Mexican Marauder (A Captain Gringo Adventure #16)

by Lou Cameron

  Gaston said, “Mais oui. First, I would like a thousand dollars for my young friend here. Then I would like another thousand in my own hot little hand.”

  “I don’t buy pigs in a poke, Gaston.”

  “You have no choice. I find it trés fatigue to deal with people who beat down the price once they have what they want from us. We did the job British Intelligence hired us to do. We were paid off in peanuts. Do you grasp my point?”

  Hakim chuckled and said, “British Intelligence has to be thrifty. They’re spread so thin. Do I have your word as a fellow scoundrel that you have two thousand dollars’ worth of whatever for me?”

  “You do. It is worth considerably more. But we are in a hurry. Dick and I were not the only people Greystoke was out to diddle. You were shafted up die derriere, too.”

  Hakim raised an eyebrow, counted out the money, and handed it to Gaston, saying, “Keep talking.”

  Gaston said, “Greystoke knew from the beginning that you were keeping tabs on him. You deal in arms. British Intelligence keeps track of everyone who buys them, true?”

  “That’s not worth two thousand dollars, Gaston.”

  “I am merely setting the stage for the bedroom farce we’ve all been playing, with Greystoke writing the script. He went to great pains to let you know he was sending a trés dramatique spy mission to listen in on a mysterious, uncharted undersea cable, knowing you would follow us to see what on earth or under the sea was going on.”

  Hakim frowned and asked, “Are you saying you two and those British agents you led were all duped?”

  “Why not? It’s true. As Dick, here, pointed out at once, Butcher Weyler has no reason to communicate secretly with el Presidente Diaz. They are both dedicated sonsofthebitch. But Weyler is a Dutch-Spanish Grandee, and Diaz is a Mestizo who hates the breed from his bones out. Diaz would not lift a finger to help Spain. Moreover, he owes his long reign of terror to the fact that he kisses Washington’s ass every time it does not get in the way of his other unpleasant habits, non?’

  Hakim nodded and said, “Very well, who did lay that cable from Cuba to the mainland, the Cuban rebels?”

  “Mais non. How could they? Indeed, how could anybody lay a cable from Cuba to the mainland without the Spanish Of Mexican authorities being aware of it and asking questions about it? That cable does not run from Mexico to Cuba. It is simply a few miles of stage setting, running from a secret British base in the Yucatan jungles to deep water, where, most naturally, nobody would dive for it.”

  Both Hakim and Captain Gringo started in astonishment at Gaston. Captain Gringo caught on first. He nodded and aid, “Right. That accounts for a lot of things. The cable went dead when the agents on shore moved back from the hurricane waters that night. They’d already fed us the bullshit Greystoke told them to. When they spotted Hakim’s yacht in the channel, they started sending the same fake messages again.”

  Hakim was sharp. But not that sharp. He said, “It makes no sense! Why on earth would Greystoke have one set of British agents spying on another set of British agents?”

  Captain Gringo said, “I can answer that. I was wondering why the bunch he sent with us were so half-ass. British Intelligence is supposed to be good. He saddled me with in inept skipper, a couple of swishes, and two nice little dames who, while they were nice indeed, were probably little more than secretaries back in Whitehall. I had to keep explaining things any trained spy would know. Greystoke’s sharp agents were hiding out on shore, sending garbage out to the end of a cable going nowhere. The end must be sealed and the circuit’s looped inside the sheathing, see?”

  “Never mind the bloody electricity! Why did they do it?”

  Gaston said, “To screw you, of course. Greystoke knew you would want to know what was being sent. Knowing you, he knew you would either get what you were after, or perhaps be liquidated by us, which would suit Greystoke just as well. After we left, you did pick up that business about John Brown Limited, offering a better buy on armor plate than your own Woodbine industries, non?”

  “Of course, I must say it gave me a bit of a turn. I thought I was already undercutting John Brown on armor plate.”

  “You probably are. You use inferior steel and don’t pay those Oriental workers you sneak into England as much as John Brown Limited, has to pay its English workers.”

  “Let’s not be sarky. We were discussing those wonky messages to nowhere.”

  “Merde alors, you still don’t see it? Greystoke’s planted misinformation was not meant for the fishes. It was meant for you! Thanks to the distressing posturing of Queen Victoria’s German grandson, Kaiser Willy, Britain has embarked on a furious ship building program, non? To build a lot of new dreadnaughts in a hurry, one needs to buy a lot of expensive armor plate. Do I have to lead you to the blackboard by the hand?”

  Hakim blanched and gasped as he said, “Of course! The sonsofbitches are trying to beat me down on the price of my rolled steel! I see it all now! I was about to cable my agents in London to quote new prices undercutting John Brown and Armstrong!”

  “Oui, and the Royal Navy would have thanked British Intelligence very much. It is my guess they are also trying to lower the price of armor plate from other suppliers by letting them, ah, discover for themselves that your Woodbine plate can be had at most reasonable prices, hein?”

  Sir Basil gravely took out his wallet and emptied it on the table, saying, “This is all I brought with me. I seldom tip generously, but you chaps have just saved me from making a ghastly mistake.”

  As Gaston divided the extra six hundred with Captain Gringo, Sir Basil added, “You say they also hoped we’d wind up killing one another?”

  Gaston said, “That would have been icing on the cake. One gathers M’sieur Greystoke is trés jealous of your relationship with Prince Edward. If you managed to get yourself killed before the next important war, your surviving board of directors may be less fatigue to deal with. Meanwhile, since he can’t really order you assassinated, Greystoke intended to keep you as confused as possible. Now that you know all, one gathers Her Majesty will not be getting any battleships at bargain-basement prices in the near future.”

  “That I can promise you! I’d like to stay and chat some more, chaps. But I really must be getting to the nearest cable office!”

  The gnomish Turk or whatever left with his bodyguards in tow, moving fast for a man with such short legs. Gaston leaned back and said, “How did you like that performance, Dick?”

  “It more than made up the difference Greystoke cheated us out of. Are you saying it was all bullshit?”

  “Mais non, it might have been true, for all we know. In any case, it fit together, and the Byzantine chess game those two are playing is no longer of concern to us. I have a few rogues to look up here in Belize, if we are to book safe passage to Costa Rica and a well-earned rest. What are your plans for this evening, Dick? Are you going to look up those English girls or see what you can pick up in the sunset paseo?”

  Captain Gringo grinned and said, “I’m looking forward ” to a good book to read, alone, on dean sheets in a good hotel, with nobody shooting at me for a while. I’m afraid the girls and I exhausted all the possible ways to come, and I don’t want to get mixed up with any locals before we leave.”

  Gaston nodded, finished his drink, and said they’d talk about plans when he got back in the wee small hours, the exact time depending on whether he met any rogue in a skirt or not

  Captain Gringo enjoyed an early supper and went out to sit on the hotel veranda to watch the sun go down. The paseo would be starting any minute now. He knew that at least a couple of the girls strolling the plaza would be pretty and more than willing. But he told his genital region to hang loose. He was beginning to come back to life down there again. They hadn’t been able to play slap and tickle coming down the coast in the crowded boat. But he was in the clear, for once, and he knew how hard it was for a big blond Anglo to stay out of trouble picking up local talent in the plaza of an
evening down here.

  He sat there until a mosquito bit him. Then he rose, went inside, and stocked up on smoking and reading material at the lobby newsstand. The high yellow girl behind the counter had a nice smile. Her tits weren’t bad, either. But she worked too close to home, so he just paid for his cigars and magazines and left her to Fate.

  He went upstairs. Like the poet said, in the tropics the dawn comes up like thunder and the sunsets don’t mess around either. It was already getting dark. They hadn’t switched on the hall lights yet. So he was able to spot the sliver of electric light under the door of his private room before he got close enough to matter.

  He frowned, looked around, saw that the hallway was deserted, and drew his .38 before tucking the cigar box and magazines under his other elbow and gingerly trying the knob.

  The door wasn’t locked. He opened it and moved in fast, sliding his back along the wall beside the door as he slammed it shut after him while covering the figure on his bed.

  Then he lowered the muzzle of his pistol as he saw that she wasn’t carrying any concealed weapons. Indira, the tawny Hindu girl from Greystoke’s yacht, was reclining atop the bed covers stark naked. Her sari was neatly folded over the end of the bed and her only concession to modesty was the caste mark on her forehead, above her big, dark smoldering eyes. Her long black hair failed to cover her chocolate-drop nipples and her legs weren’t coyly crossed. She had her long taffy legs relaxed and parted enough to let him see that she was a brunette all over.

  He nodded, took off his new hat and jacket, and hung them up as he asked conversationally, “Who sent you to spy on me, Hakim or Greystoke?”

  Indira’s voice was as matter-of-fact as she replied, “It was my own idea.”

  “Oh? You can’t be hard up, considering how you’ve been passed around.”

  She grimaced and said, “Yes and no. I overheard those English girls discussing your skills as they were, ah, soaping each other in the shower. But you’re right about my being passed around, and I’m bloody sick of it. They say you and the Frenchman are going to Costa Rica, where things are calm and the living is easy. I want you to take me with you, Dick. I have a little money saved up. But I’m afraid I only have one thing I can offer you for my passage.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It looks like a nice little passage indeed.”

  So, she lay back calmly, eyes half-closed and inscrutable as she watched him undress. He got down to his pants. Then he moved over, sat on the edge of the bed, and said, “Look, honey. I don’t shoot fish in a barrel. If Gaston works out a no-sweat, no-questions deal, you can come along. No strings. You don’t have to put out if you don’t feel like it.”

  Her luminous ebony eyes widened as she stared up at him and said, “I think you really mean that But now that we’re both undressed, well, don’t you think I’m as pretty as those silly English girls?”

  He said, “Prettier,” as he slipped out of his pants, took her in his arms, and slipped into her as their lips met in a smoldering kiss. It was no bigger a lie than the bullshit she was handing him. He knew Greystoke had probably sent her to find out what he and Hakim had been talking about when some other damned British spy tailed Hakim from his yacht. But, no problem, he’d think up something innocent for her to report when she ‘changed her mind’ about going to Costa Rica with him after all. Meanwhile, she was giving one hell of a performance, and the odds were he’d never have made out this good at the paseo tonight.

  The Renegade Series by Lou Cameron, Writing As Ramsay Thorne

  Renegade

  Blood Runner

  The Fear Merchant

  Death Hunter

  Macumba Killer

  Panama Gunner

  Death in High Places

  Over the Andes to Hell

  Hell Raider

  The Great Game

  Citadel of Death

  The Badlands Brigade

  The Mahogany Pirates

  Harvest of Death

  Terror Trail

  Mexican Marauder

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