Brett Halliday - Caught Dead

“I fail to see-”

“If you were mixed up in this coup and Alvares could prove it, wouldn’t it be better for you if he was dead?”

Frost patted his lips. “Pour yourself some more coffee. I know you aren’t seriously suggesting we had anything to do with the bombing.”

“Stranger things have happened, and you people have been known to boast about some of them. Where could Tim Rourke get hold of enough explosives to do that much damage? How could he pack it in cigarette cartons so nobody could tell it wasn’t cigarettes? That came out of a pretty sophisticated workshop. It was planted on him. If you did it, get Tim out of the country and I won’t lean on it too hard.”

Frost said quietly, “If it had become necessary to kill Alvares there are less sloppy ways. As it happens, that kind of violence is usually counterproductive, believe it or not. Of course I’m interested in what Rourke tells you, or what he fails to tell you. I am primarily a collector of intelligence. What’s so sinister about that? Would you want your government to make policy in ignorance of the facts?”

“Who’s this Andres Rubino you’re trying to hang on me?”

Frost gave his rubbery smile. “A free-lance. But you’re quite right to be suspicious. Be suspicious of everybody. The situation is heavily booby-trapped. We all have different goals, different axes to grind. Of course I hope you’ll discover something I can use to our country’s advantage! And I trust that for a small fee Andres will keep us informed of your activities. But you could do much worse. Whoever you hire will be on somebody’s payroll. Andres, I’m sure, is on several. Which is part of his value.”

The maid had left the coffee and cognac, and Shayne refilled his cup. “You people-no kidding.”

“You do what you can with what you have-those are the rules. Andres is quick-witted, and good at milking the maximum dollar out of whatever comes along. A bit of a blackmailer, but that shouldn’t concern you.”

“Is there any way I can get in touch with these guerrillas?”

Frost wagged his head. He offered Shayne a box of long fat cigars and began preparing one himself, an elaborate ceremony which occupied him while he spoke.

“That is one thing I can’t arrange. Everyone of that persuasion is very far underground today. You’d like to talk to Paula Obregon. So would the police, both the political police and the criminal police. But the MIR is beautifully organized, highly efficient. Paula Obregon will come to the surface when they want her to, not before.”

Shayne asked several other questions while he finished his coffee. Frost went into another room, unlocked a wall safe and brought back onionskin copies of several memos on Venezuelan politics. He wrote an extremely dense prose that was occasionally hard to follow. Shayne read them in silence, nodded, and handed them back.

Frost gave him a card with a phone number on it. “Call me whenever you like. I may be napping but I’m a light sleeper.”

Andres Rubino ground out his cigarette when Shayne appeared and threw open the door of the Jaguar.

“You have decided to hire me!”

“Let’s see how it goes,” Shayne said. “He doesn’t give you much of a reference. He says you’ll deal with anybody if the price is right.”

“But everybody knows that about me! Mr. Frost himself, for example, pays me occasional sums out of unrestricted funds. But if you have something you don’t wish me to tell him, say so frankly and we’ll discuss how much that will cost you.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to collect from us both.”

“I try not to do too much of that,” Rubino said earnestly, “because it gets complicated and dangerous. And you and Mr. Frost are on the came side, no? I’m much better for you than some dull nobody you could pay to be loyal.”

He honked to have the gate opened. “First stop, the jail?”

“That’s right. Where do you stand politically, Andres?”

For the first time the cheerful Venezuelan looked indignant. The gate opened and he went out with his thumb on the horn.

“Politics. What does it matter to someone in my financial position which crook is in office? Of course,” he added, “in international politics I am very much pro-United States.”

“Of course. What do you think of Frost?”

“Mr. Frost is unquestionably number one on my list!” he said with sincerity. “Physically somewhat repulsive, but he has risen above it. Did you notice his maid? Elegant-elegant. His style of living. People in his line of work retire young, on three-quarters pay. He is now fifty-five. He could pull out at any moment, and from certain indirect signs I think he is planning to do so very soon. And then I will have to start over again with his successor-a dismal perspective, because Mr. Frost and I understand each other. But did he really describe me as that corrupt?”

“A free-lance agent and a blackmailer on the side.”

“He shouldn’t have said that!” Rubino cried. “How could I blackmail you? In what way does it apply?”

“He wasn’t telling me anything he didn’t want me to know.”

Rubino drove a block or so in silence, thinking.

“Well, he’s a clever man. I would hate to play chess against him. We’ve agreed on one hundred dollars a day? I’ll start at once to earn my money. Technically we are among the backward nations, we Venezuelans, but one exception is the police, who have modern listening devices. Very miniaturized, very delicate. So you must conclude that when you confer with your friend, other ears will be listening.”

Shayne didn’t interrupt, and listened to much the same advice he had already received from Felix Frost. He was watching the turns, getting the feel of the city.

At Police Headquarters, a forbidding fortresslike building on Avenida Universidad, Rubino again left the conspicuous car in a no-parking zone and came inside with Shayne.

Using Rubino to translate for him, Shayne rejected the first room he was offered. After a loud exchange in Spanish, accompanied by much sawing of the air, he was taken to another room where Rubino left him. This room was furnished with a simple table and two benches. While he waited for Rourke, he prowled around the room trying to spot the mike, but it was well hidden.

The door opened.

One of Rourke’s eyes was swollen shut and he had what looked like fingernail scratches on one cheek. His belt and shoelaces had been taken away, evidently an international police practice.

“Mike Shayne,” he said gloomily. “Well, well. I hope you brought me some cigarettes.”

“They tell me you’re smoking Pall Malls these days.”

“When I can get them.”

He accepted what he was given, a Camel. They sat down at the table and Shayne lit his cigarette for him.

“You didn’t waste any time, did you?” Rourke said, breathing out smoke. “Didn’t even stop to have breakfast, probably.”

“I had a very good breakfast with Felix Frost, do you know him? Sort of a creep, I thought, but I’m sure he’s good at whatever he does.”

“Good old Felix.”

While this exchange was taking place, they were communicating in other ways. Shayne’s first look had warned the reporter to look out; they were being monitored. Rourke had replied in the same way that he knew that much about the behavior patterns of law-enforcement officials. He also didn’t have to be told that his situation was grim, and Shayne would have to work an unusual kind of miracle to get him out.

“Who hit you?” Shayne asked. “Do you want me to get the Civil Liberties Union to complain?”

“I wish you would, man. Every little bit helps. Talk to me. Nobody around here wants to tell me what happened out in the real world. They want me to tell them. Did a bomb actually go off in the La Vega prison, or did my ears deceive me? And if so, how did you hear about it?”