Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“Your security seems tight,” Chvosta said.

“Thank you,” the Colonel replied. “We wish to ensure the comfort of our guests. You will be more comfortable in the car, if you please.”

Chvosta went first, grunting and wheezing as he pulled his bulk into the back seat. The Colonel and the girl followed and de Laiglesia closed the door after them, then went back to supervise the unloading. The sweat was already beginning to soak into his clothes.

“Drop that and I will shoot you,” he called out angrily to the soldier who was pulling a heavy crate from the plane. The man stopped and looked down, fearfully, because it was not just an idle threat. The Major was well known for his short temper and ready gun. He would shoot his own men as easily as he would any Red revolutionary. The soldier stood, shivering, with the crate resting on the doorsill, until another soldier hurried to help him.

One by one the heavy sealed crates were removed from the jet and loaded into the truck. The two suitcases were put in on top of them and the Sergeant in charge of the squad saluted de Laiglesia.

“All loaded, Major. Will you signal the convoy?”

“Yes. Get your men into the truck.”

Motorcycle outriders with screaming sirens led the way, forcing the traffic to the sides of the road. Police were stationed at every crossroad to stop cars from entering, coming to attention and saluting as the convoy tore past. They did a steady sixty miles an hour down the highway and into Asuncion, slowing only to maneuver around the sharp turns in the narrow streets. Aurelia looked out of the window at the crowded filthy tenements that flashed past, but said nothing. Chvosta opened the bar set into the back of the seat just before him and poured for himself a large glass of water from the cut glass decanter. Almost as an afterthought he poured a half glass of malt Scotch and drained it as easily as he had the water. The short walk in the sun had sent the perspiration bursting from his pores and even de Laiglesia, never the most sensitive of men, twitched his nostrils at the rank odor.

The convoy tore on through the baking, sun-drenched and filthy streets. Past a park filled with dead trees, then up a drive they raced and through the ornate italianate iron gates of the National Palace, braking to stop before the steps at the entrance. The guard outside did not open the car doors until the heavy gates had slammed shut and one of the armored cars had parked across the entrance.

The Colonel slowly led the way up the impressive marble steps, into the building and down the length of the great hall. He stopped before the high doors there, guarded by two armed soldiers standing stiffly at attention.

“Are vou ready to go in?” he asked.

“Of course,” Chvosta gasped, patting the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief. “I have not come this far to be left standing in the corridor. Let’s get it over with.”

“This is a most important and serious moment….”

“Only to you,” Aurelia broke in. “For us it is a simple business transaction. So get on with it.”

The Colonel turned away to conceal his anger while Major de Laiglesia made every effort to keep a straight face. He snapped his fingers at the soldiers. “Open up,” he ordered.

They passed through the doorway into the grand ballroom, an immensely long and ornate room bright with candelabra and hung with impressively bad paintings. At the far end, a group of uniformed men stood talking. One of them turned when they entered, a pudgy, pale-skinned man with numerous ribbons and decorations on his uniform. He smiled and stepped forward.

“You are highly honored,” de Laiglesia whispered. “His Excellency is coming forward in person to greet you.”

Walking heavily, President General Alfredo Stroessner came over to meet them. He smiled warmly. Yet, despite his full-dress uniform, the gold braid, the self-centered assurance, he looked like a bald-headed and pudgy son of a Bavarian immigrant. Which, of course, he was.

He was also absolute dictator of the country, with the power of life or death over his four million subjects. He seemed quite cheerful as he stepped forward to shake hands. He could afford to be.

“Sefior Chvosta, Senorita Hortiguela, bienvenidos al Paraguay,” he said.

“He welcomes us to the country,” Aurelia translated for her partner. Chvosta nodded but did not bother to grunt this time. He was sweating even more now after climbing the stairs to the palace.

After the few words of welcome, Stroessner turned to the uniformed group of men who were standing behind him and beckoned a gray-haired naval officer forward. His hair was cropped short, his dark skin marked by a fine network of wrinkles. His left arm was missing and the uniform sleeve turned up and secured at the shoulder.

“This is Admiral Marquez of the Uruguayan Navy,” Stroessner said. “Regretably, Dr. Mendez was not able to attend, but was kind enough to send the Admiral in his stead.”

They all nodded seriously as though no one knew that the ancient lawyer Mendez was only a figurehead for the ruling junta of admirals and generals. After a recent power struggle in Uruguay, Marquez had emerged on top, just as much a ruler in that country as Stroessner was in this one.

This display of absolute power appeared to make very little impression on Libor Chvosta, as though he spent every day of the week in the company of the rulers of two sovereign countries. He mopped at his wet forehead and neck with his large bandanna kerchief, then spoke.

“If we’re all here now we can get down to business,” he said, with all the grace and charm of a butcher in an abattoir. “If the cases have been opened I’ll show you what you are going to get.”

“They are ready in the other room,” Major de Laiglesia said to him, leaning forward and speaking in a low voice as Aurelia translated for the others what Chvosta had said.

“Take us there,” Chvosta ordered.

Major de Laiglesia whispered a few words in the Air Force Colonel’s ear and the Colonel nodded. There were some quick discussions of protocol among the uniformed aides, eventually resolved when Stroessner and Admiral Marquez, bowing politely to each other, decided to lead the way from the room together. The guards at the end of the hall opened the large double doors and stepped back.

The spacious chamber beyond had been specially prepared for the occasion. All of the floor-to-ceiling windows had been sealed with steel plates, concealed now behind floor-length drapes. A long, marble-topped table, supported on ornate gold legs, ran the length of the room. Two armchairs were placed together facing the center of the table. On the other side, away from the chairs, were the crates that had been brought from the jet. All of the metal bands that had sealed them had been cut and their tops had been levered open. Chvosta went to examine the crates as Stroessner and Marquez sat down on the chairs; their staffs arranging themselves in expecting rows behind them. Aurelia stationed herself at the end of the table and took a spiral-bound notebook from her bag. Her sunglasses had been replaced by reading glasses; she turned the pages of the notebook and pursed her lips with concentration. There was a sense of excitement, of tension in the air as Chvosta rose from his examination and dusted off his hands. He began to speak, slowly and clearly in English, pausing often so Aurelia could translate into Spanish.

“What we have here are representative sample cases taken from the shipment. In some cases we have substituted different brands or slightly different items from those selected by you in your original order. You must remember that we are not off-the-shelf suppliers, but are middlemen. We find the product wanted from those willing to sell. However, circumstances sometimes change between the placing of the original order and the time of shipment. But Global Traders has a deserved reputation for substituting equal or better items for those originally chosen. First item on the list.”