If he had expected any reaction he was bound to be disappointed; no muscle moved on Nacio’s face. Obviously the affair was more than a simple husband-wife disagreement, or a falling out of partners. At those prices it had to be something of this size.
“Go on.”
“All right.” Sebastian bent even closer; Iracema’s hand moved almost tenderly along his arm. “The first day of the meetings, before they start their actual work, there are going to be ceremonies. The meetings are planned for the Hotel Gloria, where most of the delegates will be staying, but before they begin there is going to be a motorcade to the War Memorial, where they plan to place a wreath, and from there they’ll be going on to the Municipal, where some other ceremony is being planned. Now—”
Nacio frowned. “And how do you know all this?”
“By reading the newspapers,” Sebastian said with a faint smile. The smile disappeared instantly. “Let me finish. The man who will be your target will be in prominence both in the motorcade and at the War Memorial. The best time to do the job will be during the wreath-laying ceremony, or just before. They’ll be in open cars—”
“Unless it rains,” Nacio pointed out. “Like it did today.”
“If it rains they may not be in open cars, but they’ll still get out for the wreath-laying ceremony. And that’s when you’ll take him.”
Nacio thought a moment. “When does all this take place?”
“On Tuesday, a week from tomorrow.”
Nacio sat up in growing anger; a flush began to suffuse his sallow face. “So what was the big rush in my getting here by tomorrow? I could have stayed with the Santa Eugenia until she docked in Montevideo and still have been here in plenty of time!”
Sebastian shook his head. “Not according to the plan, and that’s what we’re all going to live by.” He leaned closer. “Listen closely; there is no doubt the police will be checking out the buildings along the route of this motorcade; a routine check, but it can still be thorough. They’ll check out both apartments and office buildings, or at least as many of them as they can. And they’ll have people stationed on the roofs as well as in the motorcade itself, and in the crowds—”
Nacio watched the heavy face across from him. “Why all the precautions? Are they expecting something?”
“No. Or at least not that I know of. But ever since Dallas—” Sebastian shrugged. “At any rate, we have to be prepared for them doing it. So as you can see it won’t be as easy as some of the other jobs I’ve fixed you up with in the past. On the other hand, it wouldn’t pay this kind of money if it were simple. In any event, the job still shouldn’t be too hard, despite all their precautions. Because”—a faint smile spread across his face—“you’re going to be in the Serrador Hotel, on the eighth floor, facing the Beira Mar and the War Memorial, and you’re going to be using a very fine rifle with a very high-powered telescopic sight.…”
The smaller man’s jaw tightened. “And you think they won’t check hotels?”
“Of course they’ll check hotels.” Sebastian’s smile became a bit disdainful. “But they’ll pay the most attention to people who register in the last day or two before the meetings—and you have a reservation for tomorrow, a full week early. Which, of course, is why it was necessary for you to be here early.” His smile broadened, proud of the attention to detail which had gone into his plan. “And the police will also check most carefully on single people, and mainly men; and you are registered there”—his voice dropped to permit his full genius to be appreciated—“as Dr. and Senhora Carabello of Três Rios.”
“Senhora?”
“Iracema.” Sebastian looked at him quietly. “As man and wife, but only for the purposes of the scheme. And let me repeat that and save you from any mistaken ideas you might get. For your information, Iracema and I—” He cleared his throat, breaking off the discussion as being irrelevant. “In any event you have a reservation for tomorrow, and I have proper luggage for you here. Proper clothes and everything else you’ll need. So everything is set as far as that part of the plan is concerned.”
“And that’s why Iracema is involved?”
“Partly. I’ll tell you about the rest later. Now—”
“And who’s paying for all this?”
“Someone who can afford it, believe me.” He waved off further interruption. “The most important thing, of course, is this: how accurate can you be at that distance?”
Nacio tugged the blanket about his lean body and closed his eyes, picturing in his mind the Serrador Hotel, the War Memorial, and the distances involved. His eyes opened slowly; he nodded. “If it’s a good rifle and a good telescopic sight, there should be no problem. Depending, of course, on how open the target happens to be.”
“He’ll be open,” Sebastian said confidently. “Either in the car, or standing at the Memorial. Actually, it doesn’t make too much difference whether you get him in the car or standing at the ceremony. So long as you get him. Any questions?”
Nacio’s hands stroked his thighs beneath the blanket as he considered the facts given him. Now that the intimate details of the assassination were being examined, he seemed to be oddly relaxed and less tense, more in his element. “Yes, quite a few. For example, what do I do for the week between now and next Tuesday? Sit in the hotel room?”
Sebastian shook his head. “You do not. You use the hotel room—you and Iracema, together or alone—as any other visiting couple would do. You show signs of normal occupancy. You leave toothpaste stains in the washbowl and used razor blades lying around.” His voice listed these items with almost mechanical precision; it was obvious he had considered each facet of the problem carefully. “You leave pajamas on the bed, and you drop socks on the floor for the maid to pick up. Iracema leaves tissues around with lipstick stains—things like that.” He leaned forward. “And you leave the room each morning at eight o’clock, before the floor maids start on the rooms, and you come back in the evening after dinner, after the floor staff has left for the day. In other words, you do nothing to cause the slightest attention to be drawn to you, but still nothing to make it appear you are avoiding attention. Is that clear?”
Nacio nodded, absorbing the details of the scheme. Sebastian continued his litany.
“And you leave no fingerprints—”
Nacio frowned. “How do you live in a hotel for a week and leave no fingerprints?”
“By wearing gloves. Surgical gloves. I have two pairs for you here. You put them on as soon as you enter the room each night, and you take them off as you leave in the morning. And you remember to wipe the knob of the door each time you use it.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “I told you this job was thoroughly planned.”
“So it’s planned. And all right, I wear the gloves. I don’t know how, but I do. What do I do with my time in the hotel room every night?”
“Whatever you want to do, but very little drinking. As a matter of fact, until this job is over, no drinking at all would be better.” He shrugged. “You watch television, as most people do. Or you read, or listen to the radio. Or play cards with Iracema—”
Nacio could not prevent the sarcasm. “With gloves on?”
“It’ll keep you from cheating,” Sebastian said dryly. With Nacio firmly fixed into the scheme, he felt more relaxed, more sure of himself. And, of course, far less afraid of the other. “Any other questions?”
“What do I do during the days? Come here?”
“You do not. You take a taxi away from the center of town each morning; one day to the beach at Copacabana—or Leblon would be even better, it’s less crowded. Another day to the Botanical Gardens, or the Zoo—” He shrugged. “We’ll lay out a schedule.”
“Fine.” The smaller man eyed him coldly. “When you’re laying it out, though, just remember that every policeman in Rio knows my face.”
“Except that you are not going to look like you,” Sebastian said calmly. “You will look like Doctor Carabello of Três Rios, who is a man with a full musta
che that I have ready for you, and who is a bit older than you and a bit taller than you—or at least who stands straighter than you—and with a full face that some cheek-pads will provide.”
Nacio shook his head with exaggerated admiration. “You really did plan this thing, didn’t you? About the only thing you’ve left out is a pair of dark sunglasses …”
The sarcasm was disregarded by the heavyset man. “You will definitely not wear dark glasses. You’re supposed to be a visiting doctor from the interior, not an American tourist. You will wear glasses with thin gold frames and just plain glass in them. You will look quite distinguished, as a matter of fact—the type no policeman would consider twice. Is that clear?”
“If you say so. And does Iracema, my devoted wife, go with me every day? To the beach, I mean, or to the Zoo?”
“No.” Sebastian shook his head and smiled faintly. “How many men take their wives to the beach, or anywhere else, in Rio?” His smile faded as an additional precaution occurred to him. “Nor will you take anyone else, or look up any of your old friends, male or female. There’ll be plenty of time for that when the job is over. And plenty of money, too, as far as that is concerned.”
“Ah, yes.” Nacio nodded almost lazily. “Speaking of money, I assume I get an advance? And a sizable one, considering the ultimate fee?” His tone was light, almost bored, but Sebastian recognized the steel in the other’s voice.
“One thousand conto.”
“Five thousand conto,” Nacio corrected, and passed unhurriedly to the next subject. “And the gun?”
For a moment Sebastian looked as if he might argue the question of money, but he changed his mind. It wasn’t his money and there was plenty of it. “The gun was stolen over a month ago from the home of a British Embassy employee. It’s a good hunting rifle—he must have thought we have elephants here in Brazil—and it can’t be traced to us in any way. Iracema will bring it to the hotel the night before the parade. There’s no point in having it lying around for a week where some nosy maid or somebody might bump into it.”
“I’ll need a chance to test it and see if it pulls, and how the sight works.”
“When we’re through here, you can see it. It’s upstairs.” Sebastian tilted his head toward the windows, still streaked from the driving rain. “And when it stops raining you can check it all you want outside. Up on that spur it’s just woods, and anyway, people around here mind their own business.”
“Good enough. And how about a handgun, too?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No handgun.”
“You mean you expect me to go around this town for a week with no protection?”
“No handgun.” The heavy man’s voice was firm. “We’re not taking any chances of your getting involved in any arguments. That’s definite.”
For a few seconds their glances locked; Nacio was the first to look away. “One last thing, then. Will Iracema be with me there—in the room—when I—?”
“No.” Sebastian relaxed a bit. “And that’s another reason she’s in on this plan. She can go where she wants without any suspicion. On the morning of the parade, Iracema will be at the Gloria Hotel and watch the motorcade start. Once it’s formed and leaves, she’ll telephone you. She’ll tell you in which car your man is, and if there’s more than one man in the car, which one he is.” His eyes were steady on the other. “After that, it’s up to you.”
“Good enough. And what then? How do I get away after it’s over?”
“Afterwards, you’ll get away as quickly as possible. While you’re doing the job you’ll have your television on loud; any program with talking, but no music. Preferably a play or an old movie, but any talking will do. If anyone hears the shot, they’ll assume it was part of the program. I know you don’t want to use a silencer—”
“Not at that distance.”
“Then afterwards, you simply turn the set down and leave the room. You’ll also leave all your luggage, none of which will be identifiable. And since the gun can’t be traced to anyone except that idiot at the British Embassy, you’ll leave that, too. It won’t take the police long to find out from which room the shot was fired, in any event. So just shove it out of sight somewhere, and leave.”
“And where do I go?”
“You come here. You’ll have plenty of time to get clear of the hotel and the area before the excitement strikes there. Just the same, be damned sure you’re not followed by anyone. I’ll be here, even if Iracema hasn’t gotten back yet. After that—” He shrugged. “You take your share and you go.”
Nacio pursed his thin lips and considered everything he had heard. It looked possible, as most of Sebastian’s schemes were possible, but it also looked a lot more complex than he liked. In most of his previous jobs he had simply walked up to his victim in a bar or on the street, shot him, and then walked away. He appreciated that this case was considerably different, and that obviously very big people were involved to attempt an assassination of this character, but still …
Sebastian was becoming impatient. “Well?”
Nacio looked at him coolly. “Well, if you want my opinion, the whole thing is unnecessarily complicated. If you’d simply tell me who you want shot, and then leave the thing to me—”
“No. Not this time. This time we do it just as I’ve outlined it. Because this time it’s essential that you don’t get caught and talk.” He seemed to realize that his words implied that at previous times it had been less essential; he spread his hands apologetically. “You know what I mean. The people involved in this are paying this fantastic sum to be damned sure they do not become connected with it in any way, and the best assurance of that is for you not to be caught. And the best way not to be caught is to follow the scheme. If you have any changes or improvements, I’m more than willing to listen to them. But the basic scheme stands. Well?”
“Well, I suppose the thing could work …”
“Good.” Sebastian took this as acceptance and came to his feet. “Then if you’d like to get cleaned up and dressed, the bathroom and your clothes are upstairs. I’ll help you with the mustache and the cheek-pads and the rest of your gear. Then you can play with the gun until you’re satisfied with it. And tonight we’ll go over the whole thing again—or again and again if necessary—until we all have clearly in mind just what you’re supposed to do.”
“Fair enough.” Nacio came out of his chair, drawing the blanket about his lean body. He looked over at the girl, running his eyes slowly and almost insultingly over her charms. “You haven’t said much.”
Only the faintest heightening of her color indicated her resentment of his inspection. She smiled at him in a disdainful manner. “I only talk when I have something to say.”
Nacio studied her a moment more. “I’ll appreciate that in the hotel,” he said abruptly, and started for the stairs. Suddenly he paused, frowning, looking back over his shoulder at Sebastian.
“Just one last question. You talk about what each one of us is to do to earn this big money. Iracema will be at the Gloria, spotting the man for me. I’ll be at the Serrador doing the job. Just what will you be doing?”
The heavyset man smiled; for the first time it seemed to be a genuine smile. The fingers of one fleshy hand rubbed themselves together in a standard Brazilian gesture.
“Me?” he said. “I’ll be doing the most important part of the entire job. I’ll be arranging to get paid for it.…”
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About the Author
Robert L. Fish, the youngest of three children, was born on August 21, 1912, in Cleveland, Ohio. He attended the local schools in Cleveland and went to Case University (now Case Western Reserve), from which he graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering. He married Mamie Kates, also from Cleveland, and together they have two daughters. Fish worked as a civil engineer, traveling and moving throughout the United States. In 1953 he was asked to set up a plastics factory in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He and his family moved to Brazi
l, where they remained for nine years. He played golf and bridge in the little spare time he had. One rainy weekend in the late 1950s, when the weather prohibited him from playing golf, he sat down and wrote a short story that he submitted to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. When the story was accepted, Fish continued to write short stories. In 1962 he returned to the United States; he took one year to write full time and then returned to engineering and writing. His first novel, The Fugitive, won an Edgar Award for Best First Mystery. When his health prevented him from pursuing both careers, Fish retired from engineering and spent his time writing. His published works include more than forty books and countless short stories. Mute Witness was made into a movie starring Steve McQueen.
Fish died February 23, 1981, at his home in Connecticut. Each year at the annual Mystery Writers of America dinner, a memorial award is presented in his name for the best first short story. This is a fitting tribute, as Fish was always eager to assist young writers with their craft.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1965 by Robert L. Fish
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4976-4986-6
This 2015 edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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