Chapter 5
The shot rang with a loud report in the large hangar and Guy instinctively ducked. He heard the ping of the bullet as it hit the corrugated metal wall above his head. Jose Garcia, the guide that Guy had hired at the Hilton, scooted out from behind some empty oil drums and darted through the open hangar door.
The muscles in Guy's stomach were tied in knots and his hands were trembling. He readily admitted to himself that he was scared to death. A glance above his head left no doubt in his mind that the shot had been intended for him. This was the first time in Guy's life that he had been shot at. As far as he knew, it was the first time anyone had ever wished him serious harm.
Guy heard a movement behind the plane that he had determined belonged to Jack Lockwood and he decided that this certainly was no time to sit around and wait for things to happen. He picked up a small cardboard box that until recently had contained spare parts and threw it against the wall of the hangar about ten yards behind him. Guy was already running for the door when the second shot rang out. He turned the corner and headed for the small administration building to his left, running as fast as his legs would carry him.
The black Chevrolet was missing from the parking area in front of the administration building. Guy wasn't surprised. If he had been in the guide's shoes, Guy would have done the same thing. Three Colombian businessmen were alighting from one of the colorful Bogota taxis and Guy quickly headed for the cab. He kept looking over his shoulder as the Latins argued about the fare to the airport, then hopped in the front seat beside the driver when the customary manner of negotiating with the Latin taxi had been transacted. He was relieved to see that no one had followed him from the hangar.
"Donde senor?" the driver asked, putting the car into gear.
Guy's Spanish had improved by a few words, of which the word for "where" was one. It was a good question. Where in the hell did he want to go? As far away from that hangar as he could, of that much Guy Morrison was certain!
"Do you speak English?" Guy asked hopefully as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the slip of paper that he had made notes on.
"Poquito," the guide replied with a laugh, holding up his fingers to indicate a tiny bit.
"Okay," Guy sighed. "I don't speak Spanish, so we'll try to communicate ideas. Bogota, okay?"
"Si senor."
"I want to find a girl named Barbara Salton," Guy continued. "I don't suppose you've heard of her?"
The driver looked at Guy with a blank expression which confirmed Guy's belief. "How about Engineer Robert Salton? Roberto Salton?"
"Ingeniero Salton? Norteamericano? Oil?" the driver managed in heavily accented English.
"Now we're getting somewhere!" Guy said with a particle of hope. "That's right, oil! North American. You know him?"
The driver replied in a string of rapid Spanish that lost Guy within seconds. Slowly and patiently, as they wound their way down the mountain from the airport to Bogota, Guy leaned heavily on sign language and finally came to the conclusion that a relative of the driver-his brother, Guy thought-worked as a gardener at the Salton estate. He also gathered that the driver wanted to know if Guy wanted to see where the Saltons lived.
"Yes, I suppose so. I want to find Barbara Salton," Guy said, not believing for a minute that she would be home.
"Barbara? Oh, la senora?" the driver asked.
"No, the senorita!" Guy responded, wishing that he knew the Spanish word for daughter.
"Si, si, la senorita!" the driver replied enthusiastically now that they had finally managed to break the communications barrier. "We go!" he added in his thickly accented English. He knew that yankis never argued about the fare and that they were good tippers. The driver was certain that if he helped this yanki find Senorita Salton he would receive a generous tip.
The scenery from the airport to the city of Bogota was uninspiring, barren hills and gray rocks leading into the bowl-shaped valley that housed Colombia's capital and largest city. Guy settled back and began reviewing his morning. After a fruitless inquiry at the American Consulate, Guy had Jose, his guide, drive him to the airport. According to Jose, no one in the administration office knew anything about Jack Lockwood. In Caracas, Guy had noted the registration number of Lockwood's plane. After leaving the administration building, he and Jose had made a tour of the three large hangars at the municipal end of the Bogota International Airport. It was in the third hangar that Guy spotted the plane. The registration number corresponded to the one in his pocket and Guy breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Lockwood was in Bogota.
It was just after they had moved away from the plane that the shot rang out. Obviously, someone thought that they had come too close to the mysterious Jack Lockwood. Guy blamed himself for that. He knew that he should have used a more indirect approach, but the inspection of the hangars seemed like the natural thing to do after they had drawn a blank in the administration office. Guy was also certain that this incident would make it even more difficult to get in contact with the man he sought.
He felt relatively sure that Lockwood was in Bogota, and he was equally sure that the incident in the hangar had already been reported to Lockwood. That meant that the Salton girl, if he could find her, was his best contact.
"Alia, en los arboles," the driver exclaimed proudly, pointing to a large estate nestled in a grove of green trees.
Guy was impressed. Whatever else, Barbara Salton came from money. They had skirted downtown Bogota on a bumpy, narrow road that led out to the western part of the small valley. This was a semi-rural area made up of large estates. The Salton house was a two-story, Spanish Colonial structure set in the middle of what appeared to be lush pastures. The house and grounds spelled money in any language.
As they pulled into the hedge-lined driveway, the driver quickly applied the brakes to avoid hitting an attractive woman who was in the process of dismounting what appeared to be a thorough bred Arabian horse.
Guy appraised the woman as she exchanged remarks in Spanish with his driver. With her blonde hair and pale complexion, she didn't appear to be Latin. Yet she spoke Spanish fluently. Guy guessed her to be in her thirties, probably in her late-thirties. She wore an English riding outfit and the diamonds on her fingers emphasized that she was a member of the privileged class. Guy quickly opened the car door and stepped out as the woman walked around to his side of the taxi.
"Your driver tells me you are looking for my daughter," the woman said in what was unmistakably a New England accent.
"If your daughter is Barbara Salton," Guy said with a pleasant smile, "it's true."
"Well, Mr....?"
"Morrison. Guy Morrison," Guy said quickly.
"Well, Mr. Morrison," Mrs. Salton continued, "I find it difficult to believe you are looking for my Barbara. What is the nature of your business?"
"A mutual friend in the States asked me to look her up while I was here," Guy responded, feeling a little uncomfortable with this very direct woman.
"I'm afarid that makes it even more difficult to believe, Mr. Morrison," Mrs. Salton replied with a hint of a smile. "If you had said you wanted to check on a shipment of narcotics, for example, I would more readily believe you. You see, Mr. Mor rison, my daughter is a tramp. There is no need to disguise this from you. Bogota is a small city and I'm sure you will hear all about Barbara from a dozen different sources. We no longer attempt to conceal the fact. She is a tramp and it is as much our fault as it is hers. She's been stuck in this Godforsaken hole in the mountains all of her life. Her father likes being an important frog in a foreign pond and won't think of leaving. We stopped communicating several years ago, and that was when Barbara dropped out-as the younger generation calls it."
"I...." Guy began.
"Never mind thinking about what you're supposed to say, Mr. Morrison. I have placed you in an awkward position and I apologize," Mrs. Salton said with a warm smile. "It was just when I saw such a handsome, well-dressed, obviously successful young man like you asking for Barbara that my bitterness came to the surface. Unfortunately, Barbara doesn't know any young men like you. And I'm afraid men like you aren't interested in Barbara. I suppose for a moment I thought you had come to lift me out of my misery. But that only happens in fairy tales and cheap novels, doesn't it?"
The opening wasn't lost on Guy. He knew that all he had to do was say the word and this lonely, very attractive, woman would jump into bed with him. But sex, even with such a willing and beautiful woman, was the last thing on Guy's mind.
And he knew that it was Barbara and not her mother that would lead him to Jack Lockwood.
"Nevertheless, Mrs. Salton," Guy said with a disarming smile, "I would very much like to see your daughter. Is she home?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Morrison. Oh, she refers to this as home, but we seldom see her. She keeps most of her clothes here, and she comes home when she needs money or a change of clothing. I have no idea where she stays in Bogota, and, to be perfectly honest, I don't want to know. I understand that she spends a good deal of time in a place called Mina de Oro. It's a combination bar and restaurant across the plaza from the cathedral. If she is not there, I'm sure they can better tell you where to find her than I could. Oh, she drives a bright purple Volkswagen-the only purple bug in Bogota. That might help you find her. I wouldn't mention that you've seen me. I imagine I'm what is known as a member of the enemy forces. Good day, young man."
"Thank you, Mrs. Salton," Guy said, extending his hand. "Would you mind telling the driver where that bar is? I don't speak a word of Spanish and our communication is next to impossible."
"Certainly," she responded with a quick, warm grasp of his hand and a light smile that said her invitation was still open. As Guy climbed into the car, she walked over to the driver's side and spoke to him in rapid Spanish. "Good luck, Mr. Morrison. Perhaps someday you'd like to tell me what this is all really about. Come by. I'm here alone every day until about eight in the evening."
"Again, thanks," Guy said, carefully avoiding committing himself. He waved good-bye as the taxi backed out of the driveway and turned to head back into the city. Guy recognized the depth of Mrs. Salton's despair in the fact that she would tell a perfect stranger what she had told him. He felt like an intruder and realized that he was about to become involved in something that he had no stomach for. But Barbara Salton was his one lead to Jack Lockwood, and he had to follow that lead.
The driver seemed to aim the car rather than drive as they entered the busy Bogota streets. Guy spent some time thinking about how he would approach Barbara Salton, then decided that it would be safer to play it by ear when he actually found her.
Guy spotted the purple Volkswagen the minute that they entered the main plaza. It was parked in what was obviously a NO PARKING zone. His heart quickened when he realized that he was finally getting close to Jack Lockwood. The driver pulled to the curb in front of an old colonial building with a small wood sign announcing the "Mina de Oro-Cantina y Restaurante."
"You wait for me," Guy said, motioning to the driver to park on the other side of the street.
"Money, senor," the driver warned in his broken English.
"I know," Guy said quickly, "and there will be a good tip for you. Just wait for me. Okay?"
"Okay, wait. Tip, good, no?"
"Si, a good tip," Guy reassured him as he closed the car door and walked to the open door of the bar.
It was dark inside and Guy had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust. There was a man dressed in a faded black suit seated on a raised area in the corner playing a guitar. The left side of the large room was taken up with tables crowded close together. A long, polished bar ran along the right wall. Three of the tables were occupied and there were five people spaced apart at the bar. Guy hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the bar.
"Senor?" the bartender asked, lazily wiping the bar in front of Guy with a dirty rag.
"Whiskey," Guy said, remembering what one of the guides had told him about how South Americans referred to scotch as "whiskey".
"Agua o soda? Hielo."
Soda was obviously the same in Spanish and English. Guy guessed that the last word was ice and was pleased to see that he had guessed right when the bartender placed a scotch highball with ice in front of him. He took a five-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the bar. So far he hadn't had any problems with dollars, but he intended to change to local currency the minute that he knew he was going to be in one country more than a few hours.
Guy turned around and quickly studied the people in the room. There were only two females. One was quite obviously a Latin in her forties, enjoying an animated conversation with a man over a table ladened with interesting-looking food. Guy turned his attention to the other female. She was barefoot, dressed in faded Levi pants and a tight wool sweater that emphasized her pointed breasts. She had long, streaked blonde hair. It was hard to determine her age, but Guy placed her in her late teens or early twenties. She was seated at a table with a thin young Latin male. She was pretty in an earthy, wild, untamed and irreverent way.
He decided that the girl could very well be the Barbara Salton that he was looking for. She and the Latin were arguing about something. Guy studied her carefully for a few moments, then was about to walk over to her table when she gave him a warning glance that caused him to turn around quickly. He heard the tempo of the argument increase, and then the Latin stood up suddenly, said something that sounded nasty, and walked out.
"Unless I miss my guess, Raul was describing how he took a couple of shots at you this morning."
The girl's voice surprised Guy. He hadn't seen her walk up to stand at his side once the Latin had left.
"I thought if you kept staring at me like that he would recognize you, but Raul is so busy bragging and so hot to get in my pants that he seldom knows what the hell's going on around him. Aren't you going to buy me a drink while you tell me what you were doing checking the number on Jack's plane?"
"Delighted," Guy laughed, thinking that Barbara Salton had certainly inherited her mother's quality of speaking directly. "What will you have, Barbara?"
She looked at him quickly when he used her name, then smiled. "Whatever you're drinking. It doesn't matter to me as long as it's booze."
Guy signaled the bartender and then began pointing at his glass and indicating Barbara.
"Just say 'el mismo,' " Barbara laughed. "That means 'the same.' So you don't speak Spanish. This ought to be quite a story you're going to lay on me! What the hell are you doing here if you don't speak Spanish?"
"It started out to be what you would call an easy assignment," Guy responded with a smile, "and it's become more complex .by the day. I have an envelope to deliver to Jack Lockwood and I've been chasing him all over South America."
"Come on," she said, lifting her drink in a toast, "you can do better than that."
"Honest," Guy protested. "It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's the truth. I heard a rumor in Rio that you knew Jack and I decided to see if I could find you to help me make contact."
"Bullshit!" she said with a laugh. "Anyway, it won't hang because Jack and I have split. So it made it to Rio that we were shacking up! Well, Prince Valiant, you're about a day late."
"That seems to be the story of my life lately," Guy said.
"Maybe you should look at it like you're right on time," Barbara said. "If you're interested in a little fling and some good rapping. I'm available at the moment. Not for a punk like Raul. But a Prince Valiant type I've never tried. Know Bogota?"
"Nope."
"Good! Let's turn it upside down and see if we can find some fun. Game?"
"What the hell," Guy said, "you were my only lead. So if you won't help me get this damned envelope to Jack, I might as well enjoy myself."
Guy was determined not to let go of Barbara Salton. He knew that even if she had split with Lockwood, she knew how and where to make contact with him.