Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt

by The Rhineman Exchange [lit]

leased to Eugene Lyons and his $assistants.'

  'Here we are.' said Spaulding, opening the door.

  Lyons climbed out after David. He stood on the sidewalk and looked up at

  the quaint, colorful little house on the peaceful street. The trees by the

  curb were sculptured. Everything had a scrubbed look; there was an Old

  World serenity about the area. David had the feeling that Lyons had

  suddenly found something he'd been looking for.

  And then he thought he saw what it was. Eugene Lyons was looking up at a

  lovely resting place. A final resting place. A grave.

  324

  34

  There wasn't the time David thought there would be. He had told Stoltz to

  call him after five at C6rdoba; it was nearly four now.

  The first boats were coming into the piers, whistles blowing, men throwing

  and catching heavy ropes, nets everywhere, hanging out for the late drying

  rays of the sun.

  Ocho Calle was in the DArsena Norte, east of the Retiro freight yards in a

  relatively secluded section of La Boca. Railroad tracks, long out of use,

  were implanted in the streets along the row of warehouses. Ocho Calle was

  not a prime storage or loading area. Its access to the sea channels wasn't

  as cumbersome as the inner units of the La Plata, but the facilities were

  outmoded. It was as if the management couldn't decide whether to sell its

  fair waterfront real estate or put it into good operating order. The

  indecision resulted in virtual abandonment.

  Spaulding was in shirtsleeves; he had left Ballard's tan jacket at Terraza

  Verde. Over his shoulder was a large used net he had bought at an outdoor

  stall. The damn thing was rancid from rotting hemp and dead fish but it

  served its purpose. He could cover his face at will and move easily,

  comfortably among his surroundings - at one with them. David thought that

  should he ever - God forbid! - instruct recruits at Fairfax, he'd stress

  the factor of comfort. Psychological comfort. One could feel it

  immediately; just as swiftly as one felt the discomfort of artificiality.

  325

  He followed the sidewalk until it was no more. The final block of Ocho

  Calle was lined on the far side by a few old buildings and fenced-off

  abandoned lots once used for outside storage, now overgrown with tall

  weeds. On the water side were two huge warehouses connected to each other

  by a framed open area. The midships of a trawler could be seen moored

  between the two buildings. The next pier was across a stretch of water at

  least a quarter of a mile away. The Ocho Calle warehouses were secluded

  indeed.

  David stopped. The block was like a miniature peninsula; there were few

  people on it. No side streets, no buildings beyond the row of houses on his

  left, only what appeared to be other lots behind the houses and further

  pilings that were sunk into the earth, holding back the water of a small

  channel.

  The last stretch of Ocho Calle was a peninsula. The ware. houses were not

  only secluded, they were isolated.

  David swung the net off his right shoulder and hoisted it over his left.

  Two seamen walked out of a building; on the second floor a woman opened a

  window and shouted down, berating her husband about the projected hour of

  his return. An old man with dark Indian features sat in a wooden chair on

  a small, dilapidaied stoop in front of a filthy bait store. Inside, through

  the glass stained with salt and dirt, other old men could be seen drinking

  from wine bottles. In the last house, a ]one whore leaned out a first-floor

  window, saw David and opened her blouse, displaying a large, sagging

  breast. She squeezed it several times and pointed the nipple at Spaulding.

  Ocho Calle was the end of a particular section of the earth.

  He walked up to the old Indian, greeted him casually, and went into the

  bait store. The stench was overpowering, a combination of urine and rot.

  There were three men inside, more drunk than sober, nearer seventy than

  sixty.

  . The man behind the planked boards which served as a counter seemed

  startled to see a customer, not really sure what to do. Spaulding took a

  bill from his pocket - to the astonishment of all three surrounding him -

  and spoke in Spanish.

  'Do you have squid?'

  'No. . . . No, no squid. Very little supplies today,' answered the owner,

  his eyes on the bill.

  'What have you got?'

  :Worms. Qog meat, some cat. Cat is very good.'

  Give me a small container.'

  326

  The man stumbled backward, picked up pieces of intestine and wrapped them

  in a dirty newspaper. He put it on the plank next to the money. 'I have no

  change, sehor. . . .'

  'That's all right,' replied Spaulding. 'The money's for you. And keep the

  bait.'

  The man grinned, bewildered. 'Sehor?. .

  'You keep the money. Understand? ... Tell me. Who works over thereT David

  pointed at the barely translucent front window. 'In those big dock housesT

  .

  'Hardly anybody .... A few men come and go ... now and then. A fishing boat

  ... now and then.'

  'Have you been insideT

  'Oh, yes. Three, four years ago, I work inside. Big business, three, four..

  . . five years ago. We all work.' The other two old men nodded, chattering

  old men's chatter.

  'Not now?'

  'No, no.... All closed down. Finished. Nobody goes inside now. The owner is

  a very bad man. Watchmen break heads.'

  'WatchmenT

  'Oh, yes. With guns. Many guns. Very bad.'

  'Do automobiles come hereT

  'Oh, yes. Now and then.... One or two.... They don't give us work.'

  'Thank you. You keep the money. Thank you, again.' David crossed to the

  filthy storefront window, rubbed a small section of the glass and looked

  out at the block-long stretch of warehouse. It appeared deserted except for

  the men on the pier. And then he looked closer at those men.

  At first he wasn't sure; the glass - though rubbed - still had layers of

  film on the outside'pane; it wasn't clear and the men were moving about, in

  and out of the small transparent area.

  Then he was sure. And suddenly very angry.

  The men in the distance on the pier were wearing the same paran-dlitary

  clothes the guards at Rhinemann's gate had worn.

  They were Rhinemann's men.

  The telephone rang at precisely five thirty. The caller was not Stoltz, and

  because it wasn't, David refused to accept the instructions given him. He

  hung up and waited less than two minutes for the phone to ring again.

  'You are most obstinate,' said Erich Rhinemann. 'It is we who should be

  cautious, not you.'

  327

  'That's a pointless statement. I have no intention of following the

  directions of someone I don't know. I don't expect airtight controls but

  that's too loose.'

  Rhinemann paused. Then he spoke harshly. 'What happened last night?'

  11 told Stoltz exactly what happened to me. I don't know anything else.'

  'I don't believe you.' Rhinemann's voice was tense, sharp. his anger very

  close to the surface.

  'I'm sorry,' said David. 'But that
doesn't really concern me.'

  'Neither of those men could have left C6rdobal Impossiblel'

  'They left; take my word for it.... Look, I told Stoltz I don't want to get

  mixed up in your problems. . . .'

  'How do you know you're not ... mixed up?'

  It was, of course, the logical question and Spaulding realized that.

  'Because I'm here in my apartment, talking to you. According to Stoltz, the

  others are dead; that's a condition I intend to avoid. I'm merely

  purchasing some papers from you. Let's concentrate on that.'

  'We'll talk further on this subject,' said Rhinemann.

  'Not now. We have business to transact!

  Again the German Jew paused. 'Do as the man told you. Go to the Casa Rosada

  on the Plaza de Mayo. South gate. If you take a taxi, get off at the Julio

  and walk.'

  'Your men will pick me up when I leave the apartment, I assume!

  'Discreetly. To see if you're followed!

  'Then I'll walk from here. It'll be easier.'

  'Very intelligent. A car will be waiting for you at the Rosada. The same

  automobile that brought you here last evening.'

  'Will you be there?' asked David.

  :Of course not. But we'll meet shortly!

  I take the designs straight to TelmoT

  'If everything is clear, you may.'

  'I'll leave in five minutes. Will your men be ready?'

  Irbey are ready now,' answered Rhinemann. He hung up.

  David strapped the Beretta to his chest and put on his jacket. He went into

  the bathroom, grabbed a towel from the rack and rubbed his shoes, removing

  the Aeroparque and La Boca dirt from the leather. He combed his hair and

  patted talcum powder over the scratches on his face.

  He couldn't help but notice the dark crescents under his eyes.

  128

  He needed sleep badly, but there was no time. For his own sake - survival,

  really - he knew he had to take the time.

  He wondered when it would be.

  He returned to the telephone. He had two calls to make before he left.

  The first was to Jean. To ask her to stay in the embassy; he might have

  reason to call her. At any rate, he would talk to her when he returned. He

  said he would be with Eugene Lyons at Terraza Verde. And that he loved her.

  The second call was to Henderson Granville.

  'I told you I wouldn't involve the embassy or yourself in my work here,

  sir. If that's changed it's only because a man on your staff closed a naval

  surveillance file improperly. I'm afraid it directly affects me.'

  'How do you mean "improperly"? That's a serious implication.' If not a

  chargeable offense.'

  'Yes, sir. And for that reason it's imperative we raise no alarm, keep

  everything very quiet. It's an Intelligence matter.'

  'Who is this man?' asked Granville icily.

  'An attach6 named Ellis. William Ellis - please don't take any action,

  sir.' Spaulding spoke rapidly, emphatically. 'He may have been duped; he

  may not have been. Either way we can't have him alerted.'

  'Very well. I follow you.... Then why have you told me ... if you want no

  action taken?'

  'Not against Ellis, sir. We do need a clarification on the surveillance.'

  David described the warehouses on Ocho Calle and the trawler moored between

  the two buildings.

  Granville interrupted quietly. 'I remember the report. Naval surveillance.

  It was a lading destination . . let me think.'

  'Tortugas,' supplied Spauldini.

  'Yes, that was it. Coastal violations. An error, of course. No fishing boat

  would attempt such a trip. The actual destination was Torygos, a small port

  in northern Uruguay, I think.'

  David thought for a second. Jean hadn't mentioned the switchor similarity

  -of names. 'That may be, sir, but it would be advantageous to know the

  cargo.'

  'It was listed. Farm machinery, I believe.'

  'We don't think so,' said Spaulding.

  'Well, we have no right to inspect cargo. . .

  'Mr. Ambassador?' David cut off the old gentleman. 'Is there anyone in the

  junta we can trust, compktely trust?'

  M9

  Granvilles reply was hesitant, cautious; Spaulding understood. 'One. Two,

  perhaps.'

  'I won't ask you their names, sir. I will ask you to request their help.

  With priority security measures. Those warehouses are guarded ... by Erich

  Rhinemann's men.'

  'Rhinemann?' The ambassador's distaste carried over the telephone. That was

  an asset, thought David.

  'We have reason to believe he's aborting a negotiation ortying contraband

  into it. Smuggling, sir. We have to know what that cargo is.' It was all

  David could think to say. A generalization without actual foundation. But

  if men were willing to kill and be killed for 'Tortugas,' perhaps that was

  foundation enough. If Fairfax could list the name on his transfer orders

  without telling him - that was more than enough.

  'I'll do what I can, Spaulding. I can't promise anything, of course.'

  'Yes, sir. I realize. And thank you.'

  The Avenida de Mayo was jammed with traffic, the Plaza worse. At the end of

  the square the pinkish stone of Casa Rosada reflected the orange flood of

  the setting sun. Befitting a capital controlled by soldiers, thought David.

  He crossed the Plaza, stopping at the fountain, recalling yesterday and

  Leslie Jenner Hawkwood. Where was she now? In Buenos Aires; but where? And

  more important, why?

  The answer might lie in the name 'Tortugas' and a trawler in Ocho Calle.

  He circled the fountain twice, then reversed his steps once, testing

  himself, testing Erich Rhinemann. Where were the men watching him? Or were

  they women?

  Were they in cars or taxis or small trucks? Circling as he was circling?

  He spotted one. It wasn't hard to do. The man had seated himself on the

  edge of the fountain's pool, the tail of his jacket in the water. He'd sat

  down too quickly, trying to be inconspicuous.

  David started across the pedestrian walk - the same pedestrian walk he'd

  used following Leslie Hawkwood - and at the first traffic island waited for

  a change of light. Instead of crossing, however, he walked back to the

  fountain. He stepped up his pace and sat down at the pool's edge and

  watched the crosswalk.

  The man with the wet jacket emerged with the next contingent of pedestrians

  and looked anxiously around. Finally he saw Spaulding.

  330

  David waved.

  The man turned and raced back across the street.

  Spaulding ran after him, just making the light. The man did not look back;

  he seemed hell-bent to reach a contact, thought David; to have someone take

  over, perhaps. The man turned left at the Casa Rosada and Spaulding

  followed, keeping himself out of sight.

  The'man reached a comer and to David's surprise he slowed down, then

  stopped and entered a telephone booth.

  It was a curiously amateurish thing to do, mused Spaulding. And it told him

  something about Erich Rhinemann's personnel: they weren't as good as they

  thought they were.

  There was a long blasting of a hom that seemed louder than the normally

  jarring sounds of the Mayo's traffic. The single hom triggered othe
r homs

  and in a few seconds a cacophony of strident honking filled the streets.

  David looked over. It was nothing; an irritated motorist had momentarily

  reached the end of his patience. Everything returned to normal chaos with

  the starting up of the automobiles at the crosswalk.

  And then there was a scream. A woman's scream. And another; and still

  another.

  A crowd gathered around the telephone booth.

  David pushed his way through, yanking arms, pulling shoulders, shoving. He

  reached the edge of the booth and looked inside.

  The man with the wet jacket was slumped awkwardly to the floor of the tiny

  glass enclosure, his legs buckled under him, his arms st ' retched above,

  one hand still gripping the telephone receiver so that the wire was taut.

  His head was sprung back from his neck. Blood was streaming down the back

  of his skull. Spaulding looked up at the walls of the booth. On the street

  side were three distinct holes surrounded by cracked glass.

  He heard the piercing sounds of police whistles and pushed his way back

  through the crowd. He reached the iron fence that surrounded the Casa

  Rosada, turned right and started rapidly around the building to the south

  side.

  To the south gate.

  The Packard was parked in front of the entrance, its motor running. A man

  about his size approached him as David started for the automobile.

  'Colonel Spaulding?'

  'Yes?'

  'If you'll hurry, please?' The man opened the back door and

  331

  David climbed in quickly.

  Heinrich Stoltz greeted him. 'You've had a long walk. Sit. The ride will be

  relaxing.'

  'Not now.' David pointed to the panels below the front dashboard. 'Can you

  reach Rhinemann on that thing? Right away?,

  'We're in constant contact. Why?'

  'Get him. Your man.was just killed.'

  'Our manT

  :The one following me. He was shot in a telephone booth.'

  He wasn't our man, colonel. And we shot him,' said Stoltz calmly.

  I What?'

  'The man was known to us. He was a hired killer out of Rio de Janeiro. You

  were his target.'

  Stoltz's explanation was succinct. They'd picked up the killer within

  moments after David left his apartment house. He was a Corsican, deported

  out of Marseilles before the war; a gun for the Unio Corso who had murdered