"I think that's everything. Now, where is the girl?" Garcia asked.
"Sunbathing, at the pool."
Garcia's eyes lit up. "Rebueno. I think I'll join her for a little chat."
"… And so, Jill, I want you to take your paper and paints to Acapulco and do some studies for the exhibit Saturday. I will have on hand a quantity of mats from the gallery. The work will show better that way. Perhaps you will even find time to do a portrait of me in pastels."
"Oh, Don Ernesto, that's right! I haven't done one of you yet! You're so busy…"
"And you have been busy too, my dear. Haven't you?" he said cryptically.
"Well, yes. I have gotten quite a bit done…" she answered, a little flustered.
"How do you find Julio… as a model?"
"He's quite good, actually," she answered, ignoring the innuendo.
"I hope you will find me as satisfactory. I should like to be able to include your study of me at the exhibit."
"Oh, of course. As a matter of fact, I have something else. A self-portrait. I wanted to give it to you as a surprise, to show my appreciation for all you've done for me, Don Ernesto."
"A self-portrait. How charming! I am really touched, Jill. Is it finished?"
"Yes. Except for a few finishing strokes. I'll do that today. But you can't see it until Saturday. That would spoil the surprise."
"I shall find it difficult to wait…"
Except for the irritating presence of Dawson, the journey to Acapulco was exciting for Jill. The printer arrived from Los Angeles with a big package wrapped in brown paper. He explained that they were lithographs, and he didn't want to leave them in the trunk of the Mercedes – theft was too easy.
When they arrived in Acapulco, Julio drove them to the gallery owner's beach house, which was nestled in a private cove at one end of the bay. They had cordials in the spacious living room which, though casually furnished, with big soft armchairs and low couches, was nonetheless the essence of good taste. Half an hour later, Jill was asleep in her bedroom.
The house was dark and silent, except for the croaking of frogs and the chirrups of crickets and other creatures of the night. Silently the door opened and a man walked across the room to her bed. He looked down at her beautiful face, which was illuminated by the tropical moon. He undressed quickly, walking around the bed to the other side. Then he drew back the sheet and got in bed with her.
He pressed against her warm back, placing his arm over her to cup one of her luscious bare breasts in his hand. She stirred and moaned softly in her sleep. He nuzzled his face into her hair, and kissed her on the ear and down her slender white throat to her shoulders. "Jill! Wake up!" he whispered, jostling her breasts with his hand. His hard cock pressed into the crease between her buttocks.
The young girl stirred and stretched her lithe body like a cat. Her eyelids fluttered then opened. She let out a small cry of fright, which was quickly stifled by a powerful man's hand. Then Julio's face appeared before her eyes, and ovalling his lips he whispered, "Shhh. Don't make a sound. We must be very quiet. The housekeeper sleeps with one eye open in the next room."
She turned around to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. They kissed long and hard. She was on fire for him again, and they made breathless, passionate love. Afterwards he said, "Jill, I have to tell you something very, very important. Not only because I need your help, but because I care about you."
"You do?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes. And you will not enjoy what I have to say. It will mean a great sacrifice on your part. But you will be doing your country and my country – and the poor people all over the world a great and heroic service. Do you want to help the people? Do you want to help me?"
She nodded her head mutely, her eyes wide with curiosity and apprehension. "Yes, Julio. But I don't understand."
"Listen. I am not who you think I am. I am a secret agent with an organization similar to the CIA – the Federacion lnternacional Contra la Criminalidad… FICC. We operate in Spanish speaking countries all over the world."
Jill was really bug-eyed now. "But…"
"And your gracious benefactor is not who you think he is. He is a notorious white-slaver. More than that, we strongly suspect him of wide-scale drug operations. In fact, we know that he is a principal figure in illicit drug traffic. But we have never been able to find out how he is passing the drugs, nor to whom he passes them. Garcia is a brilliant criminal. And like all men possessed of nefarious genius, he is extremely cautious… and extremely dangerous."
Jill was barely breathing, so awestruck and so tense was the naive young girl. "Don Ernesto? I can't believe it."
"Can you believe that my kid brother died of an overdose when he was only fifteen years old?" Julio said through a clenched jaw.
"Oh Julio – I'm so sorry. That's horrible. Tragic."
"Yes. Someone got him hooked on drugs – a junkie who needed to support his own habit. And that junkie got it from someone who dealt with a man like Ernesto Garcia, if not Garcia himself! Does that not make your gracious benefactor a killer?"
"Well… when you put it that way, of course. But he's been so kind to me, so generous…"
"Yes, chiquita. Very kind. Very generous. He can afford to be, for he intends to use you very profitably!"
"Use me? How?"
Julio told her the whole story, including the grisly fate that would befall her after the debauching orgy. She would become a captive at the ranchero, forced into addiction and prostitution along with the other kidnapped girls. Then he told her that Josephine was a witch of some kind who was the Don's procurer in San Francisco, how he had personally delivered a large sum of money to her before going to the motel – it was no accident that Garcia arrived when he did; Josephine had tipped him off as soon as Dawson left with the suitcases. Dawson knew nothing about Josephine's part in the conspiracy. Garcia was extremely wily. He told some people part of his operation and to others, he told other things. But no one knew everything. He had never hinted of his dope dealings to Julio.
Jill was crushed and horrified. Josephine! That tea – it was a drug of some kind! And the exhibit! A party in honor of "such a promising young American artist"! Oh God!
"Listen. Tonight I saw Garcia and the printer go down to the beach in the dark. I was able to observe them through a small, infrared telescopic device. A little later, a small motorboat arrived at the cove with a partial shipment of special hi-potency vitamins – feed additives for the fighting bulls he raises. He has it imported by ship, supposedly from Argentina. The bags were transferred to the car and the boatmen paid generously. When they left, Garcia and the printer drove away. The lithographs are missing from the printer's room…"
"So the dope must be in the bags of vitamins!" Jill interjected loudly.
Julio's hand came down over her mouth again. "Naturally. Now we know where it is. But we have yet to learn how it can possibly be transferred to the lithographs – unless the package does not contain lithographs. I've been trying to figure that out. It seems impossible."
"But why can't you have someone break into the gallery – if that's where they are? You can get Dawson, too!" Jill smiled smugly at the thought of the crude printer getting his comeuppance.
"It is not enough. We can imprison Garcia and Dawson. But our organization is far more interested in breaking the entire network. I know Don Ernesto too well – we could not elicit a confession from him, even by torture. He would go to his death with his lips sealed. He could have been jailed for white slavery, for kidnapping in the past. But those crimes would not keep him in prison for long. He is too rich, too powerful. He has too many employees in local government. International trafficking in narcotics in another matter, and ultimately, of political importance. Pressure can be brought to bear – high ranking officials are not anxious to lose their posts. We are very close now. But we must have that paper. I think it will tell us what we want to know, and that is how you can be of help."