“Now if that’s all there was to it, nobody would care. But some people in Mesa d’Oro aren’t satisfied just to be Soldiers of the Republic. There’s an extremist group of Republicans that wants to throw out the present government by force. They call themselves the Freedom Brigade, and they are outlaws. They stir up riots and kidnap people and blow things up. And when the police get too close, they flee the country–and some of them come here!”
Pete gulped. “Do you mean to tell me that those people I was with last night are a bunch of terrorists?”
“Perhaps,” said Bob. “Perhaps not. There are a lot of expatriates from Mesa d’Oro who live in the United States. Some of them support the Soldiers of the Republic–the legal, nonviolent party. They contribute money to help Rodriguez in Mexico City, for instance, and to try to elect Republicans in Mesa d’Oro. But some of them do support the outlaw Freedom Brigade.”
“Oh, great!” exclaimed Pete.
“Okay. So much for ancient history,” said Bob. “What’s really interesting is that I saw a blind man outside the bank and he ran when the police were mentioned. Then that guy named Ernie got scared when old Mrs. Denicola mentioned a dream about the blind man and the wallet. And then last night Pete saw a photograph of a man with a scar and dark glasses. He was definitely a hero to the people at that rally or meeting or whatever it was.”
Bob turned back the pages of one of the magazines he had brought from the library. He held up the magazine, and Jupe and Pete stared at a picture of a man with dark glasses and a scar. The man stood at a microphone, his arm upraised. He looked as if he were shouting.
“Pete, was this the photograph you saw?” said Bob.
“It’s . . . it’s not the same picture,” said Pete, “but it’s the same man. Yes. I’m sure it is!”
“And it’s the man I saw outside the bank,” said Bob. “And yet I couldn’t possibly have seen this man. This is a picture of Luis Pascal Dominguez de Altranto. At one time he was an aide to the Felipe Rodriguez who is in Mexico City right now. He was a terrorist. He masterminded a bombing in Mesa d’Oro that killed fourteen schoolchildren. He claimed that justice was on his side, and that the blood of the innocent children was on the heads of the government which takes away property from his countrymen.”
“A fanatic,” said Jupe. “A real fanatic. But why can’t he be the same person you saw outside the bank?”
“Because Altranto is dead!” said Bob. “He’s been dead for several years.”
No one spoke for a moment or two. Then Pete sighed. “But if Altranto is dead . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“The beggar looked exactly like a dead man–even to the scar? And the blindness? Was Altranto blind?” asked Jupe.
“Yes. He was blinded in a fire he set himself in a warehouse in Mesa d’Oro. The handicap didn’t stop him. In fact, it helped make him sort of a hero.”
“So the beggar was disguised to look like Altranto,” said Jupe. “All it took was makeup and a pair of dark glasses. I wonder if Gracie Montoya was the artist behind the disguise? But . . . but why was there a disguise? What was gained by it? There was no one–”
Jupe stopped in mid-sentence. The telephone on the desk was ringing. He glared at it, annoyed by the interruption. Then he picked it up.
“Hello,” he said. “Oh. Oh, yes, Mr. Bonestell.”
Jupe listened for a minute, then said, “Well, it may not mean a thing, but it could be disturbing. I can come over if you want me to. I’d like to talk to you about . . . about a new element that has been introduced into the case.”
Jupe listened for another minute, then said, “Yes. It will take me about half an hour.”
He put the receiver back in its cradle.
“Mr. Bonestell has been questioned again about the robbery,” he said. “He’s very upset. I doubt that the police are really as suspicious as he thinks, but I’ll go see him and try to make him feel better. I’ll also ask him about Grade Montoya. We need to learn how well he knows her.”
Jupe looked eagerly at Bob and Pete. “We also need to keep her under surveillance. I wonder if she’s in close contact with the group at Denicola’s–Ernie and his friends.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Pete. “My mother is going to do something really desperate if I don’t mow the lawn this afternoon. Our grass grew about six inches in all that rain we had last week. Anyway, that girl might recognize me.”
“Bob?” said Jupe.
“I can watch the girl’s house,” Bob said. “They don’t need me at the library this afternoon.”
“Better watch out,” warned Pete. “If these people think it’s okay to go around bombing and killing . . . you don’t want to mess with them.”
11
Attack!
WHEN JUPITER RAPPED at Mr. Bonestell’s door half an hour later, Shelby Tuckerman let him in. He was wearing a black turtleneck shirt and his wrap-around sunglasses.
“Ah, good!” said Shelby. “Our super-sleuth! Maybe you can think of something encouraging to say to Walter.”
Jupe felt a twinge of anger, but he said nothing. He followed Shelby through the dustless and orderly living room to the kitchen. Walter Bonestell was there, sitting at the table near the window and stirring a cup of coffee. Jupe sat down across from him. Shelby offered Jupe some coffee, which Jupe politely refused. “I don’t drink coffee,” he said.
“Of course,” said Tuckerman. “I forget. Kids don’t, do they, in this country.”
“We have some grape soda,” said Mr. Bonestell.
“I don’t need anything, thank you, Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupe. “I had lunch just a little while ago.”
“Aren’t kids always supposed to be stuffing themselves on junk food?” said Shelby. “Don’t tell me you’re an exception. You don’t look like one!”
Jupe gritted his teeth. He was overweight, and he was sensitive about it. But he wasn’t about to show his annoyance to Shelby.
“I suppose you do diet . . . now and then,” said Shelby.
Jupe held his tongue, and Shelby turned to the stove, where the kettle was beginning to sing. He made a cup of instant coffee for himself, then sat down between Mr. Bonestell and Jupe. There was a sugar bowl with a lid in the centre of the table. Shelby reached for the bowl and spooned a bit of sugar into his coffee.
“I hope you have some progress to report to Mr. Bonestell,” he said.
“Not really,” said Jupe. “We have a lead, but it may not pan out.”
“And if it does?” said Shelby.
“Who knows? Perhaps we’ll share it with the police.”
“The right thing to do, of course,” said Shelby. He drank his coffee down then, and got up to rinse his cup out at the sink. He went out and Jupe heard a car start in the driveway. Then Shelby drove past the kitchen window in a late-model sports car.
Mr. Bonestell sat brooding.
“When the police were here earlier, they weren’t accusing, were they?” asked Jupe.
Mr. Bonestell shook his head. “Not really. But they made me tell what happened three times. Three times, right from the beginning!”
He looked up at Jupe. “Do you suppose they were waiting for me to make a mistake? I . . . I don’t think I made any mistakes.”
“If you told your story just as it happened, how could you make mistakes?” asked Jupe reasonably. “Mr. Bonestell, are you sure you’re not getting upset about nothing? It was unfortunate that you were alone at the bank when the thieves came, but that’s only an unhappy accident. I’m sure the police understand that. They know that the robbery would have taken place no matter who was there. At least the robbers weren’t violent.”
“No, they weren’t,” said Mr. Bonestell. “Actually, they were quiet and polite. At least the one who did all the talking was polite.”
Jupe pricked up his ears. “One of them did all the talking?”
“Yes. The one who was gotten up to look like Rolf, the regular cleaning man.”
“Don’t you really mean that he did most of the talking?” asked Jupe. “He gave the orders, and the others didn’t say anything important. Isn’t that it?”
Mr. Bonestell shook his head. “No. He did all the talking. The others didn’t say anything at all.”
“You spent an entire night with three people, and two of them didn’t talk at all?”
“That’s right.”
“Not one word?”
“Not one word,” said Mr. Bonestell. “Now that I think of it, it does seem strange, but at the time it didn’t strike me as odd. What was there to talk about? It was just a matter of waiting until morning, when the rest of the bank staff came in.”