apartment house; the man with the limp looked up and down the sidewalk,
checked oncoming vehicles, and started across C6rdoba to the north side.
David’s side.
Spaulding knew it would be a matter of seconds before the limping figure
passed him. Logic, again; common sense. The man would continue east – he
would not reverse direction – over traversed ground. He would station
himself at a vantage point from which he could observe those approaching
the apartment from the west. David’s approach.
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The man did not see him until David touched him, grabbed his left arm
around the elbow~ forced the arm into a horizontal position, and clamped
the man’s hand downward so that the slightest force on David’s part caused
an excruciating pain in the man’s bent wrist.
‘Just keep walking or III snap your hand off,’ said David in English,
pushing the man to the right of the sidewalk to avoid the few pedestrians
walking west on C6rdoba.
The man’s face grimaced in pain; David’s accelerated walk caused him to
partially stumble – his limp emphasized – and brought further agony to the
wrist.
‘You’re breaking my arm. You’re breaking itt’ said the anguished man,
hurrying his steps to relieve the pressure.
‘Keep up with me or I will,’ David spoke calmly, even politely. They
reached the comer of the Avenida Parani and Spaulding swung left,
propelling the man with him. There was a wide, recessed doorway of an old
office building – the type that had few offices remaining within it. David
spun the man around, keeping the arm locked, and slammed him into the
wooden wall at the point farthest inside. He released the arm; the
grabbed for his strained wrist. Spaulding took the moment to ffip open the
man’s jacket, forcing the arms downward, and removed a revolver strapped in
a large holster above the man’s left hip.
It was a Lfiger. Issued less than a year ago.
David clamped it inside his belt and pushed a lateral forearm against the
man’s throat, crashing his head into the wood as he searched the pockets of
the jacket. Inside he found a large rectangular European billfold. He
slapped it open, removed his forearm from the man’s throat, and shoved his
left shoulder into the man’s chest, pinning him unmercifully against the
wall. With both hands, David removed identification papers.
A German driver’s license; an Autobalm vehicle pass; rationing cards
countersigned by Oberfiffirers, allowing the owner to utilize them
throughout the Reich – a privilege granted to upperlevel government
personnel and above.
And then he found it.
An identity pass with a photograph affixed; for the ministries of
Information, Armaments, Air and Supply.
Gestapo.
‘You’re about the most inept recruit Himinler’s turned out,’ said David,
meaning the judgment profoundly, putting the bill-
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fold in his back pocket. ‘You must have relatives…. Was ist “Tortagas”?’
Spaulding whispered harshly, suddenly. He removed his shoulder from the
man’s chest and thrust two extended knuckles into the Nazi’s breastbone with
such impact that the German coughed, the sharp blow nearly paralyzing him.
‘Wer ist Altinliller? Was wissen Sie fiber Marshall?’ David repeatedly
hammered the man’s ribs with his knuckles, sending shock waves of pain
throughout the Gestapo agent’s rib cage. ‘Sprechen Sie! SO/ortl’
‘Neinl Ich weiss nichts!’the man answered between gasps. ‘Nein I’
Spaulding heard it again. The dialect. Nowhere near Berliner; not even a
mountainized Bavarian. Something else.
What was it?
‘Noch ‘mal! Again I Sprechen Sie I’
And then the man did something quite out of the ordinary. In his pain, his
fear, he stopped speaking German. He spoke in English. ‘I have not the
information you want! I follow orders. … That is all!’
David shifted his stand to the left, covering the Nazi from the
intermittent looks they’both received from the passersby on the sidewalk.
The doorway was deep, however, in shadows; no one stopped. The two men
could have been acquaintances, one or both perhaps a little drunk.
Spaulding clenched his right fist, his left elbow against the wall, his
left hand poised to clamp over the German’s mouth. He leaned against the
slatted wood and brought his fist crashing into the man’s stomach with such
force that the agent lurched forward, held only by David’s hand, now
gripping him by the hairline.
‘I can keep this up until I rupture everything inside you. And when I’m
finished I’ll throw you in a taxi and drop you off at the German embassy
with a note attached. You’ll get it from both sides then, won’t you? …
Now, tell me what I want to know I’ David brought his two bent knuckles up
into the man’s throat, jabbing twice.
‘Stop…. Mein Gott! Stop!’
‘Why don’t you yell? You can scream your head off, you know. . … Of
course, then I’ll have to put you to sleep and let your own people find
you. Without your credentials, naturally.
. . Go on I Yell V David knuckled the man once more in the throat. ‘Now,
you start telling me. What’s “Tortugas?” Who’s
259
Altmigler? How did you get a cryp named Marshall?,
‘I swear to God I I know nothing V
David Punched him again. The man collapsed; Spaulding pulled him up against
the wall, leaning against him, hiding him, really. The Gestapo agent opened
his lids, his eyes swimming uncontrollably.
‘You’ve got five seconds. Then I’ll rip your throat out.’
‘Nol … Please I Altmaller …. Armaments …. Peenem(Inde…’
‘What about PeenemOndeT
‘The tooling Tortugas”.
‘What does that meanl?’David showed the man his two bent fingers. The
recollection of Pam terrified the German. ‘What is 66 Tortugas”?’
Suddenly the German’s eyes flickered, trying to focus. Spaulding saw that
the man was looking above his shoulder. It wasn’t a ruse, the Nazi was too
far gone for strategies.
And then David felt the presence behind him. It was an unmis-, takeable
feeling that had been developed over the recent years; it was never false.
He turned.
Coming into the dark shadows from the harsh Argentine sunfight was the
second part of the surveillance team, the man who’d entered his apartment
building. He was Spaulding’s size, a large man and heavily muscular.
The light and the onrushing figure caused David to wince. He released the
German, prepared to throw himself onto the opposite wan.
He couldn’t!
The Gestapo agent – in a last surge of strength – held onto his arms 1
Held his arms, threw his hands around David’s chest and hung his full
weight on him I
Spaulding lashed out with his foot at the man attacking, swung his elbows
back, slamming the German back into the wood.
It was too late and David knew it.
He saw the huge hand – the long fingers spread – rushing into his face. It
was as if a ghoulish film was being played before his eyes in slow motion.
He felt the fingers clamp into his skin and realized that his head was
being shoved with great strength into the wall.
The sensations of divin& crashing, spinning accompanied the
260
shock of pain above his neck.
He shook his head; the first thing that struck him was the stench. It was
all around him, sickening.
He was lying in the recessed’doorway, curled up against the wall in a fetal
position. He was wet, drenched around his face and shirt and in the crotch
area of his trousers.
It was cheap whisky. Very cheap and very profuse.
His shirt had been ripped, collar to waist; one shoe was off, the sock
removed. His belt was undone, his fly partially unzipped.
He was the perfect picture of a derelict.
He rose to a sitting position and remedied as best he could his appearance.
He looked at his watch.
Or where his watch had been; it was gone.
His wallet, too. And money. And whatever else had been in his pockets.
He stood up. The sun was down, early night had begun; there were not so
many people on the Avenida Parani now.
He wondered what time it was. It couldn’t be much more than an hour later,
he supposed.
He wondered if Jean were still waiting for hirn.
She removed his clothes, pressed the back of his head with 100 and insisted
that he take a long, hot shower.
When he emerged from the bathroom, she fixed him a drink, then sat down
next to him on the small couch.
‘Henderson will insist on your moving into the embassy; you know that,
don’t youT
‘I can’t.’
‘Well, you can’t go on being beaten up every day. And don’t tell me they
were thieves. You wouldn’t swallow that when Henderson and Bobby both tried
to tell you that about the men on the roof!’
‘Tbis was different. For God’s sake, Jean, I was robbed of everything on
me!’ David spoke sternly. It was important to him that she believe him now.
And it was entirely possible that he’d find it necessary to avoid her from