‘Thank you.’ As Adam spoke, it occurred to him that it would be sound tactics to pretend resignation, so he added:
‘In the meantime, can I have something to read?’
With a wave of his smooth hand, Alberuque indicated the many shelves of books. ‘Choose what you like. I now have some work to do; but it will not take me more than half an hour. At the end of that time, this room will be at your disposal.’
Seeing that there was no more to be said, Adam nodded curtly, turned about and went back upstairs to his room. There, preferring the bed to the hard-seated chair, he lay down and again gloomily contemplated the results of having come to Mexico in search of background colour for a novel. He had hit both the high-spots and the low-spots. The hours he had spent alone with Chela had been sheer heaven, those while in custody at the Mérida airport unadulterated hell. In addition there were others that also seemed to have been out of this world. There were times when he could not really believe that he had sacrificed a pig at San Luis Caliente, or stood garbed in barbaric splendour on the top of the Pyramid of the Magician at Uxmal. Those episodes far more nearly resembled his dreams of past lives. In fact the whole conception of a plot to use him as Quetzalcoatl and launch a revolution that would set modern Mexico back a thousand years seemed utterly fantastic.
Yet here he was, unquestionably awake and, for all practical purposes, a prisoner in this gloomy monastic house. The association with religion brought his thoughts back to Alberuque. Ordained though he must have been, he was no priest of Christ. Mentally he was still Itzechuatl, a servant of the Devil, as represented by the blood-lusting gods who had for so long terrorised the unfortunate people of Mexico.
That made the movement he was leading much more understandable. The superstition-ridden Indians still believed in those old gods, and sacrificed chickens and pigs to them. Many of their mixed country priests were secretly of the same persuasion and gave only lip service to the Christian God. It had needed only a dominating personality, such as Alberuque’s, to imbue them with the conviction that, if they acted with resolution, they could by sheer weight of numbers seize the country and afterwards be able to bring about a return of the old days—the days of human sacrifice.
If that came about, Alberuque would achieve his ambition. Once more he would be a High Priest, able to glut his sadistic craving to hear the screams of his victims as he tore out their hearts and plunged his hands in their warm blood.
What then? Would the United Nations take solemn notice and, after months of debate, call for sanctions, or the United States employ armed intervention? Either was possible, but unlikely. Both had sponsored this new-found doctrine that all peoples were entitled to their independence, which, literally interpreted, meant that they were free to persecute and kill their minorities in any way they chose. The pressure they had exerted to force the European Powers to give up their colonies prematurely had led in them to an end of justice, toleration, the liberty of the individual, security of property and life itself. Indonesia, Cambodia, India, Pakistan, Cyprus and the Congo all told the same awful tale of massacres and murder. Would Americans then kill their own ‘sacred cow’ and intervene in Mexico? Even if at long last they did, it would not be before many thousands of people had lost their lives in a ghastly civil war.
Judging that the half-hour was up. Adam went downstairs again. The library was empty and he browsed there, seeking some work that would distract his mind from his worries. Nearly all the books were in Spanish and on religious subjects; but at length he came upon a row of tall atlases, some of which dated back to the seventeenth century, and he flicked over their pages until he was brought his meagre lunch.
Afterwards he went out into the garden. It was ill-cared-for, its paths overgrown with weeds, but it was a good acre in extent and surrounded by high walls. At the far end there stood a big barn and, finding the door unlocked, he went inside. To his surprise, it housed a helicopter capable of carrying four people. The machine formed a strange contrast to the other contents of the barn: an ancient wagon, two dusty carriages dating from Victorian times, old agricultural implements and, in a half-loft above, some bales of hay.
For a moment he was seized with the wild idea that he might use the helicopter to escape—to fly right out of Mexico down to Guatemala. But he had never flown an aircraft of any kind, so recognised his thought to be a pipe-dream. Besides on second thoughts even if he could have flown it and it was capable of covering such a distance, he would not have made the attempt. For better or worse, he considered himself committed now to remain there and do his damnedest to wreck Alberuque’s schemes.
But how? All the afternoon he paced up and down the garden exploring possibilities. One thing was clear: he dared not communicate with Ramón or the police. If he had been able to go to them with the names of several Bishops and evidence that they were involved in the conspiracy, or an account of Alberuque’s plans and the date he intended to set the revolution in motion, he would have gambled on their believing him and, at all events until matters developed, affording him protective custody.
To go to them empty-handed was a very different matter. They had clearly believed him guilty in the Uxmal affair and had given him the benefit of the doubt only because there was a chance that they might gain some useful information by doing so. Now, after the massacre at the prison, obviously staged to get him out, he must be Number One on their wanted list. They would never believe him to be innocent. They would assume that he had come to them only because he had belatedly decided that Alberuque’s coup would fail; so was now endeavouring to put himself in the clear while there was still time. Even if they kept him on ice for the time being, once Alberuque’s account of how he had strangled the warder reached them, his goose would be cooked.
He could think of only one possible life-line: ‘Uncle’ Jeremy Hunterscombe. Whatever he was supposed to have done, Hunterscombe would not turn him over to the police. He might provide help or, at all events, sound advice on how to get the better of Alberuque. And later, when Adam had to face a police enquiry, the Wing Commander would be able to vouch for it that he had done his utmost to sabotage the conspiracy.
During the course of the day, Adam had seen, in addition to the skull-faced lay brother who appeared to be in charge of him, several monks, as well as four Indian hoodlums who lurked about the place, presumably as guardians; so, after spending a long, dreary evening, he still had to struggle to keep awake for several hours until he could be reasonably certain that the inmates of the house were asleep.
Although he still had no accurate means of telling the time, he judged it to be about one o’clock in the morning when he got out of bed, dressed himself and prepared to leave the building. To have gone downstairs would have been to risk discovery, and the last thing he wanted was for Alberuque to learn that he had attempted to escape or communicate with friends outside. But the door of his room had not been locked and in the ceiling of the landing on to which it led he had noticed a trapdoor that was obviously a way up to the roof.
Owing to his unusual height, by standing on tiptoe he was able to reach it and, after several failures, he succeeded in throwing the trap back. A good spring then enabled him to grasp a rim of the aperture and a moment later he had wriggled himself out into the cool night air.
The ten minutes that followed were fraught with difficulties and dangers, but his strength and reach enabled him to overcome them. Lowering himself from one precarious hold to another, he succeeded in reaching the ground safely. Still undetected, he tiptoed down the drive and out into the high-walled, cobbled street.
So far, so good; but he now had to get to Hunterscombe’s apartment, which presented quite a problem, for he had no money and not the faintest idea where he was. As the street was on a slope, he set off downhill and after only five minutes’ walk he had a lucky break. It ended in an irregular, open space, on one side of which stood a big building blazing with lights, and in front of it were parked thirty or forty cars. After a mo
ment he recognised it as the once-great monastery and now deluxe restaurant of San Angel.
That gave him his bearings, but cause for dismay, as he recalled that this ancient suburb lay about seven miles from the centre of Mexico City. For several minutes he stood in the shadow of some tall trees, listening to the strains of dance music coming from the restaurant, while he wondered what to do. From time to time cars would be leaving, so he could beg a lift; but it was certain that his description would have been circulated by the police. His height, coupled with his red-gold hair and beard, were a sure give-away; so he decided that he dared not risk it and must walk.
After two false casts, he found the six-lane motorway and put his best foot forward. Presently he came to a lighted clock tower and saw that it was only twenty-five minutes to one; so he had overestimated the time he had lain waiting and must have left the house shortly after midnight. But that was now all to the good. Below the tower there was a public telephone box. If only he had had a few coins on him he could have telephoned Hunterscombe to drive out and meet him; but he had not, so, regretfully, had to continue on his way. His long stride ate up the miles and an hour and a half after leaving San Angel he was well into the city.
There he had to make enquiries several times for directions to the street in which Hunterscombe lived. Although it was by then close on two o’clock, there were still plenty of people about, for it is rightly said that Mexico City never sleeps. Each time he asked his way, he feared to be identified; but he asked only of down-and-outs, thinking that they would be least likely to have read the newspapers, and, to his great relief, none of them showed any special interest in him. After another half an hour of striding along pot-holed pavements, he reached his destination: a block of apartments to the south of Chapultepec Park.
Thankfully, he saw that there was no porter about, ignored the lift and ran up the stone stairs, pausing on each landing until he found Hunterscombe’s number, then pressed the front-door bell, praying that he would be at home. Twice more he rang, and was beginning to fear that he had accomplished his seven-mile tramp for nothing, when the door was opened by the Wing Commander—his thin hair rumpled, slightly bleary-eyed and clad in a flamboyant silk dressing gown.
‘So it’s you,’ he muttered with a frown. ‘Did the night porter bring you up?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No, he wasn’t in the hall.’
‘Thank God for that! You’re a hot potato if ever there was one. But come on in.’
A few minutes later Adam was sitting in a comfortable armchair, a welcome brandy and soda in his hand, giving an account of all that had happened to him. When he had finished his recital, Hunterscombe said:
‘Well, chum, you’re in the soup and no mistake. I believe you, but the police won’t; and everyone is hopping mad about your prison break. I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a packet.’
‘You’re telling me!’ Adam retorted bitterly. ‘That swine Alberuque has got me by the short hairs and don’t I know it. I’ve not a shadow of doubt that he was speaking the truth when he said that his people will do exactly what he tells them, whatever, the cost to themselves. The Negro and those others will swear to it that I strangled the warder and I can’t possibly prove that I didn’t. But you volunteered to help me if I got in a mess; so the only thing I could do was a moonlight flit and come to you.’
The Wing Commander remained thoughtful for a moment, then he brushed up his large moustache and said, ‘If you were a member of the firm we’d have that beard of yours off, dye your hair black, give you a crew-cut and get you out of the country on a faked passport. But you’re not; and it’s more than my job is worth to issue a faked passport to anyone who is not on the strength. Still, there’s no ban on my fixing you up with a disguise if you are game to make a bid to get out of Mexico under your own steam.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a taker.’ Adam took a pull at his brandy and soda. ‘When I first heard about this business I was reluctant to get mixed up in it and later I resented being blackmailed by the police into agreeing to give them my help. But now things are different. The massacre at the prison opened my eyes to the sort of thing that will happen all over the country if Alberuque is allowed to let loose his coloureds. I left his place tonight only to come to see you. I mean to go back there and do my damnedest to chuck a spanner in his works.’
‘Good for you, chum!’ Hunterscombe’s eyes suddenly brightened and he sat up. ‘That is quite another cup of tea and your Uncle Jeremy is right behind you. What line do you intend to take?’
‘All I can do is try to find out when and where the big meeting at which I’m billed to appear is to take place; then let you know. If I can do that, it will both enable the police to scotch it and prove to them that I am innocent.’
‘That’s the drill, if only you can pull it off. How about communications?’
‘I got away tonight without much trouble. Providing I don’t arouse their suspicions, I see no reason why I shouldn’t get out of the house again as soon as I have anything to report. I’m averse to seven-mile walks though; so if you’ll give me some money, next time I could telephone from somewhere near the place.’
‘That’s not good medicine, old boy. You may get caught on your way in tonight, or for some other reason they may decide to lock you up and put a guard on you. D’you happen to know Morse?’
‘Yes. I was a W/T operator for a time when I was doing my service in the Royal Navy.’
‘Hence the beaver, eh?’ Hunterscombe grinned. ‘You decided to keep it, just as I have my R.A.F. moustache. Anyhow, your being able to use a transmitter is going to save us a lot of headaches.’
Standing up, he walked over to a chest and took from one of the drawers a long, flat silver cigarette case. Opening it he showed that one side held a row of some fourteen cigarettes; the other side was covered by a metal flap. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is a gadget for just such occasions. Under the flap there is a radio that has a pretty useful range. I’ll give you my call sign and will listen in every day for half an hour from 0800 hours, 1700 hours and 2300 hours, then all you’ll have to do is to tap me out the gen.’
‘Fine.’ Adam took the case and examined it carefully. Then he said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could lend me a gun.’
‘Do you think that’s wise? If somebody tumbled to it that you were carrying one, they’d wonder where you got it.’
‘I’ll take good care no-one sees it and I may need a weapon badly. You see, I’ve a nasty feeling that if things do blow up Alberuque would not hesitate to do me in. But if I’ve a gun on me, with a little luck I’d be able to shoot him first.’
‘O.K., chum.’ The Wing Commander went to the chest again. From another drawer he took a small automatic and an armpit holster. Having loaded the weapon, he fitted the holster on to Adam and said, ‘We’ll have one for the road, then I’ll get into some togs and run you back; but we’ll have to keep our eyes skinned for the night porter as we go downstairs. That head of hair of yours is about as conspicuous as a parson wearing a pair of tights with his dog-collar.’
When they had finished their drinks, Hunterscombe left the room to dress. He returned with a wad of notes and some small change. As he gave them to Adam, he said, ‘With the compliments of H.M.G. against emergencies. I suppose that as well as being a matelot you don’t happen to be a flying type?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No; and I’m really only a landlubber.’
‘Pity. I was thinking about that helicopter. I wouldn’t be surprised if old Alberuque doesn’t intend to have you flown to the place where he means to hold his jamboree. If you were a pilot you might have beaten him to it, and left him in the lurch. Still, maybe you could sabotage it so that it couldn’t take off.’
‘That’s certainly an idea. I’ll bear it in mind.’
With Hunterscombe leading the way they tiptoed downstairs. The porter was still absent; so they got clear of the building without being seen, and while Adam waited in the shadows his co
mpanion collected his car from the garage. It was a long, low Alfa Romeo of ancient vintage but alarming power and they covered the seven miles in a little over ten minutes. Shortly after four o’clock Adam’s ‘Uncle’ Jeremy dropped him in San Angel, wished him ‘happy landings’ and roared away into the night.
When Adam reached the house it was still in darkness and he thought it unlikely that even its religious inmates would get up to make their early-morning devotions in the chapel for another hour or more. All the same, he approached with the utmost caution. Clambering down had been a risky business and he was not at all looking forward to his climb back on to the roof; but, having gumshoed round the building, he found a first-floor verandah at the back which he had not seen before, and above it there was an open window.
Judging the window to be on the staircase, he clambered up to it and, holding his breath, peered in. It was so dark inside that at first he could not make out whether he was staring on to a landing or a bedroom; so for several long, anxious moments he hung there, listening intently for snores or heavy breathing. No sound reached him and by then, his eyes having become accustomed to the darkness, he felt fairly certain that, if he was looking into a room, it had no furniture in it.
The window was not open wide enough for him to get in, so he pushed it up a few inches. As he did so the old frame gave a loud crack that, in the silence of the night, sounded as if it would rouse the dead. Again he froze and hung there, expecting every moment to hear the running footsteps of someone coming to investigate. But the stillness remained unbroken. Reassured, after a long wait he wriggled over the sill and tiptoed forward. Then, by the dim light, he saw that he had been right. He had come in on the landing. Ten minutes later he was in bed and fast asleep.
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