The phone began to ring. It was Dr. Gonzales. "Can you come over to the
Presidencia at once?" he asked. "Yes, very important. I am in Don
Anibal's apartment. Please, hurry."
"I'll be right over."
"What is it, Matt?"
"Come on. We're going to the Presidencia. It sounds like the end."
_Chapter thirteen_
The private elevator in the Presidencia was both carpeted and
bullet-proof, as it had been in General Segura's day. But the
magnificent bronze friezes of General Segura's capture of San Hermano
had long since been melted down to make medals, and in place of the
martial friezes there now hung a series of water colors painted by
grade-school children in the small villages. Every year, Hall explained
to Jerry as the car climbed to the fourth floor, a committee of the
Republic's leading artists chose twenty water colors submitted by the
schools for a place in this elevator. The students whose pictures were
chosen received medals made from the bronze frieze which had originally
hung in their places.
Gonzales was waiting for them at the fourth-floor landing. "Are you all
right?" he asked Jerry, and without waiting for an answer he took Hall's
arm and started to walk down the long gilded corridor toward the private
library of the President.
The library was large, perhaps forty feet square, the four walls were
lined with books from floor to ceiling. In one corner was an immense
mahogany writing table, clean now except for a drinking glass packed
with sharpened pencils and a large yellow foolscap pad. When Tabio was
well, this table was always piled high with books, most of them opened
and kept in place by an inkwell, a heavy watch, or another book. Today
there were no books on Don Anibal's table; instead, almost as if in
explanation, a padded steel and aluminum wheel chair stood empty near
the little corridor which led to the door of the President's bedroom.
"Please, sit down." Gonzales indicated two leather chairs.
"I'm in the way," Jerry said. "I don't belong here."
"I had to take her along," Hall said. "It was a matter of her life. Is
there some place where she can rest while we--while we talk?"
"Excuse me. I will make the arrangement." Gonzales stepped out of the
room.
"What's happening?" Jerry asked.
"I don't know. It looks bad. Whatever it is, don't cave in on me now. It
won't do anyone any good."
"I'm all right now. But I'll probably have nightmares about today for
the rest of my life."
Gonzales returned to the library with a middle-aged maid in a simple
uniform. "Please, nurse," he said, "this lady will escort you to a quiet
apartment. You will find brandy and a bed. I hope you will forgive us
and find comfort." His blue lips tried to smile at Jerry as she followed
the maid out of the library.
"You're not well," Hall said.
The blue lips tightened. "I'm a cardiac, you know. But it is not of
importance. Simon Tabio will join us in a moment. It is very serious,
_companero_."
"Don Anibal?"
"Yes. Simon will tell you about the new development. He is young, but he
is very strong. He knows that Gamburdo is a traitor."
"Has he told Don Anibal?"
"The mere telling might kill him. We must have the proof before we tell
him."
"The proof?" Hall started to tell the ailing doctor about Androtten when
Simon Tabio entered the library.
"Ah, Simon. This is _Companero_ Mateo Hall."
"How do you do?" the boy said, in English. "I regret that we must meet
under such sad circumstances."
"_El habla castellano, chico_," Gonzales said.
"The sorrow weighs with equal weight in my own heart," Hall said.
"_Companero_ Hall was on the point of telling me some important news
when you came in, Simon. I think you should hear it."
"I would like to hear it," Simon said.
"Do you know about Corbeta the Falange agent and Jimenez the C.T.E.
radio operator being at the Gamburdo ranch with Ansaldo?"
"Yes. Segador has kept me informed."
"There was one other man at the ranch with them, a Nazi. An agent of the
Ibero-American Institute named Androtten. At least that was the name he
used. He reached San Hermano on the same plane which brought Ansaldo and
me." Hall told them of Jerry's accidental discovery and of the events
which followed and brought about the death of the Nazi. He told it in
very few words, his eyes taking in the uncanny resemblance between Simon
and his father.
"My father is very ill, senor. We must be able to prove your story for
him."
"He is my friend," Hall said. "He will believe me."
"He is very ill. I believe you, of course. But what proof have we for my
father that Androtten was a Nazi agent? If you know my father at all
well, senor, you must surely know his passion for the truth. And we must
remember that in his illness ..." The boy's voice trailed off to
nothingness, and he turned away from his elders.
"I think," Gonzales said, gently, "I think that you had better tell
_Companero_ Hall about what happened this morning."
Simon Bolivar Tabio dabbed at his reddened eyes with a white
handkerchief. "They are killing him," he said, brokenly. He paused to
swallow the painful lump in his throat, ashamed before the friends of
his father for his weakness.
"There are many tears in San Hermano for Don Anibal," Hall said. "You
should be proud of your own."
"This morning," Simon said, "Dr. Marina arrived here with a written
message for my mother from Dr. Ansaldo. The surgeon refused to operate
without the written permission of the entire Cabinet. He says in the
note that he refuses to predict how long my father can live without an
operation. He says that the operation must be performed immediately."
"It is murder," Gonzales said. "Every doctor in San Hermano who has
examined Don Anibal swears that he is too weak to undergo an operation
right now."
"He sent a copy of the note to each member of the Cabinet," Simon said.
"They refuse to discuss the question without my father's permission."
"The dirty bastard," Hall said.
"We were discussing you this morning," Gonzales said. "Lavandero and
Simon and myself. We think that if we get no further actual proof, we
will have to place a great burden on your shoulders, _Companero_ Hall.
Don Anibal trusts you."
"Do you want me to tell Don Anibal what I know?"
"Not immediately. It would be too great a shock. Don Anibal would demand
proof even from you. But if he hears from you that you are here to
investigate the Falange and then if, say tomorrow, you come back
and tell him that you have run across some important information,
perhaps ..."
"But have we time to break it to him in easy stages? Is
his--health--adequate?"
"It is a chance we are forced to take," Simon said. "My father's health
is not--adequate--for a sudden shock."
"You may be right. I have already notified Segador about Androtten.
Perhaps by tomorrow he will have established Androtten's real identity."
"Then you will see my father now?"
"I will do anything you ask, _companero_."
"Excuse me, then." Simon left the library.
"Don Anibal is not going to live," Gonzales said when the boy left. "Not
even a miracle can save his life."
The doctor was tearing the stopper from a small vial of adrenalin. He
held the open mouth of the vial to his nose and breathed deeply.
"Adrenalin?" Hall asked.
"It is nothing, _companero_. Say nothing to Simon, please." A corner of
his blue underlip was growing purple in tiny spots. "I hear him now,
Mateo."
The boy carried his shoulders proudly when he returned to the library.
"My father is sitting up in bed," he said. "He is preparing a radio
speech to the entire Republic."