent smiled, but his eyes were gun muzzles as he shook his head and said, “We have our boy, Walker. If you try to back out, we’ll finger you to the Colombians. You saw how long it takes to get here the short way. It takes eighteen days to reach the Caribbean, and every seaport is connected to here by wire.”

  Captain Gringo said, “I admire your subtle approach. I don’t suppose I could leave you here with a bullet in your brain and make a run for it?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. But it’s up to you.”

  “Okay, you’ve got us by the nuts. How do I know you won’t double-cross us after we start your revolution?”

  “We could. There are people in Washington who’d approve. But if you get a nice big revolution going, we won’t be able to double-cross you. The establishment will be too busy to hunt you down and we, of course, will be holed up inside the consulate walls, waiting until it’s safe to stick our Yanqui heads out. Of course, the first thing all the rebel bands will do will be to cut down every wire, right?”

  “Hmm, that does offer us a better shot at living than your word. You said every band. How many are there? We tangled with rebels getting here and it could be embarrassing if they were friends of La Paloma.”

  “We know about that. The ones you smoked up in the coast range aren’t working with the ones here on the sábana. We figure there are about eight sincere rebel groups with another dozen or so shading off into plain old bandits who wrap themselves in the red flag for purposes of popular support. So be careful about who you contact. La Paloma seems to be a decent kid and she’s agreed to work with us. Others who try to recruit you might just be trying to use you.”

  “No shit? Gee, ain’t it awful what some people are willing to stoop to?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  He met Gaston in the hotel bar. It didn’t help much. Gaston had met a few people he’d known years ago when he’d been stationed as a guard at the French Embassy. They were all pretty old and disinclined to fight for liberty. Anybody over thirty who fought for liberty in this part of the world was not very bright. But at least Gaston had picked up some gossip.

  After Captain Gringo filled him in on the scene at the Secret Service hideout, Gaston said, “I know who they’re betting on. It’s an army general called Reyes. He’s been cultivating friends on embassy row.”

  “That’s step one. But why is he waiting for somebody else to start his revolution? Why not start it himself?”

  “Merde alors, that would be trés foolish non? In the first place, the people who start revolutions often lose. In the second, General Reyes is one of those odd political types who want people to like him. If he takes sides in the opening round,
the side that loses will be trés cross with him. They say he is a compassionate man who treats his tenant farmers and servants well. At the same time, he is related to all the important people by blood or marriage.”

  “I see. He’d be the one Napoleon everyone could accept when it’s time to cut the bullshit and restore order. But if he’s an army general, how the hell can he stand aside while all the glass gets busted? Won’t the current government order him and his men into action against any rebels from either party?”

  “But of course. No doubt that is why General Reyes just left for an inspection trip in the lowlands a few days ago, taking his most trusted aides and a guard regiment with him.”

  Captain Gringo whistled silently and said, “That means he knows the balloon is about to go up. I got the impression Uncle Sam would like to see Reyes take over. They must have tipped him off.”

  “Naturally. He has already stated publicly that he favors a canal treaty with the United States. I doubt if even a popular dictator will ever get away with that, this late in the game, but if the Panamanian Liberation Movement you Americans are backing should fail, Reyes is the next best bet.”

  “Yeah, even if he can’t give us canal rights, Wall Street wants somebody sensible up here that they can do business with. But there’s something fishy about all this, Gaston. We figured the Brits were using us as pawns and I’m pretty sure we’re small fry to the Americans, too. They want us to create a diversion while they make the real power play.”

  “Agreed. But, as you told me just now, we have no choice but to go along with them. We have done what Greystoke asked. Or at least we made it possible for Liza to do whatever it was. So, once we make some boom boom boom for Uncle Sam, we shall be free to wend our weary way. I have taken the liberty of arranging our flight over the Andes Oriental, by the way. Once we destroy their silly mine, we can be on our way aboard some formidable mules.”

  “Jesus, Gaston, that’s uncharted Amazon jungle you’re talking about!”

  “Oui, I have an Indian guide lined up, too. A lady I used to sleep with says the army grows trés fatigue in the lowland jungle and seldom chases anyone far. We shall of course make our way to a river and every river leads to the sea.”

  “I could argue that point, having campaigned in the American Southwest, but getting away is the least of our worries. I still haven’t figured out what the bastards want!”

  “You haven’t? I thought it was obvious. We gather a rebel band, attack the CCC holdings and in the resultant confusion—”

  “Bullshit. It won’t work. Think, Gaston. Why would they want us to take out an American-owned mine a month or so before they put a friendly government in?”

  “Sacré, you are right, my lovely child! A Reyes dictatorship, anxious to make friends with the U.S., would naturally return the mine to its rightful owners. They in turn would be trés distressed to find their holdings in ruins, and the trust contributes to both the Republicans and Democrats in every American election.”

  “Exactly. So they’re still bullshitting us. There’s something we haven’t been told. So how do we find out?”

  Gaston looked at the wall clock across the bar and said, “I shall start by looking up another old friend. Alas, she is now a grandmother and never was too attractive, but she is the housekeeper of a senator who is said to be a most talkative dimwit, hein? Hold the fort, mon vieux, I am off to meet my maker, if I can make her.”

  Captain Gringo chuckled fondly as the dapper Gaston marched cockily out to go roaming in the gloaming. It was almost suppertime and he decided to go up to the room and see if Liza wanted to eat something first.

  He called out to her as he let himself into their suite. She wasn’t there. He frowned and opened the blinds to let the red light of sunset in. He went into the bedroom. The chambermaid had made the bed. There was a note pinned to the pillow on his side. It read, “Dearest: I barely have time to make my train. I wish we’d had more time, but I thank you for the little we shared.”

  She’d crossed out a last line and hadn’t signed it. He held it up to the light. Fortunately, she’d written it in ink at the writing table in the next room. He took the note into the bathroom and ran water over the paper until most of the ink had run down the drain. Then he took it to the window and smoothed it flat on the glass with the sunset behind it. He could make out what she’d written and then crossed out. It read, “Save yourself. They lied to you.”

  He wondered what else was new as he balled the wet note up, went back to the bathroom, and flushed it down the drain. Off in the distance a train whistle sounded mournfully, and he said, “So long, Liza. You were a good kid, after all.”

  He knew she’d changed her mind in favor of her duty to the Crown, but it was nice to know she’d considered saving him. He wondered who she’d really been and what the hell her mission had been. He doubted he’d ever find out, but it had been fun while it lasted.

  He looked around wryly at all the other Captain Gringos staring from the mirrors on the bedroom walls and said, “Well, that’s that. At least we’ll get some sleep and rest the old tool after all.”

  It was too early to turn in and he was hungry. He decided to go down to the dining room, have supper, and see if there was any other action. He frowned at himself in the mirror and growled, “Shit, haven’t you had enough for now?” Then he grinned and headed for the door. There was never enough for now, or any other time, praise Allah.

  Chapter Twenty

  As You Like It was a dumb play, even in English. Spoken in Spanish by people not too familiar with the language, it was grotesque.

  The Divine Rowena wasn’t performing that evening for the public, but the company was rehearsing down the street from the hotel and Captain Gringo had tagged along with one of the actors he’d met in the dining room.

  As he sat in the front row of the empty theater, watching through the fumes of a Claro, he was glad he hadn’t bought a ticket. It seemed sort of rude to leave after being invited to sit in and, what the hell, the cigar the manager had offered him was a good one.

  He didn’t try to follow the plot. He’d never been sure there was one. The Bard of Avon had apparently tossed off As You Like It on the back of the menu from the Mermaid one evening, when he was drunk and in a hurry.

  But even a drunken Shakespeare had to have gotten off a few good lines. The Divine Rowena was murdering all of them. He found it less painful if he ignored her and watched Theresa. None of them were in costume, of course, and the theater was stuffy with the doors all closed. So Theresa wore a print Mother Hubbard that would have looked shapeless on most women. When Theresa moved he could see a very nice little shape indeed. She didn’t seem to be wearing much under the cotton smock.

  Theresa was tiny, but was one of those girls people tend to call “bubbles.” It wasn’t just the way she moved her perky body. She wasn’t at all fat. He judged her waistline at about twenty-two inches. But she seemed made out of perfect hemispheres, like God had blown her with a soap bubble pipe. From behind, her derriere was formed by two edible-looking orbs of firm but soft looking flesh. From the front she looked like she had cut a honeydew melon in two and pasted each half to her chest. Despite the slender waist, certain movements revealed a round little tummy dimpled by a deep naval depression. Her rib cage, shoulders, upper thighs – all rounded softly the same way. His pornographic dream hadn’t done her justice, he knew. His subconscious had just filled in the blanks with ordinary good stuff, as it had half hidden her face. Now that he could see it without the dumb veil, the face was nicer than he’d expected, too. It wasn’t rounded like the rest of her. It was heart-shaped, with a little Cupid’s-bow mouth and big intelligent eyes. He was a sucker for eyes like that. No matter what the body was like, eye contact with another human being you could respect added immensely to the other enjoyments. The only trouble with bright-looking girls was that they tended to laugh at the usual approaches. He knew she’d probably sneer if he asked her if she’d heard that the new t
wo-step was invented by a pacifist, since it was a navel engagement without the loss of semen by either side.

  He didn’t think he’d better try and kid with her and he doubted she’d come at him with a rose between her teeth. He was still officially “married” to the missing Liza and, though nobody had asked about her yet, it was going to take some delicate explaining indeed.

  The Divine Rowena fluffed another line and swore at her leading man as if he’d done it. The prompter sighed and said, “All right, let’s take it from the top, page seventeen, shall we?”

  The Divine Rowena shook her head and said, “No, I can’t go on with it anymore tonight. We have to go back to the hotel and change. You principals are expected to join me tonight at the embassy party I told you about and it’s getting late.”

  There was a collective sigh of relief the star chose to ignore. As Captain Gringo got to his feet, she glanced his way and said, “You and your wife are invited, too, Mr. MacUlrich. You may find it interesting for your paper.”

  He found it interesting indeed, but said, “I’m afraid my wife won’t be joining us, ma’am. She had to go back to the coast. Uh, altitude sickness.”

  The Divine Rowena shrugged and said, “Pity. But in that case you can escort my protegee, Miss Marvin, here. You know one another, of course?”

  He bowed politely as the girl nodded and looked embarrassed. He couldn’t have asked for a better opening, but what was the old bitch trying to pull?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Theresa had her own theory as he rode in her carriage from the hotel to the German Embassy. She’d changed to a fetching low-bodiced ball gown while he, in turn, had scouted up a fresh shirt and tie. So she’d had time to find a fan to flutter as she said, “You realize, of course, that the Divine is trying to cause trouble for your wife?”