Unholy Crusade Page 13

  Alberuque was putting some papers back in it as he said:

  ‘There is nothing here, dear child, to cause us undue anxiety; but you did well to get hold of it for me so that I could have a sight of the Ambassador’s report. Upon the other matter the Good Lord will reward you for your excellent sense. That this stranger should have been sent to you at this time is a certain sign that our endeavours have the blessing of the Holy Spirit. I cannot stress too greatly the importance of inducing him to give us his willing aid; so you must secure and bind him to our interests, whatever the cost.’

  Pausing, he made the sign of the Cross on her forehead and went on, ‘From whatever sins you may have to commit in order to achieve this end, I hereby promise in advance to absolve you. With him in our midst as a sign of God’s intent, we cannot fail to triumph. You are now, my child, a chosen vessel and I know you will not fail me.’

  Withdrawing from the door without making a sound, Adam tiptoed back up the stairs, his mind in a whirl. What were the two of them planning? Had it to do with this rumoured revolution? That seemed hardly likely, yet the Church and the wealthy formed alliances against Communists and atheists. But Chela was, apparently, a Communist of a sort, so that did not make sense either; and she had obviously got hold of her brother’s despatch case without his knowledge. Then—greatest conundrum of all—could it be he to whom Alberuque had referred?

  He was no saint or holy man whose participation in some crusade could influence the people, so it seemed most improbable. Yet who else could it be? No other stranger had suddenly come into Chela’s life so that it could be said of him that he had been ‘sent’. Utterly mystified, he got back into his bed, lay pondering for a while, then fell asleep.

  7

  ‘Our Man’ in Mexico

  It was nine o’clock when Adam was roused by a soft-footed valet pulling open the slats of the venetian blinds so that sunlight streamed into the room. As Adam sat up, the man made a low bow, wished him a smiling buenos dias, then wheeled a breakfast trolley into the-room.

  On the trolley there was coffee, some strips of paw-paw, pineapple, mango and apple, known in Mexico as a ‘fruit plate’, and a basket holding little sweet cakes and crisp white rolls. After a good drink of coffee Adam made a dead set at the rolls, for the white bolios of Mexico had been one of his discoveries. In Europe and the United States the refinement of flour and modern baking methods have in recent times rendered bread almost tasteless. But for Mexicans to have wheat bread in their houses, as well as maize cakes, is a status symbol and they insist that the wheat should be undiluted and hand-baked. The result is a revelation to visiting foreigners and Adam had found the rolls so delicious that he would willingly have made a main meal of them alone.

  As he ate, the events of the previous night gave him plenty to think about. Why, he wondered again, should Monsignor Alberuque be so anxious to know what the F.B.I, had found out about a possible revolution that he had induced Chela to steal temporarily her half-brother’s brief-case for him? For it seemed evident that that was what he had done.

  The obvious inference was what he, as well as Bernadino, was involved in the conspiracy. It was always in the interests of capitalists to secure cheap labour; but the Church, as the protector of the poor, should be opposed to that. There could, though, be another angle to it. Alberuque was no village priest. As a Don he must be of noble descent and as a Monsignor a minor Prince of the Church. In every country such worldly prelates had often ignored the well-being of the masses if by so doing they could get for themselves rich benefices and great estates. And the lower orders of the clergy were bound to obey their superiors. Perhaps, therefore, the capitalists and the Bishops had made a pact. Yet, if that were so, why had not Bernadino told Alberuque what was afoot or, when Chela had reported to the Monsignor what she had overheard, had he not asked Bernadino about it, instead of coming in the middle of the night to examine the contents of Ramón’s briefcase?

  Finding no answer to this puzzle, Adam’s mind turned to the other. For the past five days he had been almost constantly in Chela’s company, he had now met most of her closest friends and she had talked freely to him about them. If some man who particularly interested her had recently come into her life surely he would have been at one of the parties to which Adam had gone with her or, at least, she would have made some mention of him. But there had not been the least indication that such a man existed; so it seemed inescapable that Adam was the ‘stranger’ to whom Alberuque had referred. Yet how could he possibly be of any value to them as the figurehead in a revolution? The very idea was absurd.

  There must then be some other explanation. Perhaps the ‘stranger’ was someone right outside Chela’s social circle: a man her father and friends knew nothing about. If that was so, and the ‘stranger’ was a clandestine acquaintance, that would account for her never having mentioned him.

  At this idea Adam was seized with sudden perturbation. He had had ample evidence that half a dozen men were in eager pursuit of Chela, but she had seemed indifferent to all of them. This might explain that. This new supposition made it probable that he had a rival, and a really dangerous one, for if there was a man that Chela was meeting in secret that would make him all the more interesting to her. It might even be that she was already in love with him. Still worse, Alberuque had as good as ordered her to use her charms to secure his aid in their plans and, by giving her absolution in advance, clearly indicated that, if need be, she should give herself to him.

  Mentally, Adam began to writhe. If she was willing, to lose her to another would be bad enough. But it might be that she was not, yet would obey Alberuque and sacrifice herself as a martyr to her cause. It was as well for the Monsignor that he was not then in the room for, at the thought, a fierce surge of anger ran through Adam. Had he at that moment had the chance, he would have used those great hands of his to choke the life out of the unscrupulous priest. As it was, he could only relieve his feelings by a flow of curses, consigning the priest to an obscene hell, and when he grew calmer determine to do everything possible to thwart his designs.

  Yet how he could set about that was another problem. To disclose to Chela that he knew she had enabled Alberuque to read the despatch for which her half-brother was responsible would embarrass her so much that a breach between them was certain to result, and there seemed no other way in which he could lead her to talk of her secret activities. All he could do, for the time being, was to talk to her casually about the Monsignor, in the hope of picking up some clue, and weigh every word she said, on the off-chance that she might give some indication of the identity of the man upon whom Alberuque had ordered her to use her wiles.

  Chela had said that she would take him that morning to see Cortés’ palace, which was now a museum. It was not a very large building, but occupied one side of the main square. Many of the rooms were now used as offices of the City Council, but the chapel contained some splendid frescoes and most of the first floor consisted of an open terrace arcaded on both sides. Adam visualised the great Conquistadore, as an old man, sitting there sheltered from the midday heat, while looking out towards the nearest mountains in the vast country that, backed on landing only by a handful of adventurous Captains and a few hundred desperadoes, he had not only conquered but pacified with such wisdom that the people had come to regard him as their protector from injustice.

  After their visit to the Palace, while walking back down the steep streets, Adam brought the Monsignor’s name into the conversation. Showing no trace of uneasiness, Chela at once responded by going into raptures about him. He was according to her, everything that a good priest should be: wise, pious, tolerant, with a great understanding of the human heart and an untiring zest for fighting the battles of the oppressed who came to him with their troubles. All of which got Adam nowhere.

  On their return they found the rest of the house-party assembled round the pool, so they changed into bathing things and went in with them. Lunch was a cold collation taken in th
e garden where they helped themselves from a table carrying a score of delicacies which would have been sufficient to feed a whole platoon of hungry soldiers. The day then followed the pattern of Friday: more bathing and laughter, cocktails, a lengthy gourmet’s dinner, then dancing until two o’clock in the morning.

  On Sunday the routine differed only in that all the women and the three younger men went to Mass, leaving Adam and his host sitting together in the summer-house over the pool.

  After they had been talking for a while Adam, keeping his voice casual, said, ‘All the people I have talked to here say it’s most unlikely there will be a change of government in the foreseeable future. D’you agree about that, sir?’

  Bernadino gave Adam a swift, sideways glance, masking it by a pull on his cigar, then he replied, ‘I should say they are right. The government is far too firmly seated to be overthrown at all easily. But one never can tell. People often take their characteristics from the land in which they live. Mexico is a land of many volcanoes; like them its people are given to sudden violent eruptions.’

  ‘There is something to be said for a government that keeps the peace,’ Adam hazarded. ‘Even if it is a dictatorship.’

  ‘I agree.’ Bernadino nodded his white head. ‘Revolutions have been the curse of Mexico ever since she gained independence. Except during the thirty-four years that old Porfirio Díaz was our President, hardly a year passed without either some ambitious General making a pronunciamento or there being a tumulto as we term riots, in Mexico City. As a youngster I can remember them, and they were quite alarming. In those days, and all through the past century, the streets were infested with hordes of beggars called leperos. Most of them were fake cripples. Any sort of excuse was good enough for them to throw away their crutches and rampage through the town in big mobs, looting, burning and murdering. For a day or two all decent people had to barricade themselves in their houses and have their firearms ready. At least our present government has put a stop to that sort of thing and has cleared the streets of such dangerous vagabonds.’

  ‘You were saying, sir, that Porfirio Díaz succeeded in remaining President for thirty-four years. How did he manage to do that?’

  Bernadino gave a low laugh. ‘Because he had the sense to see on which side his bread was buttered. Like all these Generals, he came to power by inciting the Indians to revolt with the promise that the lands should be restored to them. Like all the others, he ratted on his promise. But, unlike them, he did not then try to rule only through his army. He made allies: the great landowners, such as my own family in those days; the Church and, shrewdest move of all, the Americans. With their help he pulled the country’s finances out of the incredible mess they were in and he encouraged foreign investment. What is more, he restored order throughout the whole country. For over half a century it had been plagued by hordes of bandits. Díaz enlisted all the gangsters in the cities, put them into smart uniforms and sent them out to clear the country up. They were called Rurales and had orders to shoot on sight. The Socialists, of course, paint him as a bloodthirsty tyrant who ground the faces of the poor; but that is not altogether true. For the first time since Independence, Mexico began to prosper and soon commerce was booming. Property and the lives of the law-abiding were secure. The taxes were heavy but there was money to pay them, and even the poorest people fed better than they do now. That is why from the late seventies until 1910 is known as Mexico’s “Golden Age”.’

  ‘Would you say that things were better here then than when Mexico was a Spanish colony?’

  ‘Oh no, I would not say that.’ Bernadino smiled and waved his cigar airily. ‘You British pride yourselves on having been the best colonial administrators the world has ever known—except perhaps for the Romans. But I do not think you can rival Spain’s achievements in that field. We Spaniards—I use the term because I am descended from one of Cortés’ Captains, although as for many generations my forbears have been born here I am actually a Creole—we Spaniards developed this country and ruled it for close on three hundred years. That is twice the length of time that the British were paramount in India. For three centuries our Viceroys, assisted by a Council called the Audiencia and wise decrees from the Council of the Indies that sat in Seville, kept the peace here introduced every form of agriculture and bred vast herds of cattle. We also became the staging post for the enormous wealth in silks, spices, ivories and many other things that Spain imported from China and her possessions in the Far East. Under the Bourbon Kings of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Mexico was one of the most prosperous and well-governed countries in the world.’

  ‘Why then,’ Adam asked, ‘did the people revolt and drive the Spaniards out?’

  Bernadino sighed. ‘It is a sad story; for from security and riches it reduced the country to chaos, brigandage and poverty for the best part of a century. I suppose the ideas emanating from the French Revolution were the initial cause; but it was Napoleon who upset the apple cart. You will doubtless recall that early in the last century he imprisoned King Carlos IV and his heir Ferdinand, then made his brother, Joseph Bonaparte, King of Spain. That caused a schism among the ruling caste here. Some were for acknowledging the usurper Bonaparte; others supported the imprisoned King and wished to establish a Regency until he should be restored to his throne. Others again, particularly the Creoles, who had always resented being ruled by Spaniards sent out from Spain, urged that the time had come for Mexico to throw off the Spanish yoke and declare herself a sovereign nation. There followed violent disputes, tumultos and sporadic civil war that went on for several years. The result was that in 1810, when the renegade priest Hidalgo led the masses in a rebellion, the government was in no state to cope with it. Seeing their danger, the Spaniards and the Creoles sank their differences and, in due course, defeated him. But it had started something that could not be stopped. From then on Mexico was desolated by almost ceaseless civil wars and, after her break with Spain, became the body on which a long line of unscrupulous dictators gorged themselves.’

  When Bernadino ceased speaking he sat smoking in silence for a few minutes, then he changed the subject and spoke to Adam about his plans. He said that now Adam had seen most of the sights in Mexico City, he must spend a few days in other places of interest. In recent years archaelogists had discovered no fewer than ten thousand sites scattered over Mexico where there were remains of the ancient civilisations. It would probably take a century to excavate them all, but in the past fifty years a number of the finest had been cleared of jungle and restored. Oaxaca was one centre from which some of the best could be visited and Mérida, down in Yucatán, was another. Both could be reached with ease, as there were daily services of aircraft to them.

  For several days past Adam’s mind had been occupied mainly by thoughts of Chela; but this recalled to him the fact that his reason for coming to Mexico had been to collect material for another book and, loath as he was to leave her, he was eager to see these other great monuments of the past.

  It was therefore decided that he should go down to Oaxaca on the coming Thursday, to do so sooner being ruled out by his having accepted an invitation from one of Chela’s friends to dine on the Wednesday. Bernadino said that his office would get a seat for him on Thursday’s aircraft and arrange accommodation for him in the Victoria Hotel at Oaxaca; then he airily waved away Adam’s protests that he must pay for the trip himself. Adam could only thank him and again think how lucky he had been to be knocked down by the car of a generous millionaire.

  On Monday morning they all returned to Mexico City. At the El Presidente Adam found waiting for him an invitation to lunch the following day at the Residence of the British Ambassador. The grande-luxe life led by the wealthy Mexicans had amazed him, as he had had no idea that anywhere in the world there still existed people who were served like feudal nobles. But this was another thing. It was an honour earned by his own achievements. At once he wrote out an acceptance and took it across the Reforma to the British Embassy in th
e Calle Lerna.

  That night he and Chela had been asked to dine with some friends of hers at the Rivoli restaurant. He had had little experience of such places, but the perfect service of the well-groomed waiters and the décor of the place, with the wall cabinets filled with Sévres china, made him doubt if there could be a better restaurant in Paris. Afterwards they went on to the Jacaranda to dance and he thoroughly enjoyed another happy evening.

  Next day, at two o’clock, he had a taxi take him out to the Residence. Their Excellencies received him most kindly. They had read, and praised, his latest book. The Enriquezes were well known to them and they congratulated him on his accident’s having brought him into contact with people so well able to give him a good time while he was in Mexico.

  A cocktail session lasted until a quarter to three, then they went in to lunch. Fourteen sat down to table. The majority were Mexicans, but they all spoke English; so Adam had no need to resort to Spanish, in which practice during the past week had enabled him to converse very freely. His neighbours were delighted when he expressed his admiration for their city, and when he said that he was going down to Oaxaca they plied him with information about things he must not fail to see while he was there.

  For coffee and liqueurs they moved into a long drawing room which, as the building was a modern one, had one wall entirely of glass, through which the pleasant garden could be seen. Soon after they had settled down, Jeremy Hunterscombe joined them. Languidly the tall Wing Commander stretched himself out in a chair next to Adam, talked to him for some minutes about what he had been doing, then said:

  ‘I’ve a little project I’d like to have a word with you about, Gordon. Do you happen to be free for lunch tomorrow?’

  When Adam replied that he was, Hunterscombe went on, ‘Then come and have a bite with me at the Ritz.’ With a grin he added, ‘Sounds terribly posh, doesn’t it? But actually it’s just an old-fashioned hotel downtown in the Calle Madero. Not the sort of haunt for rich authors, but it suits chaps like me and I’ll guarantee that the food’s good.’