Authors: Robbins Harold
CHAPTER 2
Amparo came storming into her father's office, brushing aside the two soldiers at the door as if they did not exist. Slamming the door behind her, she crossed the room to el Presidente's desk. "You're sending him to New York!" she said angrily.
El Presidente shrugged. "He must go there before Korea. I explained that to you."
"Alone?"
He nodded.
"I told you I wouldn't let him go alone!"
"He has his work to do."
"You know what will happen." She began to shout. "I warned you about what kind of man he is!"
"So?" Her father's voice was without interest. "That is your problem, not mine."
"I am going with him!"
For the first time since Amparo had come into the room el Presidente reacted. He got to his feet and walked around the desk toward her. "You will stay here and do your own job!"
"I will not! You are trying to ruin my marriage just as you have ruined everything in my life! If he goes tomorrow, I go with him!"
He moved quickly, unexpectedly. One hand caught her by the arm, spinning her around, the other came up swiftly against the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. She started to get up, but he placed a heavy boot on her chest, the toe against her neck.
His voice was very cold. "Listen, puta, you will do exactly as you are told. I have not come this far to let some stupid girl with a hot cunt interfere with my plans. It would not bother me one bit if you were to spend the rest of your life languishing in prison."
"You wouldn't dare," she whispered, but there was a trace of fear in her voice. "I am your daughter."
El Presidente's teeth flashed in a smile. "Are you? By whose word? Mine and mine alone. Everybody knows that your mother was nothing but a puta. All I need say is that a mistake was made, that I had been misled all these years."
Amparo stared up at him silently. After a moment he lifted his foot slowly and went back to the desk. She got to her feet, still glaring at him. Then she turned and started for the door. His voice stopped her. "Not like that," he said quietly. "First wash your face. There are people out there."
Without answering Amparo went into the bathroom. A few minutes later she came out. El Presidente looked at her and nodded. Amparo stared back at him, her face pale. "I need a drink."
"That's more like it." He turned in his chair and opened a small cabinet behind him. He took out a bottle of rum and a glass. He splashed a good-size shot into it, and replaced the bottle in the cabinet. He handed her the glass.
She downed the drink and placed the glass on his desk. A little color had come back into her cheeks.
"Now go," he said, "and see to it that you give your husband a hero's farewell. He may be gone for a long time." He watched her walk to the door, and just as she opened it he spoke again. "See if you can get yourself pregnant. It will keep you busy while he is away."
For the first time a faint smile came to Amparo's lips. "That is the one thing I cannot do on your orders."
"Is there something the matter with your husband?"
Amparo shook her head slowly. "Not with him, with me. The baby I lost, the child of De Ortega, whom you had murdered. Well, De Ortega had his revenge; I am barren, sterile. You will never have grandchildren to play at your knee."
Dax sat across the desk from the military aide to the Secretary of the United Nations. Behind them, through the huge window, the evening lights of New York were beginning to show. "I don't know, Colonel Xenos," the aide said slowly, the faintly musical lilt of his Norwegian permeating his somewhat stilted English. "It is very difficult to give an immediate answer. The Americans are very reluctant to entrust new weapons to anyone further."
"You mean MacArthur does not trust his allies?"
"I did not say that."
"Of course not," Dax answered smoothly, "but that is the way it is beginning to seem. As if this is his exclusive, personal war. Someday soon even the American President will begin to see that."
The general was silent.
"Perhaps if I could be assigned to headquarters in Tokyo I could persuade him otherwise?"
"Perhaps," the aide said, then fell silent again.
"I have eight hundred men available," Dax continued, "trained jungle fighters. In a short time there will be two thousand. But they are of no use until they have been taught the use of the new weapons. El Presidente wishes to help the cause of the United Nations but he does not wish to send men who are ill-equipped."
The aide turned and looked out the window. Night had come swiftly. He sighed. "Halfway across the globe from here men are fighting a small war so that there will not be a bigger one. I wonder how many small wars we shall have to fight before there is peace?"
Dax did not answer.
The aide swung his chair back around. "Eight hundred men, you said?"
Dax nodded.
The aide thought for a moment. "Perhaps something can be done." His voice was definite now that he had come to a decision. Even a small force from a South American country might have an important psychological effect. "I will assign you to my staff and send you to Tokyo as you suggest. Meanwhile I shall see what I can do to obtain the new weapons for your men."
"Thank you, sir."
"I suggest that if you have any influential friends in the United States government you try to enlist their aid."
"I understand." Dax knew the general was fully aware who his friends were. "I shall certainly ask their assistance."
The aide got to his feet. The meeting was over. "Of course, you realize that if you are unable to convince MacArthur there is nothing further I can do?"
Dax, too, got to his feet. "I understand that also."
"Good." The aide nodded and held out his hand. "I shall have your orders drawn. You should have them before the week is out."
Dax smiled. "Things go well then?"
Marcel's expression darkened. "Things are not always as they seem. I have enemies."
Dax looked at his father's former clerk. Power and wealth had not seemingly added to Marcel's sense of security. If anything, he seemed more nervous and secretive than ever. "A man like you must expect to make a few enemies."
Marcel stared back at him. "Those I know about I can deal with. But there are those whose identity remains hidden. There is much resentment and jealousy because of my success. I am convinced that many are plotting against me."
"Nonsense."
"It's true." Marcel's voice lowered and he glanced around the crowded dining room at El Morocco, then leaned forward confidentially. "You have heard about my troubles with the draft board? They wish to take me into the army. Me, a key figure in their defense program. The father of three children."
"How can they?" Dax asked. "You're not even a citizen."
"I am a resident alien, and therefore subject to their draft, or so they maintain. Of course, I have lawyers and influential people working on it, but they are stupid, they claim nothing can be done. Powerful people are out to get me."
"Do you have any idea who they might be?"
"I can't be sure. I can only guess." Marcel was whispering now. "It could be Horgan and his group; they never really forgave me for the Corteguayan oil venture. Especially after they discovered there was no oil there."
"But you are still in business together. Surely they would not disturb that relationship."
"They need my ships," Marcel replied, "not me, and they have a contract."
"Could it be your former father-in-law? He probably hasn't any great enthusiasm for you."
A look of contempt crossed Marcel's face. "Not Abidijan, he's too greedy. My children are heirs to my estate, and they're his grandchildren. No, Amos would do nothing." His voice dropped even lower. "I don't know who they are. But I will find out, I have ways. And when I do they will regret ever having tried to make trouble for me."
Dax stared at Marcel. There was a sickness in his voice he had never been aware of before, an expression on his face that seemed almost psychotic. Dax forced an easiness into his voice he did not feel. "It will pass, Marcel. Everything will turn out all right, you'll see."
"It had better," Marcel replied. "I do not intend to go down alone. There are many who will go down with me." He looked up and suddenly the grim expression on Marcel's face changed to a smile. He started to his feet.
Dax rose also. A tall, darkly dramatic young woman was being escorted to their table by the headwaiter. A kind of hush fell across the tables she passed.
Marcel bowed over her extended hand, his lips caressing it. "You know Dax, of course?"
"Of course."
She turned her dark eyes on Dax and smiled, extending her hand. Dax also kissed it. Her fingers were cold as ice. "Madame Farkas."
"And how did the performance go?"
Dania looked at Marcel as they sat down, and made a weary gesture. "As usual, I was magnificent. But that tenor! I told Bing as I came offstage, never again. Either he goes or I do."
In the center of the big room the orchestra blared. The dance floor was jammed and a faint haze of smoke that even the air-conditioning could not wholly eliminate hung over the dimly lit room. Dax sat at the table alone, drawing on a cigarette, watching Dania Farkas and Marcel.
The tall blond girl moving toward a table behind her escort stopped suddenly. "Dax?"
Dax looked up. He smiled suddenly and got to his feet. "Sue Ann."
"It is you, Dax. What in the world are you doing in that uniform?"
He smiled again. "I've been drafted."
"Are you alone?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm with Marcel Campion and Dania Farkas."
Sue Ann's eyes followed his gesture and picked them out on the dance floor. "You're alone," she said definitely, I’ll join you."
"But your escort?"
"A nothing, a real bore. He's one of Daddy's trust lawyers. I had nothing better to do."
At her gesture, her escort walked back to her. "Yes, Miss Daley?"
"I ran into an old friend," she said imperiously, "I hope you won't mind if I join him?"
"I won't in the least mind," he replied quickly, almost too quickly. "I'll say good night then."
Dax made room for Sue Ann on the banquette, and as she sat a waiter put down a champagne glass, which the wine steward quickly filled. Sue Ann looked at Dax approvingly. "You look marvelous in that uniform. What a perfect piece of casting. I wonder why no one thought of it before."
Dax laughed. "El Presidente decided that in time of war a uniform looks more impressive."
"I'm impressed. What are you—a general or something?"
"No, merely a lowly colonel. There is only one general in our army, el Presidente himself."
"Your wife? Is she with you?"
"No, there is too much for her to do at home. El Presidente, her father, thought it best she remain. And your new husband?"
Sue Ann shrugged. "A stupid boy; we were divorced over a month ago. I don't seem to have much luck with husbands. How come you never wanted to marry me?"
He laughed. "You never asked me."
"Is that the only reason?"
"Yes. You see, I have a secret. I'm shy."
"And I'm stupid. I really asked for that one. But I shan't make the same mistake twice. Next time I'll ask."
"How do you know there'll be a next time?"
"I know you, and I know women. I've almost come twice just sitting here rubbing my leg against yours. If your wife is the kind of woman who can let you go away alone, even on her father's orders, there'll be a next time."
"You're all wrong," he said, still smiling.
"No, I'm not. I can wait. You're going to be my next husband." Suddenly a mischievous grin came to her lips. "Now that everything's all settled and we're formally engaged, let's get the hell out of here and go someplace and fuck!"
Over Marcel's head Dania had seen Sue Ann come to the table and sit down next to Dax. An almost instant resentment ran through her which had nothing to do with Dax. In a way she did not like him either; he was the kind of man she had always resented. Positive, sexual, and sure of himself with women. But her real resentment was directed at Sue Ann.
The blond hair, the blue eyes, the fair skin. The casual sensuality and the awareness of her importance. There had always been girls like that in the schools that she had gone to, in the world to which she aspired. Girls who had to do absolutely nothing to get what she had had to struggle so desperately for.
Dania had always been the dark one, the Greek girl, the one with the accent, the tall, skinny, unattractive child with the strange complexion. And they were the goddesses— the blond leaders, the ones the boys always ran after. And then one day when she was about twelve something had happened.
She had begun to bleed, and the strange-sounding voice had suddenly taken on a richness. It burst forth from her throat and soared beautifully and majestically above the others in the class. Abruptly the teacher had silenced the singing and peered down from the platform through her steel-rimmed glasses. "Who was that?"
Dania remained silent, afraid that she had done something wrong.
"Who was that?" the teacher repeated.
Several of the others turned and looked at Dania. She could no longer hide. She stepped forward. "It was me."
The teacher stared at her unbelievingly, wondering what sort of miracle had touched this strange plain girl and transformed her. "You will come back after school with your mother."
There it began. The years of struggle. The study and self-denial. By the time she was seventeen Dania realized that she would never be beautiful. But her breasts filled out with the exercises, and she took on some of the dramatic depths of the music she was studying. Bit by bit this began to reflect itself in her makeup and her dress. She learned to accentuate her best feature, her eyes, which were large and dark. And she trained her hair down over her brow to disguise her height, and shaded her cheekbones because they were too high and prominent. A pale lipstick made her mouth appear less wide.