Ocho Calle; there was no street number eight, no plaza to speak of. A taxi
hesitantly came to a stop at the comer, let out its fare and started up
again, blocked by pedestrians unconcerned with such vehicles. David looked
at Jean and she nodded, smiling. He shouted at the driver.
Inside the taxi he gave his address. It didn't occur to him to do
otherwise.
They rode in silence for several minutes, their shoulders touching, her
hand underneath his arm.
'What are you thinking off David asked, seeing the distant
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but happy expression on her face.-
'Oh, the way I pictured you when Henderson read the scram~ ble the other
night.... Yes, I call him Henderson; I always have.'
'I can't imagine anyone, even the president, calling him Henderson!
'You don't know him. Underneath that Racquet Club jacket is lovable
Henderson.'
'How did you picture me?'
Wery differently!
'From what?'
'You.... I thought you'd be terribly short, to begin with. An attach6 named
David Spaulding who's some kind of financial whiz and is going to have
conferences with the banks and the colonels about money things is short, at
least fifty years old and has very little hair. He also wears spectacles -
not glasses - and has a thin nose. Probably has an allergy as well - he
sneezes a lot and blows his nose all the time. And he speaks in short,
clipped sentences; very precise and quite disagreeable.'
'He chases secretaries, too; don't leave that out.'
'My David Spaulding doesn't chase secretaries. He reads dirty books.'
David felt a twinge. Throw in an unkempt appearance, a soiled handkerchief
and replace the spectacles with glasses - worn occasionally - and Jean was
describing Walter Kendall.
'Your Spaulding's an unpleasant fellow.'
'Not the new one,' she said, tightening her grip on his arm.
The taxi drew up to the curb in front of the entrance on C6rdoba. Jean
Cameron hesitated, staring momentarily at the apartment house door. David
spoke softly, without emphasis.
'Shall I take you to the embassy?'
She turned to him. 'No.'
He paid1the driver and they went inside.
The field thread was invisibly protruding from the knob; he felt it.
He inserted the key in the lock and instinctively, gently shoul. dered her
aside as he pushed the door open. The apartment was as he had left it that
morning; he knew she felt his relief. He hold the door for her. Jean
entered and looked around.
'It really isn't so bad, is iff she said.
'Humble but home.' He left the door open and with a smile,
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a gesture - without words - he asked her to stay where she was. He walked
rapidly into the bedroom, returned and went through the double doors onto
his miniature, high-walled patio. He looked up, scanning the windows and the
roof carefully. He smiled again at her from under the branches of the fruit
tree. She understood, closed the door and came out to him.
'You did that very professionally, Mr. Spaulding,'
'In the best traditions of extreme cowardice, Mrs. Cameron.'
He realized his mistake the minute he'd made it. It was not the moment to
use the married 'title. And yet, in some oblique way she seemed grateful
that he had. She moved again and stood directly in front of him.
'Mrs. Cameron thanks you.'
He reached out and held her by the waist. Her arms slowly, haltingly, went
up to his shoulders; her hands cupped his face and she stared into his
eyes.
He did not move. The decision, the first step, had to be hers; he
understood that.
She brought her lips to his. The touch was soft and lovely and meant for
earthbound angels. And then she trembled with an almost uncontrollable
sense of urgency. Her lips parted and she pressed her body with
extraordinary strength into his, her arms clutched about his neck.
She pulled her lips away from his and buried her face into his chest,
holding him with fierce possession.
'Don't say anything,' she whispered. 'Don't say anything at all.... Just
take me.'
He picked her up silently and carried her into the bedroom. She kept her
face pressed into his chest, as if she were afraid to see light or even
him. He lowered her gently onto the bed and closed the door.
In a few moments they were naked and he pulled the blankets over them. It
was a moist and beautiful darkness. A splendid comfort.
'I want to say something,' she said, tracing her finger over his lips, her
face above his, her breasts innocently on his chest. And smiling her
genuine smile.
'I know. You want the other Spaulding. The thin one with spectacles.' He
kissed her fingers.
'He disappeared in an explosion of sorts.'
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'You're positively descriptive, young lady.'
'And not so young.... That's what I want to talk about.'
'A pension. You're angling for Social Security. I'll see what I can do.'
'Be serious, silly boy.'
'And not so silly .....
'There's no commitment, David,' she said, interrupting him. 'I want you to
know that.... I don't know how else to say it. Everything happened so
fast.'
'Everything happened very naturally. Explanations aren't required.'
'Well, I think some are. I didn't expect to be here.'
'I didn't expect that you would be. I suppose I hoped, I'll adn-dt that....
I didn't plan; neither of us did.'
'I don't know; I think I did. I think I saw you yesterday and somewhere in
the back of my mind I made a decision. Does that sound brazen of me?'
'If you did, the decision was long overdue.'
'Yes, I imagine it was.' She lay back, pulling the sheet over her. 'I've
been very selfish. Spoiled and selfish and behaving really quite badly.'
'Because you haven't slept aroundT It was his turn to roll over and touch
her face. He kissed both her eyes, now open; the deep speckles of blue made
bluer, deeper, by the late afternoon sun streaming through the blinds. She
smiled; her perfect white teeth glistening with the moisture of her mouth,
her lips curved in that genuine curve of humor.
'That's funny. I must be unpatriotic. I've withheld my charms only to
deliver them to a noncombatant.'
The Visigoths wouldn't have approved. The warriors came first, I'm told.'
'Let's not tell them.' She reached up for his face. 'Oh, David, David,
David.'
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25
'I hope I didn't wake you. I wouldn't have troubled you but I thought you'd
want me to.'
Ambassador Granville's voice over the telephone was more solicitous than
David expected it to be. He looked at his watch as he replied. It was three
minutes of ten in the morning.
'Oh? ... No, sir. I was just getting up. Sorry I overslept.'
There was a note on the telephone table. It was from Jean.
'Your friend was in contact with us.'
'Friend?' David unfolded the note. My Darling - You fell into such a
beautiful sleep it would have broken my heart to disturb you. Called a
taxi. See you
in the nwrning. At the Bastille. Your ex-regimented phoenix.
David smiled, remembering her smile.
'. . . the details, I'm sure, aren't warranted.' Granville had said
something and he hadn't been listening.
'I?m sorry, Mr. Ambassador. This must be a poor connection; your voice
fades in and out.' All telephones beyond the Atlantic, north, middle and
south, were temperamental instruments. An unassailable fact.
'Or something else, I'm afraid,' said Granville with irritation, obviously
referring to the possibility of a telephone tap. 'When you get in, please
come to see me.'
'Yes, sir. I'll be there directly!
He picked up Jean's note and read it again.
She had said last night that he was complicating her life. But
245
there were no commitments; she'd said that, too.
What the hell was a commitment? He didn't want to speculate. He didn't want
to think about the awful discovery - the instant, splendid comfort they
both recognized. It wasn't the time for it....
Yet to deny it would be to reject an extraordinary reality. He was trained
to deal with reality.
He didn't want to think about it.
His 'friend' had been in contact with the embassy.
Walter Kendall.
That was another reality. It couldn't wait.
He crushed out his cigarette angrily, watching his fingers stab the butt
into the metal ashtray.
Why was he angry?
He didn't care to speculate on that, either. He had a job to do. He hoped
he had the commitment for it.
'Jean said you barely made it through dinner. You needed a good night's
sleep; I must say you look better.' The ambassador had come from around his
desk to greet him as he entered the large, ornate office. David was a
little bewildered. The old diplomat was actually being solicitous,
displaying a concern that belied his unconcealed disapproval of two days
ago. Or was it his use of the name Jean instead of the forbidding Mrs.
Cameron.
'She was very kind. I couldn't have found a decent restaurant without her.'
'I daresay.... I won't detain you, you'd better get cracking with this
Kendall.'
'You said he's been in contact. . .
'Starting last night; early this morning to be accurate. He's at the Alvear
and apparently quite agitated, according to the switchboard. At two thirty
this morning he was shouting, demanding to know where you were. Naturally,
we don't give out that information.'
'I'm grateful. As you said, I needed the sleep; Kendall would have
prevented it. Do you have his telephone number? Or shall I get it from the
book?'
'No, right here.' Granville walked to his desk and picked up a sheet of
notepaper. David followed and took it from the ambassadoes outstretched
hand.
Mank you, sir. I'll get on it.' He turned and started for the
246
door, Granville's voice stopping him.
'Spaulding?'
'Yes, sirT
'I'm sure Mrs. Cameron would like to see you. Assess your recovery, I
daresay. Her office is in the south wing. First door from the entrance, on
the right. Do you know where that isT
'I'll find it, sir.,
'I'm sure you will. See you later in the day.'
David went out the heavy baroque door, closing it behind him. Was it his
imagination or was Granville reluctantly giving an approval to his and
Jean's sudden ... alliance? The words were approving, the tone of voice
reluctant.
He walked down the connecting corridor toward the south wing and reached
her door. Her name was stamped on a brass plate to the left of the
doorframe. He had not noticed it yesterday.
Mrs. 4ndrew Cameron.
So his name had been Andrew. Spaulding hadn't asked his first name; she
hadn't volunteered it.
As he looked at the brass plate he found himself experiencing a very
strange reaction. He resented Andrew Cameron; zVented his life, his death.
The door was open and he entered. Jean's secretary was obviously an
Argentine. A porlefia. The black Spanish hair was pulled back into a bun,
her features Latin.
'Mrs. Cameron, please. David Spaulding!
'Please go in. She's expecting you.'David approached the door and turned
the knob.
She was taken by surprise, he thought. She was at the window looking out at
the south lawn, a page of paper in her hand, glasses pushed above her
forehead, resting on top of her light brown hair.
Startled, she removed her glasses from their perch and stood immobile.
Slowly, as if studying him first, she smiled.
He found himself afraid. More than afraid, for a moment. And then she spoke
and the sudden anguish left him, replaced by a deeply felt relief.
'I woke up this morning and reached for you. You weren't there and I
thought I might cry.'
He walked rapidly to her and they held each other. Neither spoke. The
silence, the embrace, the splendid comfort returning.
'Granville acted like a procurer a little while ago,' he said
247
finallk, holding her by the shoulders, looking at her blue speckled eyes
that held such intelligent humor.
'I told you he was lovable. You wouldn't believe me.'
'You didn't tell me we had dinner,, though. Or that I could barely get
through it.'
'I was hoping you'd slip; give him more to think about.'
'I don't understand him. Or you, maybe.'
'Henderson has a problem.... Me. Hes not sure how to handle it - me. Hes
overprotective because I've led him to believe I wanted that protection. I
did; it was easier. But a man who's had three wives and at least twice that
many mistresses over the years is no Victorian.... And he knows you're not
going to be here long. As he would put it: do I sketch a reasonable
picture?'
'I daresay,' answered David in Granvilles Anglicized manner.
'That's unkind.' Jean laughed. 'He probably doesn't approve of you, which
makes his unspoken acceptance very difficult for him.,
David released her. 'I know damned well he doesn't approve. ... Lpok, I
have to make some calls; go out and meet someone .....
'Just someone?'
'A ravishing beauty who'll introduce me to lots of other ravishing
beauties. And between the two of us, I can't stand him. But I have to see
him.... Will you have dinner with me?'
'Yes, I'll have dinner with you. I'd planned to. You didn't have a choice.'
'You're right; you're brazen.'
'I made that clear. You broke down the regimens; I'm flying up out of my
own personal ash heap.... The air feels good.'
'It was going to happen.... I was here.' He wasn't sure why he said it but
he had to.
Walter Kendall paced the hotel room as though it were a cage. Spaulding sat
on the couch watching him, trying to decide which animal Kendall reminded
him of; there were several that came to mind, none pets.
'You listen to me,' Kendall said. 'Tbis is no military operation. You take
orders, you don't give them.'
'I'm sorry; I think you're misreading me.' David was tempted to answer
Ke
ndall's anger in kind, but he decided not to.
248
'I misread, bullshitl You told Swanson you were in some trouble in New
York. That's your problem, not ours.'
'You can't be sure of that.'
'Oh yes I can! You tried to sell that to Swanson and he bought it. You
could have involved us V
'Now just a minute.' Spaulding felt he could object legitimately - within
the boundaries he had mentally staked off for Kendall. 'I told Swanson that
in my opinion the "trouble" in New York might have been related to Buenos
Aires. I didn't say it was, I said it might have been.'
'That's not possible!'
'How the hell can you be so sureT
'Because I am.' Kendall was not only agitated, thought David, he was
impatient. 'This is a business proposition. The deal's been made. There's
no one trying to stop it. Stop us.'
'Hostilities don't cease because a deal's been made. if the German command
got wind of it they'd blow up Buenos Aires to stop it.'
'Yeah ... well, that's not possible.'
'You know that?'
'We know it.... So don't go confusing that stupid bastard, Swanson. I'll
level with you. This is strictly a money-line negotiation. We could have
completed it without any help from Washington, but they insisted - Swanson
insisted - that they have a man here. O.K., you're him. You can be helpful;
you can get the papers out and you speak the languages. But that's all
you've got to do. Don't call attention to yourself. We don't want anyone
upset.'
Grudgingly, David began to understand the subtle clarity of Brigadier
General Swanson's manipulation. Swanson had maneuvered him into a clean
position. The killing of Erich Rhinemann -whether he did it himself or
whether he bought the assassin - would be totally unexpected. Swanson
wasn't by any means the 'stupid bastard' Kendall thought he was. Or that
David had considered.
Swanson was nervous. A neophyte. But he was pretty damned good.
'All right. My apologies,'said Spaulding, indicating a sincerity he didn't
feel. perhaps the New York thing was exaggerated. I made enemies in
Portugal, I can't deny that.... I got out under cover, you know.'
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'rbere's no way the people in New York could know I left the city.'
'You're sure?'
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 30