Dennis Wheatley - Unholy Crusade

Below the tower there was a public telephone box. If only he had had a few coins on him he could have telephoned Hunterscombe to drive out and meet him; but he had not, so, regretfully, had to continue on his way. His long stride ate up the miles and an hour and a half after leaving San Angel he was well into the city.

There he had to make enquiries several times for directions to the street in which Hunterscombe lived. Although it was by then close on two o'clock there were still plenty of people about, for it is rightly said that Mexico City never sleeps. Each time he asked his way he feared to be identified; but he asked only of down and outs, thinking that they would be least likely to have read the newspapers, and, to his' great relief, none of them showed any special interest in him. After another half an hour of striding along pot holed pavements, he reached his destination: a block of apartments to the south of Chapultepec Park.

Thankfully, he saw that there was no porter about, ignored the lift and ran up the stone stairs, pausing on each landing until he found Hunterscombe's number, then pressed the front door bell, praying that he would be at home. Twice more he rang, and was beginning to fear that he had accomplished his seven mile tramp for nothing, when the door was opened by the Wing Commander his thin hair rumpled, slightly bleary eyed and clad in a flamboyant silk dressing gown.

`So it's you,' he muttered with a frown. `Did the night porter bring you up?'

Adam shook his head. 'No, he wasn't in the hall.'

`Thank God for that! You're a hot potato if ever there was one. But come on in.'

A few minutes later Adam was sitting in a comfortable armchair, a welcome brandy and soda in his hand, giving an account of all that had happened to him. When he had finished his recital, Hunterscombe said

`Well, chum, you're in the soup and no mistake. I believe you, but the police won't; and everyone is hopping mad about your prison break. I wouldn't be in your shoes for a packet.'

`You're telling me!' Adam retorted bitterly. `That swine Alberuque has got me by the short hairs and don't I know it. I've not a shadow of doubt that he was speaking the truth when he said that his people will do exactly what he tells them, whatever the cost to themselves. The Negro and those others will swear to it that I strangled the warder and I can't possibly prove that I didn't. But you volunteered to help me if I got in a mess; so the only thing I could do was a moonlight flit and come to you.'

The Wing Commander remained thoughtful for a moment,

then he brushed up his large moustache and said, `If you were a member of the firm we'd have that beard of yours off, dye your hair black, give you a crew cut and get you out of the country on a faked passport. But you're not; and it's more than my job is worth to issue a faked passport to anyone who is not on the strength. Still, there's no ban on my fixing you up with a disguise if you are game to make a bid to get out of Mexico under your own steam.'

`Thanks for the offer, but I'm not a taker.' Adam took a pull at his brandy and soda. `When I first heard about this business I was reluctant to get mixed up in it and later I resented being blackmailed by the police into agreeing to give them my help. But now things are different. The massacre at the prison opened my eyes to the sort of thing that will happen all over the country if Alberuque is allowed to let loose his Indians and half breeds. I left his place tonight only to come to see you. I mean to go back there and do my damnedest to chuck a spanner in his works.'

`Good for you, chum!' Hunterscombe's eyes suddenly brightened and he sat up. `That is quite another cup of tea and your Uncle Jeremy is right behind you. What line do you intend to take?'

`All I can do is try to find out when and where the big meeting at which I'm billed to appear is to take place; then let you know. If I can do that, it will both enable the police to scotch it and prove to them that I am innocent.'

`That's the drill, if only you can pull it off. How about communications?'

`I got away tonight without much trouble. Providing I don't arouse their suspicions, I see no reason why I shouldn't get out of the house again as soon as I have anything to report. I'm averse to seven mile walks though; so if you'll give me some money, next time I could telephone from somewhere near the place.'

`That's not good medicine, old boy. You may get caught on your way in tonight, or for some other reason they may decide to lock you up and put a guard on you. D'you happen to know Morse?'

`Yes. I was a W/T operator for a time when I was doing my service in the Royal Navy.'

`Hence the beaver, eh?' Hunterscombe grinned. `You decided to keep it, just as I have my R.A.F. moustache. Anyhow, your being able to use a transmitter is going to save us a lot of head aches.'

Standing up, he walked over to a chest and took from one of the drawers a long, flat silver cigarette case. Opening it he showed that one side held a row of some fourteen cigarettes; the other side was covered by a metal flap. `This,' he said, `is a gadget for just such occasions. Under the flap there is a radio that has a pretty useful range. I'll give you my call sign and will listen in

every day for half an hour from 0800 hours, 1700 hours and 2300 hours, then all you'll have to do is to tap me out the gen.'

`Fine.' Adam took the case and examined it carefully. Then he said, `I'd be grateful if you could lend me a gun.'

`Do you think that's wise? If somebody tumbled to it that you were carrying one, they'd wonder where you got it.'

`I'll take good care no one sees it and I may need a weapon badly. You see, I've a nasty feeling that if things do blow up Alberuque would not hesitate to do me in. But if I've a gun on me, with a little luck I'd be able to shoot him first.'

'O.K., chum.' The Wing Commander went to the chest again. From another drawer he took a small automatic and an armpit holster. Having loaded the weapon, he fitted the holster on to Adam and said, `We'll have one for the road, then I'll get into some togs and run you back; but we'll have to keep our eyes skinned for the night porter as we go downstairs. That head of yours is about as conspicuous as a parson wearing a pair of tights with his dog collar.'

When they had finished their drinks, Hunterscombe left the room to dress. He returned with a wad of notes and some small change. As he gave them to Adam he said, `With the compliments of H.M.G. against emergencies. I suppose that as well as being a matelot you don't happen to be a flying type?'

Adam shook his head, 'No; and I'm really only a land lubber.'

`Pity. I was thinking about that helicopter. I wouldn't be surprised if old Alberuque doesn't intend to have you flown to the place where he means to hold his jamboree. If you were a pilot you might have beaten him to it, and left him in the lurch. Still, maybe you could sabotage it so that it couldn't take off.'

`That's certainly an idea. I'll bear it in mind.'

With Hunterscombe leading the way they tiptoed downstairs. The porter was still absent; so they got clear of the building without being seen, and while Adam waited in the shadows his companion collected his car from the garage. It was a long, low Alfa Romeo of ancient vintage but alarming power and they covered the seven miles in a little over ten minutes. Shortly after four o'clock Adam's `Uncle' Jeremy dropped him in San Angel, wished him `happy landings' and roared away into the night.

When Adam reached the house it was still in darkness and he thought it unlikely that even its religious inmates would get up to

make their early morning devotions in the chapel for another hour or more. All the same, he approached with the utmost caution. Clambering down had been a risky business and he was not at all looking forward to his climb back on to the roof; but, having gumshoed round the building, he found a first floor verandah at the back which he had not seen before, and above it there was an open window.