“Hey!” Connie shouted, waving both arms high over her head. The sound of the surf on the beach below drowned out her voice. “Hey, down there!”
Hooker ran forward and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back from the edge of the bluff.
“What’s the idea?” she said. “There’s white men down there. They’ll help us.”
“Don’t be so damned eager,” Hooker said. “Let’s find out who they are.”
Connie looked at Buzz.
“He’s right,” Buzz said. “After all we’ve been through, we’d be saps to rush into something now without knowing the score.”
“Oh, all right,” Connie said. “We’ll tiptoe down the hill and make sure these people are okay before we let them rescue us. Excuse me for being so silly and impetuous. After all, you’re the big strong men who make the decisions. I’m just the poor weak little woman.”
“I’m glad you’re not bitter,” Hooker said.
The three of them made their way along the lip of the bluff until they found a trail leading down to the beach and the motley grouping of buildings.
“What do you think is going on down there?” Buzz wondered.
“Damned if I know,” Hooker said. “It sure as hell isn’t a resort hotel.”
“Not with the camouflage and that businesslike dock. It looks kind of military. The Mexican army isn’t doing anything down here, are they?”
“What Mexican army?” Hooker said.
“I see what you mean.”
They reached the foot of the bluff and paused to look toward the beach. The facility was cold and forbidding at ground level. The buildings were of wood and corrugated metal. The walls were painted a drab gray so that they could not be seen from the air. There were neat paths connecting the buildings. The dock extended 100 feet out into the bay. There were big cylindrical tanks at the near end, painted in camouflage patterns of green, brown, and black. A dozen or so men stood out on the seaward end of the dock.
The sound of voices close up ahead startled the three people at the base of the bluff. They froze in position and looked at each other.
“They’re talking German!” Buzz said in a hoarse whisper.
Frowning, Hooker nodded. The three of them crouched low in a clump of palmettos.
Ten feet in front of them, a four-man work party marched past in single file, keeping in step over the rocky ground. They were dressed in gray coveralls and carried shovels over their shoulders.
The conversation among the four workmen was animated, and their attention was focused on the activity out on the dock. They passed the spot where Hooker, Buzz, and Connie crouched holding their breath, and continued toward one of the buildings that looked like a barracks.
Hooker jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back up the hill. When the work party was out of sight, they scrambled back up to where a jutting boulder provided shelter and hid them from below.
“What the fuck is it all about?” Buzz said.
“Whatever it is,” said Hooker, “it’s none of our business. Like I said a while back, let’s get across the river and head down the beach the other way until we can pick up a ride with some fishermen.”
“Look out there,” Connie said suddenly, pointing out into the bay.
Half a mile off shore, something broke the water.
“A whale,” Hooker suggested.
“No, look.”
A conning tower came into view, then the hull, black and spilling water. At the bow was the distinctive saw-tooth cable cutter.
“A goddam submarine,” Buzz said.
“Yeah,” Hooker said. “Let’s make tracks.”
“This is a goddam submarine base.”
“Maybe. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” said Buzz.
“Wait? What the hell is there to wait for? The sooner we clear out, the better.”
Neither Buzz nor Connie moved. They were staring out to sea as the sub headed in under power toward the dock. Hooker sighed and settled down to watch with the others.
The tempo of activity increased down below. Men hurried back and forth, and carts of equipment were rolled down to the dock. Someone ran a flag up from the conning tower of the submarine. The cheering of the men on shore could be heard all the way back to where Hooker and the others watched. The flag was red, with a black swastika in a white circle.
“Look at that!” Buzz said. He struggled to his feet, and Hooker had to pull him back down. “It’s a goddam Nazi submarine right here on the coast of Mexico.”
“Quintana Roo isn’t exactly Mexico,” Hooker said.
“I give a shit for technicalities,” Buzz said. “Those fucking goose-steppers are moving into my country. We gotta do something about it.”
“Hold on,” Hooker said. “Slow down. Wait a minute.”
Buzz finally subsided and looked at him. “Well?”
“Maybe you will tell me just what you have in mind doing about it.”
“Blowing the fucking place up, that’s what.” He pulled out of Hooker’s grasp and stood up again, steadying himself by leaning on the boulder. “Look, see those big tanks at the base of the dock? That’ll be diesel fuel. And one of those buildings has got to be ordnance, where they keep the ammunition. What we do is we go down there and blow the place to hell.”
Hooker yanked him back behind the rock. “Let me see if I understand this. You’re suggesting that two men, one with a chewed-up wooden foot, and a woman charge in through the German navy and blow up a submarine base.”
“You got it.”
“When those Indians shaved your head, they must have dug out some of your brains.”
“Like hell. I’m the only one here thinking straight. Do you know what’s south of here?”
“Honduras.”
“Don’t play dumb, Hooker. Panama is south of here. And the Panama Canal. Do you have any idea what kind of hell a Nazi U-boat could play with the shipping through the Panama Canal? They could probably put the whole thing out of commission for months at least.”
“That’s not our problem.”
“Who says it’s not?”
“Buzz, calm down. We’re not at war with anybody. Not you, not me, not Mexico. Not even the United States.”
“That’ll all change damn soon.”
“Not for me. Hooker looks out for Hooker.”
Buzz gave him a long look. “Okay, amigo, then this is where we say adiós. You go on, do whatever you want to do. I’m going down there and kill me some fucking Germans.”
“Listen to me, Buzz,” Hooker said. “This is personal with you, isn’t it?”
“You mean because I’m a Jew?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it is. You must have heard something about what those bastards are doing to Jews.”
“I’ve heard propaganda on both sides.”
“Propaganda, my ass. Those people are killing Jews, and not one at a time. They’re wiping out whole families. Maybe more.”
“Where are you getting your information?”
“From an organization I belong to.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t give me ‘uh-huh’ in that tone of voice. This isn’t politics; this is the murder of a whole race of people.”
“When is it my turn to talk?”
Both men turned in surprise. They had forgotten Connie Braithwaite was there.
“I think I’ve earned a vote,” she said.
“Sure,” Hooker said. “I’m willing to go with the majority. How about you, Buzz?”
“I guess.”
“So far,” Hooker said, “we’ve got one vote for being idiots and declaring a personal war on Germany and one vote for sensibly getting our asses back home where they belong. What do you say, Connie?”
She waited several seconds before speaking. “I’ve done some serious thinking lately about my life up to now. I’ve done pretty well looking out for myself and not much caring about the other guy. This trip to Quintana Roo has changed my mind about a lot of things. People have got to take care of each other. Sorry, Hooker. I vote with Buzz.”
Both of them looked at Hooker.
“Oh, well, count me in, then. Nobody lives forever.”
“Hooker,” Buzz said, “you’re a patriot.”
“Up yours,” said Hooker.