It was as if he’d been hit a furious blow in the stomach. Acid formed in
his throat, his breath stopped, his eyes pained him as he looked down at
her.
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Heinrich Stoltz here,’ the voice said.
‘I’ve been expecting your call. I assume the switchboard gave you the
number.’
‘It was not necessary to telephone. The arrangements have been made. in
twenty minutes a green Packard automobile will be outside the restaurant.
A man will have his left arm out the window, holding an open pack of German
cigarettes this time. I thought you would appreciate the symbolic
repetition.’
‘I’m touched. But you may have to alter the time and the car.’ ‘There can
be no changes. Herr Rhinemann is adamant.’
‘So am L Something’s come up.’
‘Sorry. Twenty minutes. A green Packard automobile.’
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The connection was severed.
Well, that was Stoltz’s problem, thought David. There was only one thought
in mind. To get back to Jean.
He made his way out of the dimly lit comer and sidled awkwardly past the
bar patrons whose stools were blocking the aisle. He was in a hurry; the
human and inanimate obstructions were frustrating, annoying. He reached the
arch into the dining area and walked rapidly through the tables to the rear
booth.
Jean Cameron was gone. There was a note on the table.
It was on the back of a cocktail napkin, the words written in the heavy wax
of an eyebrow pencil. Written hastily, almost illegibly:
David. I’m sure you have things to do -places to go – and I’m a
bore tonight
Nothing else. As if she’d just stopped.
He crumpled the napkin in his pocket and raced back across the dining room
to the front entrance. The maitre d’ stood by the door.
‘Seftor? Is there a problemT
‘The lady at the booth. Where did she go?V
‘Mrs. Cameron?’
Christ! thought David, looking at the calm portefio. What was happening?
The reservation was in his name. Jean had indicated that she’d been to the
restaurant only once before.
‘Yes! Mrs. Cameron! Goddamn you, where is she!?’
‘She left a few minutes ago. She took the first taxi at the curb.’
‘You listen to me …..
‘Sefior,’ interrupted the obsequious Argentine, ‘there is a gentleman
waiting for you outside. He will take care of your bill. He has an account
with us.’
Spaulding looked out the large windowpanes in the heavy front door. Through
the glass he could see a man standing on the sidewalk. He was dressed in a*
white Palm Beach suit.
David pushed the door open and approached him.
‘You want to see meT
‘I’m merely waiting for you, Herr Spaulding. To escort you. The car should
be here in fifteen minutes.’
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30
The green Packard sedan came to a stop across the street, directly in front
of the restaurant. The driver’s arm appeared through the open window, an
indistinguishable pack of cigarettes in his hand. The man in the white Palm
Beach suit gestured politely for Spaulding to accompany him.
A , s he drew nearer, David could see that the driver was a large
man in a black knit, short-sleeved shirt that both revealed and
accentuated his muscular arms. There was a stubble of beard,
thick eyebrows; he looked like a mean-tempered longshoreman,
the rough image intended, Spaulding was sure. The man walking
beside him opened the car door and David climbed in.
No one spoke. The car headed south back toward the center of Buenos Aires;
then northeast into the Aeroparque district. David was mildly surprised to
realize that the driver had entered the wide highway paralleling the river.
The same road he had taken that afternoon with Leslie Hawkwood. He wondered
whether the route was chosen deliberately, if they expected him to make
some remark about the coincidence.
He sat back, giving no indication that he recognized anything.
The Packard accelerated on the wide river road which now swung to the left,
following the water into the hills of the northwest. The car did not,
however, go up any of the offshoot roads
as David had done hours ago. Instead the driver maintained a steady, high
speed. A reflecting highway sign was caught
287
momentarily in the glare of the headlights: 27gre 12 W.
The traffic was mild; cars rushed past intermittently from the opposite
direction; several were overtaken by the Packard. The driver Checked his
rear- and side-view mirrors constantly.
In the middle of a long bend in the road, the Packard slowed down. The
driver nodded his head to the man in the white Palm Beach suit beside
David.
‘We will exchange cars now, Herr Spaulding,’ said the man, reaching into
his jacket, withdrawing a gun.
Ahead of them was a single building, an outskirts restaurant or an inn with
a circular drive that curved in front of an entrance and veered off into a
large parking area on the side. Spotlights fit the entrance and the lawn in
front.
The driver swung in; the man beside Spaulding tapped him.
‘Get out here, please. Go directly inside.’
David opened the door. He was surprised to see a uniformed doorman remain
by the entrance, making no move toward the Packard. Instead, he crossed
rapidly in front of the entrance and started walking on the graveled drive
in the direction of the side parking lot. Spaulding opened the front door
and stepped into the carpeted foyer of the restaurant; the man in the white
suit was at his heels, his gun now in his pocket.
Instead of proceeding toward the entrance of the dining area, the man held
David by the arzn – politely – and knocked on what appeared to be the door
of a small office in the foyer. The door opened and the two of them walked
inside.
It was a tiny office but that fact made no impression on Spaulding. What
fascinated him were the two men inside. One was dressed in a white Palm
Beach suit; the other – and David instantly, involuntarily, had to smile –
was in the identical clothes he himself was wearing. A light blue, striped
cord jacket and dark trousers. The second man was his own height, the same
general build, the same general coloring.
David had no time to observe further. The light in the small office – a
desk lamp – was snapped off by the newly appeared white suit. T”he German
who had accompanied Spaulding walked to the single window that looked out
on the circular drive. He spoke softly.
‘Schnell. Beeilen Sie sick … Danke.’
The two men quickly walked to the door and let themselves out. The German
by the window was silhouetted in the filtered
288
light of the front entrance. He beckoned David.
Wommen Sie her.’
He went to the window and stood beside the man. Outside, their two
counterparts were on the driveway, talking and gesturing as if in an
argument – a mild disagreement, not violent. Both smoked cigarettes, their
faces more often covered by their hands than not. Their backs were to the
highway beyond.
Then an automobile came from the right, from the direction of the parking
lot, and the two men got inside. The car moved slowly to the left, to the
entrance of the highway. It paused for several seconds, waiting for an
opportune moment in the thinned-out night traffic. Suddenly it lurched
forward, crossed to the right of the highway and sped off south, toward the
city.
David. wasn’t sure why the elaborate ploy was considered necessary, he was
about to ask the man beside him. Before he spoke, however, he noticed the
smile on the man’s face, inches from his in the window. Spaulding looked
out.
About fifty yards away, off the side of the river road, headlights were
snapped on. A vehicle, facing north, made a fast U-turn on the wide highway
and headed south in a sudden burst of speed.
The German grinned. ‘Amerikanische … Kinder.’
David stepped back. The man crossed to the desk and turned on the lamp.
‘That was an interesting exercise,’ said Spaulding.
The man looked up. ‘Simply a – what are your words, eine Forsichtsmassnahme
– a . . .’
‘A precaution,’ said David.
Ua. That’s right, you speak German…. Come. Herr Rhinemann must not be
kept waiting longer than the … precautions require.’
Even in daylight, Spaulding realized, the dirt road would be difficult to
find. As it was, with no street lamps and only the misty illumination of
the moon, it seemed as though the Packard had swung off the hard pavement
into a black wall of towering overgrowth. Instead, there was the
unmistakable sound of dirt beneath the wheels as the car plunged forward,
the driver secure in his knowledge of the numerous turns and straightaways.
A half mile into the forest the dirt road suddenly widened and the surface
became smooth and hard again.
289
There was an enormous parking area. Four stone gateposts -wide, medieval in