and he was obviously sincere. In fact I sensed something a bit obsessive about his patriotic fervor. Well, after what had been done to him it would have been strange if he were totally normal. I thought it possible that Rael and Echeverria might one day come to regret what they’d created here.
I said, “Well, you’re going to have to make up your mind, Ricardo. I have nothing against you, or your revolution, or your man of the mountain. On the other hand, there’s an account to be settled with some other members of your family; and it will be settled, I assure you. If that makes us enemies, it’s just too damn bad. Your decision, amigo.”
“Aren’t you being a little overconfident, Sam? My father has been taking care of himself for quite a while.”
I said, “We’re not discussing army maneuvers now. Any competent professional with a few resources could take that bunch of wild-eyed amateurs he’s collected out in that Chicago suburb, like that General Grant you just mentioned took Richmond. And I’m a pro.”
Ricardo Jimenez drew a long breath. “If my family is hurt, I will undoubtedly hate you, Sam. But they did what they did, and I will not feel obliged to avenge them. Is that satisfactory?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the drink. Anything I can get you before I go?” When he shook his head, I said, “Be good.”
He grinned. “I’ve got a choice?”
10
Later in the day the telephone rang, catching me on my hotel bed with my shoes off pretending to myself that I was thinking deep and important thoughts involving my various duties and obligations. Actually, I was taking a nap. It hadn’t been a very restful night—in fact it had been a very pleasantly unrestful night—and it had been a moderately tense morning, and I couldn’t think of anything better to do, after my late lunch, with what was left of the afternoon. Anyway, there was a contact to be made, and I figured I might as well start making it by staying put for a little, where our man in Santa Rosalia, whoever he might be, could find me easily. If he made no move to get in touch with me here, I could try putting the body into motion and letting him intercept it at his pleasure.
When I picked up the jangling instrument, a harsh voice spoke in my ear. “Am I addressing Flashbulb Felton, boy photojournalist?”
I said, “Who the hell?… Oh, Christ, it’s Miranda!”
“It is indeed Marvelous Miranda Matson,” said the raspy female voice. “I saw your name on a press release from the
Palacio de los Gobernadores
—noted scientists and eminent camera artist to tour ancient ruins of beautiful Costa Verde—and I thought I’d see if it was the same Sam Felton. I couldn’t bear the thought that there might be two. Remember that crazy trip we took on that ancient tub of a freighter we called the
Snark
?”
Lewis Carroll, the Mexico City contact had said. One word. I said, “Yeah, that sure was a jabberwocky operation, wasn’t it? Let’s hope we don’t hit any more fouled-up stories like that one. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Cheapskate. I was hoping to get at least a free lunch out of you.”
“Gold digger,” I said. “Okay, where? You know the town better than I do.”
“Restaurante Tolteca,”
she said. “The Toltec Restaurant, on the plaza. Any cab driver knows it. I’ll meet you there. Tomorrow at one o’clock, okay?”
“Check.” I hesitated, but if there were bugs on the line, somebody already knew too much and a little more wouldn’t matter. “Miranda.”
“Yes?”
“I need everything you can get hold of on a guy called Lupe Montano.”
“So does everybody else in Santa Rosalia, including
El Presidente
himself. But you’ve come to the right girl. I’ve been doing a little research on the would-be liberator of Costa Verde; and my advice is if you ever happen to meet Mr. Lupe of the Mountain, don’t turn your back on him. That’s the trouble with these Latin American horse operas: The guys in the white
I said, “Well, you’re going to have to make up your mind, Ricardo. I have nothing against you, or your revolution, or your man of the mountain. On the other hand, there’s an account to be settled with some other members of your family; and it will be settled, I assure you. If that makes us enemies, it’s just too damn bad. Your decision, amigo.”
“Aren’t you being a little overconfident, Sam? My father has been taking care of himself for quite a while.”
I said, “We’re not discussing army maneuvers now. Any competent professional with a few resources could take that bunch of wild-eyed amateurs he’s collected out in that Chicago suburb, like that General Grant you just mentioned took Richmond. And I’m a pro.”
Ricardo Jimenez drew a long breath. “If my family is hurt, I will undoubtedly hate you, Sam. But they did what they did, and I will not feel obliged to avenge them. Is that satisfactory?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the drink. Anything I can get you before I go?” When he shook his head, I said, “Be good.”
He grinned. “I’ve got a choice?”
10
Later in the day the telephone rang, catching me on my hotel bed with my shoes off pretending to myself that I was thinking deep and important thoughts involving my various duties and obligations. Actually, I was taking a nap. It hadn’t been a very restful night—in fact it had been a very pleasantly unrestful night—and it had been a moderately tense morning, and I couldn’t think of anything better to do, after my late lunch, with what was left of the afternoon. Anyway, there was a contact to be made, and I figured I might as well start making it by staying put for a little, where our man in Santa Rosalia, whoever he might be, could find me easily. If he made no move to get in touch with me here, I could try putting the body into motion and letting him intercept it at his pleasure.
When I picked up the jangling instrument, a harsh voice spoke in my ear. “Am I addressing Flashbulb Felton, boy photojournalist?”
I said, “Who the hell?… Oh, Christ, it’s Miranda!”
“It is indeed Marvelous Miranda Matson,” said the raspy female voice. “I saw your name on a press release from the
Palacio de los Gobernadores
—noted scientists and eminent camera artist to tour ancient ruins of beautiful Costa Verde—and I thought I’d see if it was the same Sam Felton. I couldn’t bear the thought that there might be two. Remember that crazy trip we took on that ancient tub of a freighter we called the
Snark
?”
Lewis Carroll, the Mexico City contact had said. One word. I said, “Yeah, that sure was a jabberwocky operation, wasn’t it? Let’s hope we don’t hit any more fouled-up stories like that one. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Cheapskate. I was hoping to get at least a free lunch out of you.”
“Gold digger,” I said. “Okay, where? You know the town better than I do.”
“Restaurante Tolteca,”
she said. “The Toltec Restaurant, on the plaza. Any cab driver knows it. I’ll meet you there. Tomorrow at one o’clock, okay?”
“Check.” I hesitated, but if there were bugs on the line, somebody already knew too much and a little more wouldn’t matter. “Miranda.”
“Yes?”
“I need everything you can get hold of on a guy called Lupe Montano.”
“So does everybody else in Santa Rosalia, including
El Presidente
himself. But you’ve come to the right girl. I’ve been doing a little research on the would-be liberator of Costa Verde; and my advice is if you ever happen to meet Mr. Lupe of the Mountain, don’t turn your back on him. That’s the trouble with these Latin American horse operas: The guys in the white
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