Call Down The Hawk

by Richard Folmar

“I realize that, Artimus.”

  “Do you also realize that my telling you something most pertinent to your investigation of my superior might be deemed a betrayal of trust to him?”

  “Of course I do, but can I infer from all of this, that you know something that can throw some light on my investigation of Henry Lane Wilson and are you telling me you can’t comply for reasons of integrity? OK, forget it. I can understand that. Now, I won’t impose on your hospitality further, my friend. It’s late and I’m suddenly tired. See you in the morning.”

  “Sit down. Obviously, I did a poor job in explaining Lincoln’s interpretation of integrity with regard to critical situations and honest goals. Now, what we have here does not rise to the level of any of Lincoln’s problems but perhaps it does involve the integrity of our country, the way we want ourselves viewed by other peoples of the world, a fighter for democratic and humanitarian principles. These are not insignificant matters. Now please sit down and I shall explain.”

  “I am listening.”

  “First point, I’m about to relate something that could cause my dismissal from the embassy staff and no doubt the career service for which I have labored all these years. I cannot pretend that would not be unimportant to me.”

  “Artimus, for God’s sake, I don’t want that. Let’s forget I asked.” Seth said starting to rise but upon a gesture by Artimus resumed his seat.

  “We’ve already passed that point. Please don’t interrupt. Secondly, if you deem it absolutely necessary for your report to the President, I shall, notwithstanding the possible reprisalaffecting my career and reputation, give the President a notarized statement of what I’m about to relate”

  “Hey, I pledge you my word that in every way possible, the President shall respect your confidence and it will be only for the eyes of President Wilson and Secretary Bryan.”

  Artimus gave a rueful smile. “My friend, you stand naked and defenseless in this world of real politics. There is no way you could keep that promise. Never mind. What I have to relate is not conclusive evidence that the Ambassador is collusive in the Madero murders. Nevertheless, you being an attorney might agree that it is a great deal stronger evidence than you have uncovered so far and makes a circumstantial case.”

  Seth leaned forward, “Anything is better than what I have.”

  “Very well, now to the matter of some relevant background. I think it is important for you to know that our Ambassador”—he stopped. Someone was knocking at his door. He looked irritated. “Now who in blazes—at this hour?”

  “Could be Hand. I told him I would be here. With your permission, I’ll get rid of him.” Artimus waved him to the door. He opened it to find a grim Ambassador standing there in a brown dressing gown.

  Artimus was quickly on his feet behind Seth. “Is there something, your Excellency?” he asked.

  Henry Lane Wilson brushed into the room with a suspicious look at his First Secretary, then at Seth. “Ah yes, Mr. Cane. I was told by a member of the staff that you might be here.” Looking at Artimus, he smiled tightly, “Good evening or rather I should say good morning, Mr. Seyquirt. I just received a most distressing call from our Consul General. It seems that Mr. Cane’s associate, Mr. Comfort, was arrested earlier this evening by the Federal police.

  “He has been charged with the crime of murder.”

  55

  “You MUST BE MISTAKEN, AMBASSADOR,” Seth protested. “He was to be back in our room before 11:00 p.m.”

  The Ambassador’s expression hardened, “No mistake, I assure you, Mr. Cane. What can I tell you? He’s not there. Mr. Burnside just checked your room on my orders and, Mr. Shanklin, the Consul General, was quite explicit in reporting that your associate has been arrested and is being held in Belem Prison.”

  “What in the hell is going on?” Seth murmured.

  Artimus put his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “There has obviously been some kind of mix up.” To his superior he asked, “Did Shanklin say why Mr. Comfort had been arrested, sir?”

  The Ambassador thrust his hands into the pocket of his dressing gown in a gesture of annoyance. “You were not paying attention, Mr. Seyquirt, I said that the charge was murder.”

  “That’s crazy,” Seth said. “Who was he supposed to have killed—when and where?”

  “Mr. Shanklin had no details. There is no information other than what I’ve told you. Doubtless, we will find out more tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Seth said, looking from the Ambassador to Artimus. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go over and get him out now! The prison is just up the street.”

  The Ambassador shook his head, covering a yawn with his fingertips. “Mr. Cane, it is just past 2:00 a.m. I suggest we all retire. Your friend will be safe for tonight. Tomorrow, we will proceed through proper channels to try and secure his release. However, as a lawyer, you must be aware, that if there should be some basis for the criminal charge, there might be considerable difficulty in effecting his immediate release.”

  Seth’s voice hardened, “What are you saying? Hand has not killed anyone and I am not about to let him spend even one night in any foul Mexican prison!”

  “That’s precisely the problem. It is a Mexican prison, foul or not. We are guests in their country. I’m afraid you will have to be patient, Mr. Cane. You do not know the near impossibility of unlocking Mexican jail doors at this hour.”

  “Get on the telephone and call your friend Huerta. He damn well can unlock any jail door quickly enough.”

  “That is not how it works. One just doesn’t call El Presidente at this time of night”

  “Well, I damn sure don’t mind calling El Presidente at this time of night when the life of my friend might be at stake. We have heard first hand what that Major Dominguez likes to do to prisoners.”

  “I strongly advise caution, Mr. Cane, or you will jeopardize any possible chance we might have for the release of Mr. Comfort.”

  “And, I advise you, Mr. Ambassador, that Mr. Comfort is not only an American citizen but one traveling under diplomatic passport.”

  The Ambassador’s eyes turned cold and his words came out clipped and hard. “You are ill informed. Your passports do not confer diplomatic immunity, regardless of Mr. Seyquirt’s ploy on the train to scare off Colonel Sanchez.”

  “But—we are down here as special representatives of the Secretary of State,” Seth protested, looking at Artimus.

  Artimus gave him a rueful smile. “I am afraid he’s right. It was a bit of deception on my part to get rid of an officious bully.”

  “OK, so we don’t have diplomatic immunity. We are still American citizens. Moreover, we do officially represent the Secretary of State and” (he almost said the President of the United States) “our government. As such, Mr. Ambassador, I intend to fully report your hesitancy to take immediate action on behalf of Mr. Comfort.”

  “Compose yourself, Mr. Cane,” the Ambassador said. “You are an amateur in such matters. I tell you once more there is a proper way of handling these things and it doesn’t include dashing off willy nilly at two o’clock in the morning to try and browbeat some prison official into releasing Mr. Comfort. He couldn’t do it even if he wanted.”

  “He’s right again, you know, Seth,” Artimus said.

  “I do not know what you are going to do, Mr. Cane, but I am going to bed. I also recommend you do the same, Mr. Seyquirt. We have a very busy agenda ahead of us tomorrow—or actually today.” With a sharp glance at Seth, he turned and walked stiffly from the room. Artimus moved over and closed the door behind him.

  “I don’t like this one bit, Artimus,” Seth exploded. “Is this the way he looks after our citizens down here? How about it? Will you come with me to that Belem Prison right now? We’ll get Hand out if I have to bust a few heads.”

  Artimus looked pained. “You’re not think
ing clearly, Seth. Listen to me. I can appreciate your worry about Mr. Comfort and regardless of the Ambassador’s apparent callousness, he’s right. We couldn’t get past the gates at this hour. You don’t know these Mexican prisons. We have to proceed through proper diplomatic channels.”

  “He said Hand was charged with murder.”

  “Could be a spurious charge as an excuse to hold him.”

  “But why? What can they want with Hand?”

  Artimus shrugged, “Who knows what their game is. It is sure to be revealed in due time. But, my dear fellow there is nothing we can do right now. The Ambassador’s advice is good. Let’s get some sleep as we need to be fresh tomorrow if we are going to be any help to Mr. Comfort”

  He took Seth by his arm and steered him to the door. “Rest your mind. It will turn out all right. These things are quite common down here. We have learned how to deal with them. As the Ambassador said, he will be quite safe there until morning.”

  Back in their room, Seth looked around half hoping to see that big Texan and finding out the Consul General had made a mistake. He walked over to the window and stared down on the wet street, remembering Artimus’s last words, “The Ambassador said he would be quite safe there until morning.”

  With a start, he also recalled what the Ambassador had said to that magazine writer, John Kenneth Turner, who was being held in the Citadel as a spy. Turner said, “He told me it was one of his busy days but that I would be safe there for the night and he would be able to get me released the following morning” Yeah, right! That Turner guy was led out to the execution yard three times to be shot before he managed to escape.

  56

  SETH EMERGED FROM A NIGHTMARE the following morning with the rain still beating a tattoo against the window of his room. He swung his legs out and sat on the edge of the bed, the nightmare still vivid. In the dream he had gone to Belem Prison to encounter a smirking Major Dominguez. Upon his demand to see Hand, Dominguez motioned for Seth to follow him through a series of doors, each having to be unlocked and then locked after them. They ended in a courtyard where Dominguez laughed and pointed to a stake to which Hand was tied, facing a firing squad drawn up in line, rifles raised to fire.

  “No!” He had yelled in the dream and tried to run to free his friend but his legs seemed not to work.

  Hand saw him, and with that familiar crooked grin, called out, “It’s all right, Pard, they’re just fooling. Remember that magazine writer?”

  At that moment to his horror they fired and Hand, with a surprised look, crumpled at the stake.

  He shook his head vigorously trying to force himself into the reality of the morning. Unfortunately, the reality was that Hand was being held in that prison and Major Dominguez was the one who probably put him there—for what purpose,

  God only knew. The charge of murder was outrageous, but that was probably only a technicality to people like Dominguez, all the more reason that there was no time to lose. He had to get him out of there.

  He washed his face and shaved hurriedly, his straight razor nicking his chin in the process. He managed to stanch the flow of blood with a bit of torn toilet tissue, parts of which remained stuck to the wound. He hastily put on a clean shirt and collar and the wrinkled linen suit he was wearing yesterday. He made a clumsy effort with his black tie, leaving the knot impossible to cinch tight against his collar. He rejected the option of retying it in his rush to get downstairs to see what was being planned to extricate Hand from prison.

  He found them in the breakfast room: The Ambassador, Artimus, that fellow Dr. Oliver and the Chief of Security, Mr. Burnsides.

  The Ambassador, cheerful and smiling, said “Good morning, Mr. Cane.” Seth, considering the circumstances of Hand’s arrest and imprisonment, found his mood to be jarring.

  The Ambassador’s smile tightened at seeing Seth’s rumpled appearance. “Have a seat. Do you know there is a piece of paper stuck to your chin? I trust you slept well.”

  Staring at the Ambassador in disbelief, Seth slipped into the vacant seat next to Dr. Oliver and replied “Oh yes. Great!”

  White coated servants immediately descended upon him, pouring dark brown coffee and offering him silver trays containing ham, bacon, scrambled eggs with onions and bits of hot green peppers.

  Conversation resumed at the table as if it had not been temporarily interrupted by his arrival. It appeared to have to do with the Ambassador’s schedule for the day and the duties required of staff.

  Seth made a half-hearted attempt to eat his breakfast but after a few attempts he laid down his fork and drank the hot coffee. He listened to the conversation with growing irritation. There was no mention of Hand or his plight. Artimus was sitting on the right of the Ambassador and Seth finally managed to catch his eye and frowned his frustration. Artimus correctly interpreted Seth’s expression and half nodded as if to say Be patient.

  The talk now turned to something about the reception being held by the Spanish Ambassador that afternoon. Artimus, with a glance at Seth’s face, sensed the approaching boil over level of his friend and dared to interrupt the Ambassador.

  “Your Excellency, about the unfortunate matter of Mr. Comfort’s outrageous incarceration last night by the Mexican authorities.”

  Henry Lane Wilson paused in the act of elevating his cup of coffee to his mouth and glanced down the table at Seth. He continued with his cup, taking a leisurely sip and returning it carefully to its saucer.

  “Thank you, Artimus. We do have that little matter to deal with this morning, don’t we?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador,” Seth said, “I don’t reckon Mr. Comfort at this moment would consider his predicament a little matter”

  The Ambassador favored Seth with a patronizing smile. “Really, Mr. Cane, I was speaking figuratively. In no way do I envision the plight of your friend as a matter of little consequence.”

  “Neither do I, Mr. Ambassador, for that matter, neither will the Secretary of State.”

  “Of that, I have no doubts”

  “So just how do you propose that we can proceed to get Mr. Comfort free?”

  “It may surprise you, but I have, while you slept, already initiated the proper steps toward that purpose.”

  “Oh? And what are those steps, sir?”

  “I telephoned Senor Garza Aldape. He is the Minister de Gobernación. I requested a full explanation of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Comfort’s arrest.”

  “Explanation?” Seth asked. “That’s it?”

  The Ambassador held up his hand to stall further comment. “I also obtained permission for you to see Mr. Comfort at Belem this morning at nine-thirty. You and Dr. Oliver will keep that appointment. How does that strike you, Mr. Cane?”

  Seth grudgingly admitted to himself that the Ambassador had not been sitting on his behind since last night. Nevertheless, he had hoped for something more positive in the way of Hand’s release.

  “It’s a beginning, sir, and I sincerely appreciate it. However, with no disrespect to you, Dr. Oliver,” he said turning to Mason Oliver, who nodded. “Since I don’t really know you, I would like Mr. Seyquirt to be the one to accompany me.”

  The Ambassador, looking into the contents of his coffee cup, replied, “Quite impossible. The First Secretary has duties this morning that will preclude his going with you to the prison.”

  “Seth,” Artimus interjected. “Mason is quite experienced in these kinds of situations.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Cane,” the Ambassador continued with an annoyed glance at Artimus, “Dr. Oliver will admirably represent yours and Mr. Comfort’s interests at the prison. Won’t you Mason?”

  Dr. Oliver smiled reassuringly at Seth. “I shall do everything possible to effect the immediate release of Mr. Comfort. I’ve had considerable experience in getting our citizens out of similar situations
throughout Latin America.”

  Seth nodded uncertainly. He appreciated this man’s confident assertion. Maybe he could do it. Just the same, I would be more comfortable with Artimus Seyquirt by my side.

  57

  BELEM PRISON, ONLY A LITTLE northeast of the American Embassy on Chapultepec Avenue, looked ominous and gray as the embassy motorcar approached its gate. Dr. Oliver explained that it had been built around the end of the seventeenth century and was used primarily for political prisoners.

  “Yes, I had a first hand report of what use was applied here to one political prisoner,” Seth commented.

  “Well, it’s certainly not a place that I would ever want to be jailed, however, it’s not the worst. San Juan de Ulua at Vera Cruz has that honor.”

  “We saw it when we came in the harbor but this one is ugly enough.”

  “Ugly, indeed,” Dr. Oliver agreed. “And you can bet it is a breeding ground for typhus. Also, no one stays there more than three days without contracting the most pernicious skin disease.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Oliver, I needed to know that”

  “Oh, your friend, Mr. Comfort, of course,” Dr. Oliver apologized. “How thoughtless. I only mentioned that to emphasize the necessity of getting your friend’s release as quickly as possible.”

  “That’s right, Doctor, release, that’s what is important,” Seth said as the embassy car pulled to a stop before a large steel gate guarded by two seedy looking soldiers. A sergeant came out of a guard shack to the car. His tailored uniform contrasted sharply with those of the two guards.

  Dr. Oliver rolled down his rear window and handed two passes to him. The sergeant saluted, and with a frown examined the passes so long that Seth was beginning to doubt that he could read. Finally, with a barely audible comment, he handed them back to Dr. Oliver and ordered the gate to be opened.

  The lieutenant in the administrative office was young and darkly handsome, a condition of which he was undoubtedly aware since he kept smoothing a neatly trimmed moustache.