He shouted something very fast in Italian and the guns vanished. Tony went for the others and in a few minutes they were sitting around the table drinking the powerful coffee and were watching Timberio and Goldstein embracing and slapping each other on the back.
“Now to work,” Timberio said, joining the Americans at the table. “How many people you looking for, who are they, what kind of a car?”
“A black Packard,” Sones said. “Three men. Carlo D’Isernia, Kurt Robl, Adolf Hitler.”
Timberio’s eyebrows climbed up higher and higher and his hand dropped casually toward his pocket; Sones and Stocker dropped theirs as well.
“Patience,” Goldstein said. “Before we get started let’s not finish. This fake Hitler is a real Jakob Platz whom we know about. So let’s continue. We followed them here, then lost them. My man Nahum is at the airport in case they are thinking of leaving that way. He’s a good boy and he can stop them, so we have plugged one hole. How else can they get out of town?”
“Back the way you came?”
“The truck and driver are there keeping an eye on that. We’re in touch by radio.”
“South on the coast road to nowhere, a couple of villages and the road ends. North, there’s a good road to Zihuatanejo and there’s an airfield there where I happen to have a man working. He’ll be alerted. And then, of course, you got the port and the whole Pacific Ocean waiting outside of it.”
“My thought exactly,” Sones said, sipping at the coffee and grimacing. “If it was just an airfield they wanted they could have been at the Mexico City one in less than an hour after the exchange and clear out of the country by now. But they did not go there. Instead they drove all night, something one does not do in Mexico without a good reason, to come to Acapulco. Now what does this tell us? It tells us that they were in a hurry—they drove all night. It tells us they wanted to be in a seaport. These two together tell us that they wanted to be in a seaport by a certain time which in turn tells us that they are here to meet a ship which is leaving.” He smiled to himself in frank praise of his clear-cut logic, “So the next question is—which ship is leaving today and that is the one they are on?”
“None,” Timberio said, one hand over his mouth as he wielded a toothpick with the other. “No ships due to leave for the next three days.” Sones’s smile vanished and the scowl returned.
“Enough theory,” Goldstein said, rapping on the table as tin to bring them to order. “Grab them first, theorize afterward. Let us find the car and then we will find these crooks. Can you do this, Timberio?”
“Easily enough. Do I get the Cellini painting when we grab them?”
“Free and clear,” Sones said, resigned now. “Though we would like a statement that it was returned with the aid of the American Government. The FBI should be mentioned.”
“And the Treasury.”
“That’s fine by me, boys.” He sent a cold glance in Tony’s direction. “There is also the matter of some thousand pesos that Hawkin owes me.”
“That is between you two,” Sones said. “This operation is way over budget already.”
“You’ll get it,” Tony said. “I promise, cross my heart.”
“You had better.” Timberio looked skeptically at Goldstein. “And are you doing all this out of kind generosity, Jacob?”
“Hardly. I am very interested in Kurt Robl and his associates. I am looking forward to a good chat with him.”
“As far as I am concerned he is all yours. If the others agree?”
Sones waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Just thu money/’ Stocker said.
“Then we are agreed. My men will leave. There is the Lambretta agency next door, we operate from there. If you will excuse me.”
As he turned to issue his orders there was a scuffle at the door and at least twenty revolvers sprang into sight upon the instant, trained upon the opening. A tall, leathery man in a slightly askew black wig was pushed through the door, arms pinioned behind him by Billy Schultz.
“Snooping around outside,” Billy said.
“Tell this fool to let me go—oww!” He writhed as Billy gave a twitch at his imprisoned arms. Sones looked at him distastefully and shook his head in apparent disgust.
“We do not need you here, Higginson. Let him go, Schultz. He wants to leave.”
“No, I don’t, Sones, not on your life.” He brushed his crumpled sleeves and straightened his tie. “This is a CIA job, out of the country, not FBI. Your jurisdiction ends at the border.”
“My jurisdiction ends where I say it does. Out. That is the door behind you.”
There was the sharp cascading roar of motors from beyond this mentioned door and an instant later a small fleet of Lambretta motor scooters zipped by, the wasplike buzz of their engines drowning all conversation until they had passed.
“There is nothing you can do to stop me, Sones. You may not remember, but this is a joint operation. We work together. You can use my help.”
“The kind of help you gave
“Accidents happen, Hawkin, you can’t blame me.”
“I certainly can ...”
