Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“That’s a very good reason,” Hank said.

“It is. Though I shouldn’t say everything. Our records section exchanges information continually with Aman, since the simple collection of intelligence is not a crime. Aman in turn exchanges information with other governments. It’s what we do with the information that isn’t exactly kosher.”

“And that is…?”

“We find Nazis. We see that they are returned to Europe — or Israel — to stand trial. Many times we must extract them from countries where they have a legal status as citizens. We don’t like doing this. And we only do it when there is absolutely no doubt that the person in question is a war criminal — and usually a convicted war criminal. You might say that we are a means of last resort. When all else has failed we step in. Unofficially and usually quite illegally. To see to the administration of justice that must cross international boundaries.”

“I’m sorry you told me this.”

“I didn’t. You just thought you heard it. You are going to quite legally help in obtaining information about some very wanted war criminals.”

“What do you mean that I am going to help? What more can I do?”

“You can act while we investigate. We cannot wait for more results before we move. There’s not time enough. It’s important to get someone aboard the QE2 at once. Would you like a nice sea voyage,

“Don’t say it! I can’t, not now, my fiancee would kill me if we postponed the wedding again! It’s been hard enough to arrange in any case.”

Uzi raised his hands in surrender and smiled. “Wait — don’t panic. I didn’t say instantly. And you may not have to go. It’s still just a maybe. I’ll let you know as soon as we see about bookings on the QE2 . That’s one job. Another that I’m going to start at the same time is a tracer on Major de Laiglesia. He is at the heart of this affair and his whereabouts are surely related to it. Find him and we may find the answer to this mystery.”

Major Jose de Laiglesia looked out of the window of the Lear jet and covered a yawn with his fist. The plane tilted up on one wing as it turned, presenting him with a magnificent view of the lush green jungle, set against a starkly beautiful range of mountains in the background. The Major was totally indifferent to the view, was scarcely aware that it was there, and his drowsy thoughts were completely occupied with drink. Rum. Should he have another one? Would it wake him up or put him to sleep? He could not be sure. His deep cogitations were interrupted when the girl in the seat before him turned around to speak.

“That river down there, the wide one, do you know its name?”

The Major squinted at the river and the mountains, trying to get his bearings. “It is the Alto Parana, I think. It marks the border between Paraguay and Argentina.”

“Then we are almost there?”

“Almost. We’ll be landing at Asuncion soon. You have been there before?”

“Never. What’s it like?”

“Very nice. I’m sure you will enjoy your visit.”

“This is a business trip. I’m not here for pleasure,” she said coldly and turned back in her seat.

You are a cold bitch, Aurelia Maria Hortiguela, the Major thought to himself. A strange one to be involved in this kind of business. Somewhere in her late thirties, he thought, still young enough to be good-looking, in a big-bosomed, wide-hipped way. Very attractive in the particularly Latin manner; with a bottom like two great swelling melons. Gorgeous! But a frigid and acid bitch. Inside that magnificent frame lurked the mind of a horrid little man, a bookkeeper or a tax inspector. It was very annoying. So annoying that he decided on the drink after all. The thought of the sweet burn of the hundred proof rum sent a quick rush of saliva to his mouth. He unbuckled and went to the bar in the rear of the plane. To get there he had to pass the fat Czech. A thoroughly repulsive one, this. He had the armrest up and just about filled both seats. He turned his cold black eyes on the Major as he came by.

“Can I get you a drink of some kind, Mr. Chvosta?” de Laiglesia asked in English. If Libor Chvosta spoke Spanish he had kept it a good secret so far.

“Yes. Champagne.” His voice was small and high-pitched, strange for a man of his bulk. Like that of a eunuch. Major de Laiglesia doubted, though, if he was one. There was something too frightening about him, repellant. He was in the right business, this one.

The Major took a bottle of Veuve-Cliquet 1973 from the refrigerator and found a tulip glass in the cabinet. He put it on the silver tray, along with the bottle, then filled a tall glass with ice cubes. The fat Czech would just have to wait a few minutes more. He poured rum over the cubes, swished it about for a moment, then drank deep. It was good, very, very good.

With careful coordinated pressure of both his thumbs below the cork he levered it out of the bottle of champagne with a satisfactory bang, pouring the overflow into the glass without losing a drop. Chvosta took the glass with a grunt that could have meant anything, then drained it in a gulp. Pig, the Major thought, as he carefully refilled it for him. The door to the flight deck opened and the copilot poked his head through.

“We’re about three minutes out, Major,” he said. “Would you please look at the belts?”

The Major nodded and drained the glass, then put it back in the rack and latched the cabinet. All three of the plainclothes guards had their belt secure, as did the girl. Chvosta had no waist, so he couldn’t get a belt around it, but he had the belt from one seat through the buckle of the other, and this was locked across his legs. Good enough. The Major threw away the now empty bottle of champagne and belted himself into his own seat. Underneath him he could hear the landing gear grinding down and locking into position. Then the runway was flashing past and they were on the ground.

Once the pilot had turned off into the taxiway he gunned his engines again and bumped on past the terminal buildings towards the hangars beyond. This was not going to be a public arrival. The small jet rolled towards the gaping entrance of a large hangar, big enough to service a 707 but now empty. Into the hangar the jet went and the engines whined down to silence. Behind them the great doors were trundled shut and the passengers blinked into the darkness until the hangar lights came on. The plane’s door opened and an Air Force Colonel in full uniform looked in and saluted.

“Mr. Chvosta, Senorita Hortiguela, welcome to Paraguay. If you will come with me, please, the car is just outside.”

A wave of humid, hot air came in with him and the Major knew that he was home.

The Colonel led the way to the rear of the hangar and opened the small door there; bright sunlight burned in. Aurelia Hortiguela dug into her large purse and took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. Then turned to the Major and pointed back to the plane. “Our baggage and the cases of samples — what of them?”

“They are being unloaded right now and will go with us to the Presidential Palace.”

“You are not going to force us to stand around in this heat, are you?”

“Of course not. Through here, if you please, the limousine is air conditioned. It will only take a few minutes.”

They went through the door into the middle of a military camp. Fully armed combat troops were on all sides, guns at the ready. Facing outwards. There were jeeps with pillar-mounted calibre 50’s, B.A.R. and Bren gunners, even guards on the hangar roof above them. An immensely long, black Cadillac with dark windows waited with its rear door open, flanked by four armored cars and a six-by-six army truck.