The Great Game (A Captain Gringo Western Book 10)

by Lou Cameron

  “You can’t. The fuckin’ Limies are just down the street and they have a spyglass trained on our front door. The British agent watching our back door sits in a private house to the west, the turd. Can’t you fake up something for him, Marv? You must know his cover, right?”

  Captain Gringo tried not to laugh as he nodded and proceeded to roll out new I.D. for Gaston. Gaston was going to have a piss poor opinion of American Security when he got his new passport, but with fool proof travel documents their troubles were over. They’d sell the arms cheap, board the first tub out, and let everyone down here have their war in private!

  He was still working on Gaston’s papers when a tall younger man in U.S. Army dress blues came in with some papers. Captain Gringo looked for a hole in the floor to sink into. There didn’t seem to be any. Smitty said, “Howdy, Lieutenant Bronson. Do you know Major Marvin, here?”

  Bronson turned toward Captain Gringo with a pleasant smile, blinked in surprise, and said, “For God’s sake, what are you doing down here, Mr. Walker?”

  Captain Gringo sighed and said, “Oh, a little of this and a little of that. It’s been a long time, Bronson.”

  Bronson turned to Smitty and explained, “We were at the Point together. He was an upper classman when I was a plebe.”

  “Gave you a rough time, eh?”

  Bronson laughed and said, “As a matter of fact, old Walker, here, was one of the only upper classmen who never reamed my ass.” He turned back to Captain Gringo and added, “I’ve always meant to ask you about that, Old Buddy. Remember the night you saved my hide on interior guard?”

  Captain Gringo’s lips felt numb as he murmured, “Oh, I never saw much sense in that hazing shit.”

  Bronson chortled, “That’s for damned sure. I thought I’d shit when you were acting O.D. and caught me off my post.”

  “What the hell, a guy has to take a piss, he has to take a piss. It was no big deal. That brass cannon you were guarding was left over from the Revolutionary War and stuck in cement, anyway. Who the hell was going to steal it?”

  Bronson looked sort of dewy eyed as he shook his head and said, “I still owe you, Mister Walker. Or is it really Major, like Smitty says?”

  “Right now I’m supposed to be a civilian named Rogers. I don’t have to tell you what they do back in this office. What are you doing here in Venezuela, Bronson?”

  “Officially? Military Attaché, of course. Off the record, I’m with G2. Jesus, you must be G2, too, right?”

  “Uh, close enough. I’m not supposed to tell anybody, Bronson. Officially, I’m still in Washington, see?”

  “Oh, right. If the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand’s up to, nobody can keep track of the little pea under the shells. You’ll let me know if there’s anything my section can do for yours though, won’t you? I told you I owed you from our days at the Point together.”

  Captain Gringo got up from the desk and handed Gaston’s paper to Smitty, who glanced at it and passed it to one of his draftsmen, saying, “Good. Short and simple. Make sure you don’t put any back dated stamps connecting this M’sieu Chambrun with French Guiana, though. The lime juicers are keeping an eye on all the colonies down the coast while they expand north.”

  He turned back to Captain Gringo and Bronson to say, “It’ll take us an hour or so. You want to wait or come back for ’em?”

  Before Captain Gringo could answer, Lieutenant Bronson said, “You’ll have lunch with me, Old Buddy. Come on, I’ll show you the way, I understand the provincial governor is coming to lunch, here, today.”

  Captain Gringo followed him out into the hall, but he must have shown a little green around the gills because Bronson stopped him and asked, “What’s wrong? You look like you’re fixing to vomit!”

  Captain Gringo was. He knew the governor. The governor knew him. They’d parted last on friendly terms, aboard that steamboat he and Gaston had deserted, but the Venezuelan official was going to be very surprised to learn he was a recently arrived U.S. agent. Could he fake it? Did he dare?

  He said, “I’m wet as a drowned rat and you may have noticed this isn’t my best dinner jacket, Bronson.”

  “Hell, nobody cares. Who dresses for lunch in this steaming swamp, anyway? Come on, I’ll introduce you to the local international set. Some of the ladies aren’t bad, and all they do down here is sleep and screw.”

  Captain Gringo remained rooted and shook his head. “I’ll have to level with you, Bronson. I don’t want to meet anybody in high circles right now. I’m supposed to be a guy traveling in low circles, see?”

  “Oh, sure, stupid of me. I thought you just needed a shave. I forgot all about that crazy story about you. But it’s coming back to me, now. You were supposed to have gotten in some sort of a jam out west a while back, right?”

  “Yeah. I take it you read it in the Army Times?”

  “Sure. I knew right off it was some sort of plot to remove you from the active list. They wrote you up for a Dishonorable and then they let you officially escape, right?” Bronson laughed, boyishly, and added, “Boy, the bullshit some people will believe. You remember Chandler, in my class at the Point? He was with me on Governor’s Island when that story broke, and the asshole said he thought you were guilty of those crazy charges!”

  Captain Gringo swallowed and said, “Chandler always was sort of slow. You weren’t fooled, huh?”

  “Hell, no, I served under you at the Point, remember?”

  Captain Gringo remembered, and it made him swallow again. Bronson had been one of those lower classmen who just couldn’t keep out of the upper classmen’s way and he’d felt sorry for the kid. He’d never dreamed, the times he’d covered for the harassed plebe, that the shoe might be on the other foot. The Golden Rule made a lot of sense, when you gave it time to work.

  Bronson said he had to go to lunch, but he led his guest to a small secluded study down the hall and said, “You can wait for your papers in here, Old Buddy. Hardly anybody comes in here, but there’s a lock on the door if you really want to be alone. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could bring you a sandwich or some smokes.”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’ve eaten and I’ve got some smokes. You run along and show the flag.” But then, as Bronson turned to leave, he said, “Hey, Bron?”

  “Yeah, Walk?”

  “This war shit. Do you think the Brits are really going to invade?”

  “Sure looks like it. I can think of a lot of people I’d rather fight.”

  “That makes two of us. I guess, if push comes to shove, you’ll be okay here behind your desk, right?”

  Bronson shook his head, grimly, and said, “Desk, hell. I’ve put in for a field command. I hope the Brits are bluffing, but we’re not sure, and if the balloon goes up you’ll find yours truly on the front line with the rest of our guys!”

  Captain Gringo had been afraid he’d say something stupid like that. But he’d been young and eager, once, so he just nodded and said, “Good hunting, if I don’t see you again.”

  Bronson left. Captain Gringo took out a smoke and lit up, pacing the floor in his damp clothes. He knew he wasn’t really cold enough to be shivering so. Goddamn Grover Cleveland and goddamn Queen Victoria. Neither of them would have to fight this stupid little war they both seemed hell bent on having. Decent kids like Bronson, on both sides, would get to face each other in this green hell, and as if it wouldn’t be rough enough on the professionals, a mess of innocent Venezuelan natives would be in the power play’s crossfire they couldn’t possibly understand. He wasn’t putting them down as stupid peons. He didn’t understand it, either! They probably didn’t understand it in Washington or London. Stubborn old people with stubborn old pride were fighting for inches of paper on a country’s map none of them would ever see. He had a mad desire to drag old Grover and Queen Vickie into the swamps of the real delta and put them to work with machete and spade for a few days on the beans and rice of the simple folk who had to live off this b
rutal land. No politician would ever know the map like a peasant who worked it or a soldier who lost a comrade for every acre taken or lost!

  But what the hell, there was nothing he could do about it. The U.S. Army had kicked him out on his lonesome ass and they were welcome to this war on their own. He’d never considered his disgrace and renegade status a lucky break, before, but from what he’d seen of the delta around them he was just as glad he’d never have to lead troops through it!

  He blew a thoughtful smoke ring and muttered, “Who are we shitting? This is the big one, Old Buddy. The first war with a major power we’ve had since 1848 and you can’t come to the party!”

  The door opened and a feminine voice gleeped, “Oh!”

  He turned. It was Bubbles from the steamboat. She’d dyed her hair dark brown, but there was no forgetting a chest like that. She recognized him at the same time and said, “Dick, what on earth are you doing here at the U.S. Consulate? Don’t you know there’s a big reward out on Captain Gringo?”

  He swore softly under his breath and said, “Yeah, and I understand they don’t like British spies. But I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Bubbles, Maria, Linda, or whoever the hell she was came in and locked the door behind her, saying, “Silly thing, is that why you ducked out on me up the river a few days ago? Whatever gave you the impression I was a British spy?”

  “You did. You said you’d been waiting for me up the river to recruit me for some outfit. You talk in your sleep, too. You even answer questions. When I asked you how long you’d worked for Greystoke you said this was your first hitch. I’ve worked for Greystoke once or twice. He’s not only the big British spy master in these parts, he double crosses people a lot. So the rest is history. What the fuck are you doing? You can’t take your clothes off in here, Bubbles!”

  “Sure I can,” Bubbles said, “and a fuck is what I had in mind, you silly old growly bear. We were just getting down to the good positions on that steamboat when you ditched me in some mad snit and—”

  “Bubbles, for Christ’s sake, we’re in the U.S. Consulate, in broad daylight, and this study must belong to someone!”

  The heroically proportioned, now brunette dropped her dress in folds around her stocking-clad legs and stepped out of it like Venus rising from the foam, only Venus should have curves like that!

  Despite himself Captain Gringo felt his erection growing inside his damp pants as he stared at the pneumatic vision headed his way with a brazen smile on her painted lips. He’d had her before, and in many ways, but she was one of those women who acted on one’s appetite like potato chips. No matter how many crunches you had of her, you always seemed to want another.

  They called her “Bubbles” partly because she was sort of vague about her real name and mostly because Bubbles fit. She was beautifully put together, but seemed to consist of perfect spheres. Her high-stepping breasts rose like cantaloupes and her deep navel was set like an invisible jewel in the center of a flatter hemisphere of yummy tummy. She shaved her pubis, making it difficult to tell what color her hair really was, and her mons was a cute little ball of flesh, too, slit like a hot dog bun, and, speaking of hot dogs ...

  He found himself unbuttoning things even as he protested, “For God’s sake, Bubbles, what if somebody comes?” and she giggled and said, “I hope we both come, a lot! Why are you acting so shy, you silly? The door’s locked.”

  “I know, but if someone wants to get in—”

  “They can’t. We’ll tell them we’re fucking and to go away.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t you go away if you knocked on a door and the people inside told you they were fucking?”

  He laughed and said, “I guess I would. But you sure are confident, considering where we are.”

  She moved closer and started to help him strip as she soothed, “Oh, pooh, I’m here on official business. Or at least I was, until I met you again. Where shall we make love, darling? That leather couch looks comfy.”

  He dropped his last stitch on the floor, stepped out of his boots, and picked her up to squish across the room in his wet socks as he carried her to the inviting couch. He lowered her and mounted as she giggled and spread her silk sheathed limbs in welcome. The nice thing about meeting old friends was that he didn’t need any help in finding his way home. As he sank into her bubbly body, Bubbles started bouncing to meet his thrusts as she closed her eyes and sighed, “Oh, yes, that’s ever so much nicer than the last lover I had.”

  “Oh, you’ve had someone else since we were on that riverboat together?”

  “Of course. Haven’t you?”

  He laughed and said, “Bubbles, you are just about the wildest little thing I’ve run into and I’ve been running a while. Are you really as dumb as you sound or have you found other men find your uncomplicated approach to sex stimulating?”

  She wrapped her silky ankles around his waist and started moving from side to side as she replied, conversationally, “I’ve never seen why sex has to be complicated, dear. Heavens, if we spent half as much time getting down to eating as we do to even nicer satisfactions we’d all starve to death. Uh, would you move a little faster, Dick? I think I’m coming.”

  He did and she was. Bubbles obviously enjoyed her healthy orgasms, or she wouldn’t have had so many of them, but unlike most women, Bubbles came with the quiet enjoyment of a child sucking a lollypop. She smiled sweetly as a wave of dusky rose swept over her breasts and throat and her voice stayed simply friendly as she murmured, “Oh that was lovely. Can you keep going, dear?”

  He grunted, “Jesus, shut up a minute!” as he started pounding to satisfy his own lust. Bubbles giggled and dug her nails into his buttocks as he exploded inside her, went limp a moment, and then started moving again just enough to keep it hard. She said, “That’s what I like about you. You’re so polite in bed, Dick.”

  “We’re not in bed, we’re tearing off a quickie on somebody’s couch and we’re going to get caught! We’d better compare stories before the U.S. Marines kick that door in. I’m supposed to be here as a U.S. officer on some sort of mission. What the fuck are you supposed to be, this morning?”

  “A fuck is all I want to be, and it’s almost noon, dear. But if you must know, I’m here as a field rep for Woodbine Arms. Nobody’s going to fuss at me. It’s all legal and aboveboard. The Americans are backing the Venezuelan government, but they seem to be having a little trouble getting here with the goods. The people I work for, the people who sent me to recruit you, have arms and munitions of war on hand, so ...”

  He stopped in mid-stroke and gasped, “Jesus H. Christ! Are you working for Sir Basil Hakim, the Merchant of Death or whatever the hell he is?”

  “Of course. Move it a little faster, will you? Sir Basil heard you were over in the Amazon, raising some sort of hell, so, when he heard you were headed our way he sent me to head you off before any of the other factions could hire you. He said you’d worked for him before and he liked your style. Officially, of course, he’d never admit you were in the game.”

  The big American managed to crunch his little partner more to her liking as he muttered, “Oboy, I might have known! I’d give you a message for Sir Basil, but there are ladies present. How come you knew Greystoke of British Intelligence so well if you work for Woodbine Arms?”

  “I used to work for British Intelligence, but Woodbine pays better.”

  “So I hear, but I’ve had a little trouble getting my money out of Sir Basil in the past. Woodbine Arms is a British firm, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Skip it. A dope who thought the world was run on the level might just wonder why a British arms firm was arming people against a British invasion, but knowing Sir Basil, it’s a dumb question. Do you suppose the American government knows Basil Hakim double crosses people a lot?”

  “I imagine so. It’s been in all the papers. If you’re getting tired let me get on top.”

&nb
sp; He shook his head and said, “Haven’t time. Aside from not wanting to have to explain this ridiculous position, I have to go see about some papers.”

  “Oh, pooh, I wanted to come again. Where are you staying in town, Dick? Maybe we can get together after midnight. I’m having dinner with some Venezuelan big shot, but we could meet later and do this right, huh?”

  He started to lie his way out of it. Then, as he felt her contracting teasingly on his shaft he wondered what he was trying to prove. He didn’t know any other girls in town and she was fantastic, even on the fly like this. He said, “I’m at the Flamingo. But don’t count on me being there.”

  She didn’t answer and he could see why by the flush of her swollen nipples so he pounded her harder, she gasped, “Ohhh, nice!” and he kept going ’til he’d joined her in a happy surprise orgasm.

  They lay in each other’s arms for a few dreamy moments. Then he said, “Gotta go. Who’s this clown you’re seducing for Sir Basil tonight?”

  Her voice stayed innocent as she replied, “A Colonel Porfirio something. He works for some rebel faction, according to Sir Basil, and I don’t have to screw him unless he’s pretty. They want guns so bad they’ll pay double.”

  Captain Gringo dismounted with a frown, got their clothes, and tossed her dress to her as he sat down to haul his wet pants on, saying, “Let me get this straight – Woodbine Arms is selling guns to the regular Venezuelan army and navy to fight the British Empire, who licenses Woodbine Arms, and then, at the same time, Woodbine Arms is selling arms to the rebels who plan to overthrow the legitimate government and ... never mind, I never understood all the logic in Alice in Wonderland, either.”

  “Sir Basil says business is business,” said Bubbles, demurely, as she began to button her bodice with practiced fingers. He’d never met a gal who could get in and out of her clothes so fast and neat. He nodded and slid into his own clammy shirt as he said, “I told you I’ve met Sir Basil. By the way, does he really have nine inches?”