Well, I'll be damned!' The Wing Commander's lean face broke into a grin. `So you are now Richard Hannay, Gregory Sallust and Uncle Tom Cobley and all.' His face suddenly became serious. `But this is a dangerous game you're playing, and your pals in the Mexican Security set up won't equip you against emergencies. I mean, real secret agents don't have daggers that spring out of the toes of their shoes, cars that eject flame and tin tacks in the path of their pursuers, and all those other silly, amusing gadgets that one reads about in the Bond books. It is only countries such as this, where it is not illegal to tote a gun that a chap can even do that without risk of getting himself pinched.' 'I see no reason why anything I do should lead to a gun battle,' Adam replied. `All I mean to do is turn in anything I pick up; t I'm damned if I'll stick my neck out for Enriquez and Co.' `That's what you think. But you're in this thing now and, like or not, you'll have to. That is, unless you want to be framed on some other charge and popped back into prison for keeps. Gun battles apart, if the plotters tumble to it that you are double crossing them they will have hoodlums around who, at a nod, could stick a knife into you quicker than you could take the first sip of a dry Martini. Look, chum, this is your show and your old uncle Jeremy has no wish to cramp your style. But you are an amateur a Babe in the Wood going in against a pack of wolves. I bet the Crown jewels against a handful of peanuts that, before you are much older, you are going to land yourself in real trouble. Your Mexican pals are only putting you in on the off chance that you'll pull the chestnuts out of the fire for them. They won't lose a wink of sleep if this ends in your kicking the bucket. But you're one of us; so I will. If you do find yourself in a spot, get on to me. I'm used to nasty situations and if anything can be done to pull you out I'll do it.'
`Thanks,' Adam smiled. `That's very good of you. If I do need help, how do I bring my “Uncle Jeremy” racing to the rescue?'
Hunterscombe fished a small notebook out of his pocket, wrote in it, tore the page out and handed it to Adam. `There is the address of my flat and my telephone number. Below it is the Embassy number. For most of the twenty four hours you'll be able to get me at one or the other. If you can't, leave a message for me; but don't use your own name. Let's see. Who was that bloodthirsty character in your last book? I've got it. Ord the Red Handed. Use Red. That's more common than Ord. Lots of people nicknamed Red. Don't give any details unless you're quite certain the line isn't likely to be tapped. Just say where you are and I'll be along as soon as I can make it.'
As Adam thanked him again, he added, `Better memorize the info' on that slip of paper, then destroy it. No need to swallow it, though, as they do in thrillers. Just give it a good chew, then spit it out into your slop bucket.'
When the Wing Commander had gone, Adam spent the best part of an hour repeating to himself over and over again the address and telephone numbers until he was quite certain that they would stick in his memory; then he got rid of the paper.
Since he had so peremptorily turned down Hunterscombe's request for his help when they had lunched together at the Ritz, he thought it very decent of him to show such concern for his safety now that he had admitted to working for Ramon. All the same, it seemed unlikely that a situation could arise in which he would need to avail himself of the Wing Commander's offer. Before he left prison it was certain that Ramon would furnish him with the means of communication for anything urgent; so, if he did find himself up against it, and was able to appeal for help, it would obviously be more effective to call in the police rather than the solitary secret agent of a foreign country.
On the Monday, while at exercise, he scraped acquaintance with two other prisoners and, in whispered conversations, learned that one was a defaulting lawyer and the other a rich brothel owner who had refused certain highly placed person’s free access to his house and, as a result, had been framed. Of himself he said that he was in on a short sentence for dangerous driving. By Tuesday, the prison grapevine had picked up an account in the
Sunday papers of the arrest of an Englishman caught posing for a joke as Quetzalcoatl; which explained an absurd but persistent
rumour recently running round the country that the Man God had returned and appeared to a crowd of Indians at both San Luis Caliente and Uxmal. Adam gathered that his physical characteristics, coupled with the date of his arrival at the prison, had led his fellow prisoners to conclude that he was the practical joker concerned; but their opportunities for questioning him were few, and he refused to satisfy their curiosity.
It was in the early hours of Wednesday morning that he was
roused by the sound of an explosion. A few minutes later it was followed by the ringing of an alarm bell, shots and loud shouting. sitting up in bed, he wondered what on earth could be happening.
The pandemonium continued: single shots, the rat tat tat of sub machine guns, yells and curses. Flying feet pounded down he corridor outside his cell. A shot was fired, there came a scream and the footsteps ceased abruptly. More curses, loud protests growling voices now outside the cell. A key turned in the lock end the door swung open.
Adam's warder was pushed inside. His face was white, his right arm hung limp at his side, dripping blood. He was followed by a huge Negro and three Indians with long, matted hair. The Negro grinned at Adam and said in a travesty of Spanish:
`You're free now, Lord. Jus' you come wi' us.' Then, turning to one of the Indians, he waved a hand towards the warder and added, Jacko, yoo know what t'do wid dis guy. G'ie 'im de works.'
Two of the Indians pushed the wounded man down on to the bed from which Adam had just got up and the one named Jacko grasped him by the throat. Seeing that he was about to strangle him, Adam cried
'Hi! Stop that
The Negro shook his head. `He gotta die, Lord. Yo'se free now. Yo' come along wid us.'
`But damn' it,' Adam exclaimed furiously, `he's already wounded. He can't do you any harm. It's senseless murder.' Turning, he grabbed the collar of Jacko's jacket in an attempt to lull him off.
As he wrenched, Jacko's head was jerked up, but he did not release his grip on the warder's throat. By then the wretched man's eyes were starting from their sockets and he was turning purple in the face.
Unhappily the big Negro stood by watching for a moment, apparently reluctant to intervene. Suddenly making up his mind,
he grasped Adam from behind by both arms, and wailed, `Forgi' me, Lord fo' touchin' yo. But Ah can't let yo. Ah gotta obey orders. Dey was ter croak de keysman an' git yo outa here.'
A furious struggle ensued. Adam hung on to Jacko's collar until, with a loud, rending sound, the thin cotton fabric tore. By then Adam's pull on Jacko and the latter's on the warder's neck had lifted them both. With a thump they fell back on the bed. His arms being held from behind by the Negro placed Adam at a big disadvantage. The other two Indians lent a hand. Despite his efforts, the three of them succeeded in pulling him away, pushing him through the doorway, then dragging him along the corridor. At its end, realising that by now the warder must be beyond anything except medical help, he gave up trying to break free.
Still held by his captors, he was hustled through the prisoners' dining room. Another warder lay there with his throat cut. In the corridor beyond it a third warder lay sprawled on his face, while a Mestizo who had taken his keys was swiftly unlocking cell doors to release the prisoners. Out in the main hall a battle was raging. A dozen coloureds of all shades were blazing off with pistols and sub machine guns at the upper floors. Prison officers on the high galleries round the staircase were exposing themselves only for the minimum of time, but long enough to return the fire of the raiders. On the stone flags lay several dead or wounded. One man had his hands clutched to his stomach and was screaming horribly.