“What do you think about this fellow Diaz?” Hank asked.
“He’s all right. We know about his group, and have even had some contact with their members about Nazis in Paraguay. That was some years back, but I imagine we can re-open contacts, make investigations. I’m sure he is everything that he says he is — and we’ll take that as read until we learn differently,”
“Then what do we do next?”
“At this point we — meaning my organization — do our best to get more information about the people involved in this affair. That can be time consuming so we must start at once. We have no official status, so we must work through friends in different departments.”
“What do you mean “no official status”? Everyone I have talked to speaks very highly of the work you are doing.”
“That’s it, they speak. But you won’t see anything on paper. Nor will you even hear mentioned the name of the organization.”
Hank chewed his cheek for a moment as he tried to recall everything he had been told. In the end he nodded.
“You’re right, people told me to see Uzi, he would take care of it, his organization knows how to take care of these people. But, yes — no names were ever mentioned.”
“It has to be that way. My group is based in Vienna and we have private sources of funds. We have no legal standing any place in the world, and certainly no official connection with the Israeli government. This is only because everything we do is completely illegal.”
“That’s a very good reason,” Hank said.
“It is. Though I shouldn’t say everything. Our records section exchanges information continually with Aman, since the simple collection of intelligence is not a crime. Aman in turn exchanges information with other governments. It’s what we do with the information that isn’t exactly kosher.”
“And that is…?”
“We find Nazis. We see that they are returned to Europe — or Israel — to stand trial. Many times we must extract them from countries where they have a legal status as citizens. We don’t like doing this. And we only do it when there is absolutely no doubt that the person in question is a war criminal — and usually a convicted war criminal. You might say that we are a means of last resort. When all else has failed we step in. Unofficially and usually quite illegally. To see to the administration of justice that must cross international boundaries.”
“I’m sorry you told me this.”
“I didn’t. You just thought you heard it. You are going to quite legally help in obtaining information about some very wanted war criminals.”
“What do you mean that I am going to help? What more can I do?”
“You can act while we investigate. We cannot wait for more results before we move. There’s not time enough. It’s important to get someone aboard the QE2 at once. Would you like a nice sea voyage,
“Don’t say it! I can’t, not now, my fiancee would kill me if we postponed the wedding again! It’s been hard enough to arrange in any case.”
Uzi raised his hands in surrender and smiled. “Wait — don’t panic. I didn’t say instantly. And you may not have to go. It’s still just a maybe. I’ll let you know as soon as we see about bookings on the QE2. That’s one job. Another that I’m going to start at the same time is a tracer on Major de Laiglesia. He is at the heart of this affair and his whereabouts are surely related to it. Find him and we may find the answer to this mystery.”
7
Major Jose de Laiglesia looked out of the window of the Lear jet and covered a yawn with his fist. The plane tilted up on one wing as it turned, presenting him with a magnificent view of the lush green jungle, set against a starkly beautiful range of mountains in the background. The Major was totally indifferent to the view, was scarcely aware that it was there, and his drowsy thoughts were completely occupied with drink. Rum. Should he have another one? Would it wake him up or put him to sleep? He could not be sure. His deep cogitations were interrupted when the girl in the seat before him turned around to speak.
“That river down there, the wide one, do you know its name?”
The Major squinted at the river and the mountains, trying to get his bearings. “It is the Alto Parana, I think. It marks the border between Paraguay and Argentina.”
“Then we are almost there?”
“Almost. We’ll be landing at Asuncion soon. You have been there before?”
“Never. What’s it like?”
“Very nice. I’m sure you will enjoy your visit.”
“This is a business trip. I’m not here for pleasure,” she said coldly and turned back in her seat.
You are a cold bitch, Aurelia Maria Hortiguela, the Major thought to himself. A strange one to be involved in this kind of business. Somewhere in her late thirties, he thought, still young enough to be good-looking, in a big-bosomed, wide-hipped way. Very attractive in the particularly Latin manner; with a bottom like two great swelling melons. Gorgeous! But a frigid and acid bitch. Inside that magnificent frame lurked the mind of a horrid little man, a bookkeeper or a tax inspector. It was very annoying. So annoying that he decided on the drink after all. The thought of the sweet burn of the hundred proof rum sent a quick rush of saliva to his mouth. He unbuckled and went to the bar in the rear of the plane. To get there he had to pass the fat Czech. A thoroughly repulsive one, this. He had the armrest up and just about filled both seats. He turned his cold black eyes on the Major as he came by.
“Can I get you a drink of some kind, Mr. Chvosta?” de Laiglesia asked in English. If Libor Chvosta spoke Spanish he had kept it a good secret so far.
“Yes. Champagne.” His voice was small and high-pitched, strange for a man of his bulk. Like that of a eunuch. Major de Laiglesia doubted, though, if he was one. There was something too frightening about him, repellant. He was in the right business, this one.
The Major took a bottle of Veuve-Cliquet 1973 from the refrigerator and found a tulip glass in the cabinet. He put it on the silver tray, along with the bottle, then filled a tall glass with ice cubes. The fat Czech would just have to wait a few minutes more. He poured rum over the cubes, swished it about for a moment, then drank deep. It was good, very, very good.
With careful coordinated pressure of both his thumbs below the cork he levered it out of the bottle of champagne with a satisfactory bang, pouring the overflow into the glass without losing a drop. Chvosta took the glass with a grunt that could have meant anything, then drained it in a gulp. Pig, the Major thought, as he carefully refilled it for him. The door to the flight deck opened and the copilot poked his head through.
“We’re about three minutes out, Major,” he said. “Would you please look at the belts?”
The Major nodded and drained the glass, then put it back in the rack and latched the cabinet. All three of the plainclothes guards had their belt secure, as did the girl. Chvosta had no waist, so he couldn’t get a belt around it, but he had the belt from one seat through the buckle of the other, and this was locked across his legs. Good enough. The Major threw away the now empty bottle of champagne and belted himself into his own seat. Underneath him he could hear the landing gear grinding down and locking into position. Then the runway was flashing past and they were on the ground.