Star of Ill-Omen

by Dennis Wheatley

  While reading of the great plant and the extraordinary precautions taken to keep its secret, Kem had had his tongue in his cheek. Peron, he felt, would be shrewd enough to know that if he wished to scare other nations with smoke he must at least create some sort of fire. For a dictator who did not have to account to his people for the expenditure of national funds, and who could command labour and troops without any awkward questions being asked about their employment, it would require only orders to a few trusted men to establish a bogus plant of practically any size. So Escobar’s costly activities really proved nothing either way, and Kem had sailed for the Argentine with an open mind.

  From the beginning he had realised that he would stand little chance of obtaining any definite information, either by getting himself taken on as an unskilled worker at the plant, or ordinary snooping should he find it possible to penetrate the sealed-off area by night. Experience had taught him that the best dividends were obtained with the least risk by the exploitation of social charm as a means of sliding smoothly in at the top. In the present case he had been exceptionally lucky, and within ten days of landing at Buenos Aires had succeeded in getting himself invited out to stay with Colonel Escobar.

  The scientist lived in a fine old estancia which he had modernised and equipped with every luxury. Both he and his beautiful young wife were fond of company and consoled themselves for being deprived of the gaieties of Buenos Aires by entertaining a constant succession of guests. Kem had been a member of one of their house-parties for the past week, but that had not got him very far in his mission, as the estancia, although within the cordoned-off area, lay up in the hills, more than two miles from the plant in the valley, and it was tacitly understood that no guest should ever go down there.

  Nevertheless, he had learned one important fact. Escobar trusted nobody, and each evening when he returned from his office he brought with him a fat red brief-case containing his most important papers, which he promptly locked away in a wall-safe in his bedroom.

  It was obvious that his several thousand workpeople must be employed on the manufacture of something, and Kem had no doubt at all that Escobar was using the knowledge he had gained at Peenemünde to make long-range rockets; but whether the war-heads of these were being filled with ordinary explosives or prepared to receive some nuclear compound remained the vital problem, and one to which it seemed certain that Escobar and a few of his senior staff were the only people who knew the answer. In consequence, after a few days at the estancia, Kem had decided that his best chance of finding out lay in getting hold of Escobar’s papers.

  Kem knew a lot about safes. It was part of his business to do so, and in 1947 his department had arranged for him to spend three months under the tuition of London’s finest locksmith. He felt fairly confident that he would be able to crack Escobar’s safe, but to tackle the job properly he required at least an hour secure from interruption in the Colonel’s bedroom.

  After some thought he had settled on a plan. A fine stable was kept on the estancia and on several occasions he had gone for rides with some of the other guests, but they always observed the siesta in the heat of the day, so rode only in the early morning or evening. He would say he wished to make a long trip up into the mountains, borrow a horse and take a picnic lunch; but instead he would ride into Basavilbaso, and from there telephone Escobar’s secretary, pretending that he was one of General Peron’s aides-de-camp, with a message that the Dictator wished to see Escobar on a matter of urgency, and that he was to report in Buenos Aires at eight o’clock that evening.

  If the trick worked Escobar would have to curtail his siesta and, leaving the estancia by half past two, arrive at the spot near which Kem stood about three o’clock, while the countryside was still sleeping. But he could not be allowed to go on to Buenos Aires; otherwise, as soon as he got there he would find out that he had been hoaxed and would telephone an alarm to the estancia. It would be necessary to put him out of the way until morning, with his people believing that he was in Buenos Aires, if Kem were to stand any chance of getting into his bedroom that night.

  So far, all had gone according to plan. Kem had ridden out towards the north that morning, and had been courteously waved through the cordon of guards on showing the pass with which he had been provided; then, by a circuitous route, made his way south to Basavilbaso. When telephoning he had used the name of one of General Peron’s junior aides-de-camp, and Escobar’s secretary had showed no suspicion, either that he was not speaking to the man whose name he had given, or that the call came from Basavilbaso instead of from Buenos Aires. There was, however, still the danger that Escobar might have smelt a rat on receiving the message and, having rung up to confirm it, discovered that it was a fake.

  Anxiously, Kem watched the long swathe of road that wound down through the valley. At five past three a little cloud of dust appeared upon it. Rapidly it grew nearer until through the heat haze he could see the big Cadillac that was churning it up. His heart gave a bound; in a part of the country so sparsely populated such a car could belong only to Escobar. A moment later Kem saw that it was being driven by a military chauffeur. His mouth hardened and he slipped his hand under his jacket to make sure that his gun lay easy in its holster. Then he slipped out into the road and waved to the driver to stop.

  2

  The Fight in the Thorn Wood

  Fearing that Escobar’s military driver might take him for a hiker cadging a lift, and ignore his signals to stop, Kem stepped right into the middle of the road. It entailed some risk, but if he allowed the car to pass, his carefully thought-out plan of getting hold of the atomic expert’s papers would be aborted at its outset, and he would get no second chance to put it into operation, for immediately Escobar arrived in Buenos Aires he would learn that the message which had brought him from his plant was a fake.

  There came a horrid moment when Kem thought he would have to leap for his life, but he stood his ground just long enough. Good brakes brought the Cadillac to a halt within ten feet of where he was standing, and its glowering driver favoured him with a spate of Spanish curses. But Colonel Escobar had recognised him, and putting his semi-bald head out of one of the back windows cried:

  ‘Why, Señor Lincoln, what are you doing stranded here? I thought you had taken a horse this morning to ride out towards Tala.’

  Putting on a crestfallen look, Kem stepped round the bonnet to confront his host. ‘I did, Excellencia; but decided at the last moment that the country to the south was prettier, so rode down this way instead. Then, I am greatly embarrassed to confess it, but an hour ago I met with an accident. The beautiful mare from your stable put a foot on a loose rock and fell with me into a twenty-foot gully. I was thrown into some bushes, so escaped with a few scratches, but she broke her neck.’

  Escobar shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘That is sad, but please do not worry. I have a score of other horses just as good. The important thing is that you are not injured. Jump in and I will give you a lift into Parera. You will be able to hire a car there to take you back to the estancia.’

  The offer was exactly what Kem had expected. Getting in he murmured his thanks, and added, ‘At such an hour, and particularly in a sparsely populated area like this, I was very lucky to meet a car at all, and the last person I expected to pick me up was yourself.’

  The burly, middle-aged scientist threw out his strong square hands in a typically Latin gesture. ‘This morning I had no idea that I should be travelling this way myself. My annoyance at being roused in the middle of my siesta by an urgent call to Buenos Aires is now compensated for by my pleasure at having been able to rescue you from your predicament. I am only sorry that I should have to take you some ten miles in the wrong direction, but a summons from General Peron is a thing which one must put even before one’s wish to place oneself completely at the disposal of a guest. However, I console myself with the thought that you should be home in good time for a shower and rest before les cocktails.’

  Kem was
used to these flowery Spanish courtesies and replied appropriately. The car, meanwhile, had gathered speed and he was watching the road ahead intently. The back seat of the Cadillac was broad enough to hold three large people comfortably; and he inconspicuously edged up into his own corner in order to place as much space between Escobar and himself. To the left of the road the seemingly endless wheat-fields dropped away towards the broad river, to the right the forest continued nearly as far as Parera. When they had covered the best part of two miles he drew his pistol from its shoulder holster, pointed it at Escobar, and said in German:

  ‘I greatly regret to upset your arrangements, Excellenz, but be good enough to tell your driver to slow down and take the turning to the right which lies about half a mile ahead.’

  Escobar had not been looking at him. He turned with a start to find himself staring down the barrel of Kem’s gun. His broad, florid face went scarlet. The fine, upcurled black moustache that he had retained on leaving the Army suddenly seemed to bristle, and his dark eyes went stony with rage. For a second it looked as if he meant to hurl himself forward and risk being shot; but his eyes swiftly narrowed, his lips drew back showing two rows of strong white teeth. Then he snapped:

  ‘What the hell’s the meaning of this?’

  ‘That, you may learn presently,’ Kem snapped back. ‘Do as I said!’

  ‘You must be mad. Your fall—’

  ‘No, I’m perfectly sane. Quick! Give the order or we’ll miss the turning!’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I do!’

  ‘You’ll be dead if you don’t!’ As Kem spoke he flicked up the safety-catch on his pistol. The significant little gesture was not lost on Escobar. He realised that even an unpected bump in the road might now be sufficient to jerk the finger on the trigger and send him to Kingdom Come. ‘Guido!’ he shouted at his driver. ‘Take the turning to the right.’

  The startled chauffeur stiffened in his seat. He knew the road to Buenos Aires well, and that the turning was no more than a cart-track leading to a few Indian villages in the belt of rough scrub and thorn woods that had not yet been brought into cultivation. A swift glance in the driving mirror showed him the faces of his two passengers. They were staring at one another. His master’s bushy brows were drawn down in a ferocious scowl; the round, cheerful face of the young man they had picked up was now set with the jaw thrust determinedly forward. The pistol was held too low for Guido to see it, but it was clear to him that something was wrong. Slowing up, he jerked his head round, caught sight of the gun in Kem’s hand and made a grab at the automatic he was wearing in his belt.

  Kem had been watching him out of the corner of his eye. His voice came, now in Spanish, like the crack of a whip. ‘Both hands on the wheel, Guido, or I’ll blow the back of your head in.’

  Guido obeyed the order with commendable promptness, and Kem went on: ‘That’s better. Now round the corner. Drive on till I tell you to stop. Keep your eyes on the road. If you look at me in the mirror mine will be the last face you’ll live to see.’

  As the car turned up the track and passed a clump of tall, blue-grey eucalyptus trees Kem heaved an inward sigh of relief. From the moment he had seen that Escobar was being driven by an armed chauffeur he had feared that he might be compelled to shoot it out before he could get the car off the main road. That tricky part of his project had now been accomplished without bloodshed, but he still had to secure Guido’s gun before he could consider himself fully master of the situation. He was wondering how best to set about it when Escobar burst out:

  ‘You ought either to be in hospital or jail. If you injured your head when you fell I’m sorry for you; but if you didn’t by God I’ll have you in prison for this.’

  Kem’s full-lipped mouth broke into a broad grin. ‘Thanks, but my head is sound as a bell. In fact, I lied to you just now about having a fall. You don’t seem to set much stock on your valuable mare, but it may console you a little to know that she’s safe and sound too. I left her hobbled not far from here.’

  ‘Then you are a crook, and this is a hold-up. What are you after, eh?’

  ‘Your money or your life,’ Kem replied, his eyes twinkling.

  ‘Damn it, you must be crazy! I don’t carry much more than the price of a good dinner on me. Who in their senses does? Anyone but a fool would have realised that. You must be an amateur at this game. It would have paid you far better to stay behind and make off with some of the valuables at the estancia.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. Perhaps I’ll go back there tonight and relieve you of the household silver and your collection of snuff-boxes.’

  Escobar gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘You’d better not. Our police will soon lay an amateur like you by the heels, and I’ll use my influence to get you a maximum sentence.’

  ‘They’ll have to catch me first, and all my arrangements are made for leaving the country tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. In the meantime I’ve had enough of this foolery. I’ve told you that I’ve had an urgent summons to report to General Peron. He’s a good friend of mine, but all the same I can’t afford to ignore his orders. If I’m not in Buenos Aires by eight o’clock I may find myself in serious trouble. In the circumstances I’m prepared to do a deal with you. Put away that gun and let me proceed on my way; in return I’ll hand over my wallet and give you my promise that I’ll not report this idiotic hold-up to the police until tomorrow morning.’

  Kem appeared to consider the offer for a moment, then he replied, ‘Then you are prepared to risk the silver and the snuff-boxes?’

  Escobar gave him a swift, shifty look and nodded; then his eyes suddenly narrowed and he exclaimed: ‘But wait a minute! If you lied about the mare having broken her neck in a gully you must have planned this hold-up in advance. How the hell did you know that I’d be on my way to Buenos Aires at this hour?’

  The broad grin appeared on Kem’s round face, as he murmured: ‘Ah! Thereby hangs a tale.’

  By this time the Cadillac had penetrated a mile into the acacia-dotted rough scrub and Kem was keeping a lookout for a suitable spot in which to tackle the most critical phase of his venture. As they rounded a bend the track sloped down and towards a more densely wooded stretch, although on the left the nearest trees stood some way back and were sufficiently far apart for the car to be driven in among them. In a sharp voice he ordered Guido to turn off the road and keep going through the trees until he could go no further.

  After a second’s hesitation the man obeyed, and the car bumped its way over the uneven ground until it finally lurched to a halt facing a rotten tree-stump.

  ‘Now!’ said Kem. ‘Put your hands above your head, Guido, and if you value your life keep them there.’ To Escobar he added, ‘You stay where you are, unless you want a bullet.’ Then he opened the door of the car and slipped out of it.

  Walking round to Guido’s door, he opened that, quickly relieved the chauffeur of his gun and heaved it twenty feet away into the thick undergrowth. Then he produced a length of whipcord, threw it at Guido, and said: ‘Now get out, and tie your master’s ankles together tightly with that. Quick now!’

  Guido was a tall, cadaverous man with lank black hair, sombre eyes and olive complexion that betrayed more than a dash of Indian blood. With a scowl he caught the cord and wriggled from his seat, while Escobar cried in alarm:

  ‘Nom de Dios! You cannot mean to tie us up and leave us here. This wild country is almost uninhabited. It may be days before we are found. In the meantime we may die of thirst.’

  Having secured Guido’s pistol, Kem was feeling much easier in his mind. Up to that point, too, he had been extremely careful not to give away any part of his real intentions; but he bore Escobar no malice, and now felt that he could afford to disclose enough to reassure him. With a smile, he said:

  ‘You need have no apprehension about that. I am going back to the estancia, and I’ll leave a note there for your people, telling them where to look for you in the morning. You need not wor
ry about General Peron either. He is not expecting you. It was I who telephoned your secretary in order to get you out here.’

  ‘I guessed as much when you said you’d lied about having an accident,’ growled Escobar. ‘You’re not such a fool as I thought, but a real crook. Damn you, I’ll—’

  Kim cut him short by a threatening flourish of his pistol; then he pointed it at Guido and snapped: ‘Go on! Get busy! Tie up his legs as I told you. And tight, or it will be the worse for you.’

  With the cord dangling from his left hand, Guido stepped forward. To reach Escobar he had to turn his back to Kem and come between them. At the car door he stooped, apparently to pass the cord under his master’s knees. Suddenly he swung round. The sunlight glinted on a knife that he had whipped out from beneath his tunic.

  He was within four feet of Kem and with a panther-like spring was upon him. Only Kem’s Commando training saved him from that first surprise assault. He could have shot Guido dead, but the force of the Argentinian’s spring would have driven home the knife before he dropped. In a flash Kem saw that his only chance of escaping a dangerous wound lay in deflecting the wicked blade. Mentally cursing himself for his lack of forethought in not having taken into account the fact that every gaucho in the Argentine carried a stiletto, he swerved aside and brought the fist that held the gun down with all his force on Guido’s wrist.

  Their two clenched hands met with a terrific impact. Kem’s gun exploded but was dashed from his grasp. Guido’s knife fell with a tinkle on the ground. The bullet caught him in the calf of his right leg. With a howl of pain he lurched forward, flinging his long arms round Kem’s neck. Kem lost his balance and they crashed to the ground locked in a wild embrace.