by Lou Cameron
There was a murmur of agreement and the crowd began to thin out as they paired off and drifted out, talking rather bravely about things they were too young to really know about. It didn’t surprise him that most of La Paloma’s young followers had mujers. It was the custom in Spanish-speaking armies. Dragging along dependents seemed like an amateur’s way to take the field, but it evened out when both sides did it. Nobody seemed able to organize a quartermaster corps or ambulance service down here, so the camp followers provided services more important than sex when a hero was hungry or wounded.
He wondered which of the guys had teamed with La Paloma. He’d know when it was time for them to scout the objective. Latins were possessive and the guy would tag along as a matter of course.
So he was somewhat surprised when he found himself alone with the girl. She picked up the lantern and said, “Let us go upstairs. We have several hours before it will be time for to leave, and this gives us time to know one another, eh?”
He wondered if she’d meant that in the biblical sense as he followed her up the stairs. Maybe as the self-appointed leader, La Paloma was playing Joan of Arc. It could mess up discipline if a lady general slept around with her troops.
She led him to a room with a beehive cooking hearth in one corner and a bedstead in the other. She put the lantern on a kitchen table and turned, smiling radiantly, to say, “I am so glad you are handsome, my hero. I knew you would be brave, for they told me of your exploits. But I thought you might be older looking. I pictured you like Morgan the Pirate. So I admit I was a bit nervous about being your mujer, but—”
“Wait a minute, don’t you already have a man, Paloma?”
She sighed and said, “I used to. They caught him trying for to blow up a bridge. Does it displease you that I am not a virgin?”
“No, as a matter of fact, that simplifies things.”
She said, “I thought so, too.”
Then she stepped over, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. It was not a sisterly kiss. So he tongued her back and picked her up to carry her to the bed. She didn’t resist as he put her down. But as he started to undress her, she said, “Wait. We must be correct.”
He let her go and reclined on one elbow, bemused, as La Paloma moved over to a dimly visible shrine in a corner niche and struck a match. She lit a candle at the feet of a cheap plaster Madonna with Indian features. Then she knelt, bowed her head, and made a short prayer.
She finished quickly, got to her feet, and snuffed out the candle. As she turned back toward the bed, she pulled her blouse off over her head. He gasped at the beauty of her perfectly formed tawny torso as she reached behind her head, lifting her firm young breasts, and unpinned her hair. It fell waist-length around her young body and he suddenly sat up and started to remove his own clothes. She beat him, of course. She stepped out of her skirt, kicked off her rope-soled sandals, and lay beside him on the bed. She said, “I prayed to the Mother of God for victory.”
He suddenly felt sort of shitty, but he kept taking his clothes off as he said, “Listen, kid, you know I want you. Hell, I’m a man. But I don’t know how long I’ll be up here on the sábana and, well, I don’t want you to get ideas involving me and your saints.”
She sighed and said, “I am not a child. We live in troubled times and who can say what the future holds for any of us, eh?”
He peeled off his socks and rolled over against her, saying, “Yeah, but I sure like here and now,” as he took her in his arms.
Since she’d been so matter-of-fact about going to bed with him, he saw little need for foreplay. She’d obviously prepared herself with a schoolgirl crush on his reputation. He kissed her and ran his hand over hill and dale of tawny softness until her mons was cupped in his palm and she willingly opened her thighs.
Still keeping his lips to her, he mounted her, got into position, and ran the hand up her flank to cup her small soft breast as he drove home to the root. As his scrotum nestled between her quivering buttocks, she opened her eyes and gasped, “Oh, there is more to you than I expected!”
He started moving gently. She was tighter than he’d expected a non-virgin to be. He asked, “Am I hurting you?” and she replied, “No, you are making me very, very happy, my Captain.”
He laughed and said, “Call me Dick. That’s short for Ricardo.”
She said, “No, I shall call you querido, for you have stolen my heart.” Then she wrapped her brown legs around him, dug her nails gently into his back, and for a sweet mad moment in eternity they both went completely nuts.
He stopped after the third climax, but remained in place as she smiled up at him in the soft light and said, “Oh, I have never been so happy like this before. Do we have time to do it again before we go for to scout the mine?”
He said, “We’ll make time. Let’s rest a minute and get our breath back.”
“Do you like the way I do it, Deek?”
“You’re 100ilometre,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. Liza had been piquant with her boyish muscular body against his. But La Paloma was all woman. Small and soft in the right places. And despite her matter-of-fact-camp-follower acceptance of a total stranger, she was a more tender lover than the hard tough English girl. There was nothing complicated about La Paloma. She was passive and enthusiastic at the same time. He knew no matter how things turned out and how long this might last, he’d have no trouble with her. She knew she was the girl and that he was the boy. Her simple farm girl mind didn’t make for sophisticated conversation, but she didn’t have the imagination to bitch him and he knew she’d do it anywhere and anyway he wanted her. He made up his mind he’d have to keep her alive somehow. Even if they never met again after the mission was over, he owed that much to the human race. There wasn’t that much really nice stuff around.
She started pulsating around his shaft and he automatically moved gently, building up another head of steam as he thought wryly of the orgy he’d had that afternoon at the hotel. He was surprised he was still so virile, after the way Liza had wrung him out. It wasn’t just the novelty of a new body. It was the sweetness of this kid. Liza was a bedroom athlete who used her snatch as a weapon to confuse as well as pleasure men. He had a sly thought, and said, “Let’s roll you over. I want to try another position.”
As he withdrew she cooperated, but as she got on her hands and knees, she said, “We can try, if you wish, but I don’t think I could take that in my behind, querido. Forgive me, I have never been perverse before.”
He kissed her upthrust derrière and rolled to his feet as he said, “Relax, I’m not going to abuse you. I just want to change the angle.”
Actually, he wanted to compare pictures, but he didn’t think she’d want to hear about a pale boyish rump in a mirrored room. He got it in in the usual place, standing legs apart on the floor as he held her hip bones and enjoyed the view. She lowered her head to the mattress and arched her back to take more as she purred, “Oh, this is lovely.”
He said, “It sure is,” and he meant it. They didn’t need mirrors. Her hourglass form was exciting as hell in the dim lantern light and he found himself getting there fast. He suddenly stopped, rolled her over, and mounted her normally as he said, “Hell, kid, we don’t need any tricks,” and he meant that, too. It felt good to hold a normal woman against him, kissing her tenderly as they came together.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was light enough to see everything in the flat-bottomed canyon below as he crouched with La Paloma in the brush above. The mine was part open cast and part tunnel, he could see. They’d dug the ore until the vertical overhang was a high cliff, then ran two shafts in, following the vein. He could see the layers of sandstone and gray schist on the quarried cliff across the way. He only had an educated layman’s grasp of mining, but he knew that the sandstone was dross and that the good stuff was mixed with the glittery gray schist. It looked a lot like granite, but it was much softer. The property around the mine was fenced. The fenc
e was wicked-looking barbed wire and enclosed an area the size of two football fields. There were sheet metal buildings and a loading tinple over a rail spur that ran from the nationalized mine to the nearby main line. Two soldiers, with slung rifles stood chatting by the wire mesh gate. There was a guard tower at each corner of the fence.
He asked La Paloma, “Do they have anybody posted on top of that cliff across the canyon?”
She said, “No. Why should they? Nobody can jump down from such a distance. Why should they have guards over there?”
He said, “Never mind. I can see they’re bush league. They just put a few guys on guard after they took the property over.”
“Does that mean it will be easy for us to take, querido?”
“Nothing’s easy. They probably have machine guns, or at least repeating rifles, in those towers. They’re within range of the edge over there, too. Do they have the place illuminated at night?”
“Of course. Those new Edison bulbs.”
“Yeah, I see the lights on the fence posts, now. That little building with the chimney must be the generator plant. Let’s see – that tin shack near the gate is new. That’ll be the guardhouse.”
The earth quivered under them and La Paloma gasped. He listened for the muffled boom and said, “That’ll be the night shift, blasting. It sounds like they’ve driven pretty deep. The day crew will be coming soon to muck out the shattered ore and load it on that conveyor belt beyond the tipple. It’s a pretty standard operation, except for the fence and guards. Do you know any of the workmen?”
She nodded. “Si, some men from my barrio were drafted by the government for to dig in the mine. They fired some of the old workers. Others ran away. The soldados keep hitting people and accusing them of theft.”
“Yeah, the original emerald find petered out and they need chromium like they need sawdust. Let’s go. It’s getting light and I’ve seen all there is to see.”
As they crawled over the ridge through the brush she asked, “When do we attack, querido?”
He said, “I’m working on that. Some guys have been very cute with me. What’s going on further up the canyon? I spotted a rusty railroad spur winding around the CCC property.”
She said, “Oh, they used the rails for to build the dam, years ago.”
“There’s a dam up around the bend? How far and, more important, how big?”
She said, “It is over a 100 ilometre, querido. It is one of the city reservoirs, full of water for to drink.”
“Hmm, a flood would do it. Is the dam concrete or earthworks?”
“Concrete, querido. Why do you ask?”
“I’m sorry I did. There went a great idea. Takes a lot of dynamite to blow a modern concrete dam. We’d better put that on a back burner for now.”
It was safe to walk openly now, so they did, moving hand in hand so that anyone who saw them would take them for strolling lovers, coming back from making love in the bushes. He could see Bogotá spread out before them now. He got his bearings and said, “We’d better split up. I’d attract attention in the favela and you’re informally dressed for the expensive part of town. We’ll save time if we each beeline down the slopes to our own destinations. Go back to your place and wait for me, okay?”
“If you say so, querido. You are going for to get some dynamite, no?”
“Maybe. I’m after some answers, too. I’ll try to get back to you just after sundown. Go with God, kitten.”
But she clung to his hand and said, “So long a time away from one another? I was hoping, when we got back to my place, I could make you breakfast, and perhaps please you in other ways.”
He sighed and said, “Me too. You’re sort of like eating peanuts at that.” He looked around. They were all alone, surrounded by acres of thick brush. He grinned and said, “Hell, I’m not in that much of a hurry!”
As he kissed her and lowered her to the sloping hillside, La Paloma gasped, “Deek, we can’t!”
“Sure we can.”
As he fumbled at his own belt, she giggled and said, “Oh, maybe we can, after all.”
*
“Merde alors!” Gaston exclaimed. “I have heard of wheels within wheels, but this is too much! First you say the Divine dog-fucker is a German spy. Now Liza is a British counterspy. What is all this femininity? Why use women in the first place?”
Captain Gringo had been thinking on this and answered Gaston. “I think Rowena was sent to knock off Senator Vargas before he could grab that German mica mine. Liza, of course, came up to make sure the Colombians did grab a source of electrical insulation that the Germans need. I don’t think either side cares about Uncle Sam’s sideshow. They’re too busy with each other. Everybody would prefer doing business in a stable country, but the powers let the U.S. play policeman on this side of the pond.”
Gaston asked, “But how could Liza keep Rowena from assassinating anyone? She left town before Rowena was introduced to the idiot at the embassy, non?”
“Right. Liza probably knew Rowena was a German agent. That’s why she was so cold to her. But the Brits knew nothing could save Vargas, once the Germans had him marked for death. If they’d stopped Rowena, the Kaiser would have sent somebody else. Liza’s mission was to make sure than no matter who was running what, the German holdings would be nationalized. The reason they sent a woman was simple. A man can’t hide anything up his snatch.”
“Are you serious? Did you look?”
Captain Gringo grimaced and said, “I didn’t have to. I haven’t the time or the indelicacy, but take my word for it.”
“Oh, mon pauvre, I thought you were getting some of that!”
“I was, at the oddest times, and vice versa. It must make a girl sort of sexually moody, wandering around with a diplomatic pouch inside her all day along.”
He checked the chambers of his gun, put it away, and said, “Okay, see you in Buenaventura.”
“All right, mon vieux, but where are you going now?”
“The German Embassy, of course. Can’t you figure anything out for yourself?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Von Linderhoff regarded Captain Gringo curiously with his one good eye as they sat facing one another in his office at the embassy. The Prussian officer offered him a cork-tipped cigarette, lit it for him, and leaned back in his upholstered chair to light his own before he smiled sardonically and said, “So, you told them you wished to interview me, Herr MacUlrich of Canada. Or would you prefer I call you Captain Gringo?”
The American flicked ash on the carpet and said, “You guys are good. It saves time. I’ll come right to the point. First I’m going to tell you what I want. Then I’m going to tell you why you’re going to give it to me.”
Von Linderhoff smiled crookedly and observed, “How interesting, and how arrogant. You are aware, of course, that one word from me to my good friends in the Colombian government would mean your messy death against a wall?”
“Bullshit. You’re not going to tell them I’m a wanted outlaw from the States and I’m not going to tell them you just had Senator Vargas murdered.”
Von Linderhoff was good indeed. There was no trace of expression on his face as he asked easily, “Has someone murdered Senator Vargas? Odd, I did not read this in the morning papers.”
“I guess your agent was neat. Of course, seek and ye shall find, so maybe neither of us should ask where the silly fart is for a few days, agreed?”
Von Linderhoff examined the end of his cigarette as if he’d just tasted something bitter in it. He said, “You were speaking of some service you wished from my government, Herr Walker.”
Captain Gringo took out a hotel envelope and handed it across to the German as he said, “I wrote my shopping list down. I can use even more dynamite, now that I think about it. Mauser rifles are okay. I’d prefer the machine guns to be Maxims, but if you only have Spandaus, I’ll just have to manage.”
The German scanned the list, took a drag on his cigarette, and smiled sweetly as he said,
“You are obviously insane, of course! You burst in on me, a wanted murderer working as a U.S. agent, and demand that I issue you enough explosives and arms to start a war? What is the matter with your American friends, assuming any rational person had any rational reason to issue you all of this?”
Captain Gringo met the German’s gaze levelly, and said, “In the first place, no American mines are open to supply the blasting stuff. In the second, I’m expendable to them. They don’t care if I win or not. They just want me to start a riot.”
“This would do it, even if it went off by accident.”
Von Linderhoff let a few wheels click round and round in his shaven skull before he added, “I could let you have the dynamite. We make a very good version of the Maxim at a factory near Essen. I am very interested in hearing why I should even offer you another cigarette.”
The American nodded and said, “That’s fair. Up front: you don’t care either way whether General Reyes winds up in charge after he marches in to restore order, do you?”
“Of course not. General Reyes is a civilized man and anyone would be an improvement. I know him. I feel he is a sincere Colombian patriot who would not take sides. He says he is for peace with all the major powers. I see no reason to doubt him. Unfortunately, he has been rumored to be planning such a move for a very long time.”
“Yeah, that’s why you couldn’t wait. Vargas was such an asshole he’d have probably grabbed your mica mine and let it run to ruin.”
Von Linderhoff smiled a Mona Lisa smile and said, “Perhaps, but you seem to feel Senator Vargas is not going to do that now, nicht wahr?”
“Not unless you believe in reincarnation. Okay, you’ve eliminated Vargas and I’m about to put his friends out of business. You want your mine and I want that stuff I wrote down. Do we have a deal?”
“I doubt it. No halfway reasonable government would seize a mica quarry. Colombia has no electrical industry.”
“No, but they have a world monopoly on high-grade emeralds since the British-Indian mines bottomed out. You must know that all emerald mines are national property of Colombia by law, no matter who’s in power.”
