"Far be it for me to give advice with my track record in relationships, but I'll tell you, tempting as it seems, that twosome stuff will cause you grief." Zachary said.
Carter motioned for both women to sit on the side of the bed. "We need a quick recap from you, Rachel. What brings you here?"
"What you would expect," Rachel Porat explained. "Piet Bezeidenhout. We know he is in this part of the world. This seems the most likely place to begin."
Carter turned his attention to Margo Huerta. "What have you discovered?"
"The seminars and festivals are serious enough. Rogan absolutely believes everything he says. But these festivals are also held as a cover for the tremendous amounts of supplies and food that come through here."
"Do you know where the receiving areas are?"
"I've found some, but there are more. It is said there is a large complex of warehouses nearby, well camouflaged."
Carter and Zachary exchanged glances. "It's time to get out of here and start pushing." He looked at Rachel. "We're after the same thing, only we're not just looking. We've got to take Bezeidenhout and his group apart. Are you with us?"
"I'm only supposed to look and report back," Rachel said. "Unless I get an unusual opportunity."
"You will," Carter promised. "Come on."
"And me?" Margo said. "Have all my efforts meant nothing just because I was willing to fight for you?"
"You've been a big help, but this is the separation point, the difference between dilettantism and professionalism. The three of us are professionals and know what's at risk."
"You think I know nothing of risk taking?" Margo was growing irate.
"I think you take risks, but we have to take them. We have no other profession to turn to."
"Let me come. I'll abide by your rules."
"Look at her, trying to curry favor," Rachel said.
Carter knew it was time for a decision. "Margo, you can stay with us as long as you follow the rules, but once one of us has reason to question you, it's over. Understood?"
Margo nodded solemnly. "This is for real."
Carter started to sketch copies of his map, but as he did, Rachel Porat reached into the hip pocket of her jeans. "This is one of the advantages of belonging to a group that has a famous uncle." She spread a large map of the area before them.
It was clear, detailed. "Where did you get this?" Zachary asked.
"An American stealth plane made a patterned flyover of this area for us, no questions asked. When we got the prints, we used a line-reduction printing and here it is, instant map, as accurate and recent as you can get."
Carter took the map and read appreciatively. "Some of these features are representations of buildings or camouflage configurations. This is going to make our lives a good deal easier." Using the Mossad map, Carter made rough copies for the others, giving the proper compass orientation and grids.
Zachary was amazed. "I probably couldn't get one of these if I asked for it, and I work for them."
"Let's get moving," Carter said. He established reconnaissance areas for each of them, and assigned check-in times and signals. Then he and Zachary took their things to the car.
Rachel Porat and Margo Huerta were still working under cover identities. Margo still had the guise of a volunteer at the arts center. Rachel was a new arrival on the bus, presumably there for the festival activity. It was now up to each woman to get away on her own without being noticed.
Carter and Zachary loaded the car and headed out the long circular drive, honking to some persons they recognized, heading for all intents and purposes back to Belmopan.
After about three miles of travel down the road, Carter found an area of jungle and overhang that suited his purpose for safely storing the car. He pulled over, removed the necessary equipment, and began to work. He and Zachary put in nearly an hour, erecting a suitable hiding place. They both knew that a car left by the side of the road in country like this would be considered abandoned or fair game. What was left in good faith could very well be missing in a country where there are not many big opportunities.
Each man rigged himself to carry as much equipment as possible, fashioning the equivalents of field packs. Zachary shared some of his water purifying pills with Carter.
The two men had a final cigarette from Carter's case, then turned and melted into the jungle. They were on their way to find Lex Talionis.
Eighteen
After a fast march of over an hour, Nick Carter reached the point on his grid maps where he believed the hospital setup of Dr. Charles Smith was located. Now he began fanning out in circles, looking for traces of roads, utility lines or outbuildings for generators or propane gas containers.
The path, when he found it, was quite sophisticated, made of ground-up saplings and vines. It led Carter to a large building the size of an airplane hangar at a small airport, no great shakes in construction, but sturdy for the job. There were rib and truss beams forming an arc, mounted on top of a large square. Mounted on the outside of the large building were four large air conditioners. A quarter mile or so from the large building was a cinder-block building of about a hundred square feet. Carter had no trouble getting a look inside. His suspicions were confirmed: in it were three large generators and several drums of fuel.
There were only two signs on the large building, private and no unauthorized admission. There were no indications of guards or campsites. As he circled closer, Carter did find a construction that convinced him Dr. Smith liked fresh flowers. A small greenhouse flourished in the tropical growth. Moving in for a closer look, Carter saw an interesting assortment of fuscias, begonias, and bright, cheery asters.
Poking closer to the main building, Carter got a look in a window and saw what was probably a nurse's quarters. At the next level of window, he saw what he had hoped to discover: a small room, well appointed with a hospital bed. Lying in the bed was a man whose face was swathed in bandages. Something familiar about the man tugged at Carter. It was Bud Gonder, the young student from the infirmary and the bomb explosion. Dr. Charles Smith apparently couldn't resist the challenge of giving people different appearances.
There were two other recovery rooms, but each was empty at the moment.
Carter did a quick tour around the building and saw nothing to spoil his earlier assessment about any kind of security system. He looked carefully for electronic alarms, found none, and decided he was going to take his chances by mounting the small four-step tier to the building and stepping inside.
He'd been in dozens of similar buildings, the walls painted in institutional colors and the lobby filled with regulation furniture. A series of doors led to small storage rooms, a nurse's lounge, and a small library with a computer hookup for data base research. A slightly larger door led to an impressive wood-paneled office about twenty feet square. There was a large mahogany desk, teak shelves, and a number of pre-Columbian artifacts. On the desk were several boxes of Cuban cigars. There were also a few large boxes of granola bars. Anticipating the hunger that would soon be on him, Carter took two bars.
Carter guessed this luxurious enclave was Dr. Charles Smith's office when he was in residence. It had the look, the smell, and the tone of a man who thought well of himself and wanted all his outward accoutrements to reflect the fact.
Next to the office was a small, deluxe room with wood paneling, some first-rate graphics on the walls, a water bed, and an expensive stereo system with large, boxy speakers. Without spending too much time checking out meaningless details, Carter saw that there was a large modular shower and a full-length triple mirror. Dr. Smith traveled in style.