Десмонд Бэгли - High Citadel

Forester relaxed. ‘Thank God — an American,’ he said. His voice was much stronger.

‘I’m McGruder — Doctor McGruder.’

‘How did you know my name?’ asked Forester.

‘The papers in your pocket,’ said McGruder. ‘You carry an American passport.’

‘Look,’ said Forester urgently. ‘You’ve got to let me out of here. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got to—’

‘You’re not leaving here for a long time,’ said McGruder abruptly. ‘And you couldn’t stand if you tried.’

Forester sagged back in bed. ‘Where is this place?’

‘San Antonio Mission,’ said McGruder,’ ‘I’m the Big White Chief here. Presbyterian, you know.’

‘Anywhere near Altemiros?’

‘Sure. Altemiros village is just down the road — almost two miles away.’

‘I want a message sent,’ said Forester rapidly. ‘Two messages — one to Ramón Sueguerra in Altemiros and one to Santillana to the—’

McGruder held up his hand. ‘Whoa up, there; you’ll have a relapse if you’re not careful. Take it easy.’

‘For God’s sake,’ said Forester bitterly. ‘This is urgent.’

‘For God’s sake nothing is urgent,’ said McGruder equably. ‘He has all the time there is. What I’m interested in right now is why one man should come over an impossible pass in a blizzard carrying another man.’

‘Did Rohde carry me? How is he?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ said McGruder. ‘I’d be interested to know why he carried you.’

‘Because I was dying,’ said Forester. He looked at McGruder speculatively, sizing him up. He did not want to make a blunder — the communists had some very unexpected friends in the strangest places — but he did not think he could go wrong with a Presbyterian doctor, and McGruder looked all right. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell you. You look okay to me.’

McGruder raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and Forester told him what was happening on the other side of the mountains, beginning with the air crash but leaving out such irrelevancies as the killing of Peabody, which, he thought, might harm his case. As he spoke McGruder’s eyebrows crawled up his scalp until they were almost lost in his hair.

When Forester finished he said, ‘Now that’s as improbable a story as I’ve ever heard. You see, Mr Forester, I don’t entirely trust you. I had a phone call from the Air Force base — there’s one quite close — and they were looking for you. Moreover, you were carrying this.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pistol. ‘I don’t like people who carry guns — it’s against my religion.’

Forester watched as McGruder skilfully worked the action and the cartridges flipped out. He said, ‘For a man who doesn’t like guns you know a bit too much about their workings.’

‘I was a Marine at Iwo Jima,’ said McGruder. ‘Now why would the Cordilleran military be interested in you?’

‘Because they’ve gone communist.’

‘Tchah!’ said McGruder disgustedly. ‘You talk like an old maid who sees burglars under every bed. Colonel Rodriguez is as communist as I am.’

Forester felt a sudden hope. Rodriguez was the commandant of Fourteenth Squadron and the friend of Aguillar. ‘Did you speak to Rodriguez?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said McGruder. ‘It was some junior officer.’ He paused. ‘Look, Forester, the military want you and I’d like you to tell me why.’

‘Is Fourteenth Squadron still at the airfield?’ countered Forester.

‘I don’t know. Rodriguez did say something about moving — but I haven’t seen him for nearly a month.’

So it was a toss-up, thought Forester disgustedly. The military were friend or foe and he had no immediate means of finding out — and it looked as though McGruder was quite prepared to hand him over. He said speculatively, ‘I suppose you try to keep your nose clean. I suppose you work in with the local authorities and you don’t interfere in local politics.’

‘Indeed I don’t,’ said McGruder. ‘I don’t want this mission closed. We have enough trouble as it is.’

‘You think you have trouble with Lopez, but that’s nothing to the trouble you’ll have when the commies move in,’ snapped Forester. ‘Tell me, is it against your religion to stand by and wait while your fellow human beings — some of them fellow countrymen, not that that matters — are slaughtered not fifteen miles from where you are standing?’

McGruder whitened about the nostrils and the lines deepened about his mouth. ‘I almost think you are telling the truth,’ he said slowly.

‘You’re damn right I am.’

Ignoring the profanity McGruder said, ‘You mentioned a name — Sueguerra. I know Señor Sueguerra very well. I play chess with him whenever I get into the village. He is a good man, so that is a point for you. What was the other message — to Santillana?’

‘The same message to a different man,’ said Forester patiently. ‘Bob Addison of the United States Embassy. Tell them both what I’ve told you — and tell Addison to get the lead out of his breeches fast.’

McGruder wrinkled his brow. ‘Addison? I believe I know all the Embassy staff, but I don’t recall an Addison.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Forester. ‘He’s an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. We don’t advertise.’

McGruder’s eyebrows crawled up again. ‘We?’

Forester grinned weakly. ‘I’m a C.I.A. officer, too. But you’ll have to take it on trust — I don’t carry the information tattooed on my chest.’

Forester was shocked to hear that Rohde was likely to lose his leg. ‘Frostbite in a very bad open wound is not conducive to the best of health,’ said McGruder dryly. ‘I’m very sorry about this; I’ll try to save the leg, of course — it’s a pity that this should happen to so brave a man.’

McGruder now appeared to have accepted Forester’s story, although he had taken a lot of convincing and had doubts about the wisdom of the State Department. ‘They’re stupid,’ he said. ‘We don’t want open American interference down here — that’s certain to stir up anti-Americanism. It’s giving the communists a perfect opening.’

‘For God’s sake, I’m not interfering actively,’ protested Forester. ‘We knew that Aguillar was going to make his move and my job was to keep a friendly eye on him, to see that he got through safely.’ He looked at the ceiling and said bitterly, ‘I seem to have balled it up, don’t I?’

‘I don’t see that you could have done anything different,’ observed McGruder. He got up from the bedside. ‘I’ll check up on which squadron is at the airfield, and I’ll go to see Sueguerra myself.’

‘Don’t forget the Embassy.’

‘I’ll put a phone call through right away.’

But that proved to be difficult because the line was not open. McGruder sat at his desk and fumed at the unresponsive telephone. This was something that happened about once a week and always at a critical moment. At last he put down the hand-set and turned to take off his white coat, but hesitated as he heard the squeal of brakes from the courtyard. He looked through his office window and saw a military staff car pull up followed by a truck and a military ambulance. A squad of uniformed and armed men debussed from the truck under the barked orders of an N.C.O., and an officer climbed casually out of the staff car.

McGruder hastily put on the white coat again and when the officer strode into the room he was busy writing at his desk. He looked up and said, ‘Good day — er — Major. To what do I owe this honour?’

The officer clicked his heels punctiliously. ‘Major Garcia, at your service.’