time.
She saw him before he spoke. Her eyes widened, her jaw fell, her whole body
trembled visibly. The blood drained from her suntanned face.
'You have two alternatives, Leslie,' said Spaulding as he came within a
foot of her, looking down at her terrified face. 'The embassy is right up
there; it's United States territory. You'll be arrested as a citizen
interfering with national security, if not espionage. Or you can come with
me.... And answer questions. Which will it be?'
The taxi took them to the airport, where Spaulding rented a car with the
papers identifying him as 'Donald Scanlan, mining surveyor.' They were the
sort of identifications he carried when making contact with such men as
Heinrich Stoltz.
He had held Leslie by the arm with sufficient pressure to wam her not to
attempt running; she was his prisoner and he was deadly serious about the
fact. She said nothing at all during the ride to the airport, she simply
stared out the window, avoiding his eyes.
Her only words at the rental counter were, 'Where are we going?'
His reply was succinct: 'Out of Buenos Aires.'
He followed the river road north toward the outskirts, into the hills above
the city. A few miles into the Sante F6 province, the
275
Rio Lujin curved westward, and he descended the steep inclines onto the
highway paralleling the water's edge. It was the territory of the Argentine
rich. Yachts were moored or cruising slowly; sailboats of all classes were
lazily catching the upriver winds, tacking harmoniously among the tiny green
islands which sprung out of the water like lush gardens. Private roads
veered off the highway - now subtly curving west, away from the water.
Enonnous villas dotted the banks; nothing was without visual effect.
He saw a road to his left that was the start of a hill. He swung up into
it, and after a mile there was a break in the bordering forest and a sign
in front of a flat, graveled area.
Vigia Tigre.
A lookout. A courtesy for tourists.
He drove the car to the front of the parking ground and pulled to a stop,
next to the railing. It was a weekday; there were no other automobiles.
Leslie had said nothing throughout the hour's ride. She had smoked
cigarettes, her hands trembling, her eyes refusing to make contact with
his. And through experience, David knew the benefits of silence under such
conditions.
The girl was close to breaking.
'All right. Now come the questions.' Spaulding turned in the seat and faced
her. 'And please believe me, I won't hesitate to run you into military
arrest if you refuse.'
She swung her head around and stared at him angrily - yet still in fear.
'Why didn't you do that an hour ago?'
'Two reasons,' he answered simply. 'Once the embassy is involved, I'd be
locked into a chain of command; the decisions wouldn't be mine. I'm too
curious to lose that control.... And second, old friend, I think you're in
way the hell over your head. What is it, Leslie? What are you intoT
She put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled as though her life depended
on the smoke. She closed her eyes briefly and spoke barely above a whisper.
'I can't tell you. Don't force me to.'
He sighed. 11 don't think you understand. I'm. an Intelligence officer
assigned to Clandestine Operations - I'm not telling you anything you don't
know. You made it possible for my hotel room to be searched; you lied; you
went into hiding; for all I know, you were responsible for several assaults
which nearly cost me my life. Now, you turn up in Buenos Aires, four
thousand
276
miles away from that Park Avenue apartment. You followed me four thousand
miles I ... Why?
'I can't tell you! I haven't been told what I can tell you!'
'You haven't been ... Christ! With what I can piece together - and testify
to - you could spend twenty years in prison!'
'I'd like to get out of the car. May IT she said softly, snuffing out her
cigarette in the ashtray.
'Sure. Go ahead.' David opened his door and rapidly came around the
automobile. Leslie walked to the railing, the waters of the Rio Lujin far
below in the distance.
'It's very beautiful here, isn't it?9
'Yes.... Did you try to have me killed?'
'Oh, God!9 She whirled on him, spitting out the words. 'I tried to save
your life I I'm here because I don't want you killed!'
It took David a few moments to recover from the girl's statement. Her hair
had fallen carelessly around her face, her eyes blinking back tears, her
lips trembling.
'I think you'd better explain that,' he said in a quiet monotone.
She turned away from him and looked down at the river, the villas, the
boats. 'It's like the Riviera, isn't iff
'Stop it, Leslie!'
'Why? It's part of it.' She put her hands on the railing. 'It used to be
all there was. Nothing else mattered. Where next; who next? What a lovely
party! ... You were part of it.'
'Not really. You're wrong if you thought that. Just as you're wrong now....
I won't be put off.'
'I'm not putting you off.' She gripped the railing harder; it was a
physical gesture telegraphing her indecision with her words. 'I'm trying to
tell you something.'
'That you followed me because you'wanted to save my Ufe?' He asked the
question with incredulity. 'You were filled with dramatics in New York,
too, if I recall. You waited, how long was it? Five, six, eight years to
get me on the boathouse floor again. You're a bitch.'
'And you're insignificantV She flung the words at him in heat. And then she
subsided, controlling herself. 'I don't mean you ... you. Just compared to
everything else. We're all insignificant in that sense.'
'So the lady has a cause.'
Leslie stared at him and spoke softly. 'One she believes in very deeply.-
277
.'Then you should have no reservations explaining it to me.'
'I will. I promise you. But I can't now.... Trust meV
'Certainly,' said David casually. And then he suddenly whipped out his
hand, grabbing her purse, which hung from her shoulder by a leather strap.
She started to resist; he looked at her. She stopped and breathed deeply.
He opened the purse and took out the envelope she had been given at the
fountain in the Plaza de Mayo. As he did so, his eyes caught sight of a
bulge at the bottom of the bag, covered by a silk scarf. He held the
envelope between his fingers and reached down. He separated the scarf from
the object and pulled out a small Remington revolver. Without saying
anything, he checked the chamber and the safety and put the weapon in his
jacket pocket.
'I've leamed to use it,' said Leslie tentatively.
'Good for you,' replied Spaulding, opening the envelope.
'At least you'll see how efficient we are,' she said turning, looking down
at the river.
There was no letterhead, no origin of writer or organization. The heading
on the top of the paper read:
Spaul&ny. David. Lt. Col. Military Intelligence.
<
br /> U.S. Army. Ciassification 4-0. Fairfax.
Beneath were five complicated paragraphs detailing every move he had made
since he was picked up on Saturday afternoon entering the embassy. David
was pleased to see that 'Donald Scanlan' was not mentioned; he'd gotten
through the airport and customs undetected.
Everything else was listed: his apartment, his telephone, his office at the
embassy, the incident on the C6rdoba roof, the lunch with Jean Cameron at
La Boca, the meeting with Kendall at the hotel, the assault on the Avenida
Parani, his telephone call in the store on Rodriguez Pefia.
Everything.
Even the 'lunch' with Heinrich Stoltz at the Langosta del Mar, on the
border of Lezurna. The meeting with Stoltz was estimated to last 'a minimum
of one hour.'
It was the explanation for her leisurely pace on the Avenida de Mayo. But
David had cut the meeting short; there'd been no lunch. He wondered if he
had been picked up after he'd left the
278
restaurant. He had not been concerned. His thoughts had been on Heinrich
Stoltz and the presence of a Gestapo Stoltz knew nothing about.
'Your people are very thorough. Now, who are they?'
'Men . . . and women who have a calling. A purpose. A great calling.'
'That's not what I asked you. . . .
There was the sound of an automobile coming up the hill below the parking
area. Spaulding reached inside his jacket for his pistol. The car came into
view and proceeded upward, past them. The people in the car were laughing.
David turned his attention back to Leslie.
'I asked you to trust me,' said the girl. 'I was on my way to an address on
that street, the boulevard called Julio. I was to be there at one thirty.
They'll wonder where I am.'
'You're not going to answer me, are you?'
'I'll answer you in one way. I'm here to convince you to get out of Buenos
Aires.'
4'Why?.
'Whatever it is you're doing - and I don't know what it is, they haven't
told me - it can't happen. We can't let it happen. It's wrong.'
'Since you don't know what it is, how can you say it's wrong?'
'Because I've been told. That's enough!'
'Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Ffihrer,' said David quietly. 'Get in the car!'
'No. You've got to listen to me! Get out of Buenos Aires! Tell your
generals it can't be doneV
'Get in the car I'
There was the sound of another automobile, this time coming from the
opposite direction, from above. David put his hand once more under his
jacket, but then removed it casually. It was the same vehicle with the
laughing tourists that had passed by moments ago. They were still laughing,
still gesturing; probably drunk with luncheon wine.
'You can't take me to the embassy I You can't V
'If you don't get in the car, you'll just wake up there I Go on.'
There was the screeching of tires on the gravel. The descending automobile
had turned abruptly - at the last second - and swung sharply into the
parking area and come to a stop.
David looked up and swore to himself, his hand immobile
279
inside his jacket.
17wo high-powered rifles protruded from the open windows of the car. They
were aimed at him.
The heads of the three filen inside were covered with silk stockings, the
faces flattened, grotesque beyond the translucent masks. The rifles were
held by one man next to the driver and by another in the back.
The man in the rear opened the door, his rifle held steady. He gave his
command in a calm voice in English.
'Get in the car, Mrs. Hawkwood. . . . And you, colonel. Remove your weapon
by the handle - with two fingers.'
David did so.
'Walk to the railing,' commanded the man in the back seat, and drop it over
the side, into the woods.'
David complied. The man got out of the car to let Leslie climb in. He then
returned to his seat and closed the door.
There ' was the gunning of the powerful engine and the sound once more of
spinning tires over the loose gravel. The car lurched forward out of the
parking area and sped off down the hill.
David stood by the railing. He would go over it and find his pistol. There
was no point in trying to follow the automobile with Leslie Hawkwood and
three men in stocking masks. His rented car was no match for a Duesenberg.
280
29
The restaurant had been selected by Jean. It was out of the way in the north
section of the city, beyond Palermo Park, a place for assignation. Telephone
jacks were in the wall by the booths; waiters could be seen bringing phones
to and from the secluded tables.
He was mildly surprised that Jean would know such a restaurant. Or would
choose it for them.
'Where did you go this afternoon?' she asked, seeing him looking out over
the dim room from their booth.
'A couple of conferences. Very dull. Bankers have a penchant for prolonging
any meeting way beyond its finish. The Strand or Wall Street, makes no
difference.' He smiled at her.
'Yes.... Well, perhaps, they're always looking for ways to extract every
last dollar.'
'No "perhal5s." That's it. . . . This is quite a place, by the way. Reminds
me of Lisbon.'
'Rome,' she said. 'It's more like Rome. Way out. Via Appia. Did you know
that the Italians comprise over thirty per cent of the population in Buenos
AiresT
'I knew it was considerable.'
'The Italian hand. . . . That's supposed to mean evil.'
,or clever. Not necessarily evil. The"fine Italian hand" is usually
envied.'
'Bobby brought me here one night. . . . I think he brings lots
281
of girls here.'
'It's . . . discreet.'
'I think he was worried that Henderson might find out be had dishonorable
designs. And so he brought me here.'
'Which confirms his designs.'
'Yes. . . . It's for lovers. But we weren't.'
'I'm glad you chose it for us. It gives me a nice feeling of security.'
'Oh, no! Don't look for that. No one's in the market for that this year.
No. . . . Security's out of the question. And commitments. Those, too. No
commitments for sale.'She took a cigarette from his open pack; he lit it
for her. Over the flame he saw her eyes staring at him. Caught, she glanced
downward, at nothing.
'What's the matter?'
'Nothing. . . . Nothing at all.' She smiled, but only the outlines were
there; not the ingenuousness, not the humor. 'Did you talk to that man
Stoltz?'
'Good Lord, is that what's bothering you? . . . I'm sorry, I suppose I
should have said something. Stoltz was selling fleet information; I'm in no
position to buy. I told him to get in touch with Naval Intelligence. I made
a report to the base commander at FMF this morning. If they want to use
him, they will.'
'Strange he should call you.'
'That's what I thought. Apparently German surveillance picked me up the
other day and the financial data was on their sheet. That was enough for
Stoltz.'
<
br /> :He's a defector?'
Or selling bad stuff. It's FMF's problem, not mine.'
'You're very glib.' She drank her coffee unsteadily.
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing. . . . Just that you're quick. Quick and facile. You must be very
good at your work.'
'And you're in a godawful mood. Does an excess of gin bring it on?'
:Oh, you think I'm drunk?'
You're not sober. Not that it matters.' He grinned. 'You're hardly an
alcoholic.'
. 'Thanks for the vote of confldence. But don't speculate. That implies some
kind of permanence. We must avoid that, mustn% we?'
'Must we? It seems to be a point with you tonight. It wasn't
282
a problem I was considering.'
'You just brushed it aside, I assume. I'm sure you have other, more
pressing matters.' In replacing her cup, Jean spilled coffee on the
tablecloth. She was obviously annoyed with herself. 'I'm doing it badly,'
she said after a moment of silence.
'You're doing it badly,' he agreed.
'I'm frightened.'
'Of what?'
'You're not here in Buenos Aires to talk to bankers, are you? It's much
more than that. You won't tell me, I know. And in a few weeks, you'll be
gone . . . if you're alive.'
'You're letting your imagination take over.' He took her hand; she crushed
out her cigarette and put her other hand over his. She gripped him tightly.
'All right. Let's say you're right.' She spoke quietly now; he had to
strain to hear her. 'I'm making everything up. I'm crazy and I drank too
much. Indulge me. Play the game for a minute.'
'If you want me to . . . O.K.'
'It's hypothetical. My David isn't a State Department syndromer, you see.
He's an agent. We've had a few here; I've met them. The colonels call
themprovocarios.... So, my David is an agent and being an agent is called
. . . high-risk something-orother because the rules are different. That is,
the rules don't have any meaning.... There aren't any rules for these
people ... like my hypothetical David. Do you follow?'
'I follow,' he replied simply. 'I'm not sure what the object is or how a
person scores.'
'We'll get to that.' She drank the last of her coffee, holding the cup
firmly - too firmly; her fingers shook. 'The point is, such a man as my .
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 34