Montezuma's Revenge

by Harry Harrison

  “Yes?” the driver said, stopping the cab.

  “You are for hire?”

  “With great certainty.”

  “I would like to go to Cuernavaca,” fumbling for his money, “but there is, what might be called, a little difference of familial opinion. There is a certain woman involved …” He let his eyelid droop and raise slowly in a terribly conspiratorial manner while passing over a hundred-peso note at the same time. “This is of course in addition to the fare.”

  “Command me!”

  “I simply wish to dispose myself upon the floor of your fine vehicle until we are out of sight of the hotel. My wife …”

  “Understood, everything, enter please, we leave for Cuernavaca.”

  Tony slid in through the open door and lay flat, knees tucked, up, an empty package of Alas cigarettes under his head. The cab lurched into motion and ground its way toward the gate, speeding up—then instantly slowing almost to a stop while Tony’s heart behaved in an identical manner.

  “Your fly-infested burro is a blight to the eyes and a hazard upon the road,” the cab driver called out cheerily toward an uns party.

  “Keep this moving,” an ofEcial voice said just outside the window, almost stopping Tony’s heart completely. Then the cab moved on.

  Done. He lay on the floor a bit longer until the weakness had drained away, then crawled up onto the seat.

  “Simple enough,” the driver said, dodging around a wooden oxcart that rode upon automobile wheels and tires, narrowly missing

  explosive destruction against the grill of a truck coming in the opposite direction, both drivers blowing their horns steadily in chivalristic challenge. “Is there a particular address you wish to go to?”

  “There is, but I prefer to get out in the town square.”

  “A wise man needs no instructors!”

  The driver lifted both hands skyward in a gesture of appreciation irregardless of the fact that the cab then proceeded to slew across the road in the direction of an irrigation ditch, regaining control only at the last instant. In this heartily enthusiastic manner they proceeded to Cuernavaca where Tony paid and tipped again, then sought the solace of the nearest bar for a large brandy. There were some hours yet before he had to be in Cuautla, which necessitated passing the entrance to Cocoyoc again, so prudence dictated that he remain here as long as possible. It was not hard to do. The bartender produced a gratuitous plate of cacahuates picantes, peanuts rolled in red pepper, which did fine things for his thirst necessitating beer as well as brandy to slake the fires below. As the sun crept down toward the mountainous horizon his spirits rose in counterpoint until, when he went to find the Cuautla bus, he was feeling no pain at all. The trip was an easy one, and even had one moment of bittersweet pleasure when they stopped at Cocoyoc and he peeked out at the stir and bustle of police cars from behind the security of Terras Guide to Mexico. Lieutenant Gonzales must be very annoyed.

  Cuautla was bursting with people as the siesta ended and the sleepers emerged for the joys of evening. Without much difficulty he located the drugstore of the two volcanoes, early as it proved, leaving more than enough time for another brandy. At six precisely he walked through the wide-open front of the store and addressed himself to the gray-haired woman with the purple birthmark who sat behind the cash register.

  “Enterovioform, if you please.”

  She coughed moistly in response, took the slim white package from the shelf behind her without rising, then wrapped it in a

  square of brown paper. “Six pesos, fifty.”

  He fumbled for his money, not realizing beforehand that a 1 mate purchase would be involved, paid and left with his regulatory prize. Farther down the street he found a doorway in which he could unwrap the box, nor was he very surprised to find within the paper.

  WALK NORTH ON AVENUE FIFTH OF MAY

  Since he was already on that street, proceeding in the indicated direction, he continued on his way, pills in pocket, bag in hand, book clamped under arm, feeling that unseen eyes were following his every motion. As indeed they were. Two blocks farther on he crossed a street, sealed off for vehicular traffic by an excava and stacked pipes, where a firm hand seized his arm and an e firmer voice grated in his ear.

  “Into that car, schnell!”

  As they jumped in, the black Packard pulled out, even before the doors were closed. A neat ploy, anyone following on foot would be left behind, while there was no way for a pursuing car to follow at all. Tony glanced sideway at a familiar bulldog jaw, scarred cheeks, shaven head.

  “Is the painting in there?” Robl asked, jerking a thick thumb at the airline bag.

  “No. Inside this book. You want to see it?”

  His only reply was a negative grunt as the car squealed around a corner and out of the back streets, sped down the highway and across a bridge spanning wide sandy flats cut by a small stream in the middle, then rushed through the outskirts of town. It v faster now through the cornfields, then spun left at a fork where a sign indicated the road to Agua Hedionda. Stinking water? Tony remembered, sulphur baths here, favored spot of the Aztecs, Spanish spa, still valued by the tourists, great curative powers theoretically lurking in their sulphurous depths.

  “Nummer?” the driver asked, turning his head to throw the word over his shoulder, as solid-necked and shaved-headed as Robl; only his scars were in different places.

  “Dm?’

  This information was received with a Teutonic grunt of affirmation and the car passed through the public parking lot of the baths

  and went on to a smaller lot labeled albercas privadas, clientes solamente, this sign being set next to a high wall pierced with numbered doors. Robl pushed Tony ahead of him when they stopped outside number three, reaching over his shoulder to knock loudly on the door. It opened a crack while a dark eye looked them over, then it swung wide.

  Inside was a private swimming pool, rentable by the hour for those who took no pleasure in sharing their bath water with the common masses. It was equably suitable for clandestine meetings. D’Isernia, who had admitted them, slipped his shiny revolver inside the towel he was carrying and sprawled back comfortably on a lounge chair. He was dressed for the occasion in swimming trunks patterned with multichrome seashells; the white hair on his chest and legs matching in quantity that of his full beard and flowing locks.

  “Join me, if you please, Signore Hawkin. Many things have happened since we last met. Is the door secured, Kurt? Good. Now, sit here by me. Might I assume that the book you are carrying contains the Cellini painting?”

  “Yes. You get it open by prying the front cover, carefully though.”

  “Your knife, Kurt.”

  Robl produced a large knife from his hip pocket which snicked open wickedly when he pressed a button. With a delicate touch D’Isernia worked the point around the cover until it was free and he could open it. Inside, on a bed of soft cloth, lay the wooden panel of the painting.

  “Lovely, simply lovely. I am really quite relieved to see it again, since for a while there I was afraid that it and you were both gone forever. You were not exactly frank at our last meeting, were you, Hawkin?”

  “I didn’t hide anything.”

  “I beg to differ.” Behind him Robl snorted and smiled coldly. “As our friend here suggests, concealing the fact that you killed your associate Mr. Davidson is more than a little something. Had I known that within hours you would be a fugitive from the police I would never have entrusted this valuable painting to you.”

  “Look, I did not kill Davidson, and I wish people would stop thinldng that I did.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Though it was almost dark the walled enclosure still held the heat of the day. “And I did return the painting as promised and on time.”

  “Wearing the disguise of a Mexican bourgeois? But, that is all beside the point, and the painting is here as I said. My duty is not to enforce the Mexican law and you may decimate your FBI ranks completely with your knife work for a
ll I care. But please wait until our little business deal is completed. While you have been playing your games with the police I have been dealing with your associate, Mr. Sones, and we have agreed upon terms. He will provide a million dollars in used bank notes of v denominations; in exchange for this you will receive the painting of the heroic and historical ‘Battle of Anghiari.’”

  “And what about the painting here, the Cellini ‘St. Sebastian5?”

  “I will retain possession of it until the other sale is completed. A hostage to good fortune, you might say, just to make sure that nothing goes wrong. Then this will be sold to your government as well. Sones and I are still discussing the price, which shall be high. But the first transaction is what we care about now. Yon will examine the painting to assure your superiors of its authenticity.”

  “Did Sones say I should do that?”

  “Reluctantly, I assure you. He had another authority he wanted to send instead, a Lizveta Zlotnikova …”

  “Rote Schweine! Kormnunistr Robl banged one hard fist into his open palm angrily, a fine spray of saliva blowing out with every word. “We will not have her.”

  “There seems to be some belief in certain quarters that she is a Soviet agent, and we did not feel it would be wise to inform the U.S.S.R. of our activities at the present time. However, we will permit you to take samples of the paint and canvas for her examination. Ours is a straightforward business deal and we take pride in our product and want to have only satisfied customers.”

  “What next then?”

  montezuma’s revenge

  D’Isernia waved his hand at the door. Robl took his knife back and began to stolidly clean his nails with the point.

  “The car is waiting outside to take you to a local hotel, the Vasco. A room has been reserved for you in the name of John Smith—”

  “Oh, that’s really original.”

  “You will wait there until we send for you. And while you are waiting you will contact your associates to determine if the money has arrived, for we will not proceed until we know it is here. If all is as it should be you will examine the painting tomorrow so that tomorrow night the exchange will be made. Do you understand that?”

  “It sounds simple enough.” He was hot and very thirsty and it was not that simple, and the sight of the German whittling his cuticles with the knife also did nothing to make him feel any better. “Can I go now?”

  “Any time you wish. But stay in your room until we call. I do not wish the police to pick you up at this time.”

  “Your concern for my welfare is touching. I’ll see you.”

  The same car was waiting outside, the bullet-headed Teutonic driver still planted solidly behind the wheel as though he were bolted in place.

  “Do you know where to take me?”

  Another great conversationalist. What next? He had to find some way of contacting Sones without being grabbed by the police, and could think of no way. Yet he did not dare admit this to his hosts since it might jeopardize the entire operation. More and more he was beginning to feel that he was not cut out for this kind of thing; the buoyancy of the alcohol had worn off and had been replaced by depression.

  They ground up the road away from the resort and when they were on the highway again, with no other cars in sight, the driver turned around and looked sternly at Tony.

  “Gornischt” he said.

  Twelve

  The suddenness of this revelation took Tony off guard and he gaped speechlessly while trying to get his thoughts into gear as the driver went slower and slower and his scowl deepened.

  “Gornischt, that’s right,” Tony said. “No names, right. But You Know Who told me that I’m supposed to answer, give me a second.” He raked through his memory desperately until the countersign finally surfaced.

  “Hilfen!”

  “Correct. But you should be more alert, Hawkin, if you wish to remain alive in this business.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to remain in this business at all. But you knew the password—then you’re not a renegade Nazi like Robl?”

  “Hardly. I am an Israeli now, but it was my dubious privilege to be born in Germany. I was happily teaching chemistry at the University of Tel Aviv until that Goldstein talked me into helping out here. Like you I wish only to see this matter finished, and to return to my laboratory.”

  “Amen!”

  “I agree. But for the moment I am Heinrich. Too newly arrived to be in the center of German expatriate matters here, they trust no one, but familiar enough now to be hired to do odd jobs like chauffeuring. As long as I am here I am your contact. Do you have anything to report to Jacob?”

  “No more than you know, probably. I’ve made the contact with Robl and D’Isernia. There has been no mention of Hoeh-hande or anyone else involved in this matter. I’m supposed to

  stay at this hotel until they contact me again so I can examine the painting.”

  “All right, I’ll take you to the hotel now. You must let me know at once if you have any more information.”

  The car moved forward quickly again and Tony called out.

  “Wait, slow down. Can you contact Goldstein right now?”

  “Assuredly.”

  “Fine, then listen, tell him where I am staying and ask him to get a message to Sones in casta seven at the Hacienda Cocoyoc. Let Sones know where I am and have him get in touch with me at once. But the phone is surely tapped and Sones is being watched closely, so he will have to do this contact in an undercover fashion.”

  “As your American expression goes, do not teach your grandmother to suck eggs. It will be done.”

  The Hotel Vasco was on the highway, cryptocolonial architecture, red-tiled roof, palm surrounded. Tony signed “John Smith” on the register under the indifferent eye of the clerk, filling in the other spaces on the form with information created on the spot. The room was large, airy, cool, comfortable, and Jacob Goldstein worked very fast indeed. After a short nap Tony found his appetite had returned, but before he ordered anything something had to be done about the elements of his disguise that were becoming decidedly uncomfortable. The rings that widened his nostrils slipped out easily enough, but taking out the pads in his cheeks and behind his lips was something else again. The adhesive was indeed adhesive and the inside of his mouth was sore before he had worried the pads out. But food would take care of that. Discomfort was forgotten as he ordered up a small dinner of guacamole salad, turkey mole, % small portion of chicken enchiladas and beef tacos, along with a half bottle of a red Santo Tomas wine, followed by a pastry so sweet it hurt his teeth. This all went down quite easily and he was lighting a large La Prueba cigar, dark aromatic leaf of Veracruz, when there was a soft sort of subservient knock on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I have come for the tray, senor?”

  “Just a moment.”

  He unlocked the door and Sones pushed in with finger to lips, frowning fiercely, making hushing motions with his other hand. Tony stood aside and gaped in silence while Billy Schultz followed, winking conspiratorially and carrying with great ease I immense suitcases. He was followed by a stranger, a large, hulking man wearing a lumpy brown suit and carrying yet another suitcase in one hand, a drawn automatic pistol in the other. I bag carriers placed their burdens down without a sound and sat on them; Sones rattled the dishes loudly as he loaded the tray and put it out in the hall.

  “Thank you, senor” he said, closing and locking the door from the inside and waving Tony after him to the bathroom. He closed this door behind them as well, made a quick search of the and electrical fittings, then flushed the toilet.

  “We got your message,” he whispered. “I have no idea you arranged it but it showed good thinking, you know, how it arrived. You’re shaping up a bit better.”

  Tony nodded and waved his hand in a dismissing motion, taking silent credit for Goldstein’s work. It was about time someone gave him credit for something, even though undeserved.

  “What’s this with al
l the people and bags?”

  “We are moving our base. Too much surveillance now at Cocoyoc. We will stay at this hotel.”

  “Why are we whispering in the toilet?”

  “Electronic bugging, of course. I am surprised at you, Hawkin. Schultz is checking the other room now.”

  The roar of the toilet gurgled and stopped and Sones flushed it again. Steam rose from the bowl and he stepped back, eyes wide.

  “I wondered too,” Hawkin said. “The waiter told me they laid the water pipes wrong before they poured the concrete slab. It was easy enough to fix the faucets, just change the handles around, but the toilets would have been …”

  “All right now. If this place is bugged, as I am sure it is, I will go out and come in again and talk to you and you play along. I want to feed some false information to those people.”

  When they emerged, the stranger was still sitting on his bag, gun in hand, but Billy was standing on the bed pointing to the light fixture on the ceiling. Tony could see nothing of interest, but Sones stood on tiptoe and peered at it and nodded understandingly. He went to the door and knocked. Tony joined him there, feeling slightly foolish at the play acting, while Sones opened the door, rattled the knob, and closed it again quickly,

  “Hello,” was all he could think of.

  “Hello. I received your message.”

  “That’s nice.” Would this sort of thing fool a five year old?

  “The money is on the way from Washington and will be here in the morning, all used small bills, unmarked, just as they asked.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I have a room down the hall. Why did you pick this hotel for a rendezvous?”

  “I didn’t. They made the reservation for me.”

  “What! You did not tell me that in your message. The room must be bugged. We do not want them listening to us. Let me look, aha! there it is, there on the light. I will pull it down.”