cussler.blueandgold-第32部分

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　　〃Perhaps　we　can　still　do　business。　I　would　like　to　present　these　as　a　gift　to　a　close　friend。　Have　you　thought　of　a　price？〃
　
　〃Yes；〃　Austin　said　casually。　He　looked　around；　hoping　Gomez　was　serious　about　his　backup；　and　said　casually；　〃I　need　some　in　formation。〃
　
　The　Mexican's　eyes　narrowed。　〃I　don't　understand；〃　he　said　warily。
　
　〃I'm　in　the　market　for　some　property　myself。　There's　a　tortilla　factory　in　the　Baja。　I　understand　that　it　might　be　available　in　a　fire　sale。〃
　
　〃You're　mistaken；〃　Pedralez　said　coldly。　He　snapped　his　fingers。　The　men　lounging　at　the　surrounding　tables　came　to　alert。　〃Who　are　you？〃
　
　〃I　represent　an　organization　far　bigger　than　yours。〃
　
　〃You're　a　policeman？　FBI？〃
　
　〃No。　I'm　with　the　National　Underwater　and　Marine　Agency。　I'm　an　ocean　scientist；　and　I'm　investigating　an　explosion　near　your　plant。　In　return　for　information　I'd　like　to　make　these　pistols　a　gift。〃
　
　The　avuncular　smile　had　vanished；　and　Enrico's　lips　were　curled　in　a　humorless　and　ferocious　grin。　〃Do　you　take　me　for　a　fool？　I　own　this　restaurant。　These　men；　the　waiters；　the　cook；　they　all　work　for　me。　You　could　disappear　without　a　trace。　They　would　swear　you　were　never　here。　What　do　I　care　for　your　pistolas？〃　he　said　with　contempt。　〃I　have　dozens　more。〃
　
　Austin　kept　his　gaze　leveled　on　Enrico's　face。　〃Tell　me；　Mr。　Pedralez；　as　a　fellow　collector；　what　is　your　fascination　with　these　old　weapons？〃
　
　The　Mexican　seemed　amused　at　the　question。　The　heat　went　out　of　the　fierce　glitter　in　his　eyes；　but　the　temperature　went　down　only　a　few　degrees。
　
　〃They　represent　power　and　the　means　of　power。　Yet　at　the　same　time　they　are　as　beautiful　as　a　woman's　body。〃
　
　〃Well　said。〃
　
　〃And　you？〃
　
　〃Aside　from　their　fine　workmanship；　they　remind　me　that　lives　and　fate　can　be　altered　by　chance。　A　trigger　squeezed　pre　maturely。　A　gun　raised　too　quickly。　A　single　shot　missing　a　vital　organ　by　an　inch　or　two。　They　represent　the　luck　of　the　draw　in　its　most　lethal　terms。〃
　
　The　Mexican　seemed　intrigued　by　the　answer。　〃You　must　consider　yourself　very　lucky　to　place　yourself　in　my　hands；　Mr。　Austin。〃
　
　〃Not　at　all。　I　took　the　chance　that　you　would　be　willing　to　chat。〃
　
　〃You　made　your　gamble。　I　applaud　your　audacity。　Unfortunately　this　is　not　your　day。　You　lose；〃　he　said　coldly。　〃I　don't　care　who　you　are　or　who　you　represent。　You　have　drawn　the　death　card。〃　He　snapped　his　fingers　again；　and　the　men　rose　from　the　tables　and　began　to　move　in。　Austin　felt　like　a　fox　outfoxed　by　the　hunters。
　
　With　an　ear…splitting　roar　of　its　unmuffled　exhaust　system；　the　battered　yellow　cab　squealed　to　a　stop　in　front　of　the　restaurant。　The　car；　an　ancient　Checker；　was　still　bouncing　on　worn　shock　absorbers　when　the　cab　driver　got　out。　Except　for　the　soiled　seer　sucker　sports　jacket　over　a　Hussong's　T…shirt；　the　driver　behind　the　reflecting　silver　lenses　looked　suspiciously　like　Joe　Zavala。
　
　Joe　stood　on　the　sidewalk　and　called　out　in　heavily　accented　English。　〃Anybody　here　call　a　cab？〃
　
　One　of　Enrico's　men　went　over　and　growled　at　Joe　in　Spanish。
　
　〃I'm　looking　for　an　American；〃　Zavala　said　in　English　at　the　top　of　his　voice；　looking　past　the　thug's　shoulder。　〃Sergeant　Alvin　York。〃
　
　The　man　put　his　palm　on　Zavala's　chest　to　emphasize　his　point。
　
　〃Okay；　okay！　Damned　gringos。〃　He　stalked　back　to　his　cab　and　lurched　off；　trailing　a　purple　cloud　of　exhaust　fumes。
　
　The　thug　turned　around　and　laughed。
　
　Austin　breathed　a　sigh　of　relief。　His　eyes　roved　the　low　rooftops；　and　he　smiled。
　
　Zavala　was　passing　on　a　message；　not　very　subtle　but　effective。　Sergeant　York　was　the　Kentucky　sharpshooter　who　got　the　
　Medal　of　Honor　for　capturing　German　prisoners　during　World　War　I。　〃An　amusing　fellow；　eh；　Mr。　Austin？〃　〃Very　amusing。〃
　
　〃Good。　Now　I　must　go。　Adios；　Mr。　Austin。　Unfortunately　we　will　not　be　meeting　again。〃
　
　〃Wait。〃
　
　The　Mexican　scowled　at　Austin　as　if　he　were　a　bit　of　lint　on　his　shirt。
　
　〃I　wouldn't　move　if　I　were　you。　You're　in　the　sights　of　a　sniper。　One　wrong　move；　and　your　head　will　explode　like　a　ripe　melon。　Look　up　on　that　roof　if　you　don't　believe　me；　and　that　one　over　there。〃
　
　Pedralez　swiveled　his　head　like　a　praying　mantis　and　scanned　the　low　rooftops。　Three　snipers；　placed　at　different　locations；　made　no　effort　to　hide。　He　sat　down　again。
　
　〃It　seems　you　don't　believe　entirely　in　the　forces　of　fate。　What　do　you　want？〃
　
　〃I　simply　want　to　know　who　owns　the　Baja　Tortilla　factory。〃
　
　〃I　do；　of　course。　It's　quite　profitable；　really。〃
　
　〃What　about　the　underwater　laboratory　in　the　cove？　What　do　you　know　about　that？〃
　
　〃I'm　a　busy　man；　Mr。　Austin；　so　I　will　tell　you　the　story；　and　then　we　will　part。　Two　years　ago　somebody　came　to　me。　A　lawyer　from　San　Diego。　He　had　a　proposition。　Someone　wanted　to　build　a　factory。　They　would　pay　for　its　construction；　and　I　would　take　all　the　profits。　There　were　conditions。　It　had　to　be　isolated；　and　it　had　to　be　on　the　water。〃
　
　〃I　want　to　know　what　was　built　in　the　water。〃
　
　〃I　don't　know。　A　large　ship　came。　There　were　guards。　They　brought　something　into　the　cove　and　deliberately　sank　it。　Connections　were　made　to　the　factory。　People　came　and　went。　I　asked　no　questions。〃
　
　〃What　do　you　know　about　the　explosion？〃
　
　He　shrugged。　〃Someone　called　afterward　and　said　not　to　worry。　They　would　make　good　on　my　loss。　That's　all　I　know。　The　police　don't　care。〃　〃This　lawyer　who　handled　the　deal；　what　was　his　name？〃
　
　〃Francis　Xavier　Hanley。　Now　I　must　go。　I　have　told　you　all　I　can。〃
　
　〃Yes；　I　know；　you're　a　busy　man。〃
　
　Pedralez　waved　his　hand。　The　men　got　up　from　the　tables　and　formed　a　corridor　to　the　sidewalk　on　either　side　of　him。　The　Mercedes　appeared　out　of　nowhere；　the　door　opened　with　machinelike　precision。　The　bodyguards　piled　into　two　Jeep　Cherokees　ahead　of　and　behind　the　Mercedes。
　
　〃Mr。　Pedralez；〃　Austin　called　out。　〃A　deal's　a　deal。　You　forgot　the　pistols。〃
　
　Enrico　answered　with　a　mirthless　smile。　〃Keep　them；〃　he　said；　and　added　a　few　more　words。　He　got　into　the　back　of　the　car；　shut　the　door；　and　zoomed　down　the　street。　Austin　was　sweating；　and　it　wasn't　just　from　the　heat。　The　junky　cab　pulled　up　in　front　of　him　and　tooted　the　horn。
　
　Austin　slid　in　the　passenger　side　and　looked　around　in　amazement。　〃Where'd　you　get　this　rig？〃
　
　〃Agent　Gomez　was　nice　enough　to　have　it　waiting　for　me。　It's　got　a　hot　engine　and　all　kinds　of　radio　gear　I　used　to　let　our　friends　know　where　you　were。　I'm　going　to　hate　to　give　it　up。　Did　Mr。　Pedralez　say　anything？〃
　
　Austin　held　up　the　pistol　case。　〃Yeah；　he　told　me　the　next　time　I　came　to　Tijuana　to　be　sure　these　things　are　loaded。〃　He's　killed　people　for　less。〃
　
　〃Look；　Agent　Gomez；　we　haven't　cornered　the　market　on　foolhardiness；〃　Austin　said。　〃We　tried　other　avenues　first。　The　Mexican　police　say　the　steam　pipes　caused　the　blast。　Case　closed。　We　thought　the　owner　might　have　something　to　tell　us；　so　we　called　the　Department　of　merce。　They　did　an　uh…oh；　said　the　plant　was　owned　by　Enrico；　and　suggested　that　we　get　in　touch　with　Gomez　in　the　San　Diego　field　office。　That's　you。　Now　we'd　like　to　take　the　next　step。　Does　he　have　an　office　in　the　U。S。？〃
　
　〃He　won't　cross　the　border。　He　knows　we'll　grab　him。〃
　
　〃Then　we'll　have　to　go　to　him。〃
　
　〃This　won't　be　easy。　Pedralez　used　to　be　a　Mexican　federal　cop；　and　half　the　police　are　on　his　payroll。　They　protect　him　and　turn　over　informants；　petitors；　or　anyone　else　who　might　cause　him　trouble。〃
　
　Gomez　unlocked　a　drawer　in　his　desk。　He　pulled　out　two　thick　files　and　laid　them　on　the　desk　blotter。　〃This　is　the　file　on　Enrico's　dirty　stuff；　and　the　other　has　information　on　his　legal　operations。　He　has　to　launder　that　dirty　money　somewhere；　so　he's　set　up　or　bought　legitimate　businesses　on　both　sides　of　the　Mexican…American　border。　The　tortilla　business　is　the　leader。　Tortillas　have　bee　worth　millions　of　dollars　since　the　U。S。　market　opened　up　and　people　on　this　side　of　the　border　started　eating　the　things。　A　few　panies　control　the　business。　Just　look　in　your　supermarket　if　you　don't　believe　me。　Enrico