Considering that it was pretending to be somewhere in Tibet, Bogotá was a larger and more civilized city than Captain Gringo had expected. The architecture was the wedding-cake baroque that Spanish-speaking people preferred when they could afford it; and the highland establishment was very rich. They paid no taxes and owned everything v that wasn’t nailed down. If they wanted something that was nailed down, they took that too. The streets were paved and some were tree-lined, although, as always, the residential sections tended to look a bit bleak as one passed through. Hispanics who lived well built their houses around the private paradises of an inner pateo with few windows facing the outside world. To find a quaint Hispanic village, one had to go where poor people lived.
Captain Gringo and the other travelers from outside Colombian society checked into a hotel near the civic center that was trying to look like it belonged in Paris. Most first-class Victorian hotels did. As Gaston “took care of the luggage,” Captain Gringo escorted Liza to the private home near the British Consulate that Greystoke had told her to report to. They let him in off the street, but made him wait on a pateo bench while Liza vanished somewhere in the depths. He lit a smoke and settled back to wait a while. But she reappeared before he’d smoked his cigar a quarter of the way down. She was smiling radiantly and as he rose she took his arm and said, “Now, let’s go back to the hotel and lock the door. I’m going to make you pay for those remarks about my frigidity, you big silly.”
“Swell, but what about your mission, doll?”
“It’s all done and I’m all yours and it’s only fair to warn you that I’m hot as hell. Let’s get out of here and out of this ridiculous vertical position, you big growly-wowly!”
“Wait a minute. That’s it? We drag you all over the map for weeks to get you here and it’s zim, zam, thank you, ma’am?”
“Pooh, if you were keeping track of the time, you know I haven’t been here long enough to do that. I told you I just had to make a delivery. I’ve delivered it and now I want to be thoroughly ravaged.”
“You’re on. I don’t intend to contact my people until Gaston has had time to talk to a few sneaks he knows in town from the last time he was here. But I must say these mood swings of yours are confusing as hell.”
As they walked back out to their hired coach, she hugged his arm and giggled girlishly. Then she said, “You’re right. I have been a bitch, poor darling. But you’ll never know what I was carrying, and now that it’s all over and I know I can’t get caught, I feel ten years younger and I’m gushing for you!”
So he helped her into the coach and told the driver not to spare the horses.
~*~
Back at the hotel, the Divine Rowena reclined on a chaise, nude, holding a telephone to a close-cropped gray head. The blond wig was on its stand across the room and it felt great to be out of the whalebone corset, too. The thin dry air caressed the Divine Rowena’s skin as the phone rang a few more times at the other end. Then a male voice said, “Von Linderhoff.”
The Divine Rowena answered in the same language, saying, “Well, I’ve arrived at last. When do I get to meet this Vargas idiot?”
The German at the other end warned, “No names. This is supposed to be a private line in a private house, but one never knows, nicht wahr?”
“Sorry, Herr Oberst, it was a tiring trip and I’m still shaken. At any rate, here I am at the hotel, awaiting further instructions.”
“Very well. Just go on with the charade until you’re all invited to a gathering at the embassy. You’ll be introduced to your admirer from afar over refreshments. He will no doubt make advances and extend the usual invitations to see his etchings or whatever. You will know what to do when you get the chance.”
The Divine Rowena yawned and said, “Naturlich, but are you sure he won’t notice I don’t look exactly like the publicity photographs of the, uh, real thing?”
Von Linderhoff warned, “Choose your words a little more delicately. The bizarre nature of the plan precludes anyone even guessing all the answers, but they have a very good man in charge of security here. Don’t worry about the photographs. They are nearly twenty years out-of-date and you were chosen because of your astounding resemblance to the late actress. The, ah, person you are to meet is not very bright. You, of course, must go on playing stupid to cover any slight mistakes.”
The Divine Rowena, or rather the German agent pretending to be her, grimaced and said, “That won’t be difficult. Resemblances are one thing, but I told you I’d never acted on the stage, in Shakespeare or anything else. Was zum Teufel! It’s embarrassing to forget one’s lines and have them titter at you like that!”
Von Linderhoff chuckled and said, “I’ve read some of your reviews since you, ah, came out of retirement. By the way, we may have made a mistake in hiring that manager. It seems he knew the real thing, years ago. Fortunately, they were never intimate and only met a few times socially. But we were upset to learn he’d actually seen her perform in the flesh.”
The Divine Rowena shrugged and said, “He’s very interested in my flesh. Don’t worry, I have him wrapped around my little finger. The others are has-beens or never-wases I picked up in the American backwoods. They detest me, of course, but none of them suspect I’m anything but a superannuated bitch. What’s really bothering me is the sexual angle when you introduce me to my, ah, objective. You know, of course, that it’s impossible for me to go very far with him?”
Von Linderhoff laughed and said, “I’d be willing to pay to watch that performance! But of course you won’t be expected to take your corset off until you are alone with him, and in that case—”
“Watch it. You’re the one who’s talking too much now, Herr Oberst!”
“I agree. We’d better hang up and sit tight until you get your invitation. When were you planning to put on your first performance?”
“I’m trying to delay it by being temperamental about the acoustics and I’ve managed to lose some props, despite Jason’s watchful eye. Try to get us invited before I have to go through another farce, eh?”
Linderhoff agreed and they both hung up. As the Divine Rowena put the phone back on its cradle. Hengist, the more aggressive of the two wolfhounds, stopped licking himself by the bed and came over to sniff demandingly at the “star’s” crotch.
The Divine Rowena sighed, “Ugly bastard!”
The German agent had really learned to hate the real Divine Rowena, whose well-known bestiality made this necessary. But, what the hell, it only took a minute to service the mutts, and they provided cover.
Jason was so enamored of the star he’d met in his salad days that he’d no doubt go sloppy seconds to a dog at that. But the dangerously experienced little Frenchman had obviously been put off by the act with the dogs and his big blond friend hadn’t shown the least sign of interest in an older woman who seemed to prefer canine lovers.
That was too bad, thought the German agent, wistfully. That big handsome Yank looked exiting. But duty to the fatherland came before pleasure, and so the Divine Rowena sat there, naked and frustrated, jerking off two dumb dogs.