The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  “You have cried enough, you’re merely feeling sorry for yourself. It is time to stop.”

  “You killed him! Now that my uncle is dead in the fighting there is no one left. I am alone.”

  “You were alone before I killed him,” I said patiently. “I tell you he was the one who had your father killed.”

  “I don’t believe you!” Beatriz’s eyes began to fill again with tears.

  This time I lost my patience. Angrily I slapped her across the face. “Stop it!”

  The shock dried her eyes, and she came up off the couch clawing at me. “I hate you! I hate you!”

  I caught her arms and pinned them by holding her tight in an embrace. I felt the warmth of her firm young body through the thin soft dress. I looked down into her angry eyes and laughed. There was an almost instant surge of response in me to the touch of her, and I knew that she knew it.

  Now she was very still, her eyes still angry. But it was another kind of anger, directed at herself, as if she had just proved something she had always known. “You animal. Now I suppose you’re going to rape me.”

  “I should,” I said, “it’s probably what you need more than anything else.”

  She broke out of my embrace and stood there glaring at me, her magnificent breasts heaving. “I want to go away,” she said, trying to control her voice, “I want to leave Corteguay. It’s a sick land. Everything and everyone in it is sick.” She turned away and went over to the window, her back to me. “It has taken too much out of me. I have nothing more to give. My father died because of it, my uncle—”

  “I told you your uncle was a fool,” I interrupted. “Who told him to join the rebels? Mendoza?”

  Beatriz turned and stared at me. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you? The little people have all been taught their lesson and put back in their proper places. Now you can go back to your soft willing women who make no demands upon you. You don’t have to concern yourself over us any more. El Presidente will take care of everything, el Presidente will provide.” Her voice was heavily sarcastic. “He’ll provide—with prisons, or by extermination.”

  “No more,” I said, suddenly weary.

  “No more? You can stand there and say that with the blood of an innocent man on your hands? A man who wanted nothing but freedom for his people?”

  “No, not that kind of man. A man who lied; to you, to your father, to everyone. A man who spread poison wherever he could. A man who was responsible not only for the death of your father but also probably for thousands of others these past few weeks. That’s the kind of man you are talking about. I’m glad I killed him!”

  “You’re gloating over it,” Beatriz replied, a note of contempt in her voice. “You make me sick.”

  We stood staring at each other, then her expression suddenly changed. “My god, I’m going to be sick!”

  She ran past me into the kitchen and out the back door. I heard the rasping sounds of her retching, and when I got there she was leaning her head weakly against the cool clapboards of the house.

  “Beatriz,” I said, trying to take her into my arms.

  “No, Dax,” she replied huskily, “leave me alone.”

  For the first time I noticed how pale and drawn she had become. There were shadows under her eyes I had never seen there before. She turned to look at me, still speaking in that husky voice. “Just let me go away. Help me leave Corteguay, that’s all I want from you.”

  I was silent for a moment but even then I couldn’t keep all the anger out of my voice. “Pack a bag if that’s what you want. I’ll see to it that you’re put on the first plane or boat out.”

  Then I walked back into the house. Halfway through the living room my anger disappeared and I began to smile. I wondered what Beatriz would say when she found out that the first plane out would be mine.

  34

  Colonel Tulia was waiting in my antechamber when I got back to the Palacio del Presidente. “Your excellency, I took the liberty of awaiting your return.”

  “I have not yet had time to discuss the matter with el Presidente.”

  “I know, I have already heard the news. Mendoza is dead. El Presidente announced it about an hour and a half ago.”

  I nodded. Hoyos was right on the job. I wondered if he also told el Presidente that I had ordered the release of Beatriz.

  “The typists have completed their work,” Tulia said. “I thought you might like to look at the rest of the execution orders before you spoke to him.”

  I sat down, and Tulia opened his briefcase. The papers made a neat stack on my desk. I picked off the top one and studied it. The name meant nothing to me, I had never even heard it before. But it was a young man, a lieutenant, only twenty-three years old.

  I put the order down and lit a cigarette. I could not take my eyes from the stack of papers. It was the first time I had ever realized that death could be arranged so simply, so impersonally. All it would take was my signature and every one of these pieces of paper would turn into a dead man.

  My signature. I inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke burn its way down into my lungs. I wondered how many more ways el Presidente had in the back of his mind to use me. I began to feel sick inside. How many more had to die to maintain his power?

  I remembered the grim satisfaction in his voice that morning as I had banked the plane away from the little village. “It will teach them a lesson,” he had said. “It will be a long time before any of them will want to make war again.”

  Suddenly the answer came from inside myself. As if it had always been there but I had refused to accept it. The lesson was as old as time. An Englishman had put it into neat and economical language: “Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  El Presidente knew more than I had given him credit for. This was the ultimate temptation, and he knew it. The power of life or death. What greater power could be given to any man? He knew better than anyone that once I had signed those orders, no matter how noble my motive, I was committed to power. And once I was, my corruption was inevitable.

  For what my father could not or would not see was that there is no middle ground; there are no grays, only black and white. And no matter how much might be gained for the moment, in the end more would be lost. I looked up. Colonel Tulia was watching me intently.

  I took a deep breath. Suddenly for the first time in my life I felt free. I was my own man. I belonged to myself, not to the memory of my father, not to el Presidente, but only to myself. For the first time I knew my own mind.

  “Colonel Tulia, how many executive officers are there besides yourself?”

  “Five colonels,” he replied, “including Hoyos, of the secret police, and Pardo and Vasquez, the prisoners. Only Zuluaga and myself, really; the others are in the field.”

  “Could a court-martial be convened?”

  “If we included Hoyos.” A light was beginning to show in his eyes. He realized what I was getting at. “Actually, only three officers are needed.”

  “And the prisoners?” I asked. “Are they also in Curatu?”

  He nodded, then hesitated. “There is one difficulty. We need one more officer to preside as judge of the court.”

  I got to my feet. “That should present no problem, Colonel. I am still wearing the uniform of the army.”

  I looked down at my watch. “It is seven o’clock. Do you think you could have everyone here in an hour?”

  ***

  I went upstairs to my room and shaved and took a shower. When I came down a few minutes before eight they were all there. Only Hoyos among them seemed uncomfortable.

  I went around behind my desk and sat down. “We all know why we are here, gentlemen, let’s get down to business.”

  Tulia turned to me. “It is the first order of the court to elect a presiding officer from among ourselves.”

  I nodded. A moment later I was elected.

  “The next step is to present the court with the charges against the accused.” Tul
ia stepped forward and laid a sheet of paper on my desk.

  He had been very thorough. Somehow he had found the time to write out exactly what I should say. “Coronel Vasquez, this court-martial is being held in accordance with army regulations and clause six of the document of surrender signed by you….”

  The two trials were over in a matter of minutes. Both officers were acquitted of all charges, by vote of two to one. Hoyos, of course, was the one who voted the other way. As presiding officer I dismissed the charges and restored both Pardo and Vasquez to their full rank and pay without penalty.

  Quickly Tulia wrote out a brief summary of the trial and we all signed it. I signed twice, once as presiding officer and again as vice president.

  Vasquez reached across the desk to shake my hand. His grip was firm. “Thank you.”

  Hoyos slowly got to his feet. “Now that it is over, gentlemen, I’ll be getting back to my duties.”

  “No!” I said sharply.

  Hoyos turned to look at me questioningly, and a sudden silence fell over the room. He looked at the others, then back at me. “I have important matters waiting,” he said, almost mildly.

  “They will keep.”

  I didn’t want Hoyos informing el Presidente of what had happened before I got to him. This was something I had to do for myself. “You will return to your seat and wait here with your fellow officers until I have informed el Presidente of the decisions of this court.”

  “You have no authority to detain me,” he protested. “I am accountable only to el Presidente.”

  “As an officer of the army you are also accountable to the vice president.”

  Hoyos stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and returned to his chair. “Yes, excellency.”

  Something about the sound of his voice aroused my suspicion, and it took me only a few minutes to ascertain that the office was bugged. I picked up one of the tiny microphones and looked at him.

  His face was pale but he didn’t speak.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the office was wired?” I said. “We could have saved the time spent in writing a report if we had known that everything that was said was being taped.”

  35

  It was perhaps an hour later when I presented myself at el Presidente’s apartamiento. But what I had to do might require that extra hour.

  A servant let me in. “El Presidente is expecting you, excellency, but at eleven o’clock.”

  “It is an emergency,” I said in my most authoritative voice. “I must see him immediately.”

  “He is with la princesa. El Presidente never allows us to disturb him when he is in her apartment.”

  “I shall return in an hour, then.”

  I turned from the door and went down the stairs and across the courtyard from la residencia to the little palace which Amparo now occupied. The soldiers on guard snapped to attention. “El Presidente has summoned me.”

  “Sí, excelencia!” Both saluted and one of them hastened to hold open the door.

  I stepped inside. The little palace hadn’t been changed since I had been there last. I had been only a boy then, the day the bomb had severed my father’s arm. It was just as well that Amparo would be present at our meeting, for what I had to say would affect her, too. I knocked softly on the sitting-room door.

  There was no answer.

  I knocked again, this time a little louder.

  Still no answer.

  I turned the knob and walked in. Only one dim lamp lit the corner. I reached out and switched on the lights, and it was then I heard sounds coming from the bedroom. I crossed the room. The sounds were louder now, and I recognized them. I had been married to Amparo long enough.

  The servant must have been mistaken. That or he had lied deliberately. El Presidente was not here. I had just turned to leave when a scream of pain shattered the room. Then there was another. It contained so much agony and terror that involuntarily I threw myself against the door and burst into the bedroom.

  I was almost in the center before I could stop myself. I stood there staring, a nausea churning my stomach. They were naked on the bed, Amparo’s legs wide, el Presidente on his knees between them, a huge black dildo strapped around his waist. In his hand he held a riding crop.

  He turned to stare at me over his shoulder. “Dax, you’ve come just in time to help me punish her!”

  The sound of his voice helped break my paralysis. I moved over to the bed and pulled him away from her. “Are you crazy?” I shouted. “Do you want to kill her?”

  He got off the bed and stood glaring at me, the dildo hanging down obscenely. I turned and bent over the bed. Amparo raised her head. “Dax,” she whispered softly, “why did you do that? Now he’ll be angry with you, too.”

  Then I noticed her eyes. They were wide and dilated and hazy with heroin. Slowly I pulled the sheet up to cover her. When I turned back, el Presidente had already unstrapped the dildo. It was lying on the floor. He picked up his trousers. “Dax,” he said in a normal voice, as if nothing had happened, “have you signed the orders?”

  “No, there are no orders to sign. A court-martial has acquitted them.”

  “A court-martial?” El Presidente turned, his trousers still dangling in front of him.

  “Yes,” I answered. “There will be no more executions, no more extermination of people. An hour ago I sent word to the field ordering a cease-fire. The army will only fight now if attacked.”

  He stared at me with unbelieving eyes. “Traitor!” he screamed suddenly, dropping the trousers. He held a revolver, which must have been in one of the pockets. “Traitor!” he screamed again, and pulled the trigger.

  I froze, expecting a bullet, but the firing pin struck an empty chamber. I was on him before he could try a second time, and knocked the revolver from his hand. He leaped at me, screaming obscenities, his skinny arms flailing, his fingers gouging at my face and eyes. I tried to hold him but he pushed me and I stumbled over a chair. He dove after the revolver, and we thrashed around on the floor.

  Suddenly I was aware of Amparo, dancing nakedly around us. “Kill him, Dax,” she screamed excitedly, “kill him!”

  El Presidente’s fingers reached for the gun, and on his face was an expression I remembered from my childhood. It was the same look of concentration that had been on his face as he had held the machine gun for me. But I had been a child then and had not understood about killing. I thought I was bringing my mother and sister back to life.

  Angrily, and for the first time, I struck out at the leering face. El Presidente fell away from me, his head striking the floor. I got to my feet slowly, and picked up the revolver from the floor.

  “Kill him, Dax!” Amparo whispered in my ear. “Now! This is your chance, kill him!”

  I looked at el Presidente, lying motionless on the floor, then at the revolver in my hand. There were so many dead because of him. It would be only justice.

  “Now, Dax! Now! Now! Now!”

  Amparo’s voice was an obscene chant in my ears. I raised the gun slowly, aiming it at him. He opened his eyes, and for a long moment we stared at each other.

  Amparo began to giggle hysterically. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  I felt my finger tensing on the trigger.

  “No, Dax,” he said quietly, his eyes without fear, “if you do you will be no different from me.”

  Abruptly I lowered the gun. The temptation was gone. I felt Amparo pummeling my shoulder angrily. I pushed her away wearily. “Get back into bed, Amparo.”

  She was suddenly silent as she crept back.

  I looked at el Presidente, who was beginning to struggle to his feet. Suddenly I saw him for what he had become—a skinny, trembling old man. He seemed to age before my eyes as he stood there in his boy nakedness. Instinctively I put out a hand to steady him.

  He glanced at me, then sank gratefully into a chair. “It’s over?” It was more statement than question.

  “Yes.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I’ve ta
ught you well. What will happen now?”

  I glanced toward Amparo. She was sitting up in bed, her hands clasped around her knees, watching. Her eyes seemed clearer now. The heroin was probably wearing off.

  I turned to el Presidente. “Exile.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You were like a son. When my own sons died I gave you their place in my heart.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He looked over at Amparo. “When do we go?”

  “Now,” I said, “as soon as you’re dressed.”

  “Where?” Amparo asked from the bed.

  “First to Panama. After that, anywhere in Europe you choose. But first you must sign these papers.”

  “What papers?”

  “Your resignation as president and an agreement to remain in voluntary exile for life.”

  “Give me a pen.” He signed without even looking at them.

  “I’ll wait outside while you get dressed,” I said.

  I went into the sitting room and picked up a telephone and dialed my office. Tulia answered. “Send the car around to the little palace,” I said wearily. “They’re ready to go.”

  I put down the telephone, and then remembered the promise I had made Beatriz earlier in the day. I picked up the receiver and dialed her number.

  “Do you still want to leave Corteguay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then be ready in a half hour. I’ll come around to pick you up.”

  Amparo came out of the bedroom, clutching a robe. “My father would like a fresh uniform. You know how he is. The one he is wearing is soiled.”

  I gestured at the phone.

  She picked it up and dialed his apartment and asked a servant to bring over a clean uniform. Then she put the phone down and started back toward the bedroom.

  “Amparo?”

  She turned and looked at me.

  “Why did you let him do that to you?”

  “Because he was el Presidente,” she said gently, “and because he was an old man and my father. There was no one else who would let him keep the illusion.”

  She turned and went back into the bedroom.