“All in all,” Gaston was saying, “I trust M’sieu Greystoke more as an enemy. One expects less double crosses from one’s enemies, hein?”
Captain Gringo looked up from the crate he was crowbarring open in the basement hideout they’d moved to at Greystoke’s suggestion. He nodded at Gaston and said, “I noticed a few loose ends to his fish story, too. But what else can we do? He’s got us by the short hairs.”
Gaston said, flatly, “We could start by double-crossing British Intelligence. Greystoke has already given us part of our advance and these supplies. I think it is time for, how you say, le skip?”
Captain Gringo pried the last board off the end of the crate, reached inside, and muttered, “Shit, this gun was packed in cosmoline. Hand me some rags and that can of kerosene over there, will you?”
Gaston stepped over to the workbench under the basement window to pick up the cleaning stuff. He brought them to the kneeling Captain Gringo, resumed his place with one rump on the corner of another crate, and repeated, “I say we take the money and move to a pleasanter clime.”
Captain Gringo said, “We can’t. The sun never sets and all that shit. British Intelligence has agents in every country on this planet and Greystoke strikes me as a man who holds a grudge until it’s old enough to vote.”
Gaston sighed and said, “That is a point to consider. He and his German counterparts seem to be planning their war a generation ahead. I doubt if I’ll be alive in 1920, yet here I am, in this century, already a pawn in their great game. I find this rather annoying. Don’t you?”
Captain Gringo slid the Maxim machine gun he’d obtained from the British from the case, tripod and all, and began to wipe the brown tacky cosmoline off with a dry rag before he replied, “It’s sort of tedious, too. I’d love to get out of this mess without having to go to all the trouble of finding out what it is. But, like I said, I can’t see a way out that doesn’t sound more dangerous.”
“We could always go to the Germans,” said Gaston.
Captain Gringo looked up with a frown and Gaston insisted, “Why not? We’ve already been paid by the British. The German embassy, here in San Jose, must have a military attaché who’d be interested in knowing the British are on to them.”
“That’s pretty weird, coming from a Frenchman, Gaston.”
“Merde, I am a citizen of the world. Greystoke said the Kaiser had fired Bismarck, non? The Franco-Prussian War is ancient history. I see no need to involve myself in another war with Germany that I’ll probably never live to see.”
Captain Gringo got some more of the thicker goo off the Maxim, planning to finish the first cleaning with the kerosene once he got down to metal. He knew Gaston’s views on patriotism were the same as those he had about making love in the dark, in a nightshirt, so he said, “The Germans won’t pay anything for information they already have.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow and asked, “They know? Merde alors, who told them?”
“Greystoke, of course. That’s one of those loose ends that’s bothering me. He got Colonel Delgado to help capture us, then let the colonel know he was hiring us to investigate the mysterious guns. But Colonel Delgado’s wife is German. The colonel said his brother-in-law was a high ranking Costa Rican Navy man. Need I say more?”
“Mais non! The Colonel’s brother-in-law has to be German! Greystoke said there were many German settlers here in the highlands. Colonel Delgado said the idea about a German submarine base was tres ridiculous, but what will you bet he went straight to his brother-in-law with the whole story?”
“No bet. That’s why we can’t sell out to Der Kaiser even if I’d agree to it. We don’t have anything to sell that they don’t already know about!”
Gaston swore, then said, “Greystoke is not as stupid as he looks. Nobody could be. But why is he setting us up to be ambushed by German agents who’ll be expecting us? He had us both at his mercy last night, if he wanted us dead.”
Captain Gringo threw open the machine-gun chamber, saw it was solidly packed with gummy cosmoline and sighed, “I don’t think British Intelligence gives a shit about us, one way or the other. You’re right about us being pawns in a bigger game.”
“Then I suggest we leap off the chessboard, non?”
“No. I don’t like uninformed leaps from the frying pan. I like to look over the edge first. We told Greystoke we needed weapons and a few days to recruit k guerrilla strike force. So nothing’s going to happen this afternoon.”
He pried a sliver of wood from the crate and began digging at the gummed up breechblock with it as he added, “I wonder who invented cosmoline. He must have started as a cesspool cleaner. Straight wax or plain old grease would keep new guns from rusting just as well, but this mixture is a real bitch. Do you want to check the ammo in that other crate while I scrape this shit off?”
“The printing on the ammo box clearly states that it’s thirty-thirty Remington, non?”
“Check it anyway. I’d sure as hell hate to find out we had the wrong ammo for this gun the harder way.”
Gaston shrugged and went over to the other crate to pry the top off. He reached in, muttered, “Gahh!” and gingerly lifted the end of a thickly greased machine gun belt. He thumbed out a round, held it up to the light, and said, “It’s thirty-thirty, but tres disgusting, anyway. Why did they even soak the canvas belt in mutton fat?”
“I think it’s petroleum jelly. Canvas rots fast, down in the jungles.”
“We’re really going? But why? We’ve agreed we’re being used, Dick.”
“Right. But, until we know how we’re being used, our best bet is to make every move Greystoke expects us to. He’s smart enough to know we might be smart enough to see through his whatever. So he’s expecting us to either carry out his orders or make a break for it. We’d never get out of the highlands before his agents were on our tails. On the other hand, the lowlands are farther away, and harder to cover.”
Gaston looked relieved and said, “Ah, I might have known you’d have a plan.”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. So Gaston asked, “What is your plan, Dick?”
“Damn it, I keep telling you I don’t have one! We have to somehow stay alive until we figure out what’s going on. It’s getting late. I thought you were going to tour the local bars and recruit some hard cased soldier-of-fortune types.”
“Merde alors, why share our limited funds with others if we intend to desert in any case?”
“For one thing, Greystoke is expecting us to make some serious moves. For another, we may need extra hands. You know half the knockaround guys down here, Gaston. Make sure you recruit guys who know which end of a gun the bullets come out of. If it’s not too much to ask, try to pick guys who can live a day or so cold sober.”
“I have seen a few comrades from the old days, here in San Jose. Naturally, we ignore one another in case someone has not been truthful with his local acquaintances. How many gunmen do you think we might need?”
“As many as we can get. I’ll hit Greystoke for extra funds if you can recruit a full company.”
“Merde, I’ll do well to gather together a platoon. What am I to tell them? Certainly not the truth?”
“Christ, no. Spread the word that we’re taking out a secret base for Greystoke. Some of them are bound to talk.”
Gaston signed and said, “My feelings, exactly. I really love a secret mission everyone on both sides knows about.”
Gaston moved toward the cellar steps. Then he paused and turned with a frown to ask, “May one assume you’ll still be here when I return, my old and rare?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, do you think I’d double-cross you, Gaston?”
“Why not? Haven’t I double-crossed you a few times in the past?”
Captain Gringo chuckled and said, “I thought I’d broken you of that habit, Gaston.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “I’ll let you know, once I come up with something that seems more sensible than sitting in this frying pan with you.”