Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“I no longer care to talk about it.”

“You’re going to have to. You agreed there would be no unwarranted violence or killing. You gave Diaz your word.”

“I did. It has nothing to do with the situation.”

“It does. Unless you do something soon, the man will die and that will be deliberate murder.”

“What’s happening?” Hank broke in. It was Uzi who answered him.

“One of the ship’s crew was injured when the cashier’s office was captured. Shot. Unless he sees a doctor he’ll be dead. Josep doesn’t want to take him to a ship’s doctor. A gunshot wound would be too suspicious. He wants to wait until morning when we capture the Uruguayans. Then we can use their doctor. I want them taken now, without any more delay.”

“No. We will adhere to the schedule. We cannot risk a slipup.”

There was a rattle of a key in the lock and Diaz came in while they were talking. “Concepcion has taken my post on the bridge,” he said. “I have come to see what you are doing about the doctor for the injured man.”

“The plans are unchanged,” Josep said with grim determination. “They will not be altered for the sake of this fast shot who killed one of my people.”

“We made an agreement. There was to be no unnecessary bloodshed.”

“The situation has changed.”

“It has not. If you will not act I will get one of my men and we will take over the Uruguayan suite now. We must have that doctor.”

“You will risk everything for a stranger’s life?” Josep was puzzled, not angry. An attitude like this was beyond his comprehension.”

“Of course. I am a politician, and I hope an honest man. What I do I do to free my country from Stroessner and his thugs. If I lose my humanity doing it I am no better than they are.”

“He’s right,” Uzi said. “We need that doctor now.”

Grim faced, Josep looked back and forth between them. “Outvoted two to one. I assume you will no longer cooperate in this action if I don’t agree?”

“That’s correct,” Diaz said.

“Then we do it. But not the Germans. They will be too suspicious if we try to hit them during the night. They get guns in their guts for breakfast as we originally planned. You and I, Diaz, we do this together. First Admiral Marquez, then Stroessner. I’m looking forward to this. Uzi — stay here and man the phone. This should not take long.”

The alleyway was empty when they emerged from the room. It was just a few feet across to the other suite. Josep knocked on the door, then again. A muffled voice spoke from inside. He answered in Spanish.

“The doctor is needed, quickly. The German with the bullet hole, he has taken a turn for the worse.”

The lock turned and the door started to open. As soon as it did Josep hurled himself against it, striking with all his weight. Forcing it wide and hurling himself into the room.

“I know you, Captain,” he said to the man in the dressing gown, just as he struck him hard across the side of his head with the long barrel of his revolver. He did not watch the man fall but ran over to Doctor Llusera who was standing, yawning, in the open door of the bedroom. Josep pushed the doctor aside and went into the room, turning on the light. Behind him he could hear Diaz closing and locking the door and he knew that his rear was secure. Admiral Marquez was sitting up in bed, blinking in his direction.

“Who is that? What the hell is going on?” he growled. His contact lenses were in their holder by the bed, but he groped for a pair of old fashioned wire-rim glasses next to them. Josep slid his pistol back into his belt and waited patiently while the Admiral put the glasses on.

“Remember me?” Josep said.

The Admiral did indeed. Josep smiled at the horrified expression on the man’s face, the way the color drained from his cheeks.

“Yes, you do remember me. Afraid that 1 will kill you, Admiral? I could in an instant, I might yet. So just do what I say, don’t cross me and don’t ask any questions. Better drink some of the water in that glass, take some pills if you have them. I don’t want you dying of a heart attack.” He turned and called over his shoulder. “Doctor, drag the Captain in here and lay him out next to the Admiral.”

“This is outrageous, outrageous,” the doctor gasped, pulling the unconscious and heavy form of the aide. “This man is injured, he may have a concussion, I must protest at the manner of this…. “ For the first time he had a good look at this strange attacker’s face — and his own skin paled like that of the Admiral’s. “Josep….” he breathed.

“I’m pleased to see that I am not without recognition among my countrymen. Get dressed, doctor, and get your little black bag. You are going with this man on an errand of mercy.”

Diaz went out with the doctor, and it was almost half an hour before he returned alone. All of that time Josep just sat in the chair, his gun in his lap, looking at the Admiral and relishing the occasion.

“I left the doctor there,” Diaz said. “The guard is watching both of them. He says that the wounded man’s condition is stable, but that he must be operated on soon. The bullet penetrated the intestines, luckily missed any vital organs, but peritonitis is a certainty.”

“It won’t strike that quickly. Call the special bridge number and tell Concepcion to get a man down here at once. It will leave her shorthanded, but not for long. We’ll get them all together soon and your man can guard them. Lead the way, Diaz, Stroessner is your target.”

“He certainly is. This is wonderful, simply wonderful. I am not normally a vengeful man. But this is different.”

They stopped at Hank’s suite first, to check the tape and the eavesdropping equipment. Everything was quiet in Stroessner’s quarters. They were asleep. Josep stood to one side out of sight while Diaz knocked.

“Who is there?” a voice finally asked.

“Telegram.”

The door opened a crack and Diaz found himself staring Sergeant Pradera in the face. He shaped the word now with his lips. The Sergeant nodded slightly but did not change expression. He turned and called over his shoulder.

“A steward here with a telegram for you, Major.”

The Sergeant stepped aside and Major de Laiglesia took his place. Diaz said nothing. He just watched the expression of disbelief and horror spreading over the Major’s face. He opened his mouth to shout — then slumped downwards. The Sergeant had hit a cruel blow on the side of the neck with the edge of his rock-hard hand.

Between them they moved the Major’s limp body silently aside and Josep followed them into the room. The Sergeant jerked his thumb wordlessly over his shoulder at the bedroom door. Diaz nodded. Josep leaned forward and whispered.

“I'll bring the Admiral and the other one in here. They’ll be easier to watch when they are all together. But first go speak to Stroessner — I know that he is looking forward to meeting you.”

Diaz opened the door slowly — and found himself shaking violently. It was totally unexpected, not fear, the opposite if anything. An overwhelming hatred consumed him, a detestation of this terrible little man who had murdered and destroyed Paraguay for so many years. His fingers were on his gun, he was prepared to shoot, to destroy this creature; all trace of civilized morals had fled. For the first time he understood the unreasoning hatred, and violence, that motivated the Tupamaros. They had the right answer. He pulled out the pistol and opened the door wider and saw the empty bed.

This was unexpected, unreasonable, and puzzling to his rational mind. But his reflexes had a much more basic attitude towards survival and his muscles tensed and he jumped back. Therefore, the bullet that was aimed at his head hit the metal doorframe instead and ricocheted wildly away.