Captain Gringo sent the carriage back to Sir Basil’s with a note saying the rebel leaders were suspicious, but that he’d bring one to the villa later in the evening for a talk. With luck the tricky little gun runner would hold off his hounds for a while, at least.
The tall American waited until Gaston sent Bebe on a fool’s errand before he began to take the machine gun apart.
Gaston watched, seated on the bed and sipping rum as he observed, “We could simply leave the damned thing, well hidden. The enemy would still think we had it, and we’re in trouble if they get close enough for us to really need a machine gun, nan?”
“Maybe. On the other hand, if we need it at all, we’ll need it bad.”
“I agree. Have you considered this whole distressing matter yet another way, Dick? Between the two of us we have well over a thousand dollars and a nice head start.”
“Let’s not get practique again, Gaston. I’m still pissed off about the way you cut out on me that night in Mexico.”
“Merde, you know I was wise to desert those half-baked liberals. You alone survived, despite your best efforts to save them. In the end it all turned out well for the two of us, heiri?”
“We’re sticking together at least to the other coast. I’m not being a hero. I’m out for revenge. Too many people have been using me for toilet paper and I’m out to show them they’re not so smart.”
“Ah, you still play the game with emotion, Dick. You have the makings of a real soldier, but you’ll never really be a rival to the great leaders until you learn to be a cold-blooded bastard. War is not a sentimental business. It’s a trade for cannibals and butchers.”
“I’m learning. I’m not in love with the dame with the mustache. I’m out to shove the umbrella up Sir Basil’s ass, and if I can, to open it!”
“That’s what I mean. You are sentimental. You know, of course, the Balboa Brigade hasn’t a chance. Shall I tell you how it will turn out down here in the end? The Americans, French, and British will settle the matter at some distant gentlemen’s club. I am betting on an American-backed coup, once the Yanks finish buying up the defunct French claims and getting the railroad interests to sell the only practical route over the Culebras. The British will give in once they’re assured an American canal will never bar the passage of a British battleship.”
“Maybe. Why can’t Wall Street work with the existing government?”
“Merde, the French tried that and look where it got them. These unstable home-grown governments down here annoy the empire builders of Wall Street. They tend to demand taxes in addition to the usual bribes. One must have firm control of the cow one wishes to milk.”
Captain Gringo put the empty water jacket beside the tripod feet and began to unscrew the Maxim’s barrel as he asked, “What do you mean by empire builders? America has no empire.”
“But of course not. El Pulpo del Norte hasn’t made the mistakes of our two Napoleons and Victoria. When there’s a famine in India, England has to feed her hungry brown subjects. You Americans learned some time back the advantage of subtle ownership. The coming century should be interesting to watch. I predict Great Britain will own all the pink on the map, and Wall Street will wind up with all the loot. After you freed your slaves, you learned how profitable it was to let a man work for you as hard without having to feed him during the slack season. You Yankees are most diabolique. Bismarck and Victoria are children next to your Vanderbilts and Morgans. Old-fashioned conquest is child’s play next to milking people dry under their own puppet governments, hein?”
“So we like coffee and bananas. When’s that girl due back? It’ll be dark soon and I want to be there ahead of the others with this gun set up.”
Gaston said, “Bebe won’t be back for hours. It’s her night to report to the police about me and she seemed pathetically relieved when I asked if she wanted to discuss you with her sister. They’ll wander back by ten or so. It’s a pity, in a way. Bebe’s sister would show you a thing or two if you were still here.”
“I’ve been shown a thing or two. I don’t think I could get it up again with a block and tackle.”
“Yes, you intimated the British spy was interesting. How did you unmask her as Greystoke’s agent, by the way?”
“She had a Canadian accent, which was reasonable for a girl from upstate New York. But she called it New York State, which wasn’t. I spent four years at West Point. So I knew the people in New York City call it New York State. A real Lockporter would say York State.”
“Hmmm, a bit thin, don’t you think? She’d been living in the city and may wish to appear educated.”
“There’s more. Her story about the British picking her up made no sense. How would Greystoke explain grabbing an American citizen to the U. S. Navy when she hadn’t done anything either government could possibly care about? When she insisted on tagging along with a wanted man, after I’d pointed out she simply had to sit tight and get a free ride home, I was willing to buy it as simple stupidity. She stupids good. Then she got me in bed and started eating me alive, probably to gain my confidence before trying to pump me about Hakim. I knew right away I wasn’t with a stranded actress trying to avoid a job in a cathouse. That lady could teach most whores I’ve met some tricks they’ve never dreamed of.”
“Do you think she knows you’re on to her?”
“I hope not. I told her I was coming back for more. This morning I let her screw some secrets out of me before breakfast. When she reports a few fibs I told her to British Intelligence, Sir Basil’s going to have to raise the allowances of his friends in London.”
He had the gun as far apart as it would go, now. So he picked up the charcoal sacks Gaston had hauled in off the veranda and began to pack the parts. With the ammo belts as padding, the Maxim made two heavy but manageable and nondescript bundles.
Gaston had been watching. So he got up and laid out the cotton peasant costumes. They were clean, but Gaston crushed some charcoal in his hand and rubbed the cotton shirts and drawers grimy. He rubbed some of his own face as he mused, “The big sombrero will hide your hair, but damn it, you’re too tall for a mestizo.”
“I’ll walk bent over under my charcoal. I’m going to chance keeping the boots. I’ll be damned if I’ll walk through thorns and bushmasters wearing rope-soled sandals.”
“I, too, shall wear my mosquito boots. Our problem is not to stand up to close inspection, but not to draw attention in the first place. If we walk slowly through the twilight, after leaving this block by an exit I never saw fit to point out to Bebe—”
“There’s one hole in our disguise. I can’t come up with a better one, but what’s our story if anyone wants to know why charcoal burners were carrying coals out of Panama City rather than down from the hills?”
“Let me do the talking and we’ll play it by the ear. It is almost time. Let’s change and get our derrieres out of here.”
He drained the last of his rum and gazed around morosely as he added, “I hate to leave this place. Bebe has made me most comfortable, and as for her sister, ooh la la!”
“For God’s sake, Gaston, don’t you ever think of anything else?”
“Merde, what else is there as important? I believe you are looking forward to our romp in the woods. You know, of course, that Sor Pantera is Spinoza’s mujer?”
“I know it now. So what? She’s sort of running to fat and has a mustache.”
“True, but I thought I’d better let you know ahead of time. As I remember, you rut like a rabbit, for a man who never thinks about the subject.”
It was almost dark as they struggled up the hillside near the railroad right of way with their charcoal sacks. They’d attracted no attention as they followed Gaston’s maze of back alley ways to the edge of town. They were perhaps a quarter mile from the trestle where the others were to meet them. The night promised a full moon and an easy passage over the Culebra ridge.
As they followed the dirt path past the first railroad bridge across a dry wash a voice called out, “What have we here?” and two uniformed men stepped out of the shadows. Captain Gringo wasn’t sure if they were soldiers or police. Since both packed pistols on their hips, it hardly mattered.
Gaston stopped and lowered his sack wearily to the ground as he replied in his perfect Spanish, “You have us cold, caballeros. We are rich Yankee tourists, smuggling emeralds to our mansion up the hill.”
“Don’t get fresh with me, peones! Why are you carrying charcoal out to the woods instead of the right way, into town?”
“Because we can’t get the fucking charcoal to carry us! They tried to cheat us on the price. They said they needed little charcoal at this time of the year. Maybe we’ll take it home and wait until the price is better, eh?”
“And maybe you are ladrones. Open up the sacks. I want to see what the two of you have stolen this time.”
Gaston shrugged and bent as if to open his sack. Then he dove forward and rammed his head into the nearest cop’s middle, drawing a knife as the two of them went down.
At the same time Captain Gringo swung his own sack from his shoulder like a club and caught the second uniformed enemy on the ear with a skull-cracking blow. The cop never knew he’d been killed until it was too late to complain.
The American stomped the man he’d downed but saw there was no need for further violence. Gaston rose, knife in hand, and said, “We’d better drag them through the trestle and hide them in some brush, hein?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. We’ll haul them down the wash around the bend. The next rain will wash them away. Bodies hang up in bushes above the flood level.”
“I stand corrected. But let’s move them fast. There’s no telling who’ll come up or down this traveled path!”
They left the sacks where they were, as each grabbed a cadaver by the booted ankles and hauled them out of sight from the railroad and path. Gaston helped himself to both guns and the contents of their pockets before they left them to the mercies of climate and crows.
As they resumed their walk up the slope, Gaston said, “Not bad for a few moments’ work, hein?”
“Some of the others can use the extra guns. I don’t know what you wanted with another watch.”
“Ah, perhaps I shall meet a señorita who wants a present.”
“Sure, in the middle of the jungle. Watches can be traced, Gaston.”
“Guns have serial numbers, too. If you mean to steal, take everything”
They trudged on in silence until a female voice hissed out, “¿Quien es?” and Gaston called, “It’s us, Sor Pantera. You are early, non?”
As they joined the woman under the second railroad trestle, Sor Pantera said, “The police have Jose Spinoza. I told him not to say good-bye to his parents, but … well, at least they failed to take him alive.”
Gaston put his sack down and sighed, “If they didn’t take him alive he didn’t talk. But if they’re moving in this early, they might have picked up some of the others. All in all, I think it is time to sprout wings.”
Captain Gringo put his own sack down and said, “It’s early. We won’t set up the gun, but we’ll wait a few minutes here. Others might be on their way, running, if they’ve heard about Spinoza.”
He looked soberly at the stone-faced Sor Pantera and added, “I’m sorry about Jose. I liked him.”
“I liked him, too. I tend to agree with Gaston. We have been betrayed and it must be everyone for himself, now.”
Captain Gringo squatted down and began to roll a smoke as he asked, “Do you know why armies have cavalry, Sor Pantera?”
“Of course I know why they have cavalry. For to ride the horses, no?”
“No. For to ride down panic-stricken enemies. Aside from a little scout work, the cavalry is held back until the enemy has been routed by the infantry and big guns. When soldiers lose their nerve, they run, every man for himself. That’s when the cavalry .troopers ride them down with lance or saber. They call this mopping up. Sometimes a smart corporal, or even a wise old private, rallies a few men to make a stand. The cavalry rides around people like that. It’s no fun trying to stick a man who’s facing you with a gun.”
She stared quietly at him for a time. Then she nodded and said, “You must forgive me. I am not used to being defeated, and I wasn’t thinking. When my husband was killed I was a child bride and had no part in the fighting. Since then I fear I have been a mighty amazon around a candle stub in some cellar. My first taste of the real thing made me forget my friends. I am all right, now.”
He nodded and said, “I know what Spinoza meant to you.”
“I said I was all right, damn it.”
Gaston murmured, “If you two are finished, I hear someone coming.”
The three of them listened silently as the sound of footsteps on gravel came up the wash the railroad crossed there. The moon was rising and they could see four men in white cotton with crossed bandoliers of ammunition and big straw hats.
As the quartet spotted the trio under the tracks, one of them removed his hat and said, “Buenas noches. One would hope we have encountered civilized people. They say these hills are infested at night with bandits.”
Sor Pantera appointed herself spokesperson by answering, “We know about bandits, caballero. I am called La Sor Pantera. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Ah, la senora is a fellow revolutionary? How patriotic of you all to bring presents to us in the hills.”
“We have no presents for children. If you are men, the Balboa Brigade could use you.”
The bandits drifted closer, as if trying to get a better look at the odds. The leader put his hat back on and said, mildly, “Three people make a small brigade, no?”
“Others will be joining us here any minute. I see you have machetes. I agree we are close to town for gunshots. If you don’t want to join us, go away.”
“Go away, Sor Pantera? What is this go-away nonsense? These are my hills! I am called El Aquilar, and it is for me to say who comes and goes here!”
“If you join us, you and your men will take orders from our captain here. El Aquilar is a grand name for a man with no shoes, but I shall make allowances for your youth. Are you with us or against us?”
El Aquilar studied them from under the dark rim of his sombrero as he made up his mind. Then he laughed and said, “Hey, I like brave women. Let us share a smoke and talk.”
The four bandits came under the trestle and squatted down among the three of them. El Aquilar struck a match with his thumb and they could see as he lit a cigar that he was a handsome man of about forty. He winked at Sor Pantera and started to say something. But his words were gargled in his throat as the woman slashed his throat with the blade she’d been holding down at her knee.
At the same moment, Gaston drove his own blade to the hilt and twisted in the rib cage of a second bandit. Captain Gringo had the last two by the throats and smashed their surprised heads together with a grisly thunk. One of them was still twitching as he dropped him to the sand, so he stepped on his windpipe and crushed it like a beetle.
Sor Pantera’s voice was conversational as she said, “I took a chance on you two knowing the futility of dealing with hill-roving bandits.”
Gaston chuckled and said, “Forgive me, but you took no chance at all. We all know the breed and how they must be dealt with. May I say you played your part well? Your Spanish bandit is always so willing to play cat and mouse. It’s a wonder they stay in business at all.”
“Our people are predictable, too. Let us hope the soldiers after us will play out the usual patterns of conversation before a fight.”
Captain Gringo muttered, “More company,” and this time the five men coming in were fellow members of the Balboa Brigade. Their leader was a youth called Chino. He said, “The city is crawling with troops. They just came ashore from a steamer. They got a couple of our people, alive. Who are these hombres? They look dead.”
Captain Gringo said, “They are, and so will we be if we hang out here much longer. Eight people don’t make much of a brigade, but the next recruits figure to be Colombian troopers. We’d better move it out.”
As he led the way uphill, Sor Pantera fell in beside him and asked,
“Do you think so few of us have a chance, Captain Gringo?”
“Of winning your revolution? No. Of getting away? Fifty-fifty.”