Chapter 3
Every muscle in Debby's body ached when she got off the plane at the International Airport in Buenos Aires. It seemed to her that she had been flying for an eternity. Early that morning she had left San Francisco on PSA to Los Angeles where she boarded the Argentine Airlines flight to Argentina's capital. In all, she had been almost fifteen hours in the air, counting the stops in Bogota and Lima. Debby had never been able to sleep on a plane and she was exhausted as she cleared immigration and customs.
She was glad that she had declined Betty's offer to meet her. Betty and her husband lived in Córdoba, an industrial city an hour's flight northwest of Buenos Aires and Debby had insisted on the phone that she would fly up to Córdoba the following morning. At this moment, Deborah Harmon didn't want to even look at another airplane!
A porter placed her baggage on a two-wheel cart and Debby followed him to the taxi area at the entrance to the building.
"Pardon me, miss, but did you arrive on the flight from Los Angeles?"
Debby looked up at the tall, slender, ruggedly handsome man who addressed her. He had a puzzled look on his face that made her smile.
"Why, yes," she said.
"Good," Harold Sorenson said, sighing with relief for her benefit. He glanced over to see if George Munroe was in position and snapping pictures. "I'm supposed to meet someone," he explained to Debby with a bright smile, "and I couldn't find out if the plane had landed."
"We got in about twenty minutes ago," Debby said. "A lot of the people are still in customs. They put me through first, so you'll probably find your person in the customs room."
"Thank you," Harold beamed, catching George's nod that he had the photos and there was no need to stall the girl any longer.
Debby gave the incident no further thought and followed the porter to the taxi area. She supervised the loading of her luggage into the trunk of the taxi, tipped the porter generously, and handed the driver a slip of paper with her hotel reservations.
She slipped out of her coat as she became aware of the heat. Betty had warned her that the seasons were reversed and that this was summer in Argentina, and Debby was glad that she had packed light-weight clothes. The forty-five-minute drive into Buenos Aires from the airport was dull, but the moment they entered the city Debby found herself caught up in the warmth and charm of the Argentine capital. It reminded her of Paris, and perhaps a little of Rome. The architecture was graceful and the buildings created a quaint, old-world charm. The people on the street were very cosmopolitan, well dressed, clean and attractive. Debby felt the excitement of visiting a foreign country come over her.
The desk clerk at the Sheraton reacted the moment that Debby mentioned her name. Instructions had been left that Miss Harmon was to receive VIP treatment and she was immediately taken to the most luxurious suite in the hotel. The assistant manager who had personally conducted Debby to her suite asked for her passport and told her that he would take care of her registration for her. He asked if there was anything that she wanted and Debby requested a room-service menu. She had decided that she was too exhausted to go down to the dining room for dinner and wanted something sent up to her room.
After a light dinner and a hot bath, Debby propped herself up on the bed and tried to read. She soon found that she couldn't concentrate. The signs were clear. One of her headaches was coming on. She held her hand out before her and sighed when she saw that it was trembling. Debby recognized that it was her nerves again and she went to her cosmetic case and took a capsule from each of two bottles. One was for the pain, and the other was to knock her out for a good-night's sleep.
For almost ten years, Deborah Harmon had suffered with a severe nervous condition. She had consulted a half dozen specialists, all of whom concluded that it was an emotional rather than physical problem. Anxious to keep a wealthy client, one doctor had prescribed a strong pain killer with a morphine base and Nembutal for sleep.
Debbie turned off the light beside the bed and placed her head on the pillow to wait for the drug to take effect.
In a single room two floors below Deborah Harmon's suite the phone rang. "Mr. Sorenson? Long distance calling."
The line crackled, and then Matthew Harmon's voice came through, "Sorenson?"
"Are you all set?" Matthew demanded.
"Almost. The shipment arrived today," he added, using a readily understandable code. "I'm sure we'll be able to unpack everything by early next week."
"That's not good enough," Matthew Harmon said urgently. "Something has come up and it is imperative that we conclude this matter at once. If the shipment reaches the factory, they might turn it around and ship it right back, probably by the next available means."
"But we'll need time to inspect the shipment," Harold replied quickly. "We want to handle this properly."
"I understand," Matthew said, "but time is something you simply don't have. If you don't act before the factory has time to go over the merchandise, you will lose your opportunity. When is it due to reach the factory?"
"It leaves on the ten-o'clock flight in the morning, arriving at the factory about eleven."
"I understand people from the factory will meet the shipment at the airport," Matthew said, choosing his words carefully. "And because of certain events that should be avoided at all costs. Do you understand?"
"Yes, but..."
"The sum we discussed has been doubled," Matthew interrupted.
"We'll do our best, sir," Harold replied, the thought of a half a million dollars tax-free overriding his caution.
"I'm sure that will be enough," Matthew said. "Perhaps you will want to call me tomorrow night."
"I'll try," Harold returned, replacing the receiver on the cradle. Wearily, he pulled himself out of bed and began dressing. Whatever had happened called for a complete change in Harold's plans. They would have to snatch the girl before she boarded the flight to Córdoba, and that meant that he would spend that night studying every approach. He popped a sleep-inducing tablet in his mouth and called the other members of his team.
Debby awoke the following morning at seven and was pleased to find her headache was gone. She showered, dressed, and went down to the dining room for breakfast. The waiter placed a copy of the Herald, the English-language newspaper of Buenos Aires, on the table when he brought her bacon and eggs. Debby had left her glasses in the suite, so she pushed the paper aside, thus missing reading the news item on the front page about her father taking a sudden turn for the worse and dying at the hospital in San Francisco at six p.m. the day before.
She glanced at her watch as she paid the check and realized that it was already eight-thirty. Remembering the forty-five-minute drive from the airport to town, Debby decided that she would leave immediately in order to be on time for her ten-o'clock flight to Córdoba. She advised the desk that she was checking out, and she was in such a hurry that she didn't even notice the tall man standing at the cashier's cage.
Two bellboys loaded her luggage into the trunk of the antique Mercedes Benz taxi and Debby tipped them as she climbed into the back seat.
"The airport — aeropuerto," she said to the driver.
"Si Señorita," the driver replied in what seemed to be a strangely accented Spanish to Debby's ear.
Debby relaxed. The assistant manager had assured her that all flights within Argentina originated at an airport located in the center of town and she had plenty of time to make her flight. The airport that she had arrived at the night before was used only for international flights.
In a few moments Debby became uneasy. It was becoming apparent by the minute that the driver wasn't thoroughly familiar with the streets. And he seemed to be driving much too fast! She was about to say something to him and was reaching for her Spanish phrase book when he made a hard right turn that threw her across the back seat.
"Now see here!" she began as she pulled herself erect. She saw that the taxi had stopped in what appeared to be a deserted alley.
Everything happened so fast that Debby never had a chance to scold the driver. Three men climbed into the car, one beside the driver and one on either side of Debby in the back seat. She opened her mouth to scream, but one of the men placed his hand firmly over her mouth. With terrified eyes, Debby watched the man in the front seat quickly prepare a hypodermic syringe. She struggled in vain as the man beside her yanked her arm forward. Debby saw the needle dart into her arm. She heard one of the men say, "That will hold her for an hour," and she slipped off into unconsciousness
"She's out," the ugly, heavy-set man on her right announced.
"Okay," Harold said, taking Debby's pulse. "Get her out of sight on the floor. She won't be missed for a few hours, but then they'll be combing the city for her. And when that happens we want to be as far away as possible!"
"We got a safe house?" the small man known as Pete asked.
"I arranged that yesterday," Harold said. "It's a place called La Cumbre, a German settlement in the mountains outside of Córdoba. I had planned to fly to Córdoba and use that as our base. Now we'll have to drive up there."
"How far is it?" the driver, Hank White, asked.
"Looks like about six hours," Harold replied, studying the map that he bought the day before.
"Shit!" Hank said. "A lot can happen in six hours!"
"Cool it," Harold said firmly. "We made it beautifully. All we have to do is change cars and get out of Buenos Aires. I've covered our tracks and the rest will be easy. Turn down here, Hank. The car I rented is parked behind that gray building over there. This will be the easiest ten grand any of you ever earned."