can attend to that ourselves.”
The waiter nodded, a grateful look on his face. He patted the linen tablecloth, rearranged two of the glasses, coughed quietly.
Kruger took the hint, impatiently removed his wallet, and handed the waiter a single note.
“Muchas gracias.”
Kruger noticed the scar on the young man’s cheek. “Your name?”
“Ricardes, señor. Mario Ricardes.”
“See that we are not disturbed again, Mario.”
“Yes, señor. Of course, señor. If there is anything else you wish, please do not hesitate to call room service.”
Kruger nodded impatiently.
Hernandez turned toward the door, away from the silver-haired man, toward the big blond with one hand behind his back. He took one last look around the suite and tried hard not to make it obvious as he smiled.
“Buenas tardes, señores.”
He had his hand on the doorknob now as he bowed slightly, glimpsed the men at the table—the tired-looking man in the blue crumpled suit, then just a second’s glance at the silver-haired man—before he closed the door after him, took three, four steps, then let out a long sigh.
Santa Maria . . .
He walked quickly back toward his room.
• • •
The three men were seated at the table again.
Meyer was still feeling the effects of dehydration after the long flight. He licked his parched lips. The iced champagne lookedappealing, but it would have to wait. It was time to answer any questions.
The silver-haired man’s tone was businesslike. “The shipment . . . ?”
Meyer nodded. “The cargo will be picked up from Genoa as arranged.”
“And the Italian?”
“He will be eliminated, but I want to be certain we don’t arouse suspicion concerning the cargo. It would be prudent to wait until Brandenburg becomes operational. Then he will be dealt with along with the others.”
The silver-haired man nodded his agreement, then looked at Meyer intently. “Those who have pledged their loyalty . . . we must be certain of them.”
Meyer said firmly, “I have had their assurances confirmed. And their pedigree is without question.”
Kruger shifted restlessly in his chair as he looked at Meyer. “And the Turk?”
“I foresee no problems.”
Kruger said, “The woman in Berlin . . . you’re absolutely certain we can rely on her?”
“She won’t fail us, I assure you.” Meyer glanced over at the elderly man. “There are no changes to the names on the list?”
The man shook his head firmly. “They’ll all be killed.”
“Your travel arrangements?” Meyer inquired. “Everything has been organized?”
“We leave Paraguay on the sixth.”
Meyer looked at the two men. “The schedule . . . perhaps I should go through it once more?”
Both men nodded.
Meyer ran a finger around the rim of his shirt collar. Even with the air-conditioning on, the heat was unbearably oppressive. Ninety percent humidity at least. He wished the meeting would end. A matter of no more than ten minutes now, he was certain. Kruger would want to go over the key points again. He licked his dry lips, glancedat the food trolley the waiter had brought, the neck of the champagne bottle visible in the ice bucket.
“It’s quite warm in here. Perhaps I might have a glass of water?”
Kruger nodded.
Meyer stood and crossed to the side table, where a carafe of water and several glasses sat on a tray. He poured himself a glass of the tepid liquid, glancing at the iced champagne on the food trolley as he drank. He had barely eaten on the flight. The appetizers looked so appetizing. Meyer finished his glass of water and filled another. He would have to move the trolley out of sight; it was beginning to distract him, the sight of that delicious food and the chilled champagne nestled in the ice bucket.
When he leaned across and gently pushed the trolley away, he was surprised that it moved so smoothly on its wheels. He saw it slide away rapidly, glide across the carpet, and bump into the desk in the
The waiter nodded, a grateful look on his face. He patted the linen tablecloth, rearranged two of the glasses, coughed quietly.
Kruger took the hint, impatiently removed his wallet, and handed the waiter a single note.
“Muchas gracias.”
Kruger noticed the scar on the young man’s cheek. “Your name?”
“Ricardes, señor. Mario Ricardes.”
“See that we are not disturbed again, Mario.”
“Yes, señor. Of course, señor. If there is anything else you wish, please do not hesitate to call room service.”
Kruger nodded impatiently.
Hernandez turned toward the door, away from the silver-haired man, toward the big blond with one hand behind his back. He took one last look around the suite and tried hard not to make it obvious as he smiled.
“Buenas tardes, señores.”
He had his hand on the doorknob now as he bowed slightly, glimpsed the men at the table—the tired-looking man in the blue crumpled suit, then just a second’s glance at the silver-haired man—before he closed the door after him, took three, four steps, then let out a long sigh.
Santa Maria . . .
He walked quickly back toward his room.
• • •
The three men were seated at the table again.
Meyer was still feeling the effects of dehydration after the long flight. He licked his parched lips. The iced champagne lookedappealing, but it would have to wait. It was time to answer any questions.
The silver-haired man’s tone was businesslike. “The shipment . . . ?”
Meyer nodded. “The cargo will be picked up from Genoa as arranged.”
“And the Italian?”
“He will be eliminated, but I want to be certain we don’t arouse suspicion concerning the cargo. It would be prudent to wait until Brandenburg becomes operational. Then he will be dealt with along with the others.”
The silver-haired man nodded his agreement, then looked at Meyer intently. “Those who have pledged their loyalty . . . we must be certain of them.”
Meyer said firmly, “I have had their assurances confirmed. And their pedigree is without question.”
Kruger shifted restlessly in his chair as he looked at Meyer. “And the Turk?”
“I foresee no problems.”
Kruger said, “The woman in Berlin . . . you’re absolutely certain we can rely on her?”
“She won’t fail us, I assure you.” Meyer glanced over at the elderly man. “There are no changes to the names on the list?”
The man shook his head firmly. “They’ll all be killed.”
“Your travel arrangements?” Meyer inquired. “Everything has been organized?”
“We leave Paraguay on the sixth.”
Meyer looked at the two men. “The schedule . . . perhaps I should go through it once more?”
Both men nodded.
Meyer ran a finger around the rim of his shirt collar. Even with the air-conditioning on, the heat was unbearably oppressive. Ninety percent humidity at least. He wished the meeting would end. A matter of no more than ten minutes now, he was certain. Kruger would want to go over the key points again. He licked his dry lips, glancedat the food trolley the waiter had brought, the neck of the champagne bottle visible in the ice bucket.
“It’s quite warm in here. Perhaps I might have a glass of water?”
Kruger nodded.
Meyer stood and crossed to the side table, where a carafe of water and several glasses sat on a tray. He poured himself a glass of the tepid liquid, glancing at the iced champagne on the food trolley as he drank. He had barely eaten on the flight. The appetizers looked so appetizing. Meyer finished his glass of water and filled another. He would have to move the trolley out of sight; it was beginning to distract him, the sight of that delicious food and the chilled champagne nestled in the ice bucket.
When he leaned across and gently pushed the trolley away, he was surprised that it moved so smoothly on its wheels. He saw it slide away rapidly, glide across the carpet, and bump into the desk in the
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