Queen Victoria's Revenge (8 page)

“I prefer my own name, Colonel Jaime Juarez-Sedoño. The co-operation?”

“You're holding the gun, Colonel.”

“I prefer a little more enthusiasm and involvement than that. Do you have your room key with you?”

“Yes, in my pocket—all right.” He dropped it into the waiting palm and it was passed to the man beside the driver in the front seat. The car stopped and he got out. The car then went on, moving slowly down dark streets, the ready guns discouraging Tony from any attempt at escape.

“You will tell me what happened to the money.”

“There seems to be a great deal of interest in that. It was taken by your associate Angus Macpherson and his henchman from the airfield. He was helped by a number of other thugs, looked like six at least, who jumped in when the car was stopped.”

“Would you recognize these men again?”

“Angus and his buddy, sure, but Jorge here could do that as well as I could. As to the others—I might be able to. I had a good close look at a couple of them.”

“Then I will need your co-operation to do just that. And I am guaranteeing that co-operation.” The car stopped and the recently departed skyjacker climbed back in. Grinning broadly, he passed a sheaf of rustling bills to the colonel. They all, except Tony, smiled as well at this.

“Very good,” the colonel said. “This is our little insurance of your co-operation. Do you recognize these?” These were a bundle of hundred dollar bills in a leather wallet that he revealed briefly, then returned to his inner jacket pocket.

“One guess? The skyjacked money Jorge took from the plane?”

“Precisely. A tiny part of the whole, which we
will
have back. Using your name and room number as identification, our compatriot has changed one of these bills in your hotel. It will soon be discovered that they are hot. You will be fingered—for does not one Latin look like any other to these pale Anglos?”

“I'm an Indian. An Apache.”

“They cannot tell the difference. The police will seek you. Aid us in recovering the money and we will tell them what we did.”

“Honestly, that is the most simple-minded plan I ever heard of. No one will ever think for a moment I'm really involved…” The gun ground deep into the sore gun-grinding spot in his side. “But I'll help you for other reasons. I'm convinced.”

He slumped into the seat in black despair, watching the traffic whir by, firmly and strong headedly, all going in the wrong direction.

When the car stopped next it was before a conservatively elegant house nestled into a tree-rich square. Colonel Juarez-Sedoño led the way and Tony was easily persuaded to follow. A liveried butler bowed them in and opened the door of a book-lined study for them. The colonel waved Tony to one leather armchair, then took another for himself. The butler brought a dusty bottle and two balloon glasses before leaving in silence and closing the doors.

“You see,” the colonel said, examining the bottle closely with his good eye, “I treat you as a friend, keep nothing from you, welcome you into my home. And ask very little in return.”

“You are asking a lot, Colonel, since I am a representative of the United States Government. It is my duty to report everything that occurs.”

“And so you shall, my dear boy, as soon as this little adventure is over. When we have the money I shall close my home here and move to Spain, where the climate, both political and physical, is far more agreeable. You may then tell all you know. But for the moment you aid us. Tell your officials it was done under duress, they will never know differently. Do the right thing and, who knows, there may be a little numbered bank account for you in Switzerland with some money in it.”

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Of course, doesn't everyone?” He seemed genuinely astonished at Tony's warm reaction. Tilting the bottle carefully, he poured golden fluid into the glasses. “This is a treat I know you will enjoy, I have so few bottles left. Pre-Castro Bacardi
añejo,
rum more delicate than the finest cognac. To the counterrevolution.”

He raised his glass, although Tony did not return the toast, and they drank. It was heavenly stuff with a bouquet of flowers, warm as the Cuban sun on the tongue. The colonel held his nose over the rim of the glass and inhaled deeply, then rolled his eyes upward in silent pleasure.

“One day soon we will return to our homeland and free the simple peasants from the bondage of red criminal slavery. For this we need money, and to gain the money I permitted myself to become involved with an outlaw Gael by the name of Angus Macpherson. He presented me with a plan that appeared to be foolproof, and certainly was if we do not consider his betrayal, so with a certain reluctance I went along. You see how frank I am with you? We arranged the recent affair for the mutual benefit of our nationalistic parties, though he has been greedy and desires all the money for his own. Cuba shall not remain enchained because of him! We leave soon for Glasgow to pick up his trail. There is a certain tobacconist that we used for a message drop and our search begins there.”

Tony drank deep and received a refill. He thought the colonel was mad but decided against telling him so. Even the dimmest of Hebridian revolutionaries would know enough to close off any trails that might lead the Cubans to them. Nevertheless he would have to go along with their plans for the moment. Perhaps he could escape en route.

“Just how will we get to Glasgow?” he asked.

“We shall drive. One of the men is renting a car now. This cursed country is so small that stolen cars are worse than useless. The police are alerted almost instantly.” There was a discreet knock at the door. “It is time to go. Take the rum, it will perhaps make a dull journey bearable.”

There were some harsh words from the colonel when the rented car turned out to be a Volkswagen bus. There were apologetic explanations about the tourist season, nothing else available, it did have room for them all until, in the end, he slid the door wide, muttering darkly, and climbed in. Tony, urged on in a now familiar manner, was encouraged to follow. There were seven of them in all and their luggage consisted solely of four violin cases and an attaché case, undoubtedly full of ammunition for the violins. With a rattle and a great whir from the miniature power plant concealed somewhere between the back wheels, they were off.

They drove for the entire night. It was all very much of a blur to Tony, who, still fatigued by a sleepless night and upset circadian rhythms, managed to get a good portion of the bottle of rum inside of him until he slumped onto a padded latin shoulder and fell asleep. He was dimly aware of lights flashing by, traffic on a motorway, much Spanish cursing and argument when they lost their way—this happened more than once—and finally a gray dawn that brightened only slightly into a foggy morning. Other sleepers awoke and there were cries of pain until the driver stopped by a tall hedge where they all stood in a row while a fine rain spattered their heads. Then onward.

“Glasgow,” the driver announced as the road lifted onto a bridge that spanned a slate-gray river.

“I'm hungry,” Tony said suddenly as his waking stomach threw off the anesthesia of the alcohol and painfully called attention to itself.

“We cannot stop,” the colonel announced. “Most of the men in this car are wanted by the police. We will go hungry for the glory of the counterrevolution.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Tony said petulantly. “Or you for that matter, Colonel. That hot bill won't have reached the bank yet and no one knows we are involved in this thing.”

“You are correct,” the colonel said with instant military decision. “Drop us off at Central Station, where we will mix with the milling crowds and where strangers will not be noticed, and come back in a half an hour.”

The colonel seemed to run a taut ship, or VW bus, when it came to discipline, because, other than some rapidly vibrating eyebrows, there were no complaints about this state of affairs. The driver made a number of wrong turnings but eventually let them out next to a gloomy and imposing Victorian structure. Though it was only seven in the morning the station was bustling with Scottish life, as well as the visitors the colonel had mentioned. The colonel took Tony firmly by the arm and spoke gently into his ear.

“I am a perfect shot and I have a silenced revolver in my side pocket. Make any attempt to escape, any at all, and there will be a small poof of sound and you will be one with eternity. Understood?”

“Understood, understood. That is not the first time I have heard it recently, either. Look, Colonel, could we buy some newspapers to read with breakfast, you must be as interested as I am in the latest developments.”

The colonel was. They purchased
The Times
and
The Scotsman
and entered a great glowing buffet rich with the odor of frying fish, cooking bacon, bubbling oatmeal and other northern gustatory delights. Tony forgot his troubles and stood on tiptoe to look over the shoulders to make his choice. The shoulders immediately ahead of him, broad and blue-coated, turned about as he bobbed expectantly and he found himself looking into the surprised face of Captain Sterling Haycroft, pilot of the skyjacked aircraft.

SEVEN

“What the devil are you doing here, Hawkin? I was told you were in London.”

No ready response sprang forward instantly so Tony had to resort to an echoed version of the same question.

“Tubby told me you were with the aircraft and wouldn't leave.”

“He was right. But the owners telegraphed me to co-operate with the police and sent out a guard with a police dog, some local outfit called Fangs and Truncheons, so I did what I was ordered. Looked at all the mug books in London, then they sent me up here to look at more pics the local police have. The night train just got in.”

“Train?”

“Sure. You don't think I fly when I don't have to? And you?”

If Tony had not been thinking of a quick answer the colonel had. He leaned forward and smiled ingratiatingly at Haycroft.

“May I introduce myself. I am Juan Garcia, a Mexican national and an old friend of Tony's. When I read of his presence in the papers I instantly invited him to stay at my comfortable home. In a further attempt to relax his nerves I have brought him on a brief motoring holiday to Scotland and to visit a mutual acquaintance who is studying urological surgery at the university here. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise. I hope you have a good time.” Haycroft turned and seized a tray, apparently taken in by the story. Tony felt an all too familiar jab in the side as the colonel spoke. “Take the tray, dear friend, for both of us. My hand is still sore from the bashing I took at cricket the other day at Lord's.” For all his other faults the colonel did have a fertile imagination.

A whiff of bacon aroma brought Tony back to more pressing matters at hand. Haycroft was loading his tray and Tony did the same. A motherly woman behind the counter gave him a bowl of what he thought was oatmeal but she called porridge, forced a piece of fried fish upon him—you try a golden kipper, love, makes a perfect breakfast—some toast and a cup of tea black as a bowling ball. She doubled everything when the colonel indicated an appetite as well. The colonel paid, his one hand uninjured by cricket fishing out the money, and they had no choice but to follow Haycroft to a table. Even the hissed assurance that he would die instantly if he revealed anything did not interfere with Tony's appetite. They all gnashed and chomped well for a bit until Haycroft sighed, leaned back and lit a thin, dark cigar from a pack in his pocket.

“Nothing like a Scots breakfast to hold the ribs together. It will get me through a long day of looking at Hibernian criminals. What do the papers say about the case?”

“Haven't looked yet,” Tony mumbled.

“The police found how the guns got aboard, or at least where they were. In one of the toilets. I locked it myself, in Karachi, thing went on the fritz. Turns out the wiring in the monomatic was sabotaged. Sometime after I locked it, and before we left, the weapons were sneaked in there and the thing relocked. That's their theory, probably right. With a little bribery you can get away with anything at the Eastern airports.”

“The bribery is the way of life in my country as well,” the colonel said, leaning forward, finding a topic close to his heart. “A bribe is referred to as a
mordida,
a little bite. The motto is
‘No hay reglas fijas,'
which might be translated as there are no fixed rules, but is better expressed by saying if you can afford it you can get anything. Even murder is possible, a certificate of death by accident purchased before the act from the police is all that is needed.”

“I don't doubt you for a second, Mr. Garcia, not for a second. I'm going to run, the quicker I look at the goon photos the quicker I get back.”

A man of decision, he was up and gone in an instant. The colonel watched closely to see that he went out of the station, then waved Tony to his feet.

“Leave the rest,” he ordered. “He may be suspicious, informing the police right now. We leave.”

They did. A mud-splattered VW bus filled with scowling, unshaven and hungry Cubans picked them up as soon as they appeared, then shot quickly away when the colonel told them what had happened. Tony burped happily and they looked daggers at him. Jorge was driving now and he must have been on a mission here before because he knew his way quite well. They worked their way through ever-grubbier streets, crossed the river again, then plunged into a narrow road. Among the small shops located here was one with a weathered sign that read
J. HARDY—TOBACCONIST
. A weathered man, who might have been J. Hardy himself, was taking down a wooden shutter that covered his window. The VW whirred on by and around the next corner, where it stopped.

“Did you see the place?” the colonel asked. “And the man in front?” Tony nodded abstractedly, worried a piece of fish with his tongue, attempting to dislodge it from between his teeth. “That is the place. Hardy knows me, I have been there before, and no one else in this vehicle can talk English. With the exception of you. You will therefore go to this store—we will be watching with deadly guns trained, alert for any false move—and will order ten Players.”