The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📗

could come after him at any time and any place and in any manner they chose. The passenger in the car next to him, as they idled at a crossing for a train to pass, could pull a gun and shoot him without warning. There was a man selling fruit juice, from a big brass urn strapped to his back, on the sidewalk outside the hotel. He could knife Bell, as he passed, then vanish in the crowd. There could be a sniper on just about any rooftop or window within a three-block radius.

That was the power of an insurgency, Bell knew, its ability to blend in and carry out attacks without provocation or warning. How does one fight an enemy you can’t detect until after they’ve struck? He thought about the guerrilla war grinding on in the Philippines and knew a long occupation doesn’t work. To end this, Bell had to think of some other way or the body count would continue to rise.

“Are you okay?” Marion asked. She was seated next to him in the hired car.

Sam Westbrook had been apologetic but resolute about Bell’s not borrowing a second government vehicle. He was already on the hook for the first truck’s loss and had to find a way of hiding it from the accountants. He did arrange for Isaac to rent a car from a friend who was laid up with a broken leg and couldn’t drive.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You seem a little jumpy.”

“Vigilant,” he countered. “Not knowing who my enemies are is making me see them everywhere.”

“Isaac, you can’t go on like this.”

“Don’t you see? I’ve gotten to them. I think that’s why they tried to kill me.” He paused, then explained. “Every time an insurgency reveals itself, be it an attack or just graffitiing their name on a wall, they risk exposure. They must balance that risk with the reward. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“For them to expose themselves and try to kill me shows I am a danger to them, even if I’m not sure why.”

“I don’t like this, Isaac,” she said, unable to stop herself. “I manage to keep myself together when you’re on a case because I know how clever you are. But, right now, you’re not yourself.”

Bell knew not to offer her platitudes. They were too closely connected for that. “You’re not wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact more people are going to die if I can’t solve this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I walked away.”

“I know.” She touched his cheek. “And I appreciate your honesty.”

Bell parked in front of the Central Hotel and sent a bellhop up to the room with Marion to fetch her things. He found Felix Ramirez in the bar, talking with his head chef. As soon as he saw Bell step into the deserted room, he dismissed the white-aproned chef and rose in greeting.

“You look none the worse for wear, my friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t visit in the hospital. I had a problem with overbooking.” He caught himself. “What do you care about my problems? What matters is you. How are you feeling? Tats reported you had some memory loss?”

“Still do,” Bell said. “I don’t remember driving to Gamboa, let alone back. The whole day is pretty much a blank.”

“Most distressing. But otherwise?”

“Beat up, but not knocked out.”

Felix threw him a toothy smile. “That’s the yanqui spirit. Does that mean you’re staying?”

“It does. I want to meet up with Court Talbot again. I hope talking with him will help with my memory.”

“You do remember he is out on the lake hunting the Viboras?”

“Sam Westbrook reminded me. Has there been any word?”

“No, nothing. But it is a big lake. Let me do this. I have friends in Gamboa. As soon as Talbot returns, I will have them call me, and I will drive us both to meet with him at the dock.”

“Thanks for the offer, I already have a car.”

“Suit yourself. Want an espresso?”

While Marion was a fast packer, Bell felt he had the time. “Love one. Anything happening since I went for my joyride?”

“Nothing much. Tats is trying to work out how the canal’s opening is going to affect the region and how he can profit from it. He knows the Authority will look after the needs of its workers, yet he feels that there will be ships lingering at both ends of the canal waiting their turns to transit. He’s looking for an angle there, and he may be onto something. If he can get goods out to the ships on small boats, the captains won’t have to pay dockage fees or deal with customs.”

“Smart. I assume the Webbs are still awaiting a ship to New York, but what about Herr Leibinger-Holte?”

Felix hesitated as if he’d just remembered something. “Sorry, what? Oh, I haven’t seen much of Ernst. He’s been holed up with the railroad people over in Colón, trying to make a sale. Last he told me was, if he isn’t successful, he’s being ordered to Brazil to pitch their electronic switches for a new hydroelectric dam being built near São Paulo.”

“And what about old Jorge Nuñez? I really like him.”

“He’s a good man, our Jorge. I’m glad you got along. For the past few months, he’s been trying to get a permit to work in the Canal Zone as a tutor for some of the workers’ children without any luck. He mostly takes jobs as a tour guide for visiting Americans or acts as a translator down on the docks. Apart from Spanish and English, he speaks Portuguese, Italian, German, and French.”

“Perhaps I can put in a word,” Bell offered. “If I get Viboras Rojas sorted out, Colonel Goethals will owe me a favor.”

“Damned decent of you,” Felix said with genuine surprise. “It’s refreshing to see someone look beyond the surface and appreciate the depths below.”

Bell said nothing and took an appreciative sip of his strong espresso.

“I like your wife, Isaac. She’s a true beauty.”

“Thank you. And thank you for escorting her