Adam’s mind was in a whirl. He was so positive now that Alberuque had been Itzechuatl that he could not think how he had failed to recognise him before. The man’s features were different, just as Chela’s were from those of Mirolitlit. It was the personality that inexplicably but unmistakably came through. No wonder that at their first meeting he had felt repulsion for the smooth-tongued Monsignor. And now, added to that, there was fear—fear that Itzechuatl had known him from the outset and, once he had used him, intended to exact vengeance for having been cheated of his Man-God victim a thousand years ago.
With an effort, Adam endeavoured to assess his chances in this new and terrifying situation. The reason why Jacko had strangled the warder was now plain. The fiendish Alberuque had ordered the murder so that he could frame the rescued prisoner with it. Who could now possibly fail to believe that all the time he, Adam, had been hand in glove with the conspirators, had never had any intention of letting Ramón know about the gathering at Uxmal and, by secret means while in prison, had connived at the plan to rescue him whatever the cost in lives? It would be assumed by everyone that a lust for power had gone to his head and that, regardless of the strife and misery a civil war would cause, he hoped to rule Mexico as the returned Quetzalcoatl.
Now, if he again fell into the hands of the police, his number would be up with a vengeance. As the man responsible for the murders in the prison, his name would be execrated by all decent people throughout Mexico. A life sentence would be bad enough; but he had a horrid feeling that Alberuque had not been lying about the fate he might expect, and that for such a crime the government would see to it that he was shot ‘while attempting to escape’. The only alternatives left to him were to do as Alberuque wished or, if he could escape, endeavour to disguise himself and get out of the country clandestinely. Fighting down his fear and anger, he managed after a moment to mutter:
‘I take it, then, that you intend to hold me a prisoner here?’
The Monsignor shrugged. ‘I do not need to. Should you be so ill-advised as to leave this place, I shall take steps to let the authorities know that you are at large, and within a few hours you would be arrested. It will be only a few days now before my plans for your final appearance are completed. During that time you may enjoy the freedom of this house and its garden.’
Adam thought quickly. Chela had got him into this and, if she still loved him, she might help to get him out of it. Owing to her devotion to Alberuque, that seemed unlikely; but it was at least a possibility—in fact his only hope. So he said:
‘The time of waiting is certain to prove a great strain. To ease it, would you allow the Señorita Chela to visit me?’
‘I see no reason to refuse. But you must content yourself with walking with her in the garden. This house is conducted as a monastery, so it would not be fitting that she should enter it. Later I will telephone her and find out if she is free to come here either tomorrow afternoon or the next.’
‘Thank you.’ As Adam spoke, it occurred to him that it would be sound tactics to pretend resignation, so he added:
‘In the meantime, can I have something to read?’
With a wave of his smooth hand, Alberuque indicated the many shelves of books. ‘Choose what you like. I now have some work to do; but it will not take me more than half an hour. At the end of that time, this room will be at your disposal.’
Seeing that there was no more to be said, Adam nodded curtly, turned about and went back upstairs to his room. There, preferring the bed to the hard-seated chair, he lay down and again gloomily contemplated the results of having come to Mexico in search of background colour for a novel. He had hit both the high-spots and the low-spots. The hours he had spent alone with Chela had been sheer heaven, those while in custody at the Mérida airport unadulterated hell. In addition there were others that also seemed to have been out of this world. There were times when he could not really believe that he had sacrificed a pig at San Luis Caliente, or stood garbed in barbaric splendour on the top of the Pyramid of the Magician at Uxmal. Those episodes far more nearly resembled his dreams of past lives. In fact the whole conception of a plot to use him as Quetzalcoatl and launch a revolution that would set modern Mexico back a thousand years seemed utterly fantastic.
Yet here he was, unquestionably awake and, for all practical purposes, a prisoner in this gloomy monastic house. The association with religion brought his thoughts back to Alberuque. Ordained though he must have been, he was no priest of Christ. Mentally he was still Itzechuatl, a servant of the Devil, as represented by the blood-lusting gods who had for so long terrorised the unfortunate people of Mexico.
That made the movement he was leading much more understandable. The superstition-ridden Indians still believed in those old gods, and sacrificed chickens and pigs to them. Many of their mixed country priests were secretly of the same persuasion and gave only lip service to the Christian God. It had needed only a dominating personality, such as Alberuque’s, to imbue them with the conviction that, if they acted with resolution, they could by sheer weight of numbers seize the country and afterwards be able to bring about a return of the old days—the days of human sacrifice.
If that came about, Alberuque would achieve his ambition. Once more he would be a High Priest, able to glut his sadistic craving to hear the screams of his victims as he tore out their hearts and plunged his hands in their warm blood.
What then? Would the United Nations take solemn notice and, after months of debate, call for sanctions, or the United States employ armed intervention? Either was possible, but unlikely. Both had sponsored this new-found doctrine that all peoples were entitled to their independence, which, literally interpreted, meant that they were free to persecute and kill their minorities in any way they chose. The pressure they had exerted to force the European Powers to give up their colonies prematurely had led in them to an end of justice, toleration, the liberty of the individual, security of property and life itself. Indonesia, Cambodia, India, Pakistan, Cyprus and the Congo all told the same awful tale of massacres and murder. Would Americans then kill their own ‘sacred cow’ and intervene in Mexico? Even if at long last they did, it would not be before many thousands of people had lost their lives in a ghastly civil war.
Judging that the half-hour was up. Adam went downstairs again. The library was empty and he browsed there, seeking some work that would distract his mind from his worries. Nearly all the books were in Spanish and on religious subjects; but at length he came upon a row of tall atlases, some of which dated back to the seventeenth century, and he flicked over their pages until he was brought his meagre lunch.
Afterwards he went out into the garden. It was ill-cared-for, its paths overgrown with weeds, but it was a good acre in extent and surrounded by high walls. At the far end there stood a big barn and, finding the door unlocked, he went inside. To his surprise, it housed a helicopter capable of carrying four people. The machine formed a strange contrast to the other contents of the barn: an ancient wagon, two dusty carriages dating from Victorian times, old agricultural implements and, in a half-loft above, some bales of hay.
For a moment he was seized with the wild idea that he might use the helicopter to escape—to fly right out of Mexico down to Guatemala. But he had never flown an aircraft of any kind, so recognised his thought to be a pipe-dream. Besides on second thoughts even if he could have flown it and it was capable of covering such a distance, he would not have made the attempt. For better or worse, he considered himself committed now to remain there and do his damnedest to wreck Alberuque’s schemes.
But how? All the afternoon he paced up and down the garden exploring possibilities. One thing was clear: he dared not communicate with Ramón or the police. If he had been able to go to them with the names of several Bishops and evidence that they were involved in the conspiracy, or an account of Alberuque’s plans and the date he intended to set the revolution in motion, he would have gambled on their believing him and, at all events until matters developed, affording him protective custody.
To go to them empty-handed was a very different matter. They had clearly believed him guilty in the Uxmal affair and had given him the benefit of the doubt only because there was a chance that they might gain some useful information by doing so. Now, after the massacre at the prison, obviously staged to get him out, he must be Number One on their wanted list. They would never believe him to be innocent. They would assume that he had come to them only because he had belatedly decided that Alberuque’s coup would fail; so was now endeavouring to put himself in the clear while there was still time. Even if they kept him on ice for the time being, once Alberuque’s account of how he had strangled the warder reached them, his goose would be cooked.
He could think of only one possible life-line: ‘Uncle’ Jeremy Hunterscombe. Whatever he was supposed to have done, Hunterscombe would not turn him over to the police. He might provide help or, at all events, sound advice on how to get the better of Alberuque. And later, when Adam had to face a police enquiry, the Wing Commander would be able to vouch for it that he had done his utmost to sabotage the conspiracy.
During the course of the day, Adam had seen, in addition to the skull-faced lay brother who appeared to be in charge of him, several monks, as well as four Indian hoodlums who lurked about the place, presumably as guardians; so, after spending a long, dreary evening, he still had to struggle to keep awake for several hours until he could be reasonably certain that the inmates of the house were asleep.
Although he still had no accurate means of telling the time, he judged it to be about one o’clock in the morning when he got out of bed, dressed himself and prepared to leave the building. To have gone downstairs would have been to risk discovery, and the last thing he wanted was for Alberuque to learn that he had attempted to escape or communicate with friends outside. But the door of his room had not been locked and in the ceiling of the landing on to which it led he had noticed a trapdoor that was obviously a way up to the roof.
Owing to his unusual height, by standing on tiptoe he was able to reach it and, after several failures, he succeeded in throwing the trap back. A good spring then enabled him to grasp a rim of the aperture and a moment later he had wriggled himself out into the cool night air.
The ten minutes that followed were fraught with difficulties and dangers, but his strength and reach enabled him to overcome them. Lowering himself from one precarious hold to another, he succeeded in reaching the ground safely. Still undetected, he tiptoed down the drive and out into the high-walled, cobbled street.
So far, so good; but he now had to get to Hunterscombe’s apartment, which presented quite a problem, for he had no money and not the faintest idea where he was. As the street was on a slope, he set off downhill and after only five minutes’ walk he had a lucky break. It ended in an irregular, open space, on one side of which stood a big building blazing with lights, and in front of it were parked thirty or forty cars. After a moment he recognised it as the once-great monastery and now deluxe restaurant of San Angel.
That gave him his bearings, but cause for dismay, as he recalled that this ancient suburb lay about seven miles from the centre of Mexico City. For several minutes he stood in the shadow of some tall trees, listening to the strains of dance music coming from the restaurant, while he wondered what to do. From time to time cars would be leaving, so he could beg a lift; but it was certain that his description would have been circulated by the police. His height, coupled with his red-gold hair and beard, were a sure give-away; so he decided that he dared not risk it and must walk.
After two false casts, he found the six-lane motorway and put his best foot forward. Presently he came to a lighted clock tower and saw that it was only twenty-five minutes to one; so he had overestimated the time he had lain waiting and must have left the house shortly after midnight. But that was now all to the good. Below the tower there was a public telephone box. If only he had had a few coins on him he could have telephoned Hunterscombe to drive out and meet him; but he had not, so, regretfully, had to continue on his way. His long stride ate up the miles and an hour and a half after leaving San Angel he was well into the city.
There he had to make enquiries several times for directions to the street in which Hunterscombe lived. Although it was by then close on two o’clock, there were still plenty of people about, for it is rightly said that Mexico City never sleeps. Each time he asked his way, he feared to be identified; but he asked only of down-and-outs, thinking that they would be least likely to have read the newspapers, and, to his great relief, none of them showed any special interest in him. After another half an hour of striding along pot-holed pavements, he reached his destination: a block of apartments to the south of Chapultepec Park.
Thankfully, he saw that there was no porter about, ignored the lift and ran up the stone stairs, pausing on each landing until he found Hunterscombe’s number, then pressed the front-door bell, praying that he would be at home. Twice more he rang, and was beginning to fear that he had accomplished his seven-mile tramp for nothing, when the door was opened by the Wing Commander—his thin hair rumpled, slightly bleary-eyed and clad in a flamboyant silk dressing gown.
‘So it’s you,’ he muttered with a frown. ‘Did the night porter bring you up?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No, he wasn’t in the hall.’
‘Thank God for that! You’re a hot potato if ever there was one. But come on in.’
A few minutes later Adam was sitting in a comfortable armchair, a welcome brandy and soda in his hand, giving an account of all that had happened to him. When he had finished his recital, Hunterscombe said:
‘Well, chum, you’re in the soup and no mistake. I believe you, but the police won’t; and everyone is hopping mad about your prison break. I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a packet.’
‘You’re telling me!’ Adam retorted bitterly. ‘That swine Alberuque has got me by the short hairs and don’t I know it. I’ve not a shadow of doubt that he was speaking the truth when he said that his people will do exactly what he tells them, whatever, the cost to themselves. The Negro and those others will swear to it that I strangled the warder and I can’t possibly prove that I didn’t. But you volunteered to help me if I got in a mess; so the only thing I could do was a moonlight flit and come to you.’
The Wing Commander remained thoughtful for a moment, then he brushed up his large moustache and said, ‘If you were a member of the firm we’d have that beard of yours off, dye your hair black, give you a crew-cut and get you out of the country on a faked passport. But you’re not; and it’s more than my job is worth to issue a faked passport to anyone who is not on the strength. Still, there’s no ban on my fixing you up with a disguise if you are game to make a bid to get out of Mexico under your own steam.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a taker.’ Adam took a pull at his brandy and soda. ‘When I first heard about this business I was reluctant to get mixed up in it and later I resented being blackmailed by the police into agreeing to give them my help. But now things are different. The massacre at the prison opened my eyes to the sort of thing that will happen all over the country if Alberuque is allowed to let loose his coloureds. I left his place tonight only to come to see you. I mean to go back there and do my damnedest to chuck a spanner in his works.’
‘Good for you, chum!’ Hunterscombe’s eyes suddenly brightened and he sat up. ‘That is quite another cup of tea and your Uncle Jeremy is right behind you. What line do you intend to take?’
‘All I can do is try to find out when and where the big meeting at which I’m billed to appear is to take place; then let you know. If I can do that, it will both enable the police to scotch it and prove to them that I am innocent.’
‘That’s the drill, if only you can pull it off. How about communications?’
‘I got away tonight without much trouble. Providing I don’t arouse their suspicions, I see no reason why I shouldn’t get out of the house again as soon as I have anything to report. I’m averse to seven-mile walks though; so if you’ll give me some money, next time I could telephone from somewhere near the place.’
‘That’s not good medicine, old boy. You may get caught on your way in tonight, or for some other reason they may decide to lock you up and put a guard on you. D’you happen to know Morse?’
‘Yes. I was a W/T operator for a time when I was doing my service in the Royal Navy.’
‘Hence the beaver, eh?’ Hunterscombe grinned. ‘You decided to keep it, just as I have my R.A.F. moustache. Anyhow, your being able to use a transmitter is going to save us a lot of headaches.’
Standing up, he walked over to a chest and took from one of the drawers a long, flat silver cigarette case. Opening it he showed that one side held a row of some fourteen cigarettes; the other side was covered by a metal flap. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is a gadget for just such occasions. Under the flap there is a radio that has a pretty useful range. I’ll give you my call sign and will listen in every day for half an hour from 0800 hours, 1700 hours and 2300 hours, then all you’ll have to do is to tap me out the gen.’
‘Fine.’ Adam took the case and examined it carefully. Then he said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could lend me a gun.’
‘Do you think that’s wise? If somebody tumbled to it that you were carrying one, they’d wonder where you got it.’
‘I’ll take good care no-one sees it and I may need a weapon badly. You see, I’ve a nasty feeling that if things do blow up Alberuque would not hesitate to do me in. But if I’ve a gun on me, with a little luck I’d be able to shoot him first.’
‘O.K., chum.’ The Wing Commander went to the chest again. From another drawer he took a small automatic and an armpit holster. Having loaded the weapon, he fitted the holster on to Adam and said, ‘We’ll have one for the road, then I’ll get into some togs and run you back; but we’ll have to keep our eyes skinned for the night porter as we go downstairs. That head of hair of yours is about as conspicuous as a parson wearing a pair of tights with his dog-collar.’
When they had finished their drinks, Hunterscombe left the room to dress. He returned with a wad of notes and some small change. As he gave them to Adam, he said, ‘With the compliments of H.M.G. against emergencies. I suppose that as well as being a matelot you don’t happen to be a flying type?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No; and I’m really only a landlubber.’
‘Pity. I was thinking about that helicopter. I wouldn’t be surprised if old Alberuque doesn’t intend to have you flown to the place where he means to hold his jamboree. If you were a pilot you might have beaten him to it, and left him in the lurch. Still, maybe you could sabotage it so that it couldn’t take off.’
‘That’s certainly an idea. I’ll bear it in mind.’
With Hunterscombe leading the way they tiptoed downstairs. The porter was still absent; so they got clear of the building without being seen, and while Adam waited in the shadows his companion collected his car from the garage. It was a long, low Alfa Romeo of ancient vintage but alarming power and they covered the seven miles in a little over ten minutes. Shortly after four o’clock Adam’s ‘Uncle’ Jeremy dropped him in San Angel, wished him ‘happy landings’ and roared away into the night.
When Adam reached the house it was still in darkness and he thought it unlikely that even its religious inmates would get up to make their early-morning devotions in the chapel for another hour or more. All the same, he approached with the utmost caution. Clambering down had been a risky business and he was not at all looking forward to his climb back on to the roof; but, having gumshoed round the building, he found a first-floor verandah at the back which he had not seen before, and above it there was an open window.
Judging the window to be on the staircase, he clambered up to it and, holding his breath, peered in. It was so dark inside that at first he could not make out whether he was staring on to a landing or a bedroom; so for several long, anxious moments he hung there, listening intently for snores or heavy breathing. No sound reached him and by then, his eyes having become accustomed to the darkness, he felt fairly certain that, if he was looking into a room, it had no furniture in it.
The window was not open wide enough for him to get in, so he pushed it up a few inches. As he did so the old frame gave a loud crack that, in the silence of the night, sounded as if it would rouse the dead. Again he froze and hung there, expecting every moment to hear the running footsteps of someone coming to investigate. But the stillness remained unbroken. Reassured, after a long wait he wriggled over the sill and tiptoed forward. Then, by the dim light, he saw that he had been right. He had come in on the landing. Ten minutes later he was in bed and fast asleep.
On the following afternoon, feeling considerably easier in his mind than he had been during his first day as Alberuque’s guest, Adam was sitting in the library reading an early edition of Bernal Diaz’s famous True History of the Conquest of New Spain when the dumb lay brother came in and handed him a small sheet of paper on which was written: ‘The Señorita Enriquez will arrive at the garden gate to visit you at four o’clock.’
Adam’s first reaction was delight, but it was swiftly followed by uneasiness. It was over ten days since he had seen Chela and they had parted on far from happy terms. The night after his rescue from the police by Father Suaréz, he had declared to her that nothing would induce him to lend himself further to Don Alberuque’s plans and that had resulted in their having a furious row. The following morning she had come to him submissively and begged him to talk things over, but they had never done so, because she had gone off to Mérida to buy a hacksaw with which to cut off his handcuffs and before she returned he had again been arrested.
The question was, what front should he present to her now? That she had agreed to come to see him at all implied that she still cared for him and he knew that he was still in love with her. But Alberuque would have informed her of the present situation—that, under duress, he had again consented to play. To tell her that he did not mean to, let alone that if he got half a chance he intended to bust the whole movement wide open, was out of the question: yet the idea of pretending that he was now reconciled to appear again as Quetzalcoatl, and so win her confidence by deception, was most repugnant to him.
After some thought, he decided that he must compromise with his conscience. She could hardly expect him to approve the massacre at the prison or to be happy at having been coerced by Alberuque into doing as the Monsignor wished. But he could pretend resignation to force majeure, and it was clearly his duty to get what he could out of her.
Well before four o’clock he was out, pacing up and down the broad open space of the garden that lay in front of the big barn, keeping an anxious eye on the gate. True to Mexican form, it was not until nearly half past that one of the Indians who had been posted on the gate let Chela in.
Halting abruptly in his pacing, Adam turned and strode towards her. She was dressed in a coat and skirt of scarlet Thai silk and had an absurd hat perched on her black hair. She looked more lovely than ever. Displaying her even, white teeth in a ravishing smile, she ignored the guard and cried:
‘Oh, darling! How lovely to see you.’
At the very sight of her, Adam’s heart had begun to beat faster. His eyes drank in her superb figure and the grace with which she moved. All the emotions she had previously aroused in him again came to the surface. Seizing both her outstretched hands in his, he said:
‘I can hardly believe that I’m not dreaming. There have been times when I feared I’d never see you again.’
‘I know.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve been worried out of my wits about you. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Don Alberuque telephoned me to say that you were free and are at one with us again. Naturally, you were upset about things going wrong at Uxmal, but I felt certain that when you had had a chance to think matters over you wouldn’t let me down.’
So, Adam thought, Alberuque has not put her fully in the picture. She believes that I have come round and am now willing to play their game out for them. Aloud, he said, ‘Don Alberuque has been most kind, particularly in agreeing that you should be allowed to come to see me in this monastic haunt.’
She made a wry face. ‘It’s a world apart from our villa at Acapulco, isn’t it? And I’m forbidden the house. Still, surely there must be some place where we could … well, talk in private?’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘There’s the barn. In it there is a helicopter; but unless the mechanic is working on the engine, no-one is likely to be there.’
‘Let’s explore it, then.’ She took his hand and they walked over to the barn. As he had expected, it was deserted. Without his aid she ran up the ladder to the open loft where the bales of hay were stacked. He followed, wrenched the bands from one of the bales and spread out the hay to make a couch for them. Picking her up in his arms, he gave her a long kiss on the mouth, then lowered her to the hay. She pulled him down beside her, twined her fingers in his hair, and whispered:
‘Darling, I’ve wanted you so terribly.’
‘And I you. It seems an age since we last made love.’
He had one arm round her and was leaning over looking down into her dark, limpid eyes. She closed one of them in a wicked wink. ‘I prefer a bed, but there could be worse places than this.’
‘Some people refer to it as a “roll in the hay”,’ he laughed. ‘Come on, let’s.’
Her slim fingers were already at her waist, undoing her skirt. Wriggling out of it, she spread it beneath her. Eagerly he bared her breasts and kissed one of them. For a few minutes they dallied, exciting each other to a fervour, then she threw back her head and pulled him more closely to her.
Suddenly she gave a little cry, ‘No! Stop! You’re hurting me.’
Raising himself, he looked down at her in surprise. ‘But … but it never has before.’
‘No, darling. Not there. It’s something hard under your left arm. It was digging into my breast.’
In his excitement he had forgotten the small automatic strapped under his left armpit. Quickly he unbuttoned the strap of the holster and pulled it out.
As she saw the weapon her eyes widened and she said, ‘So you are carrying a gun. Where did you get it?’
‘I …’ He hesitated a moment, then inspiration came to him and he lied. ‘During that ghastly battle at the prison. There was a dead detective lying in the corridor with his coat open. When I spotted it I thought it might be useful in getting away, so I took it from him.’
She nodded. ‘I see. Yes. What a terrible business that was. Just as at Uxmal, everything went wrong. Don Alberuque told me. His men were only supposed to hold the Governor of the prison up at pistol-point and force him to release you. But someone lost his head. I was horrified, because it is such a blot on our movement.’
Adam did not doubt for one moment that she was telling what she believed to be the truth. To learn that Alberuque had not made her a party to the deliberate massacre and the murder of the warder as a means of blackmailing him, was a great relief. Kissing her again, he said:
‘My sweet, the whole affair was utterly horrible. But there is nothing we can do about it now.’
Adam had laid aside his gun. The discovery of it had temporarily poured cold water on their passion, but they were still eager for each other. Thrusting from their minds the thought of that night of blood, they renewed their caresses and five minutes later were locked in the divine embrace.
When it was over they lay silent for a while, Chela’s dark head on Adam’s broad chest. Yet he was far from experiencing the utter contentment which had submerged him in a swoon of happiness on the other occasions after he had possessed her. One tormenting thought nagged at him persistently. Slave as he was to the allure of her cameo-like features, her voice, her laughter and her glorious, dark-golden body, he could no longer believe that, for all her apparent purity, she was not the servant of evil. Even if it meant an end to everything between them, he felt that he must challenge her and force her to admit it, as the first step to saving her from the satanic influence under which she had fallen.
At length, raising himself on one elbow, he looked down into her lovely, sun-tanned face and said, ‘Chela, my love. You know who Alberuque really is, don’t you?’
Her big eyes widened and she murmured, ‘Who he really is? Whatever do you mean?’
‘Why, that he is Itzechuatl in a new incarnation.’
‘Itzechuatl! I don’t understand. I’ve never heard of him.’ She yawned and looked away, turning her head sideways.
At her denial, Adam’s temper frayed. Taking her by the shoulders, he shook her. ‘Don’t lie to me! You can’t have forgotten that day when, as Mirolitlit, you enabled me to escape from him. He was the evil High Priest who was set on tearing out my heart.’
His rough handling of her had roused her from her somnolent indifference. Now, staring up at him with mouth agape, she gasped, ‘Yes, I remember now. That was the High Priest’s name. But, darling, I’m sure you must be mistaken. Anyhow, I wouldn’t have recognised him as I did you. I saw the High Priest only that one time on the terrace of the Palace, and then his face was smothered in paint.’
‘It’s not his physical appearance but his personality that comes through. Surely you must have sensed it?’
‘No. I swear I haven’t. And I know Don Alberuque so well. You must be wrong. I’m certain you are.’
‘I’m certain I’m not,’ Adam retorted stubbornly. ‘And he is still living in the past. That is the key to this movement in which you have involved yourself. There is nothing Christian about it. His status as a Monsignor is a cloak which enables him to influence others and foster his evil designs. His real intention is to re-establish the old religion and rule Mexico again as High Priest.’
Pushing Adam from her, Chela sat up. ‘You are wrong, darling! Absolutely wrong! He is a saint and has only the betterment of our poor down-trodden Indians at heart.’
Sadly Adam realised that it was useless to argue further with her. But the faith she displayed in Alberuque’s innocence held such conviction that he could not doubt her honesty; so at least he was able to console himself with the thought that she had not consciously become the tool of evil.
With a sigh, he said, ‘Beloved, since neither of us believes the other, we had better drop the subject. But time will show. And of one thing I am positive. Alberuque is still my enemy. He has not forgotten that, in our previous lives, I cheated him of a Man-God as a sacrificial victim, and if he can he means to get me now. But forewarned is forearmed. I mean to watch him like a lynx. If he or his people lift a finger against me, I’ll kill him without the slightest scruple.’
‘Adam!’ Chela gave a gasp of horror. ‘What are you saying? How could you even think of such a thing?’ Her glance fell on the pistol lying in the hay beside him. ‘You … you can’t really mean that you’d shoot him?’
He shrugged. ‘God knows I’m not a violent type. I’d hate having to kill anybody. I would, though, if it were to save my own life.’
‘But think! Just think! In all innocence he might say or do something that you took to be a threat, then … then, suspicious and trigger-happy as you are, you might shoot him before realising your mistake. And he is a priest. Even if you are right about his being a reincarnation of Itzechuatl, in this life he is the Lord’s Anointed. To kill him would be the most terrible crime. Whatever happens, I implore you to put any such idea out of your mind.’
Taking her hand, he patted it and gave her a pale smile. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet. I promise you I won’t act rashly, and we’ll pray that it never comes to a showdown between him and me.’
For a long time she was silent, then she said, ‘Feeling about him as you do, I am surprised that you have again agreed to co-operate with him.’
Instantly Adam was on his guard. He loathed having to deceive her, but had no option. After a moment, he said, ‘That is different. As you know, at first I was reluctant to play; but you persuaded me that if the revolution succeeded, as the Man-God I could control our people, and prevent excesses like that which took place at the prison. I still feel that it is my duty to take a chance on being able to do that.’
‘But what about your enmity to Don Alberuque?’
‘You may prove right, after all; that in this life he is a reformed character. If so, I’ll co-operate. If not, I’ll hope to overcome him. But this waiting about is getting on my nerves. All I want now is to get on with the job. Do you know when the big day is to be?’
She shook her head. ‘No; but it won’t be long now. Within two or three days at most.’ As Chela spoke, she looked at her wrist watch, then exclaimed, ‘How the time has flown! It’s nearly six. I must be going.’
He took her in his arms again. After prolonged kissing they stood up. She put on her skirt and he brushed the pieces of hay from it. As they left the barn, she promised to come again the following afternoon. Then he accompanied her to the garden gate and, once more enthralled by the grace of her tall figure, watched her walk through the gate to her car.
When she had gone he returned to the barn, took the radio cigarette case from his pocket and, judging it by then to be 1800 hours, tapped out Hunterscombe’s call sign every few minutes. For a while there was no response, then he got through and sent a brief message that the party was scheduled to take place not more than three days hence. The Wing Commander sent back, ‘Good for you. Keep in touch and don’t act without me.’
That evening Adam spent a long time thinking over his conversation with Chela about Alberuque, and wondering if she could possibly be right in her belief that he was now an honest fanatic whose only ambition was to better the lot of the Indians and coloureds: but he could not accept it. His every instinct cried aloud that the intriguing priest had long since sold his soul to Satan and was an active embodiment of malefic forces.
The following afternoon found him eagerly awaiting Chela’s promised visit. As soon as she arrived, they went to the barn. Not long after they had settled themselves, they enjoyed another ‘roll in the hay’ then, still embraced, talked for over an hour. But both of them avoided bringing up the name of Don Alberuque and they had no serious conversation about the ‘movement’.
Shortly before leaving him, Chela said that she would not be able to come the next day because she had to attend a committee meeting at the Ministry of Education. When she had gone, he pondered on that; for it struck him as strange that, with the great crisis in their lives now imminent—after which it was possible they might never meet again—she should not have made some excuse to get out of her committee meeting so that she could spend another hour or two with him. Uneasily, he wondered if the committee was a myth and that in fact she had some special preparations to make before the ceremony which was to trigger off the revolution.
If his guess was right, it meant that the balloon was due to go up the following night. Soon after six o’clock he radioed Hunterscombe and told him of his suspicions. The Wing Commander tapped back, ‘Will be listening in from 1500 hours till 2400 hours tomorrow.’
The next morning passed uneventfully. In the afternoon Adam went to the barn and had a look at the helicopter, with the idea of seeing if he could sabotage it. But he knew nothing about engines so, short of actually smashing it with a hammer, there was no way in which he could put it out of action. Smashing it would certainly be attributed to him, and would thereby warn Alberuque of his secret intention to rebel at the last moment. So he decided to leave it and, instead, went up the ladder and lay down in the hay where he and Chela had taken their joy of each other.
He thought of her with longing, then dropped off into a doze. Some while later he was roused by voices below, near the helicopter. Peering cautiously over, he saw that two mechanics were working on the machine. Now much relieved that he had not monkeyed with it, he listened intently to their conversation.
One of them had a grouse and, between technical exchanges with his companion about the engine, was grumbling that he would not be able to keep a date with a girl who he had good hopes would let him have his way with her that night. Presently the man said:
‘If only the old bastard would have stayed put till midnight, I could have made it; but take-off at ten o’clock means I’ll have to stand little Inez up and the odds are she’ll be so furious that she’ll not give me another chance.’
So this was ‘it’, and take-off was timed for ten o’clock. Impatiently Adam waited until the two mechanics had finished work on the helicopter and had left the barn. Then he got through to Hunterscombe.
‘Good show,’ the Wing Commander tapped back. ‘Any idea where the ’copter will be heading for?’
Adam replied, ‘No, and unlikely I can find out.’
The response was: ‘Can’t be far. Keep your pecker up. I’ll be seeing you.’
As soon as he had eaten his meagre supper that evening, Adam went up to bed. As tonight was the night, he knew that he might need every ounce of strength that he could muster; so even an hour or two lying dozing would be all to the good.
For a long time, or so it seemed to him, he lay there in the dark, thinking of Chela; wondering whether somehow they would both come through this awful business and, if they did, he could persuade her to forgo a Mexican millionaire as a husband and marry him.
Then, as he had felt almost certain would be the case, the dumb lay brother came in carrying a lamp and made signs to him that he should dress and come downstairs.
He took his time about dressing and had so arranged his clothes that, by keeping his back to the skull-headed mute, he could strap on his shoulder holster without it being seen. He had no fear that Alberuque would attempt to kill him until after he had played his part in the ceremony as Quetzalcoatl, unless he refused to do so at the last minute. But he felt certain that there would be a showdown later, and the feel of the pistol under his armpit was a great comfort. Priest or no priest, Adam meant to get in first and send him to hell where he belonged.
Downstairs in the library, he found Alberuque waiting for him, sitting as before, smugly behind the big desk. But what Adam had not expected was to find two Indian hoodlums in the room posted on either side of the door.
As he came into the room Alberuque greeted him politely:
‘Señor Gordon, or should I anticipate by a few hours and address you as Most Exalted One, Essence on Earth of the Supreme Powers, Lord Quetzalcoatl. Tonight is the night of your Elevation. Shortly we shall proceed to the place of the ceremony, where you will be hailed as the representative of the true gods and the restorer of the ancient religion. But first there are two small matters which must be attended to. I have here a paper that I wish you to read.’
As he spoke, the Monsignor pulled open a drawer of the desk and put his hand into it. But when he withdrew his hand, instead of a paper, it held an automatic.
Pointing it at Adam’s heart, he smiled and said smoothly, ‘I have been informed that you are carrying a pistol in an armpit holster. Be good enough to raise your hands above your head while my men relieve you of it.’
Slowly Adam raised his big hands. He was too stunned, too shattered, even to speak. A single thought seared through his mind with the pain of a hot iron. Only Chela knew that he was carrying a gun; she had betrayed him.