by Lou Cameron
“Knight’s Cross, darling?”
“Chess ploy. I have him set up, now, so that no matter which way he moves, he’s going to win for me.”
Captain Gringo met with the leaders of the Balboa Brigade during the following siesta time, after setting it up the next morning with Gaston. He’d left Sally at the Hakim villa, but brought the Maxim with him in Sir Basil’s carriage as a demonstration.
The meeting was in a banana warehouse near the rail yards, and the young rebels seemed impressed, albeit wary. There were eight or nine of them, mostly peasant mestizos with a couple of Spanish Creoles and one well-dressed woman of about thirty, the widow of a man executed in an earlier revolt against Colombia. She was dark and sullen with smoldering black eyes and a faint mustache. They called her Sor Pantera, or Sister Panther. The obvious male leader was a Sephardic Jew called Spinoza. He seemed sullen and suspicious, too.
As Captain Gringo demonstrated the action of the machine gun, Spinoza said, “Gaston has told us of your adventures in Mexico. We’ll take you at your word the gun will fire. You say this strange person offers us six of them, on credit?”
“That’s what he says. Ammunition’s going to be our problem. This gun’s chambered for the same rounds your Colombian Army uses. I assume you guys have been swiping all the ammo you can get?”
“Of course. But let’s get back to this strange business of a gun runner extending credit to rebels he’s never met.”
“Hell, Spinoza, Hakim knows who you are. So does everyone else. Gaston has a government spy running out for sandwiches for him. They’re probably watching us at this very minute. Last night they sicced a British spy on me.”
Sor Pantera raised her skirt to reveal a shapely ankle with a .44 snub-nosed Colt strapped to the inside of her high-button shoe as she snapped, “I knew this was a trap!”
Gaston soothed, “Don’t be hasty, my treasure. My young friend, here, is more devious than he might appear. He would not have walked into a trap he expected to be sprung.”
“I don’t trust any American. When they built the railroad over my grandfather’s land ...”
Captain Gringo raised a hand for silence and said, “Look, folks. I could be spending this siesta with a very pretty lady who’s expecting me to call. My first instinct when I caught on was to cut and run. I have money and a gun and they’re not ready to close the cage door for at least a few hours. I came because I owe Gaston, here, and because I don’t like being used. If you don’t trust me, fine, I’ll just be on my way before the egg hits the fan.”
He turned to Gaston as he added, “You’d better light out with me, buddy. These chumps have been had.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “They are new at the game, but sincere. Perhaps you’d better explain, if you have any idea what’s going on.”
Captain Gringo saw he had their attention, so he said, “I think Sir Basil is landing weapons. Lots of weapons, on the Atlantic side of the isthmus. The seagoing San Bias Indians have moved inland despite shoot-on-sight orders to the Colombian troopers. That means white men, tougher white men, using the offshore keys for landing and staging areas.”
Spinoza said, “There’s no rebel activity on that shore. Everyone knows our first move must be to seize and hold Panama City for our capital and rebel stronghold.”
“Spinoza, you guys have lost your revolution before it started. The French and British are working against you. The Wall Street wolves are backing another bunch. We’re not talking about winning. We’re talking about surviving. There’s always another day for a revolution, but you have to be alive when the sun comes up.”
Gaston said, “Merde, get to the point, Captain Gringo. Why is this Hakim so anxious to arm us if he’s written us off as a lost cause?”
“The Colombian Army is equipped with French Chauchat machine guns. The Maxim is twice as good as a gun and costs three times as much. His idea is for you to demonstrate this to the War Department in Bogota.”
“But with six machine guns and a full brigade of guerrillas, we might win!”
“Maybe. He has no intention of giving us the chance. This gun is it. If any of us try to take delivery of the others he’s offered, they’ll be walking into a police trap. He’s going to turn us in any time, now.”
Sor Pantera gasped, “A police informer arms us with a new machine gun before telling his friends where to find us? That sounds utterly insane!”
“Hakim’s not a police informant. He’s an arms merchant, and I don’t think he’s had a friend since his mother died. He knows Gaston and I tend to make a lot of noise when cornered. He handed us this gun on a silver platter so we could go down fighting well enough to convince the authorities the Maxim is one hell of a weapon. As they total up the casualty list, he intends to offer a good buy on the cargo of guns he’s hiding in the jungles right now. He’ll hint the British- and American-backed rebels might be buying guns as good. I imagine the Colombian general staff will order a Maxim for every company in their fair-sized Army, don’t you?”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Gaston nodded and said, “Of course. The government has more troops to supply, and more money, than all three rebel factions put together. Hakim is undercutting the French as the main source of arms.”
Sor Pantera said, “The government is most ruthless and corrupt. What is to stop them from simply seizing the guns Hakim lands, as rebel contraband?”
Before the American could answer, Gaston said, “The game is not played that way, Sor Pantera. Stoats hunt rabbit. They do not hunt one another. The guns alone are only part of any new supply chain. One must have spare parts and tools, a firmly established distribution of new ammunition. This demonstration gun is chambered to take French ammunition. I’ve no doubt the others he means to deliver will be chambered for Hakim’s own cartridges. He owns a factory in Switzerland that makes quite acceptable smokeless 7mm rounds.”
Spinoza nodded with a bitter little smile and said, “You are right, Captain Gringo. We have been had, as you put it. But at least we can write a glorious chapter as we go down for the cause of libertad.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather live to fight another day.”
“I agree, but what are we to do? If you are right about our being known and about to be betrayed—”
“We have a couple of advantages, beside this machine gun. The other side, or sides, are overconfident. They know you kids are new at plotting revolutions and they’ve taken Gaston and me for simple gun thugs. Hakim and the locals in his pay expect us to either walk into a trap, where I get to blow away a mess of disposable cops with this Maxim, or else he’s hoping I’ve caught on and will warn you—in which case the obvious move would be to start the revolution sometime this afternoon and smoke up the center of town. Either way, the top officials here get to look like heroes to the central government, and Hakim will rearm a nervous Army after we’ve been beaten.”
Gaston nodded and said, “Heads he wins and tails we lose. One would hope you have a third choice, my old and rare?”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “First we have to get our tails out of here. Panama City is no place for a growing rebel. They’ve got every possible hideout zeroed in, probably with field guns. I suggest we leave the small fry holed up for now. The police will only have the names and addresses of you leaders. We’ll sit tight until sundown, then run for the Culebra Mountains and get ourselves and this machine gun into the jungles on the windward side.”
Sor Pantera grimaced and said, “We are white people, not Indians. No civilized person can live in those trackless rain forests beyond La Culebra!”
“Guerrillas who want the comforts of home get buried pronto, senora. I’ve been through your jungle and you’re right. It’s a wet, green nightmare. It’ll be rough on anyone chasing us, too. Your Army officers will be high-landers from Bogota, less used to the tropics than we are. Here on familiar ground they’ll just throw bayonets at us ‘til we run out of ammo. In the jungle, troops mo
ve slow and watch where they put a foot. Guerrillas on the run have the advantage in rough country. They know nobody is behind the next tree down the trail ahead. So they tend to move faster than the best men after them.”
“But the jungles are a death trap to all whites! What good is it to escape the soldiers and police if it means being eaten by a jaguar or bitten by a bushmaster?”
Spinoza nodded and said, “The insects alone will devour us alive!”
Captain Gringo smiled and said, “You see? The people chasing us will be scared skinny, too! Gaston and I have been through some jungle. A ... an Indian lady I once knew showed me a few tricks about surviving the more obvious discomforts of the jungle. Nobody here is a kid, so I assume we’ve all lived through yellow jack at least once, and you can’t catch it twice. I’ll show you how to keep the bugs off. We’ll work our way over to the quiet side and if you’re still in the mood for a revolution we might surprise hell out of Hakim’s gun runners. Given a jungle base and enough machine guns for an army—”
Spinoza stuck out his hand and said, “I am for your plan. How do we move from this warehouse to the edge of town without attracting attention?”
“It’s siesta time. Hakim is expecting us to take delivery on the other guns this evening. I suggest you all go home separately, as if this meeting went according to his plan. Gaston and I will take this gun to his place in the carriage, as if to put it away for safekeeping. Each of you gather food and ammo, money if you have it, and we’ll meet under the second railroad trestle out of town, after dark. Don’t any of you draw money from the bank or do anything else to let them know you’re planning on leaving. If Gaston and I don’t make it with the gun, you’re on your own. Don’t wait for us more than an hour after sunset.”
Spinoza said, “An innocent after-dinner stroll offers no problem. How are you two going to manage smuggling that big gun past the police?”
Captain Gringo had hoped he wouldn’t ask.
He hadn’t figured that part out yet.
Chapter Nine
Captain Gringo sent the carriage back to Sir Basil’s with a note saying the rebel leaders were suspicious, but that he’d bring one to the villa later in the evening for a talk. With luck the tricky little gun runner would hold off his hounds for a while, at least.
The tall American waited until Gaston sent Bebe on a fool’s errand before he began to take the machine gun apart.
Gaston watched, seated on the bed and sipping rum as he observed, “We could simply leave the damned thing, well hidden. The enemy would still think we had it, and we’re in trouble if they get close enough for us to really need a machine gun, nan?”
“Maybe. On the other hand, if we need it at all, we’ll need it bad.”
“I agree. Have you considered this whole distressing matter yet another way, Dick? Between the two of us we have well over a thousand dollars and a nice head start.”
“Let’s not get practique again, Gaston. I’m still pissed off about the way you cut out on me that night in Mexico.”
“Merde, you know I was wise to desert those half-baked liberals. You alone survived, despite your best efforts to save them. In the end it all turned out well for the two of us, heiri?”
“We’re sticking together at least to the other coast. I’m not being a hero. I’m out for revenge. Too many people have been using me for toilet paper and I’m out to show them they’re not so smart.”
“Ah, you still play the game with emotion, Dick. You have the makings of a real soldier, but you’ll never really be a rival to the great leaders until you learn to be a cold-blooded bastard. War is not a sentimental business. It’s a trade for cannibals and butchers.”
“I’m learning. I’m not in love with the dame with the mustache. I’m out to shove the umbrella up Sir Basil’s ass, and if I can, to open it!”
“That’s what I mean. You are sentimental. You know, of course, the Balboa Brigade hasn’t a chance. Shall I tell you how it will turn out down here in the end? The Americans, French, and British will settle the matter at some distant gentlemen’s club. I am betting on an American-backed coup, once the Yanks finish buying up the defunct French claims and getting the railroad interests to sell the only practical route over the Culebras. The British will give in once they’re assured an American canal will never bar the passage of a British battleship.”
“Maybe. Why can’t Wall Street work with the existing government?”
“Merde, the French tried that and look where it got them. These unstable home-grown governments down here annoy the empire builders of Wall Street. They tend to demand taxes in addition to the usual bribes. One must have firm control of the cow one wishes to milk.”
Captain Gringo put the empty water jacket beside the tripod feet and began to unscrew the Maxim’s barrel as he asked, “What do you mean by empire builders? America has no empire.”
“But of course not. El Pulpo del Norte hasn’t made the mistakes of our two Napoleons and Victoria. When there’s a famine in India, England has to feed her hungry brown subjects. You Americans learned some time back the advantage of subtle ownership. The coming century should be interesting to watch. I predict Great Britain will own all the pink on the map, and Wall Street will wind up with all the loot. After you freed your slaves, you learned how profitable it was to let a man work for you as hard without having to feed him during the slack season. You Yankees are most diabolique. Bismarck and Victoria are children next to your Vanderbilts and Morgans. Old-fashioned conquest is child’s play next to milking people dry under their own puppet governments, hein?”
“So we like coffee and bananas. When’s that girl due back? It’ll be dark soon and I want to be there ahead of the others with this gun set up.”
Gaston said, “Bebe won’t be back for hours. It’s her night to report to the police about me and she seemed pathetically relieved when I asked if she wanted to discuss you with her sister. They’ll wander back by ten or so. It’s a pity, in a way. Bebe’s sister would show you a thing or two if you were still here.”
“I’ve been shown a thing or two. I don’t think I could get it up again with a block and tackle.”
“Yes, you intimated the British spy was interesting. How did you unmask her as Greystoke’s agent, by the way?”
“She had a Canadian accent, which was reasonable for a girl from upstate New York. But she called it New York State, which wasn’t. I spent four years at West Point. So I knew the people in New York City call it New York State. A real Lockporter would say York State.”
“Hmmm, a bit thin, don’t you think? She’d been living in the city and may wish to appear educated.”
“There’s more. Her story about the British picking her up made no sense. How would Greystoke explain grabbing an American citizen to the U. S. Navy when she hadn’t done anything either government could possibly care about? When she insisted on tagging along with a wanted man, after I’d pointed out she simply had to sit tight and get a free ride home, I was willing to buy it as simple stupidity. She stupids good. Then she got me in bed and started eating me alive, probably to gain my confidence before trying to pump me about Hakim. I knew right away I wasn’t with a stranded actress trying to avoid a job in a cathouse. That lady could teach most whores I’ve met some tricks they’ve never dreamed of.”
“Do you think she knows you’re on to her?”
“I hope not. I told her I was coming back for more. This morning I let her screw some secrets out of me before breakfast. When she reports a few fibs I told her to British Intelligence, Sir Basil’s going to have to raise the allowances of his friends in London.”
He had the gun as far apart as it would go, now. So he picked up the charcoal sacks Gaston had hauled in off the veranda and began to pack the parts. With the ammo belts as padding, the Maxim made two heavy but manageable and nondescript bundles.
Gaston had been watching. So he got up and laid out the cotton peasant costumes. They were clean, but Gaston crushed some charcoal
in his hand and rubbed the cotton shirts and drawers grimy. He rubbed some of his own face as he mused, “The big sombrero will hide your hair, but damn it, you’re too tall for a mestizo.”
“I’ll walk bent over under my charcoal. I’m going to chance keeping the boots. I’ll be damned if I’ll walk through thorns and bushmasters wearing rope-soled sandals.”
“I, too, shall wear my mosquito boots. Our problem is not to stand up to close inspection, but not to draw attention in the first place. If we walk slowly through the twilight, after leaving this block by an exit I never saw fit to point out to Bebe—”
“There’s one hole in our disguise. I can’t come up with a better one, but what’s our story if anyone wants to know why charcoal burners were carrying coals out of Panama City rather than down from the hills?”
“Let me do the talking and we’ll play it by the ear. It is almost time. Let’s change and get our derrieres out of here.”
He drained the last of his rum and gazed around morosely as he added, “I hate to leave this place. Bebe has made me most comfortable, and as for her sister, ooh la la!”
“For God’s sake, Gaston, don’t you ever think of anything else?”
“Merde, what else is there as important? I believe you are looking forward to our romp in the woods. You know, of course, that Sor Pantera is Spinoza’s mujer?”
“I know it now. So what? She’s sort of running to fat and has a mustache.”
“True, but I thought I’d better let you know ahead of time. As I remember, you rut like a rabbit, for a man who never thinks about the subject.”
It was almost dark as they struggled up the hillside near the railroad right of way with their charcoal sacks. They’d attracted no attention as they followed Gaston’s maze of back alley ways to the edge of town. They were perhaps a quarter mile from the trestle where the others were to meet them. The night promised a full moon and an easy passage over the Culebra ridge.