Many years earlier, the government had deprived the Church of all the great historic monasteries; but recently religious communities had, in limited numbers, been allowed to establish themselves in private houses, and Adam felt little doubt that it was to a small monastery that he had been brought.
Convinced that Alberuque was responsible for this terrible night’s work, Adam could hardly contain his impatience to come face to face with him. The fact that he was committed to attempt to worm the Monsignor’s future intentions out of him had been completely pushed out of his mind by his sick horror at the massacre he had witnessed. He was inwardly boiling to such an extent that for two pins he would have killed the instigator of that shocking butchery. But, at the least, he meant to shake him like a rat, slap his face until it was purple, then at the first opportunity have him charged with instigating murder. Turning to the lay brother, he asked, ‘Where is Monsignor Alberuque?’
The man shook his skull-like head, fished a tablet and stylo out from a pocket in his gown and wrote on it: ‘Not here. He will see you tomorrow.’
It was only then that Adam realised that the man was dumb. Thwarted in giving vent to his anger, he shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Unseen by him, the lay brother left the room and locked the door behind him.
At the sound of the key turning, Adam swung round, strode over to the door, grasped the handle and shook it. Certain now that it was locked, he pounded furiously upon it with his fist, shouting to his new gaoler that, unless he returned and unlocked it, he would later wring his neck, but there was no response.
Still seething with rage, he marched over to the window, wrenched aside the flimsy curtain and saw that the window was barred. Suddenly his sense of humour overcame his resentment. He was again a prisoner, but to confine him in such a prison was ridiculous. With his great strength he could have wrenched out the rusty grille of thin iron bars or have smashed down the door.
He was in half a mind to break out there and then, but on second thoughts decided not to. He had no idea where he was and he might be miles from the centre of Mexico City. If he did leave the house he had not a peso on him with which to telephone to Ramón. Tomorrow, he decided, would be time enough to have a showdown with Alberuque, then quit.
The ancient bed was not as uncomfortable as it looked. Nevertheless he slept badly, haunted by dreams which were grotesque distortions of the brutal slayings he had witnessed in the prison courtyard.
He woke with a calmer mind and was able to assess better the results of the courses of action open to him. Of one thing he was now fully determined. At whatever risk to himself, he must do his utmost to wreck the conspiracy.
To begin with, Chela’s persuasiveness had led him to believe that the revolution would rescue the Indians from the miserable conditions under which they had lived for so long and that it could be accomplished almost bloodlessly. Hunterscombe and then Ramón had convinced him that it must lead to a sanguinary civil war; so he had taken the side which aimed at preserving law and order. Later, again under Chela’s influence, he had allowed himself to be used as Quetzalcoatl; but only because he had fallen for the idea that, as the titular head of the revolt, he would be able to prevent his followers from committing excesses, and with the mental reservation that, by letting Ramón know the plans of the conspirators, he would still stop the whole thing if he could.
After his arrest he had again agreed to work for the government, but only because he had been blackmailed. He had resented that intensely, cursing the day that he had first become involved and of a mind to do only as much as would ensure regaining his freedom. But now a new situation had arisen. The attack on the prison the previous night had convinced him beyond all doubt that a revolution would lead to a blood-bath. The fanatical Indians would murder every white man they could lay their hands on. Once they got the bit between their teeth, no leader would be able to control them. So the outbreak must be stopped while there was still time.
But how to set about it? If he followed his inclination to beat Alberuque to a pulp, then denounce him to the police, that might put an end to the conspiracy. But if Ramón and General Gómez were right it would not, because they believed him to be only a ‘front’ for the higher clergy who were at the bottom of the business. Adam doubted that to be true, but admitted to himself that it was up to him to try to find out, and he certainly would stand no chance of doing so if he used violence on the Monsignor.
At about nine o’clock the lay brother brought him a pot of weak chocolate, plain, cold tortillas and fruit. Adam tried the chocolate and found it to be a thin, bitter drink, quite unlike the rich, sweet brew that his mother had at times made for her family when he was a boy in Scotland. For the past week he had been unable to take his Enteroviaform pills and had at first feared that tummy trouble, or even dysentery, might result from the prison food. But he had taken the precaution of eating only fruit that could be peeled, and suffered no ill-effects from the cooked messes that had been his staple diet. Now he left the tortillas and ate only a big orange and two mandarines.
His goaler had not brought him any hot water; so, in getting up, he made do with the cold in the china jug and washed as well as he could with a small square of yellow kitchen soap. Then, having dressed, he sat down to await events.
As his watch, together with all his other belongings, had been taken from him when he had first been arrested, he had no means of telling the time. Actually an hour and a half elapsed, although it seemed much longer, before the lay brother returned and signed to him to follow him downstairs.
On his way down he passed four monks. Their heads were downcast and they deliberately avoided looking at him. Earlier, a chapel bell had reinforced his belief that the place was a monastery. But in the hall two very unmonastic characters were lounging. They were Indians and both of them were wearing soiled leather belts from which hung pistol holsters. On seeing Adam they went down on their knees, but, even so, he had little doubt that they had orders to stop him if he attempted to walk out, and would have obeyed them.
The lay brother opened a door at one side of the hall, bowed to Adam and signed to him to enter. The room into which he walked was long and lofty. Two-thirds of the walls were lined with bookshelves. The books on them were old, their calf bindings faded and, in many cases, torn. Behind a desk at the far end of the room sat Monsignor Don Alberuque.
Although for just on a month he had been frequently in Adam’s thoughts, this was only the second time they had met; so he took stock of his enemy with special interest. Alberuque was wearing clerical clothes—a black, satin vest and a white lawn cravat—which, with the darkish, high-nosed face framed in the sleekly falling silver hair, gave him an air of distinction. Under the bushy black eyebrows his eyes seemed curiously dead and fishlike. His lips parted, showing slightly uneven teeth, in a smile of welcome; but the smile did not reach his eyes. The effect was almost as though he had been a Zombie.
Again Adam had the queer sensation that his hackles were rising in the presence of a spirit which reeked of evil. How Chela could remain insensitive to it, and regard Alberuque as almost a saint, Adam could not conceive. Fighting down his intense dislike, he managed to greet the priest with a civil ‘Buenos dias.’
Rising from his chair, Alberuque returned the greeting and, as he continued to speak, it was borne in on Adam that his voice must account for much of the influence he wielded over people. Its tones were extraordinarily harmonious and, coupled with his charm of manner, gave him an almost hypnotic attraction. It must be, Adam thought, that my dislike of him is a personal thing, not felt by others. Meanwhile the Monsignor was saying:
‘Señor Gordon, please accept my apologies for receiving you in such an austere abode. I do not live here but my home is not unlike it. Few foreigners, other than scholars, realise that Spain escaped large numbers of her people being suborned by the Protestant heresy because our Church had already been cleansed by Queen Isabella’s great adviser, Cardinal Ximénez de Cisneros. He
put a stop to the sale of indulgences and other unethical practices, purged the priesthood of its drones and lechers and gave preferment only to those who led useful, saintly lives. In Mexico the clergy have followed that fine tradition, so you must excuse the poor accommodation and indifferent food with which you have been provided.’
Impatiently, Adam heard him out, but he could not resist remarking acidly, ‘That may apply to the lower orders here; but you showed no reluctance to lap up the caviare and champagne when we were together at Cuernavaca.’
‘When in Rome, my son. When in Rome … you must know the rest of that quotation. It would ill become me to embarrass my flock by refusing the good things offered at their tables. But that is of no moment. I am most happy to welcome you to this poor house where, at least, you can remain safely concealed; and I rejoice that my endeavours resulted in my restoring you to freedom.’
Adam had meant to keep his temper, but at that it flared and he burst out, ‘Happy! Your endeavours! My freedom! Do you realise that a score, perhaps two score, men were killed or grievously injured to achieve it?’
‘Indeed I do,’ Alberuque replied quietly. But the revolution must go on. And you have become an essential element in its fulfilment. That you should continue to play your part as Quetzalcoatl is imperative. To ensure your being able to do so, the loss of a few lives, however regrettable, is unimportant.’
‘But, damn it, man,’ Adam shouted, ‘how can you calmly sit there and say that? If you thought it an ace-high priority to get me out, it is just possible to understand your having squared it with your conscience to be the cause of the death of a few unfortunate warders. But that gang of mixed hoodlums you let loose on the place murdered every white man they could lay their hands on: prisoners as well as prison officers.’
‘You must make allowances.’ The Monsignor spread out his hands and hunched his shoulders. ‘For centuries, in spite of the Church doing her best to protect them, the coloured people of Mexico have endured great suffering at the hands of the gachupines and their descendants. Given an opportunity, it is only to be expected that they would take their revenge.’
His eyes gone hard, Adam demanded, ‘Am I to understand that what happened last night at the prison is the pattern for the revolution you are planning? That there is to be a wholesale massacre of the white population?’
Alberuque shook his head and the silver locks falling about his ears danced a little. ‘I trust not. Once we have triumphed, we shall do our utmost to prevent excesses.’
Adam said scathingly, ‘What chance will you have against tens of thousands of Indians would murder berserk? Go on with this and I’ll tell you how it will end. They will string you up to a lamp-post. And serve you damn’ well right.’
‘Your sentiments are singularly unfriendly,’ Alberuque observed coldly. ‘But no matter. You will give us your cooperation. I am in a position to ensure that you will.’
‘No doubt you think so,’ Adam retorted. ‘But if I were you I wouldn’t count on that.’
With a slightly amused smile, Alberuque said, ‘I am well aware that I could not, had I not had you removed from prison.’
‘That will make no difference.’
‘It will make a great deal of difference. With an astuteness that one can but admire, the government wrote you off as a practical joker of no account and sentenced you to only fourteen days’ imprisonment. In a week’s time you would have come out. What would you have done then?’
Suddenly Adam realised that his violent temper and dislike of Alberuque had led him into adopting an attitude the very opposite to that he should have taken. Berating himself as the worst possible secret agent, he made an effort to retrieve the situation by replying:
‘I would have gone to the Señorita Chela and offered to resume my role as Quetzalcoatl.’
Alberuque’s thin lips drew back in a snarl. ‘Oh no, you would not! You lie! You would have done nothing of the sort. You would have left Mexico on the first aircraft in which you could get a passage.’
‘What leads you to think that?’
‘I am certain of it. On your last night in Uxmal, after Father Suaréz had rescued you from the police, you had a bitter quarrel with the Señorita Chela. You told her that you were through with this whole business. That nothing would induce you to appear again as Quetzalcoatl. That is why I had you taken from prison. I can now ensure that you will remain with us and, when the time comes, again appear before my people as the Man-God.’
These angry exchanges and Alberuque’s disclosure of his distrust finally cut the ground from under Adam’s original intention of appearing to give his co-operation willingly. His resentment at this threat of coercion led him to set his jaw stubbornly and declare, ‘You can’t force me to.’
‘Indeed, Señor Gordon, I can.’ The Monsignor’s voice had become honeyed again. ‘You seem to have forgotten what took place last night. With the assistance of some fifty raiders, you broke out of prison. Owing to this plot, of which it will be assumed that you had knowledge, a number of people lost their lives. For that the government will hold you, in part, responsible. But there is much more to it than that. During the riot an unfortunate warder took refuge in your cell and, to save himself, locked himself in with you. What happened then? In order to gain your freedom you needed his keys. To get them, you strangled him.’
‘You swine!’ Adam roared. ‘That is a filthy lie! I did my utmost to prevent his being murdered by your thug Jacko.’
Again Alberuque’s uneven teeth showed in a smile. ‘I am aware of that. But who will believe you? My big Negro and his companions are prepared to swear that, when they succeeded with another key, in getting into your cell, they saw you choking the warder to death.’
He paused for a moment, then went on with silky satisfaction, ‘Refuse to obey my orders, Señor Gordon, and I will turn you over to the police. My people will give evidence against you. And I will tell you what will happen then. As there is no capital punishment in Mexico, you will be sentenced to life imprisonment. But do not imagine that, as in England, by good conduct you will be freed in time to enjoy a happy middle and old age. Here we are not so soft with murderers who have killed without provocation. Such dangerous and useless mouths are not allowed to remain a charge upon the taxpayers. After a week or two a small paragraph will appear in the papers, simply stating that “Señor Gordon was shot while attempting to escape”.’
Again the smooth voice stopped, then went on softly, ‘But I am confident that you are much too sensible to bring upon yourself such a premature and unpleasant end. Instead, you will appear again to a chosen audience as the Man-God, Quetzalcoatl. After you have done that, I shall have no more use for you.’
Adam realised then that he had been caught in the toils of this arch-conspirator. Next moment, as, disconcerted, he stared at Alberuque, his heart was gripped with awful fear. The reason for his instinctive loathing for the man had suddenly been revealed to him. Those cold, dead, fishlike eyes were the eyes of the High Priest, Itzechuatl, from whom Mirolitlit had saved him. And in those eyes there again lay the threat of death.
16
The Terrible Betrayal
Adam’s mind was in a whirl. He was so positive now that Alberuque had been Itzechuatl that he could not think how he had failed to recognise him before. The man’s features were different, just as Chela’s were from those of Mirolitlit. It was the personality that inexplicably but unmistakably came through. No wonder that at their first meeting he had felt repulsion for the smooth-tongued Monsignor. And now, added to that, there was fear—fear that Itzechuatl had known him from the outset and, once he had used him, intended to exact vengeance for having been cheated of his Man-God victim a thousand years ago.
With an effort, Adam endeavoured to assess his chances in this new and terrifying situation. The reason why Jacko had strangled the warder was now plain. The fiendish Alberuque had ordered the murder so that he could frame the rescued prisoner with it. Who could now possibly f
ail to believe that all the time he, Adam, had been hand in glove with the conspirators, had never had any intention of letting Ramón know about the gathering at Uxmal and, by secret means while in prison, had connived at the plan to rescue him whatever the cost in lives? It would be assumed by everyone that a lust for power had gone to his head and that, regardless of the strife and misery a civil war would cause, he hoped to rule Mexico as the returned Quetzalcoatl.
Now, if he again fell into the hands of the police, his number would be up with a vengeance. As the man responsible for the murders in the prison, his name would be execrated by all decent people throughout Mexico. A life sentence would be bad enough; but he had a horrid feeling that Alberuque had not been lying about the fate he might expect, and that for such a crime the government would see to it that he was shot ‘while attempting to escape’. The only alternatives left to him were to do as Alberuque wished or, if he could escape, endeavour to disguise himself and get out of the country clandestinely. Fighting down his fear and anger, he managed after a moment to mutter:
‘I take it, then, that you intend to hold me a prisoner here?’
The Monsignor shrugged. ‘I do not need to. Should you be so ill-advised as to leave this place, I shall take steps to let the authorities know that you are at large, and within a few hours you would be arrested. It will be only a few days now before my plans for your final appearance are completed. During that time you may enjoy the freedom of this house and its garden.’
Adam thought quickly. Chela had got him into this and, if she still loved him, she might help to get him out of it. Owing to her devotion to Alberuque, that seemed unlikely; but it was at least a possibility—in fact his only hope. So he said:
‘The time of waiting is certain to prove a great strain. To ease it, would you allow the Señorita Chela to visit me?’
‘I see no reason to refuse. But you must content yourself with walking with her in the garden. This house is conducted as a monastery, so it would not be fitting that she should enter it. Later I will telephone her and find out if she is free to come here either tomorrow afternoon or the next.’
Unholy Crusade Page 29
