"Open the bloody window."
"Afraid I'll drown," Andrew said. "You didn't by any chance drive off the end of the pier without noticing, did you?"
"Arf, arf," said Bruddy. "Open the bloody window and let's get this over with."
Even placid Andrew was getting a bit short-tempered in this weather. "What are you in such a hurry for?" he demanded.
For once, Bruddy didn't take offense. Instead, he treated the question seriously, and gave it a serious answer: "I'm in a hurry," he explained, "to go someplace dry and warm and drink something wet and cold."
"Amen, Bruddy, amen."
"So open the bloody window and read the bloody boxes."
"If I must, I must."
Andrew tugged down the window, and at once the rain poured in. So did the thunderous roar of the rain. Face pinched up against the flurry of cold raindrops, Andrew looked out at the crates and read "Escondido Castle-Property of Government of Yerbadoro."
"That's it!" he cried.
Bruddy, frowning at him in the rearview mirror, yelled over the rain, "What say?"
Andrew pushed the window up, lessening the volume of rain in more ways than one. "That's it," he said, and shivered. "Now, let's go to the place you mentioned for the reason cited."
"Done and done," said Bruddy.
***
In the sunshine, high on a hill overlooking the port of Livorno, Rosa Palermo and Angelo Salvagambelli stood beside the little red Fiat, Rosa looking through binoculars, watching the cargo from the South American ship being loaded into two large orange trucks. Beyond the ships the Lingurian Sea glistened and sparkled in the sunlight, and up. from the city came the plink and tinkle of mandolin music. The air was warm, the sun bright, the hill green, the day thoroughly beautiful, and Angelo was growing impatient. "Rosa," he said.
She made no reply, but went on looking through the binoculars at the lading going on below.
"Rosa," Angelo repeated, "let me look."
"There's nothing to see," Rosa said, and went on looking herself.
"If there's nothing to see," Angelo said, reasonably enough, "stop looking and let me look."
"In a minute," Rosa said.
"Rosa…"
"Be quiet, I can't see."
Angelo's boredom and impatience led him to push the issue. Tugging at Rosa's arm, he said, "Rosa, it's my turn!"
At once, Rosa exploded into a counterattack, leaping away from him as though his arm-tug had been some sort of karate chop. "You're so domineering!" she yelled, glaring at him. "A woman can't breathe around you! Always grinding women beneath your heel!"
Astounded, Angelo fell back against the side of the Fiat, as though utterly felled by this unjust accusation, and feebly pointed at his own chest, as though to say Me?
"Yes, you!" Rosa told him, and pointed her own finger at his chest. "You and only you!" Then she thrust the binoculars at him, crying, "Here! You'll pull them out of my hands, here they are!"
Moving away from the Fiat, turning his back, flinging his arms this way and that to express rejection and despair, Angelo said, "I don't want them. I don't care to look."
"You'd knock me down to get them," Rosa insisted, following him away from the car. "You'd break my arm! Here, here, here they are, I submit!"
Spinning back to face her, his expression furious, Angelo cried, "Submit? To rob a man of his manhood is your only pleasure!"
Now it was Rosa's turn to fall back in astonishment, clutching at her chest. "I? I?"
"You! You!"
The argument continued for some time.
***
Night. The two orange trucks with the shipment from South America ground slowly up the twisting road through the Swiss Alps. Behind them buzzed the black Volkswagen beetle convertible, top up. Rudi Schlisselmann was driving, while Otto Berg beside him thoughtfully chewed a sausage sandwich. Herman Muller was not along on this ride.
Otto broke a long silence by breaking wind. Then he sighed. Then he yawned, showing a lot of half-chewed sausage sandwich. Then he swallowed, scratched himself, and said, "Well, Corporal, we're back in operation together again."
Smiling, watching the trucks slowly gaining ground ahead of him up the mountain, Rudi said, "Like the good old days."
"It's good to be working with the Major again."
"Especially," Rudi said, "considering some of the other meatballs in this job."
"You know what the Major says," Otto reminded him. "No enterprise of any scope can be accomplished without allies."
With a sly grin, Rudi said, "At least for a while, eh, Sergeant?"
Chuckling heartily, Otto said, "Until the objective is attained, Corporal."
Both had a good laugh at that. Rudi, the first to sober, frowned again through the windshield, saying, "Still. To be on a job with the Italians again. It gives me a creepy feeling."
Sternly opposed to any expression of doubt, Otto said, "The Major knows what he's doing, Corporal."
Not entirely convinced, but obedient, Rudi nodded: "Oh, I know that, Sergeant. I know that."
***
The boat-train from London to Paris travels overland as far as Dover, where the freight cars and passenger cars and wagons-lits (or sleeping cars) are placed on a ferry, a huge bulky awkward-looking ferry with one lower deck as lined with railroad track as any freight yard. The English locomotives and dining cars are left behind (good!), and the ferry pushes drunkenly off toward Calais, where French locomotives (not so good) and dining cars (very good) will be added for the overland run to Paris.
Sir Mortimer Maxwell had hoped to have the tiny wagons-lits compartment to himself, but he turned out to have a roommate-or cellmate. What was worse, he was an obese Frenchman without English. What was even worse than that, he was an obese Frenchman who traveled with an entire hamper of food-bread, wine, sausages, cheese, fruit-from which he fed his fat face constantly. And noisily. Chomp-chomp, squgg-squgg, slish-slish. It was simply not to be borne.
The fact of the matter was, Sir Mortimer didn't much like to travel either by train or boat, and traveling by both simultaneously did nothing, in his opinion, to improve either. He was sitting in an extremely cramped train compartment, listening to a fat Frenchman gnaw his way through the world's food supply, and the extremely cramped train compartment was weaving and rolling like a ship. It was damned unpleasant.
It was finally more unpleasant than Sir Mortimer could bear, and he left his short narrow wagons-lits bed, donned a dressing gown, and left the compartment. Staggering down the narrow corridor to the end, he left the car, turned right, found an open door, and went down the steps to lean out and look at all the railroad cars stacked like toys in a child's dresser drawer. Far above was the yellow-painted steel ceiling, spaced infrequently with rather dim lightbulbs. And over there, glimpsed between other railroad cars, were the two yellow freight cars which were Sir Mortimer's special interest. He nodded at them, as though greeting an old acquaintance. He was happy to see them, but not at all happy at where they had brought him.
Oh, well; it was all in a good cause. And someday it would all be over, and he could return to Maxwell Manor well supplied with the cash necessary to keep the world at bay. In the meantime, stiff upper lip. He would soldier on.
And at the moment, he would sit upon these steps here and contemplate that glimpse of yellow freight car. It was more comfortable-and more reassuring-than the compartment full of an eating Frenchman.
***
But not every wagons-lits compartment was disturbing to its occupants. In one not terribly far from Sir Mortimer, in the rolling darkness, two voices were speaking, both coming from the bottom bunk. One of the voices belonged to Charles Moule, and the other belonged to Renee Chateaupierre, and both voices vibrated softly with repressed emotion. "Then," Charles was saying, "after Claudia was shot by the tourists in Barcelona, life no longer seemed worth the effort."
"You don't have to talk about this, Charles," Renee said.
"But I feel I must,
Renee."
"It's not necessary, Charles."
"It's necessary to me, Renee. After… after what has happened between us, I can no longer remain silent. Tonight is my rebirth. I want you to understand my soul."
"I do understand your soul, Charles."
"Do you understand how I felt after Barcelona?"
"But you could never show it," Renee said.
"How could I show it?"
"You never could."
"I could never show it."
***
It was raining at Le Bourget, the oldest and smallest of Paris's three airports, the one where Lindbergh landed after his trans-Atlantic crossing. The London taxi parked by the fence gleamed darkly wet in the sheets of rain. Within the taxi were Bruddy and Andrew, and Bruddy was saying, "Doesn't it ever stop raining? When this job is done, I'm taking my share and travel the world over till I find-"
"There!" said Andrew, pointing toward the distant runway. "That's it!"
"What? Oh, ho, you're right."
The two men watched the cargo plane landing-a DC3, painted in the Yerbadoroan colors of purple and black. Squish-squish, went its wheels on the runway. Rapidly the plane shushed by, spray flying.
"Easy," Bruddy said, beneath his breath. "Take it easy, old son, don't wreck that plane."
"Right on time," Andrew said, happily smiling at his watch. "That girl Lida's information is infallible."
Bruddy wasn't yet ready to fall over into total optimism.
"Just let the rest of it work as well," he said. "And let it bloody well stop raining."
6
In her simple hotel room on the Rue des Ecoles, Lida prepared herself for her solitary bed. In a floor-length white cotton nightgown that clearly exhibited both her beauty and her strength of character, she was about to climb into the narrow bed and switch off the light, when there came a knock at the door.
She hesitated. Who would be knocking at the door at this hour? A lone girl, defenseless in a hotel room in Paris, must ask herself such questions.
The knock was repeated.
Well. Even a lone girl, defenseless in a hotel room in Paris, must be allowed a certain curiosity. And if the hotel room door is locked, which this one most certainly was, there was perhaps not too much risk in responding to a knock on it by voicing one's curiosity aloud. Emboldened by these reflections, Lida tiptoed to the door, leaned close to it, and was about to speak when the knock occurred a third time. This knock, coming when Lida was bent close to the door, was so loud in her ear that she started back with an involuntary cry, her small right fist pressed to her chest between her breasts. She waited, wide-eyed, gazing at the door, but when nothing further happened she dared approach it again, and this time she called, "Who is it?"
The voice from beyond the wood was one she had never expected to hear again in this life: "Manuel," it said.
Manuel! Joyfully, Lida unlocked the door and flung it open. "Manuel!"
Manuel entered, shutting the door behind himself. A sturdy handsome peasant with a broad nose and a grim, glum manner, Manuel was dressed in rough corduroy trousers held up by a length of rope instead of a belt, a pair of heavy workshoes, and a coarse cotton shirt with a wide collar and flaring sleeves. "Lida!" he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, and held his arms wide.
Lida flew to them. They embraced, passionately, murmuring endearments to one another in Spanish, the native tongue of Yerbadoro and in fact the only language with which Manuel was at all familiar.
After the first embrace, Lida and Manuel held one another at arm's length, gazing at one another, drinking one another in. Speaking in Spanish, so that Manuel could understand her, Lida said, "Oh, Manuel! I had given you up for dead."
"Even death could not keep me from my swan, my Lida," said Manuel, who in his own language was some shucks.
"Manuel," Lida asked, "how did you escape the terrors of El Presidente?"
"The jungle befriended me," he explained simply. "I had many adventures, and have at last found my way to Paris, and to you, my beloved."
"My heart!"
"My life!"
"My all!"
"My own!"
Again they flung their arms around one another, but before they could continue with whatever had been their intentions a discreet tapping sounded at the door.
Instantly, Manuel was suspicious. Pushing Lida from himself, glaring at the door like a bantam rooster, he said, "Who is that? What man is that?"
Frightened, innocent, Lida told the truth: "I don't know."
But an instant later she did know, because it was clearly the voice of Eustace that sounded through the door, calling in that hoarse voice peculiar to people who are trying to shout without speaking loudly, "Lida? Are you decent?"
Manuel bristled. "A male!" he said.
Trying to calm him, Lida whispered, "It's my benefactor, Eustace Dench. I told you about him."
"Lida?" Eustace's hoarse voice sounded again. "Are you awake, dear?"
Switching to English, Lida called, "Just one moment, please." Then, reverting to Spanish, she told Manuel, "I have told him you are my cousin."
"Cousin?" Twice as suspicious as before, Manuel glowered upon his true love. "What hanky-panky is this?"
"I wasn't sure he would help me," she explained, "if he knew I was betrothed. Besides, I thought you dead." Then, hastily, she added, "Though I never gave up hope, of course."
With another tapping at the door, Eustace called again: "Hurry, Lida. Hurry."
"Be good now," Lida warned Manuel, worriedly. "And you're my cousin. We need the assistance of these people."
Manuel growled, but his face showed he would go along. Tremulous, Lida at last opened the door, and Eustace entered, wearing a red smoking jacket and carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. Lida closed the door, and the broad smile on Eustace's face disappeared when he caught sight of Manuel. Eustace stared at Manuel, who stared at the champagne.
"Hello," said Eustace, in a tone of unwelcome surprise. "And what have we here?"
"My cousin," Lida told him. "Miraculously restored to life."
"That," Manuel said, in his South American Spanish, "is an alcoholic beverage."
"I take it," Eustace said, "this is another one who doesn't speak English."
"Sadly, no," Lida agreed. "Manuel has no English." Then, in Spanish, she made the formal introduction: "Manuel Cornudo, may I present Eustace Dench." Back in English, she said, "Eustace Dench, my cousin, Manuel Cornudo."
Manuel sullenly but manfully stuck out his hand. Eustace dithered a bit, not quite sure what to do with the bottle and glasses. In a sullen monotone, Manuel said, "I am very pleased to meet you."
Eustace extended the champagne bottle toward Lida: "My dear?" She took the bottle from him, and he took Manuel's horny hand, gesturing with the hand holding the two glasses. "How do you do," he said. "Any cousin of Lida's is a cousin of mine. Welcome back from the dead."
As they continued to shake hands, Manuel gazed grimly at Eustace and said, "How would you like me to punch you in the face?"
"Charming," Eustace said, released Manuel's hand, and turned to Lida to say, "I take it we're going to put up with-put-that is, put your cousin up."
"Oh, that's very kind of you," Lida said, as there came a sudden brisk knocking at the door.
Manuel bristled: "Another lover?"
"Manuel," Lida cried, "how can you say such a thing? You know I have always been true to you."
"Even when you thought me dead?"
The knocking was repeated at the door, this time accompanied by the loud whisper of Angelo, calling in Italian, "Lida? My heart? Are you there?"
Eustace frowned. "That sounds like Angelo."
Fitfully, Lida handed the champagne bottle to Manuel and opened the door. Immediately, in bounded Angelo, with a huge smile, a big bottle of red wine, and a couple of glasses. His smile wrinkled like a snake when he saw the other two men.
"Yes, indeed," Manuel said
, gazing at the bottle of wine and struggling toward sarcasm. "I have heard that one should not drink the water"
Eustace, apparently deciding a stern manner was the best way to survive this experience, turned on Angelo, saying, "Well, Angelo? May I ask the meaning of this?"
Ignoring Eustace, turning the full mellifluous power of his Italian upon Lida, Angelo said, "I feared you might have given your heart to another, but I had no idea you entertained groups."
To Manuel, Lida explained, "This is Angelo. He doesn't speak Spanish."
"He doesn't need to," Manuel said bitterly.
Turning to Angelo, Lida said in her halting Italian, "Thank you. But. Tired. Me."
Disillusioned, Angelo said, "Well, that's only to be expected."
Retaining the social niceties of her convent upbringing, though distractedly, Lida made the introductions: "Manuel, Angelo. Angelo, Manuel."
Manuel stuck out his hand as though he wished there were a knife in it. Angelo fidgeted briefly with bottle and glasses, then handed the bottle to Lida and shook Manuel's hand.
Said Manuel, in Spanish, with a tight smile, "May the dogs tear your heart out."
Said Angelo, in Italian, with a tight smile, "May your mother get the mange."
There came another knock at the door. Lida raised imploring eyes to Heaven.
"The United States Marines, no doubt," Eustace commented.
Speaking in English, Lida said, "I really wish none of this would happen."
Dazedly, she handed the wine bottle to Manuel, who stood there holding the two bottles as though they were Indian clubs and he was about to go into his act. Lida opened the door and in strode Rudi, carrying a bottle of Rhine wine and two glasses. Before noticing the other men, he said, in his native German (what else?), "A preliminary celebration, eh?" Then, seeing the other three, he stopped dead, saying, "What's this, a lineup for Interpol?"
Castle in the Air Page 5
