Wrath of God

‘Sure, I’ll have one with you.’ I gave him a light and he blew out the first lungful of smoke expertly. ‘Had yourselves a ball last night at old Tacho’s, you and your pal, didn’t you? How many rurales was it you saw off – five?’

‘What’s happening now?’ I asked.

‘Oh, the colonel’s waiting to see you down there. Colonel Bonilla. He’s the military governor in this region. He joined us for a routine patrol yesterday morning, just to see how things were going for himself. He’s like that. We were bivouacked for the night at an old rancheria near the main road when this rurale rode up. The one you let slip through your fingers at Tacho’s.’ There was sincere admiration in his voice when he added, ‘You and your pal must be hell on wheels.’

‘What made you come straight out here instead of going to Tacho’s?’

‘That was the colonel.’ He put a finger to his nose. ‘He’s really got it upstairs, that one. He figured you’d make a break for it so he only sent half a dozen guys to Tacho’s with a sergeant in charge, then he had a look at the map with the lieutenant. He said if it was him, he’d make a break for it through the Nonava Pass because it didn’t look possible.’

‘He certainly hit the nail right on the head.’

‘He usually does. He pushed us hard last night. Only stopped when it really started to rain, but he was right again. If we hadn’t been where we were you’d have got through, wouldn’t you?’

Quite a man, this Colonel Bonilla. We reached the place where the trail finally merged with the desert to find the Mercedes standing in the entrance to a narrow ravine. Someone had already started a fire in spite of the rain, no great feat with so many thorn bushes around and the smoke curled lazily on the damp air.

Van Horne was standing beside the Mercedes and I realized that someone, presumably Bonilla, was sitting in the rear seat, the door open. He was a tall, handsome man with sideburns which were prematurely white for I judged him to be no more than forty years of age. He made a rather gallant figure in his caped cavalry greatcoat and he had an intelligent, cynical air to him, the face of a man who has seen it all, everything possible in life and simply doesn’t believe in anything any more.

The sergeant handed me over to the lieutenant who took me the rest of the way. Bonilla looked me over calmly.

‘Your name, señor,’ he asked politely.

‘Emmet Keogh. I’m a British citizen.’

‘Keogh?’ He frowned slightly. ‘An unusual name, señor, and I have heard it before. You are the one who was in charge of security at the silver mines at Hermosa.’

‘That’s right. You seem surprised.’

‘You are not what I would have looked for, señor. I had expected a different kind of man.’

‘In what way? Two horns and a tail?’

‘Possibly even that. Your papers.’

I took out the travel permit signed by the jefe in Bonito. ‘That’s all I’ve got with me.’

He examined it gravely. ‘So, you are supposed to be delivering a truck-load of supplies to this man Gomez in Huila.’

‘That’s right. For Señor Janos, the owner of the Hotel Blanco in Bonito.’

To know Señor Janos is not much of a recommendation, believe me. This man has just given me his personal version of what happened at the way-station last night. Now I will hear yours.’ He nodded to the young lieutenant. ‘Take him away.’