The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  “That’s true. All right, I’ll agree to his conditions with one of my own added. And this one has nothing to do with him, only with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “That you join with me as my nominee for vice president. It has been on my mind for a long time now. I will not live forever. I want to be sure that the government continues in good hands.”

  This was something I had not counted on. Grudgingly I realized that the old man had me boxed in. If I really believed in what I said, I would have to go along with him. And if I did, it would effectively eliminate me as a future opposition candidate by placing me squarely in his corner.

  “Why do you hesitate?” he asked sharply.

  “I was surprised, and I am overwhelmed by the honor. But do you think you’re doing the right thing? I could be a handicap to you. There are many at home who do not approve of me.”

  I did not go into the reasons. He knew them as well as I. The church, for one. There was not a Sunday that passed but from one pulpit or another I was castigated as a profligate and playboy.

  “If I am not concerned,” el Presidente asked, “why should you be?”

  “Your excellency, I am both delighted and honored to accept your generous offer.”

  “Good.” His voice lightened. “Then you may inform the traitor that his terms are accepted. And that the date set for the election is Easter Sunday.”

  “Thank you, your excellency. I will so inform him.”

  “Do that. I will await word that you have spoken with him and then give the announcement to the press.” He chuckled in a pleased tone. “You have done well, but then I never doubted for a moment that the girl would be putty in your hands.”

  There was a bitter taste in my mouth as I put down the telephone. Everyone had it figured out. Latin Lover Number One. I pushed the annoyance from my mind and reached for the telephone to call Guayanos. And then I realized that I had no way of reaching him until he was ready to contact me. I looked down at my desk calendar.

  It was the eighth of January. He had better get in touch soon or the election would be over before he even was aware that he was a candidate.

  ***

  It was four o’clock when I returned to my desk in the consulate from one of those interminable meetings at the United Nations. Finally I had been able to stand it no longer and had slipped out in the middle. There was a message on my desk to call the senator. I picked up the telephone.

  His secretary put me right through. “I think I have some good news for you,” he said. “How soon can you get down here?”

  I glanced at the clock. “I could make a six-o’clock plane. Is that too late for you?”

  “No,” he answered, “that will be fine. You should be able to make it by eight. Come right out to my house for dinner.”

  ***

  There were three others there besides the senator and myself. His wife did not join us, except for a drink, and then went up to lie down. I looked around the table as we sat down. Whatever the senator had to tell me had to be important, otherwise these men would not have been there. On my right was the Undersecretary of State for Latin American Affairs, and opposite us, side by side, sat the respective heads of the foreign-affairs committees of both the House and the Senate.

  “We can wait until after dinner or begin with the soup,” the senator said. “I don’t mind talking shop at mealtimes.”

  “I defer to you, gentlemen,” I said.

  “Then let’s begin now,” the senator opposite me said.

  “I have had a number of discussions with the gentlemen present about the situation in Corteguay,” the senator began. “I told them in great detail about our discussion. They were as impressed as I. But we are agreed that there are certain questions we feel we must ask to clarify our thinking.”

  “Please feel free to ask whatever you wish.”

  For the next twenty minutes I went through a barrage of questions. Much to my surprise I found that these men were far better informed than I had thought. Very little of what had happened in Corteguay during the past twenty-five years had escaped their attention.

  At the end we all sat back in a rare sort of mutual respect that doesn’t happen very often in meetings of this kind. They had been brutally frank in their questions, and I had been painfully direct in my replies. The senator looked at me for a moment, then glanced around the table. He seemed to be seeking their permission to continue. One by one they nodded and he turned back to me.

  “As you know,” he said, “your application for a loan of twenty million dollars has been kicking around for some time.”

  I nodded.

  “In a way this was because we did not know exactly what to do about it. We realized the Communist threat to your country and we would have liked to help combat it. On the other hand we were aware that the present government in the past has not been above corruption and political terrorism. In many quarters of the government, speaking frankly, your government is regarded as a classic example of fascism, and your president as no better than another dictator.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “With such conflict in our minds, you can realize the difficulties of our choice. But with the full agreement of the others at this table I venture to make this proposal.”

  I looked at him. His eyes were clear and serious.

  “We are willing to sponsor a loan to Corteguay if the following condition could be met. If your president were willing to step aside in the interests of your country, in favor of you, there would be no difficulty in counting on the support of the United States.”

  I was silent. Slowly I let my eyes move around the table. They all watched me curiously. Finally I found the words I wanted.

  “Speaking for myself, gentlemen, I thank you for your trust and confidence. But speaking for my country I deeply resent that you feel your money gives you the right to interfere in our internal affairs. And lastly, speaking for my president, I cannot answer for what he would do, but I can tell you what he has done just this morning.”

  They were interested now. Their instincts, sharpened by experience, warned them that they had almost walked into a trap.

  “This morning I acceded to a request by my president that I join him as his candidate for vice president in an election to be held on Easter Sunday. Opposing el Presidente will be Dr. Guayanos. Dr. Guayanos and our president have agreed on certain aspects of the election, the principal one being that it will be conducted under the impartial auspices of the United Nations or the Organization of American States.”

  The senator looked at me ruefully. “You didn’t tell me that over the phone.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  His face went serious. “Do you think Guayanos has a chance?”

  I shook my head. “You have a saying ‘About as much chance as a snowball in hell.’”

  “Nothing is ever certain in politics,” the congressman across the table said.

  “If Guayanos won I’m not sure I’d like it,” the undersecretary said in his precise voice. “He plays it a little too close to the Communists to suit me. Mendoza, for instance, seems to have a personal passkey to the Kremlin.”

  I hid my surprise. That was something I had not known. But at least now I could establish the link between Guayanos and el Condor. Until now I had been unable to connect them.

  “The entire thing is academic,” I said. “El Presidente will win.”

  “And you will be vice president?”

  “That’s right.”

  The senator looked around the table again. “What do you think, gentlemen?”

  I got to my feet. “I’ll leave the room if you gentlemen would prefer to talk privately.”

  The senator waved me back to my seat. “We’ve been talking openly,” he said, “and I don’t see that we have anything to hide at this point.”

  The undersecretary said, “I for one would be willing to go along on the basis Señor Xenos has outlined.”

  The
others raised their voices in assent.

  “All right then, we are agreed,” the senator said. He turned to me. “You can count on our support in favor of the loan as soon as the announcement of the election is officially confirmed.”

  I took a deep breath. For the first time in days I felt that I was making progress. But it all blew to hell the next morning. The dream exploded when I picked up the telephone on my desk and heard Beatriz’s soft voice.

  I could hardly keep the excitement out of my voice. “I’m glad you called,” I said, the words tumbling from my lips.

  “Tell your father that I have spoken with el Presidente and that he has agreed to all your father’s conditions.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Beatriz, didn’t you understand?”

  Again the strange silence.

  “Beatriz.”

  But this time her voice cut me off. It was curiously strained. “Didn’t you read the newspapers or listen to the radio this morning?”

  “No, I was in Washington until late last night, and I slept all the way back on the train. I just got to my desk this minute. I haven’t even had time to change my shirt.”

  For a moment her voice trembled, then it grew calm and cold. “You mean to say you know nothing even now?”

  “About what?” I asked angrily. “Stop talking in riddles like a child.”

  There was still that icy calm in her voice. “At about two o’clock this morning my father went down for a breath of fresh air. As usual Mendoza was with him. A car drove by, a black car. Shots came from it. Mendoza got a bullet in his arm. My father died less than an hour later in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

  Suddenly her voice broke and the icy calm vanished. “Dax, you promised! You swore that nothing would happen to him, that he would be safe!”

  “Beatriz, I didn’t know. Please believe me! I didn’t know!” More than anything I had ever wanted in this world I wanted her to believe me. “Where are you? I must see you.”

  “What for, Dax?” she asked in a suddenly exhausted voice. “To tell me more lies? To make other promises that you do not intend to keep? I can’t go through that again.”

  “Beatriz.” But the telephone had gone dead in my hand. I stared at it for a moment, then slammed it down. I got out of my chair and walked to the door.

  “Tell Prieto to come in here!” I called angrily, and slammed the door shut. I had just about got back to my desk when my phone buzzed. I picked it up. “Yes?”

  My secretary’s voice sounded frightened. “I thought you knew, sir. Señor Prieto left for Corteguay this morning on the nine-o’clock plane.”

  Slowly I sank back into the chair. I felt my temples begin to throb. My head felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. Gone. Everything was gone. All the work, all the hopes, for nothing. I leaned forward on the desk, resting my aching temples in my hands, trying to think despite the terrible pain. Think. I had to think.

  Somehow Prieto had managed to find out where Guayanos was. And the only way he could have done so was through me. I didn’t see how but I had no doubt of his ability to do so without being detected. I remembered what he and Hoyos had done to me in Florida. I should have realized that he would find a way and sent him back before he could create such havoc.

  But no. I was the clever one. I was so sure that everything would go exactly the way I wanted it. Prieto wouldn’t dare go against me. Well, I wasn’t smart. I was stupid. El Presidente was the one. He had sent Prieto to do what he knew I would not.

  I felt a sudden nausea and just made it to the bathroom. I stood there retching until there was nothing left in my guts. Then I rinsed my face and came back to my desk. I sank into my chair and took a deep breath.

  In my plethora of self-castigation and pity I had almost forgotten that the most important thing still remained undone.

  The guns had to be stopped.

  19

  “The senator is steaming.” Jeremy’s voice crackled over the telephone. “He feels you used him and made a fool of him. He doesn’t like it.”

  I listened wearily. By now I was tired of explanations. No one listened to them anyway. Or if they did, they didn’t believe me. All judgments were preconceived. For a moment I wished there was no such thing as diplomatic immunity. Then they would have openly to prove what they thought.

  But this way there was really nothing they could do to me. I didn’t ever have to answer questions if I chose not to. So they were free to think as they liked and the shield of diplomatic immunity was as easy an out for them as for me.

  “You told him what I told you yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  That was it. The same as the others.

  “Perhaps if you hadn’t been in the senator’s house when it happened it might not have been so bad,” Jeremy continued. “But since you were he feels you used him to establish an alibi.”

  I didn’t answer. There was no point to it.

  “You realize there’s no chance for the loan now,” Jeremy continued.

  “I know.”

  My secretary came in and placed my attaché case on the desk. “The car is waiting outside to take you to the airport,” she whispered.

  “What are your plans now?” Jeremy asked.

  Suddenly I was tired of confiding in other people. None of my plans seemed to materialize anyway, and in a way I couldn’t blame people if they thought me a liar. “Right now I’m catching a plane for Paris.”

  “Paris?” Jeremy asked in surprise. “Have you gone out of your mind? You know what everyone will think.”

  “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”

  “You’re acting like a fool. You sound as if you didn’t even care any more.”

  “I don’t,” I replied bluntly.

  Jeremy was silent for a moment. “I can’t believe that, I know you. Why are you going to Paris?”

  “To get laid!” I said savagely. “What in hell other reasons are there for going to Paris?”

  I slammed down the receiver angrily. But in a moment I was sorry. I had no right to blow up at Jeremy like that. He was on my side. At least he still spoke to me.

  I thought about picking up the phone and calling him back to apologize, but just then my secretary stuck her head in the door. “The driver says you’ll just have time to make your plane if you hurry.”

  I picked up the attaché case and started out the door. There’d be time enough to call Jeremy when I got back.

  ***

  It seemed strange to see Robert in his father’s office, sitting behind that ornate desk in the baron’s chair. But after a moment it did not seem strange at all; it was as if he had always sat there. He was after all born to it.

  “You know the law,” he said, “and the Swiss government is very strict. We could lose our license if we give you such information.”

  “I know the law,” I said, staring at him, “that’s why I came to you.”

  Robert was silent, a troubled look on his face. I didn’t push it. He knew how close we had been to each other.

  “How are Denisonde and the children?”

  Robert flashed a smile. “Don’t get me started. I’m a typical father.”

  I returned his smile. “I take it, then, they are well?”

  He nodded. “You’ll never know what it’s all about until you have children of your own.”

  First Sergei, now Robert. There was something about them, a sense of belonging, of roots and of growth. That’s what it was. I was like a tree whose top had been cut off, stunting its growth. “I envy you,” I said sincerely.

  Robert gave me a startled look. “That sounds odd coming from you.”

  “I know, I lead such a gay life. The playboy of the jet set.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Dax.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s my fault, I’m edgy.” I reached for a cigarette. “It seems everywhere I turn I run into a dead end.”

  Robert watched as I lit up. “What d
o you think will happen now?”

  “I don’t know. But if the guns are not stopped a lot of innocents are going to die.”

  Robert looked down at his desk. “You understand that I’m not trying to protect any interest of ours?”

  I nodded. He didn’t have to tell me that. I was there when he had unloaded his investments in Corteguay on his British cousins.

  “It’s just that I have a responsibility now,” he went on. “There are many people depending on me.”

  I got to my feet. “I understand. I feel the same way, but in my case it’s their lives, not their livelihood.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Thanks anyway,” I said. “I won’t take up more of your time.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  This time I was not being flippant when I answered, “I’ve got nothing better to do so I guess I’ll look up a girl.”

  ***

  Marlene Von Kuppen. Just the other day I had read in Irma Andersen’s column—or I had heard someone mention—that she was living in Paris. It was a long shot but it was better than nothing. It was just possible that she still was friendly enough with the people who could get me the information I wanted from East Germany. After all, she had been a Von Kuppen.

  A friend of mine on one of the newspapers gave me her telephone number. I called almost all afternoon without getting any answer, but finally at five I got her. Her voice was husky, as if she had just awakened. “Hello.”

  “Marlene?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Diogenes Xenos.”

  “Who?”

  “Dax.”

  “Dax,” she repeated, and a faintly sarcastic note came into her voice. “Not the Dax?”

  “Yes.”

  “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  “I heard you were in Paris,” I said. “I thought I’d find out if you were free this evening for dinner.”

  “I have a date.” Then she became curious. “Isn’t it rather late for you to call?”

  It was now my turn to play it cute. “I’ve been ringing you all afternoon. When there was no answer I figured you were out.”

  “You’ve known me for a long time,” she said. “Why now, all of a sudden?”