The Saboteurs Clive Cussler (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

“I was thinking along those lines myself. Only I have no idea when that will be. It’s no secret that Colonel Goethals requested a Marine division for additional security. Once they’re here, the Vipers will have a much harder time striking. They have to act before then. They also must know that Major Talbot has permission to hunt them down, meaning the smart play is to lie low.”

“A tricky balance.”

“Exactly,” Bell agreed. “To succeed with their plan, they are going to need perfect timing.” He then added, with some recrimination, “I don’t understand their strategy, the escalations, their goals. I understand nothing, really.”

“I can tell that is a situation you find most displeasing, my friend.”

“You have no idea. But I find motivation in frustration. And now I have to add President Roosevelt’s visit to the mix.”

“What will be your next step?”

“What I always do, Señor Nuñez, keep poking around the problem until I find that one thread that doesn’t fit and tug on it so the whole ball of yarn comes unwound.”

The Panamanian teacher nodded. “I can tell by the tone of your voice that you are deadly serious.”

“Criminals always make mistakes. It’s because they’re human. Investigators joke about how there can’t be a perfect crime so long as there is a victim, because once you identify him, you can trace back what was done to him and by whom. Viboras Rojas has yet to leave any overt clues in their wake of destruction, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“And you will find them?”

“We have a saying about how Van Dorn agents always get their man, always. None of us has ever failed. And I certainly don’t intend to be the first.”

The following day was Sunday, a day reserved for prayer and contemplation, but nothing was more sacred in Panama than the completion of the canal. The work never slowed.

Bell was surprised to find Felix Ramirez at a corner booth in the dining room when it opened for breakfast. A cheroot smoldered in a cut-glass ashtray at his elbow, and strewn across the tables were dozens of ledger pages and loose receipts. He sipped from a tiny cup of espresso produced by the domed La Pavoni coffeemaker behind the bar.

“Morning.”

“Ah, Señor Bell. Good morning. Join me, please.” He swept the papers into a neat pile and set it aside.

“Thank you.” Bell slid into the booth opposite Ramirez, setting his panama hat on the table next to Ramirez’s. Rather than a tie, Ramirez wore a yellow-patterned cravat tucked into his collar.

“Where is your wife?”

“Still asleep,” Bell said and then pointed to the tiny cup in front of the Panamanian. “Is that actual espresso?”

“You know about espresso?”

“I’ve had it in Europe. I can’t find anyone in the States willing to buy one of the machines. Devilishly expensive things.”

“I know.”

Bell cocked his head, putting together subtle clues from the night before. “Wait, do you own the hotel?”

“Not own, exactly,” Felix replied vaguely, “but I have an interest in it, thanks to a card game some months back. My first order of business was ordering an espresso machine. I lived in Rome two years ago and fell in love with strong, bitter coffee.”

“Rome? Nice. Do you speak Italian?”

“Italian, French, some Portuguese, and of course English and Spanish. Oh, and some Tagalog. I was once stranded in Manila by a sea captain who didn’t want to pay his gambling debts.” He signaled the barman for two more demitasses of espresso.

“You seem to live off your wits, Mr. Ramirez.”

“I think that is why we like each other, Señor Bell. You do the same, no?”

“Differently, but close enough.”

“Hah. I can tell by looking at you that you’re formidable at cards. I know you’re married now yet I imagine there were countless youthful indiscretions in your past, and I bet you can outfight, outshoot, and outdrink any of the ruffians who drift in and out of this lawless place looking to make his fortune.”

Bell laughed at the flattery and said, “My ‘indiscretions,’ as you call them, weren’t countless. I know the exact number.”

Ramirez laughed appreciatively. “I really do like you. May I call you Isaac?”

“By all means, Felix.”

“How was your time with Jorge?”

“I had hoped to gain a local’s insight into Viboras Rojas, but he really couldn’t add to what I already know. Nice enough fellow, though.”

The chrome coffeemaker on the back bar was snorting and belching and producing bursts of steam as it prepared tiny cups of ultra-rich espresso.

“What about you, Felix? Any insights you’d like to share?”

“I learned long ago to never give my opinion. Anyone listening is also judging and could eventually use what you’ve said against you.”

“Keep your ears open and your mouth shut?”

“Precisely. But in this case, I will make an exception. Let’s be honest with each other. The American government backed a bogus revolution in order to break Panama away from Colombia in what was essentially an illegitimate annexation. They dispatched Marines and gunboats to send Colombia’s forces back south with its tail between its legs.

“What’s at stake here is money. Millions upon millions of dollars in revenue over the decades the canal is going to be in operation. My opinion is, the Colombians want some of that for themselves. Either a lump sum payment or annual payoff. If they can get that, they will stop telling the rest of the world about what an awful thing the American Imperialists did to their poor and downtrodden people.”

The barman brought the steaming little cups, and the two men took some time to appreciate the aroma and enjoy a couple of sips. At length, Bell said, “You think Viboras Rojas are part of a covert Colombian operation to pressure the United States into handing over reparations?”

“That’s my theory. To me, the group’s supposed goals are ridiculous. I can’t see anything stopping the canal’s completion nor do I envision a mass uprising to seize control of it once it’s done.” He leaned closer. “I wouldn’t