"That place is a Candomblé headquarters?"
"Not whole place. There is a Candomblé tenda behind."
"And the name of the - father-of-saint? – his name is Hernando and he speaks with the spirits through a guide, a caboclo?"
"Pai Hernando, yes."
Illya was whistling to himself as he ran down the remainder of the slope to the Volkswagen. He had felt all along that he was on the right scent. Now, surely, this must be the "Hernando's Hideaway" which had so puzzled them in Napoleon Solo's telegram.
---
He put his key in the Volkswagen's lock and twisted.
The key refused to turn.
Puzzled, he tried again. Again he could make no impression. He stood back and stared at the vehicle... and realized suddenly that it wasn't his own. It was the same color, the same model, the same year. But the registration number was one integer different - and inside, tossed carelessly onto the back seat, was the cockaded hat of a member of the D.A.M.E.S.
It must be the car hired by the girl, Coralie Simone - indeed, now that he had oriented himself, he could see the top of his own gleaming through the thicket a little way to the north.
And if this was Coralie Simone's car - and if the boy at the car rental company had told the truth - then this was the actual one Solo had been driving in this very area a few days ago. And Solo himself, alive or dead, must be somewhere on the other side of the wire fence beyond the place he had called Hernando's Hideaway...
Chapter 8
A Break-In - And A Surprise!
ILLYA CAME upon the girl quite unexpectedly. He had decided to leave the car where it was and approach the estancia on foot, reasoning that the people in charge were less likely to notice a strange vehicle if it was further on up the valley, beyond their gates. He had been forced to cross the road to the side where the wire fence ran, because the river bed was immediately along side the entrance road and there was no cover on the opposite side. And he had plunged deeper into the bushes between road and fence, first to avoid being seen by two tough-looking men and two overpainted girls in a red Jaguar which had roared past in the direction of the pass, and secondly when he had heard the second convoy arriving.
It was while he was watching the twelve two-tonners turn in at the gate of the estancia that he heard the girl's gasp of pain.
The sound seemed to come from only a few feet away, just on the far side of a clump of oleanders lining the ditch. Cautiously, he parted the branches with their scarlet flowers and peered through.
The fence was immediately beyond the ditch - and just behind it was the girl, her arm bent up behind her back by one of the uniformed men who obviously patrolled the whole perimeter around the dam. She was dressed in D.A.M.E.S. uniform now. Against the pallor of her cheeks, her hair shone richly in the sun.
"Come on, sweetheart," the guard was saying in English. "You know as well as I do that you're not allowed on this side of the fence. Now how'd you get over, and what are you doin', huh?"
"You're hurting my arm," the girl said. "Oh… I - I walked around from the gates. Down by the power house."
"Don't give me that," the man rasped. "The gates are five miles from here and your shoes are still polished - there's not even a scratch on 'em!"
"I can't help that... Will you let go of my arm -"
"You come across from the estancia that's what, ain't it? Now you know you birds got no business this side of the wire… that's why Macdonald would never let you through at the gates. Either you go through the mountain or you stay outside at the estancia, right?... Now I'm gonna take you right back to the guardroom and we'll see what…"
And suddenly he was on the ground. Illya could not see exactly how it was done - an ankle was placed to one side, a trim hip was thrust out and something expert took place with the arm that had been held up be hind the girl's back - but the result was that the guard, momentarily inattentive as his thoughts ran ahead, found himself flying through the air over Coralie Simone' shoulder.
He landed flat on his back among the grasses. There were lumps of limestone bidden by the tussocks an the force of the impact would have knocked out many men. But this one was tough. He was on his feet almost at once, lips snarled back from discolored teeth, approaching the girl like a wrestler, with outstretched hands.
His mistake was to go on thinking, after the initial surprise, that he could handle the thing himself. Had he blown the whistle that hung around his neck on a chain, that would have been that: a patrol of men would have been down on them within minutes and the girl would have been taken prisoner. But with the arrogance of the true bully, the guard was confident that he could overpower a mere woman.
From behind his screen of oleanders, Kuryakin watched the man and the girl circling each other over the rough ground. He wasn't sure what to do. There was an overhanging branch from a big tree some way down the fence; he could probably swing himself across without disturbing the alarm wire there. Yet there was a risk that the guard might see or hear him on the way to it. And they had to avoid at all costs any attempt to summon help.
In the event, the decision was taken from the Russian's hands. Having had three attempts at grappling with his adversary frustrated by well timed judo grips, the guard began to lose his temper. He leaped at the girl with flailing fists.
Coralie Simone sprang agilely away towards the fence - but as she went, one heel caught in a projection of rock concealed among the grasses and she stumbled backwards. With a growl of triumph, the guard was on her, pinning her arms to her sides in a bear hug and forcing her to the ground. The girl brought one sharp knee up into his stomach as she tried desperately to free her arms. She twisted her head and sank her teeth into the rough material of his sleeve, attempting to bite through the cloth to the muscles of the biceps beneath. She jerked her forehead back and forth trying to butt him in the face.
The man chuckled and spun her around as easily as if her body had been a bale of cotton. As she lay face downwards in the tall grass, he kneeled on the backs of her thighs and seized the collar of her jacket in both hands. The green stuff ripped up the back seam as be yanked with all his strength and the garment came away from her in two pieces.
As he grunted in triumph and in amusement, his eyes looked through the wire strands of the fence and met the glittering stare of Kuryakin concealed among the leaves on the other side.
Before the round O of his mouth could utter the cry of astonishment it was framing, the agent's forefinger had tightened on the trigger of the miniature automatic in his hand. The weapon - it looked no more dangerous than a gadget cigarette lighter - emitted a staccato chock and the guard keeled over backwards. As he crashed down among the grasses, the girl got shakily to her feet.
"You!" she said, seeing Kuryakin. "What are you doing here?... I suppose I ought to thank you, though I could have bandied him perfectly well myself. Even so…" She looked dubiously down at the fallen guard.
"Do not worry," Illya said. "I dislike violence and I never kill unnecessarily. It was just what we call a sleep dart; he will be hors de combat for an hour, that's all. So far as thanks go, I think I deserve them.. considering that I still have a headache from our last meeting."