He met Gaston in the hotel bar. It didn’t help much. Gaston had met a few people he’d known years ago when he’d been stationed as a guard at the French Embassy. They were all pretty old and disinclined to fight for liberty. Anybody over thirty who fought for liberty in this part of the world was not very bright. But at least Gaston had picked up some gossip.
After Captain Gringo filled him in on the scene at the Secret Service hideout, Gaston said, “I know who they’re betting on. It’s an army general called Reyes. He’s been cultivating friends on embassy row.”
“That’s step one. But why is he waiting for somebody else to start his revolution? Why not start it himself?”
“Merde alors, that would be trés foolish non? In the first place, the people who start revolutions often lose. In the second, General Reyes is one of those odd political types who want people to like him. If he takes sides in the opening round, the side that loses will be trés cross with him. They say he is a compassionate man who treats his tenant farmers and servants well. At the same time, he is related to all the important people by blood or marriage.”
“I see. He’d be the one Napoleon everyone could accept when it’s time to cut the bullshit and restore order. But if he’s an army general, how the hell can he stand aside while all the glass gets busted? Won’t the current government order him and his men into action against any rebels from either party?”
“But of course. No doubt that is why General Reyes just left for an inspection trip in the lowlands a few days ago, taking his most trusted aides and a guard regiment with him.”
Captain Gringo whistled silently and said, “That means he knows the balloon is about to go up. I got the impression Uncle Sam would like to see Reyes take over. They must have tipped him off.”
“Naturally. He has already stated publicly that he favors a canal treaty with the United States. I doubt if even a popular dictator will ever get away with that, this late in the game, but if the Panamanian Liberation Movement you Americans are backing should fail, Reyes is the next best bet.”
“Yeah, even if he can’t give us canal rights, Wall Street wants somebody sensible up here that they can do business with. But there’s something fishy about all this, Gaston. We figured the Brits were using us as pawns and I’m pretty sure we’re small fry to the Americans, too. They want us to create a diversion while they make the real power play.”
“Agreed. But, as you told me just now, we have no choice but to go along with them. We have done what Greystoke asked. Or at least we made it possible for Liza to do whatever it was. So, once we make some boom boom boom for Uncle Sam, we shall be free to wend our weary way. I have taken the liberty of arranging our flight over the Andes Oriental, by the way. Once we destroy their silly mine, we can be on our way aboard some formidable mules.”
“Jesus, Gaston, that’s uncharted Amazon jungle you’re talking about!”
“Oui, I have an Indian guide lined up, too. A lady I used to sleep with says the army grows trés fatigue in the lowland jungle and seldom chases anyone far. We shall of course make our way to a river and every river leads to the sea.”
“I could argue that point, having campaigned in the American Southwest, but getting away is the least of our worries. I still haven’t figured out what the bastards want!”
“You haven’t? I thought it was obvious. We gather a rebel band, attack the CCC holdings and in the resultant confusion—”
“Bullshit. It won’t work. Think, Gaston. Why would they want us to take out an American-owned mine a month or so before they put a friendly government in?”
“Sacré, you are right, my lovely child! A Reyes dictatorship, anxious to make friends with the U.S., would naturally return the mine to its rightful owners. They in turn would be trés distressed to find their holdings in ruins, and the trust contributes to both the Republicans and Democrats in every American election.”
“Exactly. So they’re still bullshitting us. There’s something we haven’t been told. So how do we find out?”
Gaston looked at the wall clock across the bar and said, “I shall start by looking up another old friend. Alas, she is now a grandmother and never was too attractive, but she is the housekeeper of a senator who is said to be a most talkative dimwit, hein? Hold the fort, mon vieux, I am off to meet my maker, if I can make her.”
Captain Gringo chuckled fondly as the dapper Gaston marched cockily out to go roaming in the gloaming. It was almost suppertime and he decided to go up to the room and see if Liza wanted to eat something first.
He called out to her as he let himself into their suite. She wasn’t there. He frowned and opened the blinds to let the red light of sunset in. He went into the bedroom. The chambermaid had made the bed. There was a note pinned to the pillow on his side. It read, “Dearest: I barely have time to make my train. I wish we’d had more time, but I thank you for the little we shared.”
She’d crossed out a last line and hadn’t signed it. He held it up to the light. Fortunately, she’d written it in ink at the writing table in the next room. He took the note into the bathroom and ran water over the paper until most of the ink had run down the drain. Then he took it to the window and smoothed it flat on the glass with the sunset behind it. He could make out what she’d written and then crossed out. It read, “Save yourself. They lied to you.”
He wondered what else was new as he balled the wet note up, went back to the bathroom, and flushed it down the drain. Off in the distance a train whistle sounded mournfully, and he said, “So long, Liza. You were a good kid, after all.”
He knew she’d changed her mind in favor of her duty to the Crown, but it was nice to know she’d considered saving him. He wondered who she’d really been and what the hell her mission had been. He doubted he’d ever find out, but it had been fun while it lasted.
He looked around wryly at all the other Captain Gringos staring from the mirrors on the bedroom walls and said, “Well, that’s that. At least we’ll get some sleep and rest the old tool after all.”
It was too early to turn in and he was hungry. He decided to go down to the dining room, have supper, and see if there was any other action. He frowned at himself in the mirror and growled, “Shit, haven’t you had enough for now?” Then he grinned and headed for the door. There was never enough for now, or any other time, praise Allah.