“Any activity?” Josep asked.
“Not much,” she said. “The Germans have been stirring about some, a lot of traffic back and forth between their rooms, mostly by Fritz and the other young ones. The Hortiguela girl went to Chvosta’s room a few minutes ago.”
“They’ll be meeting soon,” Uzi said. “Are we ready?”
The Tupamaros certainly were. The violin cases were open and the Chinese sub-machine guns passed around. They each had a pistol as well, while Josep stuffed his pockets full of handgrenades. “They’ll be pretty lethal inside this ship.”
“I know. That is why I have them. We may not need them. But if we do they will be available.” He turned to look at Hank. “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Here is a pistol…. “
“No.” Hank knew that this point would be raised eventually and had thought long and hard about what his answer would be, “I don’t want one.”
“Whose side are you on!” Josep snapped, striding forward. Uzi moved between them.
“Sit down, Josep,” he said. “I’ve told you — we cannot fight with each other. Hank’s on my team, so I’ll talk to him. Hank?” He turned and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Everyone here knows which side I’m on. I’m not saying that my personal sacrifices in this matter have been greater than yours, but I’ve done my part. A long time ago I volunteered to help the Israelis in gathering intelligence. I'll continue to do that. But this present matter has snowballed and my entire life and career will be destroyed if it is discovered that I had a hand in this matter. If one passenger sees me waving a gun around for one second I’ll get just what Patty Hearst got. I’m with you all the way and I’ll give you all the aid I can. Short of getting involved in any shootouts. That is, unless Uzi feels that he wants to order me to have a weapon.”
Hank turned to face Uzi, who looked back with an ironic grin. “You should have been a rabbi,” he said. “You make a moral point, then transfer the burden of responsibility to another to prove that point. It’s proven. If it is a matter of life and death — well, then I may ask you for aid. Until that time you are our intelligence wing and no more. Do you gentlemen agree?”
Both Diaz and Josep shrugged in real or pretended indifference. This was the way it would have to be. Hank looked at their unreadable expressions and wondered, not for the first time since he made the reluctant decision, if he were doing the right thing. This was not his battle. When he had first gone to London he had been approached for some small assistance by a friend he had been to law school with, who was now living and working in Israel. At no time in his life had Hank ever joined any Jewish associations, he had never been Bar—
Mitzvahed or been religious in any way. As far as the world was concerned the only thing Jewish about him was his name. As far as he was concerned, there was an unforgettable heritage, thousands of years old, that made him instantly accept when asked to perform some simple liaison tasks for the Israelis. That was how this whole business had started.
Very early in the relationship he had been assured that he would not be asked to do anything illegal, or anything that might jeopardize his American citizenship. This promise had been kept and the relationship had been a good one. Never very demanding, but satisfying in that he felt he was doing something more positive in life than marking time in the family law firm until one of the elderly partners croaked and he could be lifted up to that lofty position himself.
The Paraguayan photographs had changed all that. What had begun as a simple liaison, a contact with an outside party who might be trying to compromise the Israeli delegation in London, had grown out of all proportion to his original commitment. He had finally realized that he must draw the line someplace. He had. If he took part in an armed and violent attack against representatives of two sovereign nations, no matter how corrupt these countries were, he was putting not only his life in jeopardy but his entire future. He just couldn’t do it, that was all. He had never wanted to be a G-man, a combat marine, a black belt judo champ, never. And he did not want to be a gun-toting international agent. He believed in law and the rule of law and he intended to devote his life to that. He had bent his personal rules of behavior by working outside international law to aid the threatened state Israel. And certainly helping to apprehend criminals like the Nazis was about as moral as you could get. But now he had gone just as far as he could possibly go.
The sudden loud knocking drew their attention. It was not in this room, but was the one in the suite next door; the sound was coming from the speaker of their eavesdropping apparatus. Instinctively they all leaned close to listen.
“Sergeant, get the door,” Stroessner ordered, weakly. He sipped the neat gin and stifled a groan. Would this ship ever stop heaving and rolling so? He was keeping seasickness barely at bay with a mixture of dramamine and gin. It worked, but was ruining his digestive tract.
One by one the principals entered; the final meeting had begun.
Dr. Wielgus was first, bringing the bag of diamonds — and the hulking form of his bodyguard, Klaus, to keep watch over them. Admiral Marquez was with him, they had met in the corridor, and Aurelia Hortiguela arrived just moments later. She was alone.
“Where is Chvosta?” Wielgus said, frowning with displeasure. “This meeting must begin on time.”
Aurelia looked him up and down coldly and waited an insultingly long time before she answered. “Mr. Chvosta is discomposed. He regrets that he won’t be able to attend at the present time.”
“What!” Wielgus exploded with rage. “Tell that fat Czech swine that I want him here at once, you hear me? Now!”
Aurelia’s smile had no trace of warmth in it. “Why don’t you tell him yourself, Doctor Wielgus? The last time I talked to the fat Czech he was heaving his guts out. Seasick. Mareado. Or what is the quaint word you Germans have? Seekrank. He wouldn’t even open the door. Shouted through it that he was dying and I should go away and leave him in peace.”
“I want him here, now, even if he has to be dragged.”
Admiral Marquez broke in. “May I make a suggestion? A seasick Chvosta will be of no use to us. But my personal physician, Dr. Llusera, is in my cabin. He not only uses pills but has a powerful injection that dispenses with all of the symptoms as well.”
“A capital suggestion, Admiral,” Stroessner said. “I could use that injection myself. Does the doctor speak English?”
“Of course not.”
“Then my aide, Major de Laiglesia, will accompany him and translate. Call first, Major, and have the steward there to unlock the cabin for you.” His voice hardened. “And Sergeant Pradera will go as well in case Chvosta has to be carried. Because he will be here. This meeting must begin.”
Aurelia Hortiguela tried to leave with the two men, but Wielgus seized her by the arm and pulled her back. “You are staying here,” he said and turned away. Ignoring or indifferent to her look of cold fury.
Dr. Llusera was a round and pompous little man. He followed de Laiglesia down the corridor in a mincing waddle, shoulders back and chin held high so that his little black beard appeared to point the way for him. Sergeant Pradera followed behind, bulky and slightly uneasy in his unaccustomed civilian suit. The room steward was waiting by the cabin door in response to de Laiglesia’s telephone message that they were on their way.
“I contacted the hospital after your call, sir. They have what you might call a plague of seasickness, both doctors and even the three nursing sisters busy at it.”