Barney sucked in his breath as he traced each line from Moscow to known Russian military installations around the globe. Although there were no codes on the map, there could be no mistaking the meaning of the lines. Broken red lines to France and Italy indicated peace treaties and possible allies in the event of full-scale nuclear war. Broken blue lines leading to strategically advantageous areas in the Middle East had to mean possible installations, or partially completed installations, in countries where the Russian army could seize the government by force when it decided to. Iran was a broken blue line. So was Afganistan. And so was Hispania.
But the most prominent line on the map was a hand drawn wobbling, drunken line orignating with a small ink blob on an uninhabited jungle border of Hispania, no more than three hours on foot from the spot where Barney and Denise were sitting at that very moment, and leading directly on a straight course over Cuba to Washington, D.C.
"I took this from one of the girls here," Denise said. "General Estomago's favorite. It had fallen under the bed. I found it after they had both left the room. The next day, one of Estomago's men came around to ask if I had found a map outlining potential banana routes. Estomago must have thought I was stupid. Hispania has no reason to ship bananas to Cuba."
"This is a military map," Barney said. "Some of this information is so classified that the CIA doesn't even have it on file yet."
Denise nodded. "Yes, that line to Hispania is new. And so is that line from Hispania to Washington."
"You know what it means?" Barney said.
"Yes. It means that the Russians have waited for the right time and now have built a military installation on Hispania. A nuclear installation which they will unveil at the right moment and use to intimidate the United States. El presidente De Culo and General Estomago have been working on this for two years. Everybody knows about it."
Barney fingered theold map. "If everybody on this island knows about the Russian installation, why hasn't any word leaked out by now?"
Denise sighed. "You still do not understand," she said. "Hispania is a poor country. We do not care whether the Russians control our bananas or the Americans control our bananas. Whoever is on the dicator's throne at the moment will see to it that we do not get money for our bananas anyway, no matter what country he is allied with. We do not care about politics, because we are hungry. De Culo is a wicked man, but every dictator who has come to govern Hispania has been a wicked man. He is no more wicked than the rest. And in his army he feeds many of the young men of our villages. These are men whose families would starve, were it not for the scraps of American and Russian food supplies which they are able to steal and bring home to their people. It is the only way we live. No, we will not talk about the Russian installation. Starvation of our entire country is too high a price to pay for one conversation with a drunken American ambassador."
"You said Estomago has a favorite girl here," Barney said. "Who is she?"
"She is a strange one. An American. I do not trust her."
"Why'd you take her on?"
"Estomago told me that I was to give her shelter and employment to customers of his choosing. She is not a regular working girl here. She is only for Estomago. And for others whom he selects."
"Like who?"
"The most prominent of your CIA men, usually. At first I thought she was a CIA agent herself, but I do not believe that is so. Her hatred for America is very deep. She slashed a young American visitor with a knife once."
"An agent?"
"No. Fortunately, he was a runaway soldier from the American army, so I was able to cover up the incident. But the girl is vicious. I dismissed her after the stabbing, but Estomago insisted that I take her back. He said he would close my house if I didn't. So she remains."
"I want to talk to her," Barney said, rushing to throw on a shirt and a pair of pants. "I want to see her right now."
"Be careful, darling," Denise warned. "She is Estomago's woman. And you are already being watched here, since you are the last American agent on the island. If she suspects that you know anything, Estomago will kill you."
"Tell her I'm on my last fling before heading home to the bad old USA."
"But she must know that we're married."
"That's perfect. Say you married me to get a passport out of this stinkhole, and you'll be leaving with me, just as soon as I have my fill of young poon-tang."
Denise led him upstairs to the girl's room. The door was closed.
"She is very private," she said. "This one never chats with the other girls or even dines with us. Always alone."
She rapped sharply on the door. After a few minutes, it was opened by a young, platinum-haired, thin-faced girl dressed all in white, her thin lips stretched taut against her teeth to resemble a skull.
"Yes," she drawled sullenly, the hint of the American South drawing out her word.
"I have a visitor for you," Denise said crisply. The girl turned her back on them and walked wordlessly toward the bed, unbuttoning her blouse.
Denise closed the door behind her as she left. "What's your name?" Barney asked, still standing inside the door, his hands in his pockets.
"Gloria," the girl said with a bored half yawn. "Come on. Get this over with."
"Gloria what?"
"Sweeney," the blonde said. "You come here to talk or screw?"
Chapter Eleven
Barney Daniels's arm jerked upward with such force that it shredded the gauze wrapping which held it to the I.V. board bolted to the side of the bed.
The lone nurse monitoring the small section of the clinic rushed over. She pressed a button over the bed that rang a bell in Dr. Jackson's office.
"It's Barney," Jackson said to Remo as he took off at a run.
"Let me talk to him, Doc. If he's conscious, I want to talk to him."
"I don't want you aggravating my patient with any CIA bullshit," Jackson said as he burst through the double doors into Barney's room.
Thrashing under the hands of the nurse, his plastic bag of plasma jiggling precariously above him, Barney Daniels screamed.
It was an unconscious scream, wild and frightened. "The map," he shrieked, his voice breaking. "The map."
The night nurse watched the video monitors frantically as Barney's life signals peaked in jagged, uneven mountains. "There, there," she said uncertainly.
"Move aside," Jackson said as he approached the bed. "Nurse, prepare two hundred thousand CC's of thorazine on the double."
He grabbed Barney by both flailing arms. "Settle down, Barney. It's Doc. I'm here."
"The map," Barney shrieked.
"Shut up, I said "
The nurse swung around to retie the gauze strips around Barney's arms as Doc's hands held them in place. Barney's hospital gown was drenched with sweat. His hair was matted with it, and it poured down his face in shiny streams.
"He's undergoing some kind of intense mental activity," the nurse said. "It's almost like a pentathol reaction."
"It's the curare," Jackson said as he accepted the needle from the nurse.
"No, Doc," Barney panted, his eyes rolling. "Listen to me. Listen... liss..." He forced his eyes to work.
"Let him talk," Remo said. "He could tell us something important."
Jackson looked over to Remo, his hypodermic poised in the air. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."
Remo touched Barney's arm. "The map... Barney."
"Map," he croaked.
"What map?"
"Gloria's map." He licked his cracked lips slowly. "Gloria's apartment. The mosque. Gloria in Hispania." He smiled slowly, his eyes closing. "I remembered, Doc."