The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  I looked at the man behind her. It was Hoyos. I felt a sudden impulse to exchange tickets with him, and almost before I realized, I was gesturing to him.

  There was a puzzled look on his face as he came over to the railing that separated us. “Would you be kind enough to exchange seats with me, señor?” I asked.

  “But why, excelencia? Turista is not half as comfortable as first.”

  I smiled at him and looked at the girl. He followed my eyes, then gave me a knowing look. “Of course, excelencia,” he said quickly. “I am at your service.”

  We exchanged tickets and he went back through the gate. I didn’t bother. I merely stepped over the section of railing between us.

  “You can’t do that, sir,” an attendant called. “This is tourist.”

  “There’s been a mistake.” I smiled and waved Hoyos’ ticket at him.

  He studied my ticket and motioned me on.

  I walked over and got into the line behind the girl. She looked back curiously.

  “Are you going to Curatu?” I asked.

  She did not answer.

  “Vous parlez français?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Capite italiano?”

  “No.”

  “Sprechen Sie deutsch?”

  Again she shook her head, but this time there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips.

  “Well,” I finally said in Spanish, mock despair in my voice, “if you don’t speak Spanish I’m probably waiting for the wrong plane.”

  She began to laugh. “You’re waiting for the right plane, Mr. Xenos.” Her English was accent free. “It’s just that you’re out of your class. You don’t belong here with the common people.”

  I smiled at her. “That was most unfair of you. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

  A curious look came into her eyes. “Guayanos,” she said. “Beatriz Elisabeth Guayanos.”

  I looked at her. She seemed to be waiting for something. “Am I supposed to know you?” I asked. “Have we met?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes looked into mine. “You knew my father, Dr. José Guayanos.”

  “Oh.”

  I knew her father, all right. He had been minister of education and later special assistant to el Presidente. He had also been involved in a plot to kill el Presidente which had backfired. He was the sole member of the group of would-be assailants who had escaped; all the others had gone before a firing squad. There were rumors that Guayanos was hiding somewhere in New York, still involved in a plot to overthrow the Corteguayan government.

  “Yes, I knew your father,” I said, meeting her eyes. “He seemed a very nice man.”

  “Perhaps now you would prefer to go back to first class?”

  I smiled. “What for?”

  She answered by gesturing across the railing. “The Old Fox.”

  “The Old Fox?” I questioned. I looked up and saw Hoyos reading his newspaper. “You mean Hoyos?”

  “That’s what we call him,” she said. “He is chief of the secret police. El Presidente will hear about this.”

  “I couldn’t care less,” I said. “Internal politics are no concern of mine, and if they were, it would not matter. I would still be here with you.”

  The color of her eyes went dark like the virgin emeralds found in our mines. “Why?”

  “I had to find out if you smelled as beautiful as you look,” I said, “and you do.”

  3

  The police were everywhere when we landed, for el Presidente himself had come to meet me. The stewardess opened the door between the tourist and first class and walked over to me. “Señor Xenos, would you be good enough to leave the plane through the first-class exit?”

  I nodded and turned to Beatriz. “Will you come with me?”

  She shook her head. “It would be embarrassing for everyone.”

  “I will see you again? Where can I call you?”

  “I will call you.”

  “When?”

  “A day or two,” she said. “You will be busy.”

  “Not later than tomorrow,” I answered. “I won’t be that busy.”

  “Tomorrow then.” She held out her hand. “Vaya con Dios.”

  I kissed her hand. “Hasta mañana.”

  I followed the stewardess through to the first-class cabin. Fat Cat and Hoyos were waiting for me. “Was it a smooth flight?” Hoyos asked with a smile.

  “Very smooth, thank you.” I walked to the open cabin door. The bright sunlight made me blink for a moment. Then I saw el Presidente’s black limousine roll to a stop near the debarking stairs. A soldier ran around and opened the door.

  El Presidente himself got out as I came down the steps. He walked toward me with open arms. “My son,” he said emotionally, embracing me, “I knew you would not fail me.”

  “Excelencia.”

  I returned his embrace while all around us the photographers were shooting away from every angle. I was suddenly surprised at the slim frailty of the man inside the uniform. I looked down into his face; there were tears in his eyes. I noticed lines in that face I had never seen before, and his eyebrows, that were once jet black, now were almost silver white. Something inside me went suddenly very sad. It seemed only yesterday that I had left Corteguay, and he had seemed so young then, so strong. Now he was an old man.

  “Come into the car,” he said, taking my arm, “the sun is hot.”

  I followed him into the cool air-conditioned limousine. He sank back into the seat wearily, breathing heavily, and I sat silently, waiting for him to speak. He gestured to the driver, and the car began to move. I looked back through the window. The other passengers, who had been held up until I was down the steps, were beginning to disembark. I could not see the girl.

  “Do not worry,” el Presidente said, misinterpreting, “your luggage will be taken to the hotel. I have reserved the best suite for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But first there is much we must talk about. I thought we might have an early dinner alone at the palace where we will not be interrupted.”

  “I am at your disposal.”

  He smiled suddenly and placed a hand on my arm. “Come, you need not be so formal with me. You were not the last time.”

  I smiled back. “If memory serves, neither of us was.”

  He laughed. “It is done and forgotten. We are together again, that is all that matters.”

  I glanced out the window as we passed through the airport gates onto the highway. Police were lined up about every thirty yards as far as I could see. Each held a submachine gun at the ready.

  “We are well protected.”

  “It is necessary,” he replied. “The bandoleros are becoming increasingly bolder. Three times in the last month they have tried to get at me. Fortunately they failed.”

  I looked at him silently. There had to be something radically wrong if the bandoleros were bold enough to come this close to the city. Usually they stayed in the mountains.

  He sensed what I was thinking. “These are not the bandoleros we once knew,” he said, “these are something quite else. They are now a trained army led by Communist-schooled guerrilleros like el Condor.”

  “El Condor? But he is—”

  “Yes, the old one is dead,” el Presidente answered quickly, “but this is the son. He has taken his father’s name.”

  “You mean the boy—”

  El Presidente nodded. “He is a boy no longer. He has been trained in special schools in eastern Europe. Once we had him in prison but he was released during the amnesty at the time of your marriage to Amparo. Since then he has set up a guerrilla army, welding almost all the bandoleros into one loose federation.”

  “Wasn’t that what you once did?” I asked.

  “In a way, but this one has organized even better. He has aid from the outside, which we never had. Money and guns.”

  “The guns have not been stopped?”

  “No. Of the many things that must
be done, this, perhaps, is the most important. Once the guns are stopped his federation will fall apart by itself.”

  “The guns are coming in by sea,” I said.

  “My own cousin is in charge of customs at the port. He swears that could not be.”

  I didn’t answer. As usual the truth was in no one’s mouth. I glanced out the window. We were on the outskirts of the city. It was market day and the farmers were walking along behind their wagons at the side of the road. They trudged slowly and silently homeward. I stared at them.

  Something was very wrong. Usually after market the campesinos were happy. They would be singing and laughing and jingling the coins in their pockets, proudly feeling how clever they had been in beating the city dwellers out of their cash. As I looked, one of them spat silently after the car.

  I turned back to el Presidente. He had seen it too. His face was white and drawn. “The poison has even begun to infect the common people.”

  “There must be something that can be done about that.”

  “What?” he asked. “I cannot put them all in jail. Everyone blames me for all his ills. God knows I have done the best I could for my people.”

  I stared at him. He really believed it. There was nothing I could say. Perhaps when the guns were stopped things would calm down and the people would listen to reason. In time, I thought, even el Presidente might listen.

  Surely the bones in that old body must be weary from the burden of power they had borne so long.

  ***

  “So you came back?” Amparo’s voice was sarcastic in the dimly lit room.

  “Yes,” I replied, “I came back.”

  “Just as he said you would,” she said scornfully, “like a puppy crawling back to its master.”

  I didn’t answer. Instead I walked deeper into the room. I stopped in front of her chair and looked down at her. Her eyes were dark and luminous. Her pale, thin face looked as if she had not been out in the sun in years. There was a bitter twist to her mouth as she asked, “Why do you stare?”

  “I want to look at you,” I said. “It has been a long time.”

  Amparo turned her face away. “You do not have to look at me like that. I do not like it.”

  “All right.” I sat down in a chair near her. “I was told that you had been ill.”

  “What else did they tell you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Her voice was skeptical.

  “Nothing.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I have not been ill,” she said. “That is merely the story he gives out. He does not approve of my actions so he forbids my appearing in public.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “I didn’t think he would let you come to see me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  She glanced at me again, then turned her face away. An emptiness came into her voice. “I was wrong, he is smarter than that. He knew the best thing was to let you come. When you saw how I looked there could be nothing more between us.”

  “There is nothing wrong with the way you look, but what was between us was over a long time ago. It went wrong when we tried to recapture something that had disappeared with our childhood.”

  Amparo reached for a cigarette. I held a light for her. The faintly pungent odor of the tobacco filled the room. She let the smoke out slowly through her parted lips as she looked at me. “Poor Dax, you have not been lucky with your wives, have you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “It was because you let others choose you. Next time, you do the choosing.”

  I still didn’t speak.

  “But not the Guayanos girl,” she said unexpectedly, “she will get you killed!”

  I stared. “How do you know about her?”

  Amparo laughed. “Everyone knows everything you do. There are no secrets in this city. Everybody’s life is subject to el Presidente’s scrutiny.”

  “But how do you know?” I persisted.

  “I have friends in the secret police.” She began to laugh. “Do you like your suite in the hotel?”

  “Yes,” I said, “it’s the most luxurious suite there.”

  “It should be. It was designed expressly for el Presidente’s important guests.”

  “If you are trying to tell me something,” I said, annoyed, “tell me. Stop hinting like a child.”

  “You’re the child.” She got out of her chair and walked over to a cabinet and opened a drawer. “Come, I have something to show you.”

  I went over and looked down. A tape recorder was mounted in the drawer. “Listen,” she said, pressing a button.

  Presently from the speaker came the sound of a telephone ringing. Then there was a click and a man’s voice. “Hello.”

  It was a fraction of a second before I realized it was my own voice. Everyone thinks they sound completely different from the way they do.

  Then I heard a girl’s voice. “Señor Xenos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Beatriz Guayanos. I promised I would call.”

  “I have been waiting all morning—”

  Amparo hit the switch and the tape stopped. She looked at me. “You do not have to hear the rest. You already know what was said.”

  She went back to her chair and sat down. “It’s not only the telephones. If there were a way to record your thoughts he would have a copy of those, too.”

  “But the tape? How did you get it?”

  “Simple.” She laughed. “He gave it to me. To prove to me something I had already realized a long time ago. But he was taking no chances.”

  I looked at her thoughtfully. “Why do you tell me all this?”

  Amparo ground out her cigarette angrily in the tray. “Because I feel sorry for you. Because he will use you exactly the way he uses everyone and then when he is through he will cast you aside!”

  “I know that.”

  “You knew that and still you came back?”

  “Yes. I’ve always known it, even before my father died. My father realized it, too, but it did not matter. The important thing to my father was the good he could do. There are many men like your father, he is not the only one. They have their uses and in time they will disappear, the evil with them. All that will remain will be the positive things they have accomplished.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Just as I believe that someday Corteguay will be free, truly free.”

  Amparo laughed but there was no humor in it, only an empty, hollow mockery. “You are as big a fool as the others. Why can’t you see that that is the secret of his strength—the unspoken promise that will never be kept.”

  I didn’t answer, and Amparo came over and looked up into my face. There was a wildness in her eyes I had never seen there before.

  “Corteguay will never be free so long as he is alive. He has played God too long to stop now.”

  I still did not speak.

  Amparo turned away and picked up another cigarette. She looked into my eyes as I held the light for her. “If freedom is what you really want for Corteguay, the only way to get it is to kill him!”

  I stared at her for a moment. There was not a flicker of expression on her face. I shook my head. “No,” I said, “that is not the way of freedom. That is the way it always has been with us, and the people still are not free. This time the desire for freedom must come from them.”

  “The people,” Amparo replied scornfully. “They think the way they are told to think.”

  “Not always. I have seen enough of the world to know that. Someday it will change here too.”

  “When it does we shall all be dead,” she said, walking away from me. She stopped at the cabinet and closed the drawer, then looked back at me. “Except my father. He will live forever!”

  I didn’t answer.

  Amparo took a deep drag on the cigarette, then let the smoke out slowly. “El Presidente was right. He is always right,” she said almost in a whisper. “You are too much like your fath
er!”

  4

  “This is Lieutenant Giraldo,” el Presidente said. “I am making him personally responsible for your safety while you are here.”

  The young soldier saluted smartly. “A su servicio, excelencia.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” I turned to el Presidente. “I feel rather foolish. Is this really necessary?”

  El Presidente nodded. “Especially if you persist in going to your hacienda in the mountains. The bandoleros are very active in that region.”

  “I must go there. It has been too long since I visited the graves of my parents.”

  “Then Giraldo and his men will accompany you.” There was a finality in that voice that brooked no argument. He turned to the soldier. “You will have your men at the ready, Lieutenant.”

  The soldier saluted smartly and left.

  “You saw Amparo?”

  “Yes.”

  A strange expression came into his face. I could not make out what it was. “What did you think?”

  “Amparo has changed,” I said cautiously.

  He nodded. “Amparo is very ill.”

  “I could not tell. She seemed all right to me.”

  “Not physically,” he said in a low voice, “up here.” He tapped his brow with a finger.

  I did not speak.

  “I suppose she suggested you kill me?” His voice was casual.

  My voice was as casual as his. “She did say something like that.”

  “Isn’t that evidence of a sick mind?” There was a hint of anger beneath his controlled voice. “The desire to kill her own father?”

  “Yes.” There was no other answer I could give. “Have you thought of sending her to a doctor?”

  “What could a doctor do?” he asked bitterly. “She is consumed by her hatred of me.”

  “There are doctors abroad who have worked with such cases.”

  “No,” he said, “she must remain here. There is no telling what might happen if she were not here with me. There are those who would take advantage of her sickness.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Have you spoken to the American consul?”

  “No, I have an appointment with him this afternoon.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let me know his reactions after the meeting.”