Part 22

"Very much, Diego. I found the picture. I found other things." He told him about the documents on San Hermano which Santiago had taken from the steel boxes. "If we stand behind the plane can we be seen by anyone?"

"No. Only by my men in the cabin."

"Good." They walked farther into the blackness, put the plane between themselves and any eyes that might be watching them from the field buildings. "Quick," Hall said, "give me your belt and take mine. It is loaded with a complete set of negatives."

The exchange was completed in seconds. "I've got three duplicate sets hidden on my person," Hall said. "Now they'll have to kill both of us to stop the truth from reaching San Hermano."

"I'm sleeping in the plane," Segador said. "You had better sleep in town. Did you arrange for a hotel, Mateo?"

"Lobo arranged a room for me through the Cuban Legation. There's a diplomatic car at the gate now, waiting to take me to town. What time do we start out?"

"A minute after sunrise."

"I'll be here. Can I bring anything from the hotel? Hot coffee? Beer?"

"No. We have everything. Even," he looked up at the plane and smiled, "even machine-gun belts."

Hall followed his eyes. He found himself facing the twin barrels of the machine guns in the side panel of the Douglas. There was a young soldier at the firing end of the guns.

"You do well, Sergeant," Segador said. "At ease."

"Can he use them, Diego?"

"He is a fantastic shot, that boy. He was in Spain. But you will meet him tomorrow."

"All right. But tell me one thing, if you can. It's been bothering me for days. How did Ansaldo...?"

"Don't. I hate to think of it, Mateo. The fascists put us all in a bottle. _El Imparcial_ ran a big story on the front page--they charged that Don Anibal's only chance for life lay in an operation by Ansaldo. They also hinted that selfish politicians were tying Ansaldo's hands. The Cabinet had to capitulate."

"And Lavandero?"

"He didn't vote."

"Poor Anibal! What was it that finally killed him?"

Segador savagely bit the end off a cigar. "His faith in scoundrels!" he said, vehemently. "Enough, Mateo. Shut up before I--I ..."

* * * * *

Hall rode into town, had dinner sent up to his room. For an hour or so, he read the local papers. Then he turned out the lights, took off his tunic, opened his shirt collar, and put the Sam Browne belt with the hidden pockets on the bed beside him. It was to be a night of rest without sleep, a night of relaxing on the unmade bed with a hand never farther than six inches from one of his two guns. Twice during the long night he took benzedrine pills to keep awake. There could be no sleep until the plane was well under way.

* * * * *

The two-motored Douglas was warming her engines when the Cuban diplomatic car delivered Hall to the airport. "Drive right over to that bomber," he ordered. "Fast."

"Hey," he shouted before the car could skid to a stop, "taking off without me?"

Segador, freshly shaven, stepped to the doorway of the plane. "No. Get on board. We were waiting. Toss me your grip."

Hall tipped the driver of the car with a five-dollar note. "Give me a hand, Diego. I'm not an antelope." Segador and the young sergeant pulled him into the cabin.

"Meet my crew. Major Blanco--First Pilot Captain Millares, Co-Pilot Navigator Lieutenant Cuesta, Sergeant Mechanic Ruiz. They are a picked crew, and they know what is at stake in this flight."

The flying officers were at the controls. They saluted Hall, bade him welcome. "Snub Nose says we can take off," the captain told Segador.

"Then let's take off. Snub Nose, give Blanco a hand with his safety belt. His hands are stiff."

The wiry little sergeant fastened Hall's belt. "A lot of good it will do you if we ground-loop, Major," he grinned.

This one was a Spaniard. Hall knew it at once. Young, no more than twenty-five, but very dry behind the ears. "_Chico_," he said, "if we crash and I get hurt I'll murder you."

"You terrify me." Snub Nose was laughing with the animal glee of sheer happiness in being alive. "But I like you. I brought a bucket along just for you when you get air-sick."

"That's enough out of you, General Cisneros!" the first pilot yelled into the microphone in his fist. "Come on up to the office and stop bothering your betters."

"Call me when you feel sick," the boy roared at Hall, his strong-timbred voice rising above the blasts of the engines. He went up forward, stood behind the pilots as the big plane taxied into position and took off.

"I examined the negatives last night," Segador said. "They are worth all they have cost. Were they very hard to get, Mateo?"

"Two lives. But one was a doomed life. It was not hard."

"Feel like sleeping?" Segador pointed to an inflated rubber pallet in the bomb bay.

"I could use a few hours of sleep," Hall admitted. He made his way to the pallet, covered himself with an army greatcoat.

He slept heavily, waking only to eat, to stretch his legs once when they landed to refuel and show their papers to a new set of officials, and, finally, when Segador shook him and told him to put on his parachute.

"We're near the border," Segador said. He had a map and a heavy black pencil in his left hand. "Can you put it on?"

Hall had worn similar chutes while flying with the R.A.F. over France. He waved Snub Nose away with a derisive gesture. "Back to your nursery, _chico_," he said to the sergeant. "I was wearing chutes when you were in diapers."

"I'm sorry," Snub Nose said, deliberately misunderstanding, "we can't give you a diaper, senor. Just make believe you're wearing a diaper if you have to jump."

Hall looked out of the window. The late afternoon sun was beginning to wane.

"Look," Segador said, making a mark on the map. "We are here now. I'd planned on crossing our own borders just after dark. But we had a strong tail wind all the way. We're ahead of time."

"Good."

"It's not so good, Mateo. Most of the army is loyal, but for the last two months Gamburdo has been bringing the Germans back into the army."

"Germans?"

"We call them the Germans. I mean the sons of the _estancieros_ and the _senoritos_ who became officers under Segura while he had his Reichswehr experts running the army. Tabio kicked them out, but he neglected to shoot them. The bastards are everywhere now. We have to assume that they know I left the country in a Douglas bomber. You might have been recognized in Havana or in Caracas by Falangist agents. The Germans are also able to put two and two together."

"I was very careful."

"But it cost two lives." Segador flipped a switch on the panel in front of his seat. "Attention, everyone," he said into his microphone. "Lieutenant, how soon before we reach the national border?"

"If we maintain our air speed, Major, we are due to cross the border in less than forty minutes."

"Good. Come back here, please." Then, while the co-pilot left his seat up front and started back to the seats near the bomb bay, Segador continued talking. "Captain, you know what we must expect. The fliers are all loyal; I don't think they would shoot down one of our own planes without permission of their chief. But there are too many Germans in the A-A arm. We may have trouble from the ground."

"I can fly higher, sir. We are now at seven thousand."

"Take her up to nine." He turned to the navigator. "How much will that put between our belly and the mountain tops at the border?"

"Three thousand, Major."

"Not enough."

"We can climb higher and fly on oxygen," the captain suggested.

"No. We've got to take this chance," Segador said. There was not enough oxygen on board, and only the major knew that this was because the chief of the air arm feared the new officers who handled the oxygen depot.

"Navigator, take a look at my map." The pencil traced a straight line extending two hundred miles across the border. "Is this our course?"

"Yes, Major. We are flying on course now."

"Thanks." Segador looked at his watch, extended the pencil line another hundred miles into the country. "Snub Nose--how much flying time is left in our fuel tanks?"

"Three hours."

The point of the pencil came to rest at the end of the line Segador had drawn on the map. "Can we make this point on our gas and still have enough left to fly back to San Martin Airport _from the north_? It would mean flying a wide circle."

The navigator studied the map. "It can be done, sir."

"Good. Mateo, my plan is to drop by parachute with the negatives at this point. The plane is then to return and land at San Martin. You will then make your way to San Hermano by train and go directly to Gonzales by car."

"Will I be followed?"

"I have a man at San Martin. He will guide you."

"And you?"

"With luck, I'll be in San Hermano before you."

"All right."

"Nine thousand," the captain said. "Border ahead."

"Pour on the coals. Take your stations, men." Segador patted Snub Nose on the back as the youngster crawled into the glass bubble below the pilot's feet. The navigator went to the guns in the rear. "Stay here, Mateo," Segador ordered. He climbed into the mid-ship gun turret.

Hall had once been accustomed to being human super-cargo on board a fighting plane. This time the feeling irritated him. For want of something better to do, he took down a tommy gun from a rack near Segador's seat and examined it for dust and grease. It was immaculately kept. He laid it across his lap.

"Crossing the border now," the pilot announced.

The plane shot across the heavily wooded mountains, left them well behind in fifteen minutes. Hall followed the fading shadows of the plane as it sped over the foothills. In a few minutes, darkness would blot out the shadows, and then he would again know the strangely exhilarating feeling of being alone in the skies at night.

"Lieutenant," Segador said, "go up front and check the course."

The major and the sergeant remained at their guns. "More hills ahead," the navigator explained to Hall as he passed.

"No lights," Segador ordered.

Hall walked forward, stood behind the men at the instruments. The navigator was making his readings under a shielded blue light. Millares, the pilot, pulled back on his stick, slightly, begging altitude at a minimum loss of air speed as he climbed to put more distance between the plane and the string of lower hills which lay across their course.

The navigator suddenly became very busy at his radio. "Major," he said into his microphone, "we are being called by a ground station. They've spotted us. They want to know who is in command, and what flight this is."

"Stick to your course," Segador answered. "Maximum speed." He crawled back to the main cabin.

"What shall I answer, Major?"

"Don't answer them. We'll just act as if we didn't pick up their signal."

"Yes, Major. They're repeating their request."

"Mateo," Segador said, "this is very bad. I don't know who controls the ground station. We can't take chances. I'm jumping as soon as it gets dark."

"That's a matter of minutes."

"I know. Navigator, the plan remains the same, except that I jump in ten minutes. Ignore all ground challenges on your way back to San Martin."

"I'm jumping with you," Hall said.

"No, you're not."

"If they shoot us down on the way back to San Martin, the negatives will fall into their hands, if they're not destroyed."

"Suppose we both jump and are both caught?"

"It's a chance I'd rather take, Diego." Hall opened the secret pocket in the visor of his Cuban Army cap. "Let me leave this set of negatives with Snub Nose. I have two more sets on me--in my Sam Browne and my boots."

"I have to think about it." Segador adjusted the harness of his parachute. Then he picked up his microphone. "Snub Nose," he ordered, "come back here. Adjust the _companero's_ parachute. He's jumping with me."

"_Bueno._ I'll show him how to use it, too."

Hall and Segador formally shook hands with the rest of the crew before they jumped.

For a few long seconds, plunging face downward, Hall could not think. He saw the plane pass over his feet, silver wings etched against the dark ceiling. He counted to seven, aloud, his voice lost in the wind. Then he pulled the release cord. There was the expected moment of tensing pain as the silk clawed at the night air and the straps of the harness cut into the insides of his thighs. In his mind's eye there was a picture he had forgotten: a sand-bagged office in London on a bright May morning, the English girl with the yellow crutch under her arm as she handed him the mail. Tear sheets on the series he'd done in Scotland. _Copyright 1940 by Ball Syndicate Inc., Somewhere in England, April 19, 1940._ This morning I took my place in line inside of a converted Lancaster, watched the man in front of me lean out and tumble into the clear sky, and then did exactly as he had done. I counted to ten, pulled my release cord, and ... And what a hell of a pseudo-romantic way to make a living, he'd said to himself and to the English girl that morning.

But tonight there was nothing phony about sitting in a canvas sling, falling through a wet cloud, eyes peeled for the white of Segador's parachute. Tonight he was no Sunday supplement kibitzer taking a joy ride amidst men rehearsing for death. Tonight he was finally in the war, as a combatant.

The tricks he had learned in Scotland served him in good stead now. He was able to play the cords of the parachute, guiding the direction of his descent so that he followed Segador. There was little time to think of anything but the operation of the moment. Fortunately, it was a green night. Like Segador, Hall could see from a thousand feet that they were dropping over a sloping meadow. At about two hundred feet, they could see that they were going to land in the middle of a flock of sheep.

The sheep began to bleat madly and run about in circles, as first Segador, then Hall, dropped into their pasture. Segador broke free of his silk, ran over to help the American. "Careful," he said. "With so many sheep, there must be a herder around. Let me do the talking."

A man in a woolly sheepskin cape was following a cautious sheep dog toward the spot where they stood. He carried a rifle.

Segador allowed the shepherd to approach to within fifty feet. "_Hola!_" he called. "We have disturbed your flock."

The shepherd said something to his dog, continued advancing slowly toward the two men from the sky.

"He is afraid we might be Germans," Segador said. "They hate the Germans worse than the devil in the country."

"Who are you?" The shepherd was now quite close to them. Hall could see at once that he was a Basque.

"Vasco?" Hall asked. He poured out a stream of Basque greetings. They served only to put the shepherd more on his guard.

"I saw you fall from the skies--like _quintacolumnistas_."

"That is true, _companero_," Segador said. "But we are not fifth columnists."

"Are you of the Republic?"

"Yes."

"The other. He is not of the Republic. His uniform is different, and he speaks the tongue of my fathers badly."

"He is of the Republic of Cuba. He is a friend of our Republic."

"You both have guns," the herder said. He looked at his dog, who stood between him and the intruders. "If you are friends, you will give your guns to the dog. I am without letters, but if you are friends, you can prove it to an educated man in our village."

"What is your village?"

"You have guns."

"They are yours, _companero_. See, I take mine. I lay it on the ground for your dog."

The shepherd addressed his dog in Euzkadi. The dog walked over to the gun, picked it up in his mouth, dropped it at the peasant's feet. He then made a trip for Hall's gun.

"You will walk in front of me," the shepherd said. "We will go toward that stile." He picked up the two pistols, shoved them into his skin bag.

Segador started to laugh. "I salute your vigilance, shepherd. We had two guns to your one. We could have shot you first. A coward would have run for help, first."

"Cowards do not serve the Republic," the shepherd said. He remained ten feet behind them, ignoring Segador's further attempts at conversation, marching them toward a thatched hut on the outskirts of a tiny village. When they approached the hut, the dog ran ahead, started to scratch on the unpainted door.

An Indian woman with a mestizo baby in her arms stood in the doorway when the three men reached the hut. "Let them in, woman," the shepherd ordered.

The inside of the small hut was dark and bare. On a pallet in the far corner, Hall could see the forms of children huddled in sleep, how many he could not tell. There was a stone stove, a hand-hewn table and two benches. In another corner, a fragment of a tallow candle burned fitfully under a dim portrait. Hall realized, with an inward start, that the portrait was not of Jesus but of Anibal Tabio.

"Hold the gun."

The woman put the baby on the pallet with the other children, took the rifle in her hands.

"If you are of the Republic," the shepherd said, "you will allow me to tie your hands."

"We are of the Republic--and for the Educator, who is now dead."

The woman, who held the gun, backed away, closer to the picture, while her husband bound the hands of Segador and Hall behind their backs, and then connected all four hands with a third length of rope.

"Send your woman for the educated man," Segador said. "But hurry. We are on a mission for the Republic. We must not be delayed too long."

The shepherd took the gun from his wife. "Go then," he said to her. "Bring Bustamente the Notary to this house."

Two of the children on the pallet were now sitting up, staring at the visitors with wide, frightened eyes. Segador grinned at them. His eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. "Go back to sleep, _ninos_," he whispered. "We will play with you when you awake."

The kids ducked under the woolly coverlet, hiding their heads.

"Sit down," the shepherd said. "If you are friends, I will offer you the hospitality of this table." He started to roll a cigarette out of a fragment of newspaper.

"There are cigarettes in my pocket," Hall suggested. "Cuban cigarettes. Perhaps you would like one."

The shepherd rose from his own bench without a word, found the cigarettes, put two in the mouths of Hall and Segador. He struck a rope lighter, started their cigarettes. Then, still without speaking, he finished rolling his own cigarette and lit it. "If you are fifth columnists," he said, "I spit on your cigarettes." There was no rancor in his statement; it was a polite expression of simple logic.

His wife returned in a few minutes. She was with a nervous little white-haired man who clung to the waistband of his alpaca trousers. He carried a shiny alpaca jacket in his free arm--this and the steel-framed glasses on his ancient nose were his badges of authority.

"This is Bustamente the Notary," the shepherd said.

Bustamente fingered his glasses. "Yes," he said, alive to the importance of the moment. "I am the Notary." He squinted down his nose at the two men.

"Major Diego Segador, of the Republic. And this is my colleague, Major Angel Blanco, of the Cuban Army."

"They fell from the sky," the shepherd said. "Like fifth columnists."

"Is that true, Your Eminences?" Bustamente the Notary was taking no chances.

"It is true."

"And you have papers?"

"We have papers. Mine are in here. And yours, Major Blanco?"

The Notary adjusted his glasses, turned to the papers while the shepherd's wife held a candle over them. "Ay," he said. "They look real. Yes, I must admit they look real. On the other hand, I must also admit that I have never seen real Cuban papers." This was indeed a problem for the Notary. He scratched his chin, importantly, cleared his throat with a rumbling hawk. "What do you think, Juan Antonio?"

"I am without letters," the shepherd said.

"I must admit," the Notary said, not without sadness, "I must admit that I have never seen real papers of our own army."

"Please," Segador said, "it is important that we get to San Hermano. Is there anyone in this village who is not for the landowners or the mine owners or the Germans who has seen real papers? I ask this in the name of Don Anibal Tabio, in whose name we undertook our mission."

"Justice will be done," said Bustamente the Notary. "This is the era of justice, my good friends." He tried to punctuate his pronouncement with Tabio's famous gesture. To do this he had to release his waistband, and his trousers started to fall to his knees. From the pallet came a choking snicker.

"Silence!" Juan Antonio hissed to the kids on the dark pallet. "Show respect for Bustamente the Notary." His wife, at the same time, restored the Notary's dignity by handing him a length of cord to use as a belt. He fixed his trousers and then made the moment truly solemn by putting on his jacket.

"I am sure the Notary will dispense the justice of the Republic," the shepherd said.

"_Hombre!_ This is very serious," Bustamente the Notary whispered. It was a loud stage whisper. "We must consider our decision with careful seriousness, Juan Antonio." He stepped outside of the hut.

Hall could hear his discussion with the shepherd. "The one who claims to be of us," the Notary said, "he does not talk like an enemy of Don Anibal, Mayhissoulrestinpeace. How does the other talk?"

"I do not know. He tried to speak in Euzkadi. It is not his tongue."

"It is, in a sense, suspicious then. But we must not be hasty. Justice begins in the village." The phrase was Tabio's.

"What are we to do, Senor Notary?"

"The laws of the Constitution of the Republic guarantee justice to all suspects, Juan Antonio. Please tell me all you know about the two officers."

He listened to the simple recital of the facts. "Ay, it is as I have observed, _amigo_. There is much to be said on both sides. If they were Germans or fifth columnists, perhaps they would have shot you first. On the other hand, since neither of us has ever seen a Cuban uniform, how can we tell? And if they are ours, why did they drop from the sky into the middle of a flock of sheep?"

"It is very deep, Senor Notary."

"Let us talk softer, Juan Antonio. Perhaps they can hear us inside."

They moved farther from the doorway, conversed in whispers for a few minutes, and then they started to walk down the dirt street of the village. Hall and Segador sat patiently, without exchanging a word. Once, while they waited for the shepherd and the Notary, Segador told Hall with a look that he thought everything was going to be all right. Then the two villagers returned with two horses and two donkeys.

"We have decided," said Bustamente the Notary, "that in the interests of full justice we must take you to see the school teacher in Puente Bajo. He will know what to do."

Segador sighed with relief. "Thank you, Senor Notary," he said. "And thank you, _Companero_ Shepherd. I am certain that your decision is the wisest one could make, and that we shall receive ample justice from the school teacher of Puente Bajo. But tell me, how far is the village from here?"

"It is less than five miles, Major."

"I am content."

The shepherd undid the cord that connected the bound hands of Hall and Segador and, because their hands were still tied behind their backs, he helped them mount the donkeys. He and the Notary climbed into the wooden saddles of their small horses, fastening the donkeys' leads to their pommels.

Segador smiled at Hall, whose donkey was being led by the shepherd. "Wonderful," he said. "Sancho leads the noble Don home from an encounter with the sheep."

"Please, gentlemen," Bustamente the Notary said, sharply, "you are not to address one another. Justice begins in the village, and justice"--again he aped Don Anibal's gesture--"and justice will be done."

"We bow to your authority in matters of justice," Segador said, gravely.