Deep Ice (24 page)

“Not bad.” Trevor was still eyeing Henry’s jacket.

“How’s the Foresta?”

Henry, noticing the direction of the man’s gaze, remembered that their street map was in the same pocket as his gun. He reached in. The man copied his movements.
Just as I thought. These goons are armed bodyguards of the bastard who’s calling himself Frazetti.

Henry pulled out the map and the goon relaxed.

Opening the map, Henry turned it every which way in true
turista
fashion. “So where are we, and where’s this hotel of yours?”

Without hesitation the big mustachioed goon started pointing a finger to the map, but Frazetti/Suarez interrupted.

“Ask any cab driver. They’ll take you there. You should see it before you leave Santiago. They have a lovely and most unusual atrium in the lobby.”

“We will,” said Sarah, smiling warmly.

Suarez tipped his straw fedora graciously and bowed to her, then to Henry. “I thought we had met before, but it must be your lovely wife’s resemblance to the beautiful Miss Anderson that held me confused. By the way, how is the breakfast here?”

“Delicious,” said Sarah. “You should try it.”

“Thank you. We have eaten already this morning. But we will try it perhaps another day. I hope you have a wonderful stay in Santiago.”

He replaced his hat and left with his men.

Henry was bursting to tell Sarah all. “That was. . .”

Suarez suddenly returned.

“I forgot to wish you a long and happy life together.”

He disappeared again around the hedge.

“What the heck was the matter with Shep?” said Sarah. “He seemed like such a nice man.”

The shock of Suarez’s abrupt return had rendered Henry speechless. Should he get up and follow Suarez? Should he tell Sarah what he knew?

“I think the reason Shep was growling is because he hates the guy,” said Henry after a long pause.

“But why?”

“Maybe it’s because he shot me and my other dogs.”

She spilled the cup of coffee she’d just picked up. Her mouth hung open.

“No.”

“Oh yes.”

#

“How long should we wait?” muttered Sarah urgently.

“They told us where they were staying,” said Henry, equally quietly. “Assuming that wasn’t a lie, maybe it’s better we don’t follow them. We can use the phone to let Enrique know – he can take it from there. But not just yet. Shitface might do another of his reappearing tricks.”

He sipped his coffee and watched the seconds tick by on his watch. Each one was an eternity in which he contemplated the consequences of the call he was about to make.

Sarah opened her bag and eyed the cel phone next to the silver pistol. Even though she worked for the FBI, she had never considered that one day she might look into her bag and find a gun. Even more outrageous that she might actually think of using it. Suddenly her “honeymoon romance” had taken a serious downturn.

“Give me the phone,” said Henry. “Time to drop dime on a goddam terrorist.”

He stood up cautiously and looked over the hedges. Far in the distance he could see Suarez and the goons crossing into the square, headed for the Modena.

Henry punched in the number 1 and a second later he heard a double ring.

A little girl’s voice answered the phone in Spanish.

“
Si?
”

“
Su padre
, er, little girl.
Hasta Enrique?
”

“
Que? Que es?
” said the shy little voice.

He put his hand over the mouthpiece and asked Sarah how her Spanish skills were.

“What?” She rolled her eyes. “They’re just about nonexistent.”

“Shit!” said Henry as he heard the telephone disconnect. “Technology is just fucking great until it’s life or death!”

He jabbed at the redial button. If he made a pest of himself, he might just get the attention of the girl’s parents.

The phone rang and rang.

At last the little girl’s voice answered again.

“
Si?
”

Henry tried desperately to remember his two years of high-school Spanish.

“
Su padre. . . por favor?
”

There was silence for a second, then the word “
Si
” from the tiny voice.

Then several more seconds of silence.

Henry began to perspire heavily.

Behind him he could hear Shep panting.

Suddenly the phone disconnected again.

Once more he dialled. This time a woman’s voice answered.

Henry couldn’t get a word in as she spoke rapidly in Spanish. He could recognize only a few syl ables, at best. Before he could interrupt he was listening to the dialling tone again.

“They must think I’m a child molester,” he said.

With a deep sigh he hit the #1 button once more.

There could be no mistake, surely. Enrique had entered the coded number himself.

Busy.

Henry shoved the phone’s antenna into its body and patted Sarah’s arm.

“Let’s go to the hotel. I’ve got to find one of those Navy spies who’ve been watching us. We’ll try Enrique again later.”

It was only a block and a half to the hotel. Before they went in, Henry surveyed the block, but couldn’t see any likely Naval intelligence operatives. Finally he followed Sarah and Shep inside.

Again it was as if his country had abandoned him. No one in the lobby looked remotely like US military. He and Sarah stood amid a flurry of baggage as a troop of Korean youngsters swarmed past them to the elevators. After the confusion had died down the two of them, plus Shep, remained in the lobby hoping their bodyguards might appear.

At last, frustrated and exhausted, they went to their suite.

Sarah gave a huge sigh and flopped on the bed.

Henry walked to the window and peered down at the street.

“You know, I haven’t got a clue how we could contact the ship. No number – nothing.”

She groaned. “You didn’t think you’d need them. More to the point,
they
didn’t think you’d need them.

They’re probably off having lunch or something.”

“Your computer,” said Henry. “Does it have a modem? Could we e-mail?”

“Not without an e-address. Like any other phone, you need a number to dial.”

“Shit. This is ridiculous!
We’ve got him!
That was Suarez. He shot me. We can take him ourselves!”

“ ‘We’?” said Sarah, taking her hand away from her forehead and looking at him sceptically. “What
we
are you referring to?”

He went to the phone and called the front desk. A moment later he was having a strange discussion with someone there about men hanging around the lobby. Finally he asked for the manager. After more odd conversation he said “
Gracias
” and hung up.

“Fuck and double-fuck it.” He pounded the wall in frustration. “Nobody has a clue! They aren’t even aware that military intelligence has been in the building. How is that possible? Wouldn’t hotel security get at least a
little
suspicious, with these strange jocks loafing around the lobby? Christ Almighty!”

He threw the phone on the floor. “This is
nuts
!”

“Calm down. You’ll upset your beast, and he’ll kill us both.”

Shep sat in the middle of the room watching them as though he found them very entertaining. He even seemed to be smiling at them.

Her words had been what Henry needed, and his fury evaporated.

After some further conversation they decided the best thing to was just try to relax for a while. Their guards couldn’t be too far away. Henry took out the pack of cigarettes he had bought. Sarah fell asleep as he sat on the divan next to his dog and smoked.

An hour later he retried Enrique’s cel phone.

This time Enrique himself answered.

“Oh my heaven, Sir Henry,” said Enrique as soon as he heard Henry say hell o. “My wife told me of the strange call er, and I was most afraid it was you. It is my fault – I did not tell her to expect a call from you.”

Sarah had awoken at the sound of Henry’s voice.

Henry tried to explain the situation as calmly and plainly as he could, then told Enrique to have someone at the palace call the
Enterprise
and tell them to contact him immediately. Without hesitation Enrique agreed and said he’d be at the hotel in a few minutes.

“No need to rush. I don’t need you – at least, not right away. Relax and wait for my call.”

He disconnected, then looked at Sarah, who was sitting up on the bed blinking sleepily.

“That should do it,” he said. “The next voice you hear. . .”

#

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door.

Peering through the spy hole, Henry saw three of the men who’d been keeping them under surveillance.

At least, he thought it was them, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He slid the chain latch into place, then cautiously opened the door. A wall et with Naval intelligence insignia greeted his eyes.

“Henry Gibbs?” said the young man behind the wall et. “We’re responding to a call from Captain Halsey.

May we enter, sir?”

Henry was sure it was the same men he’d seen in the lobby and out in the street. He unlatched the brass chain and opened the door. “Where the hell have you guys been?”

“We had a false alarm, sir,” said the man as he entered the room. “This latest development is a bit of a surprise. I’m real y sorry.”

He introduced himself as Lieutenant-Commander Sam Levy from Navy intelligence. With him were Ensign Harry Saunders and Lieutenant John Tilbury. Henry invited the men to sit, but they were only interested in Suarez. They listened with interest as Henry and Sarah did all they could to describe the man the conversation in the cantina.

“Jeez,” said Henry at last. “It’s been over an hour since they got back to their hotel, if that’s really where they were going. I sure hope they’re still there.”

Tilbury nodded to his two companions and sat down. Henry, hovering awkwardly between them, dropped down on the bed alongside Sarah. An ornately decorated plush carpet replete with gold-and-brandy- coloured flowers lay between them and the agents like a mandela – a graphic symbol for the complexity of the moment at hand.

Henry raised his eyebrows and looked at Sarah.

Shep sat quietly near the potted plant, looking back and forth at Henry and the intruders. Henry noticed him and smiled, envying the dog’s cool detachment.

Tilbury was speaking about the phone call. The uplink to the ship. The rousing of Captain Halsey and Commander Grimes from a game of poker. He said the two officers were now in a Gadfly heading towards a rooftop nearby. He told Henry he was already under orders, because of section whatever of some Us National Security Code or other – indeed, Henry was as of this moment officially drafted into military service. His job? In a nutshell: make the bad guy.

“If you would accompany us to the Carrera,” said Tilbury, “Chilean authorities are standing by with papers to serve on this Rudolfo Suarez.”

“He said his name was Giantonio Frazetti,” said Sarah.

The lieutenant closed his eyes. “If there’s a Giantonio Frazetti
or
a Rudolfo Suarez registered at that hotel, you’re to finger him, and we’ll take over from there.

Simple as that.”

“Kind of a line-up in the field?” said Henry. “Well, if it’s any help, the dog growled at him. He recognized him too.”

For a moment John Tilbury relaxed and smiled, but when he looked at his companions his face fell.

“If you’re ready to go, Mr Gibbs. It’s cool outside, if you’re coming too, ma’am.”

Henry looked at Sarah. “Got yer gun, Annie?”

“I’ll fetch my sweater,” she said, and went to the closet. “Are you bringing Shep as well ?”

When they arrived at the Carrera a little later the lobby was deserted, so the magnificence of the architecture dominated Henry’s view. As the three military officers walked to the desk and presented their badges, he found his eyes lingering on the pyramidal atrium, appreciating its raw beauty and the earthy pastoral glow it lent to the otherwise ornate, almost Victorian decor. He studied the orchids and ferns that clung to the stones of the pyramid. Something about the scene made him feel as though he were glimpsing the soul of the man who was hoping to ransom the world.

He wondered if that stuff he’d heard about the energy of dead warriors clinging to the stones of pyramids – that their spirits lived in the rock itself – might be true after all. He dismissed it as a bit of his own taste for the extraordinary as he turned to watch the agents, who were still talking to the hotel manager and security chief.

Henry heard the lieutenant say, “We have a potential terrorist situation, sir.”

Strangely calm, expressing no apparent alarm, the manager nodded and picked up the phone. There was mumbling as he checked the hotel registry.

“Giantonio Frazetti” were the next words Henry could make out. Then: “Yes, I am told he is at this hotel.”

In thirty seconds, five grey-suited men seemed to come out of the very woodwork of the lobby. One of them, seemingly older than the others, walked to where Tilbury and the manager waited.

Sarah tugged at Henry’s sleeve. “Are we going to wait here?”

He shrugged. “I think we’ll find out soon enough.”

He was right. After a moment, the lieutenant signal ed for Henry to join them. Sarah came too.

The manager was again on the phone.

“He’s calling Frazetti – Suarez – to the desk. To receive a message, he’s saying,” explained the lieutenant.

“They – should we? – what should Sarah and I do?

When he comes?”

“Tell me if it’s Rudolfo Suarez. We’ll arrest him and you can go home.”

One of the desk clerks walked over and spoke quietly to the manager, who raised his eyebrows and looked at Henry and the lieutenant.

“Señor Tilbury, I am sorry,” he said. “I am told the gentleman you seek has left the hotel. At least a half- hour ago. I apologize for misleading you.”

“Take me to the room. Now!” demanded the lieutenant angrily.

The lobby seemed to be filling up. Henry looked at his watch and noticed that it was about noon. The smell of food wafted from the direction of the restaurant. He glanced back up at Tilbury in time to see him and his two men move towards the elevators.