A continuing sound penetrated his depressed aura of gloom, making itself known to all of them about the same time. They looked up, looked at the car, listened to the grind-grind-grind of the starter turning over and over with no result. The engine would not start.
“The light,” Sones growled, tearing it from Lizveta Zlotnikova’s hand and throwing open the hood. Inside, even to the unmechani-cal eye, things were not quite as they should be. Torn ends of wires gleamed, half of the cables to the spark plugs were pulled loose and hung in a tangle. Sones reached in and pulled out a hooked length of heavy metal rod, of the kind used to reinforce concrete. “While we were all looking the other way someone crawled under the front of the car and pulled the wires loose with this thing. Fix it, Schultz.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Treasury is not gonna like this.”
“No one likes it, Stocker.” Sones controlled his temper with an effort and rounded on Hawkin who raised his hands.
“Now don’t start on me, Sones. I’m no more to blame than anyone else here. We were conned, but good. So now we have to go after these people and get the money back.”
“Thu only way.”
It took Billy Schultz ten long minutes to jury rig enough of the wires so the engine would start, though at least two cylinders kept missing and banging, while only one headlight came on, and it was frozen in the low beam position.
“Go,” Sones ordered. This was, as were all of his recent orders, issued through tight-clenched teeth.
They went. The Cadillac tore through the thin strands of barbed wire and lumbered down the dirt track that twisted through the outskirts of the village, ending at the graveled shoulder of the highway.
“Which way?” Billy asked. There was no answer. Tony saw that there were people sitting outside the nearby house and he opened the door.
“I’ll ask them.”
Instead of running he forced himself into a slow stroll, feeling the daggers of the impatient eyes behind him burning into his back. But he could not rush; there is a different pace for all things in Mexico. As he drew close he saw the women and children withdraw within the mud-brick walls of the adobe house. Only the man remained, his face a dark blur under the wide brim of his hat, leaning against the pole that supported the roof.
“Good evening,” Tony said.
“Good evening.”
“It should be a pleasant night.”
“It usually is.”
“Cigarette?”
“It will be a pleasure.”
They lit the cigarettes and Tony pointed back down the they had come.
“There was a little accident there and the wire fence was torn near the bull ring. If I gave you money for its repair would you be so kind as to pass it on?”
“But why not.”
Tony paid him, then started away—only to call back over his shoulder.
“The other car that went by a few minutes ago, did you happen to notice in what direction it went?”
“I did. It went that way, toward the south.”
“Adios.”
“Adios.”
“Well?” Sones’s temper had not improved with the delay.
“South.”
“You are sure?”
“There is one way to find out.”
They rushed on through the night, tearing down the dim yellow column of the single headlight, dark shapes of cactus swirling by on each side. There was a figure ahead, a solitary hitchhiker who turned and jerked his thumb in anticipatory gesture. Billy swung out to go around him, not slowing.
“Stop the car!” Tony shouted and Billy hit the brakes L flex, sending them into a long squealing bucking slide.
“Explain, Hawkin, it had better be good.”
“That man, he’s their chauffeur.”
They burst out of the car, running as they hit the ground, weapons in their hands, Stacker even ready with a tear-gas grenade. Their prey stood silently, hands at his side as they surround him and the muzzles of guns prodded from all sides.
“I am simple driver,” he said solemnly. “Hired, perhaps because of my German nationality, to do driving. I do as I am told. I am told to leave car and walk back to town. I leave car and walk back to town.”
“The truth now, or else .. !”
“Let me have him for ten minutes!”
“There is sodium pentothal in the bag.”
Tony drew a reluctant Sones away from the seekers after truth. “I can make him talk,” he said.
“How?”
“Simple enough, if you must know. You see he is, well, my contact with the Israelis. If I found out anything about Robl I was to tell Heinrich here.”
“A Kraut!”
“He’s Jewish, a chemist. Let me get him aside where the others can’t hear.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Do we have a choice? Don’t forget the million ...” Soncs’s teeth could be clearly heard grating together.
“Do it, fast, do it.”
The flashlight was trained on them, guns clearly visible beneath it, as Tony took Heinrich over to the side of the road.
“Would you please tell me what is happening.”
“Just what I said, with the exception that I stopped your car. I was supposed to get off the road. They are on the run. They paid me off.”
“Do you know where they are going?”
“No. About that they were very closemouthed. But perhaps I can help you, but I will have to telephone Jacob Goldstein first. And don’t ask!” He raised his hands, palms outward. “Nothing more can I say until I talk to Jacob.”
Tony waved Sones over to join them.
“This man may be able to help us, but he has to make a phone call first,”
“I do not like this, Hawkin.”
“Do you have any better ideas? Short of torturing him, is there anything else we can do?”
Sones ruminated all the way to Cuernavaca while Heinrich sat stolidly in their midst ignoring the guns that pressed into him from both sides. When the first street lights appeared Sones straightened up and looked around, then tapped Billy Schultz on the shoulder and pointed to the sign that read taller mecanico.
“Pull in there, I want this car fixed up before we go any further.” He glowered a final glower at Heinrich. “You, get on the phone, but we will be with you all the time.”
“Ah don’t like this.” Stocker was unhappy, caressing his gun.
“Well, I do. And this is my operation. If you want that bundle back for Treasury you will do as I say.”
Tony dialed the number himself while the others surrounded the driver. A familiar voice answered.
“There has been some trouble. Heinrich is here and wants to talk to you.”
“We all got troubles. Put him on.”
The conversation was in guttural and incomprehensible Hebrew which Sones did not enjoy hearing. Tony went to talk to the master mechanic, who was shaking his head in amazement at the wanton damage, and encouraged him to do both rapid and excellent repairs. Lizveta Zlotnikova sat in the back of the car with the forged painting, examining it and muttering over it.
“It could still be restored,” she said; there were tears in her eyes, “If we could find the rest of the painting. Why would they do a thing like this?”
“I have no idea,” Tony said. “Maybe they want to pull this confidence racket three more times with the other corners of the painting.” They shuddered together at the thought. “Or maybe that corner of the painting was all they had.”