He picked up the bag of diamonds, opened the door and left.
The slam of the closing door in the suite next door was the only sound that penetrated the hushed silence of the room. All four of the men there had been leaning close to the loudspeaker, turned low so there could be no possibility of audible feedback, listening with intense concentration to every word spoken. Now the sound of the door acted as a release of tension, an end to the meeting, a stopping point. The Israeli, Uzi Drezner, shook himself as though he had just stepped out from under a cold shower. Hank Greenstein leaned forward and turned off the speaker but left the recording tape running.
“The dirty, dirty bastards,” he said in a low voice, scarcely aware that he had spoken aloud.
“Amen to that,” Leandro Diaz said, wearily, rubbing his hand over the fresh bristles on his face. “Like that. Just like that — they give away my country to those swine. If I had not heard it with my own ears, if I had been told about this, I would not have believed it.”
Only the Tupamaro leader, Josep, seemed unmoved by what they had heard. His expression and his manner did not change as he took out a cigarette and lit it. Yet his actions were just as much a statement as theirs. His life was already dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt regime in his country by any means. This disclosure added nothing new to that resolve. You cannot paint the devil blacker than he already is; you can only obliterate him.
“They have put themselves in our hands,” he said, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “They have destroyed themselves.”
“Josep is right,” Uzi said, standing and stretching, then walking about the room to ease his cramped muscles. “We have always known what these creatures are like. Read Hitler’s Mein Kampf—written over fifty years ago — and you’ll find the same anti-Semitic fascist filth that Wielgus was spouting in there. But we have them now, all of them. They have gone too far. You do realize that there is a plan behind this Nazi move that was not mentioned in there, a far bigger plan than buying arms for your two-bit dictators?”
He had their attention now. Even Josep looked up. For him and for Diaz the liberation of their homelands was all that counted. They considered nothing beyond that. Hank was only confused.
“What plan?” he asked. “This looks like a straightforward deal to trade money for a safe hideout. Isn’t that all it is?”
“Far from it,” Uzi said. “What we were listening to a few minutes ago was nothing more than an attempt to establish a firm base for the Fourth Reich.”
“That’s insane,” Hank gasped.
“Probably. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t be tried anyway. Old age is the only real enemy that these concentration camp commanders and SS men face. They have all the money that they need, all of the security; Wielgus and the Brunderbund see to that. But they are slowly dying off, one by one. Senility, death and boredom are their only enemies. Over thirty years has passed since their days of glory. If those days are ever to come again they must establish a physical base right now for the glorious Fourth Reich that they are always talking about. Now they have that base. Uruguay and Paraguay. They will come to these countries as advisors — but in ten years’ time they will control them outright. A.homeland at last. They are rich, intelligent, vicious — and we live in the world of the atomic bomb. If they succeed in what they are trying to do, there will be a Fourth Reich in South America at the end of that ten-year period. One that will hold the world up to atomic blackmail to get its way. And we will have to knuckle under to their demands — whatever they may be — or face the possibility of a nuclear holocaust.”
Hank and Leandro Diaz sat in silent horror at the thought, but Josep nodded his head understanding^.
“I believe that you are right. And if you are, it makes it even more imperative that we work together to eliminate this threat. To stop this plan before it is even started. We will take the diamonds from them and we will attempt to take the arms ship as well. Are we agreed upon that?”
He looked around at the silent men who nodded, slowly, one by one.
“Very good. We will then meet here in the morning to listen to details of the arms deal. Then we will strike. Any of them who resist will be killed. I hope that none of you still have any bourgeois qualms on that score…. “
The door opened and Frances came in, swaying as she clutched at the frame.
“Jesus. I’ve been waiting in that damned bar all night. I suppose you forgot little me?”
Hank jumped to his feet and closed the door and reached for her, but she pushed him away.
“I couldn’t do anything else,” he said. “I had to stay
“Forget it,” she said, walking towards the bedroom and leaning against the wall for support. “Found a nice man. Bought me drinks. Nicer than you, my beauty. Had things to talk about other than killing, guns, crap like that.” She opened the bedroom door and looked in. “Jesus! It’s like a goddamn South American YMCA in here! Will somebody throw these bums out and fumigate the bed so I can get some sleep?”
“Your men will stay in this sitting room,” Hank told Josep.
“I would beat her to teach her sense about drinking and speaking to her husband in that manner,” the Tupamaro said.
“Would you kindly mind your own fucking business and get them out of that room, then get yourself out of here until tomorrow? It has been a long day.”
He stood before Josep, fists clenched, angry and hoping the other man would try something. Josep just turned and left. The others followed and Hank looked at their retreating backs and regretted the day he had ever become involved.
18
From the bridge of the QE2, the view of the Pacific Ocean forward was anything but pacific. Mountainous waves rolled in ponderously from starboard in continuous succession, slamming into the side of the great liner, breaking over her bows. Green water rushed across the foredeck and piled up against the rails, pouring through the scuppers back into the sea. Tropical rain lashed down and mixed with the sea water, while the force eight winds blew the tops from the waves and sent them whistling away in sprays of scud. As each wave passed along the hull, the ship rose up to meet it, rolled, shuddered then sank down again. The stabilizers fought an unequal battle but were overwhelmed.
Captain Rapley looked out at the savage spectacle and took no cheer from the sight. The coffee in his cup was ice cold, but he took no notice of this as he sipped it. Up here, on the uppermost deck of the ship, all of the pitching and rolling was more pronounced. He never noticed this either. He was one of the few sailors who, after a lifetime at sea, could truthfully say that he had never been seasick. Intellectually he sympathized with people who suffered this malady, but he had no real understanding of the torture they went through. No, the storm didn’t bother him, nor did it threaten his ship in any way. Some pots might be carried away in the galley, dishes and glasses would be broken, but the storm, no matter how menacing it looked, posed no physical problem at all for this vessel. It had weathered worse.
But it was the passengers who would be suffering. The Captain had been out of the Navy and in the Merchant Marines long enough to know that some of his traditional values had to be turned on their heads. In the Navy, the complex fighting machine that he had commanded always came first and foremost. All of her technical facilities were always at peak performance. The engines, electronic gear, guns, torpedoes, mines, all must function faultlessly. Unhappily, they were serviced by imperfect humans who got sick, got drunk, overstayed leave and committed other indecencies that interfered with the perfect functioning of his command. That was the way it had been and he had adjusted to it.