Green Ice (35 page)

She retired early and agreed with Wiley that sometimes being tired made lovemaking exceptionally pleasant.

The following day, more shopping. Procuring, Lillian called it, reminding Wiley when he arched that the word did not apply exclusively to pimping.

They had passport photos taken, with grim expressions.

A bedding shop agreed to deliver five twin-size mattresses that day to the Kennedy City house.

At a military surplus store in the El Ejido district, Lillian found the crash helmets, goggles and boots they needed. High-top combat boots. Also nylon duffel bags. Three regulation size and two smaller. Coveralls. Did they come in black? Only in white and khaki. Lillian decided on white, three pairs—one large, two medium. A square yard of half-inch-thick foam rubber was their final purchase of the day.

They dropped everything off at the Kennedy City house and returned to the villa. It was not yet three o’clock.

Lillian had suggested to Argenti that they have a late lunch at home, alone on the terrace, so they could talk.

She put some extra effort into her appearance, wore a Marc Bohan flirting dress in a blue-printed mousseline, completely off the shoulder and pouffy skirted.

Argenti said he adored the way she looked.

Throughout the long leisurely lunch she had no difficulty getting Argenti to talk about himself. Where was he born? Had he spent much time in Marbella? Why didn’t he ever go to the United States or Europe? Of course it was because he enjoyed Mexico and South America so much. What was his middle initial? She wanted to have something engraved for him, just a token from Bulgari. Oh? What did the
S
stand for?

Meno Sebastiano Argenti.

What a beautiful name. A lovely sound to it, especially the way he said it. So mellifluous.

Meno Sebastiano Argenti.

Meanwhile Wiley was wandering around the grounds photographing the far-off mountains, architectural features of the villa, various flowers.

Argenti inquired when he caught a glimpse of Wiley, who was about a hundred feet away, not intruding actually.

Lillian explained that Wiley was an avid amateur photographer who focused his interest primarily on nature subjects. She had bought Wiley the camera to keep him occupied.

Argenti understood with a superior smile and paid no further attention to Wiley.

Wiley exposed two rolls of Plus-X film and took them into town to a photo finishing laboratory. He could have the film developed and contact prints made by the following noon. For a special rush order price. Double. Enlargements normally took three days, however … He slipped the laboratory clerk a personal twenty dollars and was assured same-day service. Lillian, he thought, was rubbing off on him.

When he got back to the villa she was in her bathroom applying vitamin E cream to her upper right thigh. There were red welts, irritations, where adhesive tape had held the tape recorder.

She ouched for sympathy.

“Looks like the afterglow of a little S and M,” Wiley said.

“Have you ever been into that?”

“A girl once wanted me to spank her with her father’s bedroom slipper.”

“Did you?”

“You must have ripped the adhesive tape off,” he said. “Should have used alcohol. Or is it acetone?”

“Kiss it well.”

He was sitting on the edge of the bidet. She put herself in range. He didn’t have to pull her even an inch toward him.

“Vitamin E is good for your lips,” she said.

He kissed around.

“Did you?” she asked.

“Hmmmm?”

“Spank her.”

“No. Anyway, only a little.”

“They say pain is the sister of passion.”

“Who says.”

“I believe it was sky-written over Malibu Beach one Saturday afternoon.”

He got a little of the skin of her hip between his teeth, as little as possible, nipped her.

The sound she made wasn’t entirely complaint and she didn’t flinch.

He’d do anything to please her, he thought, anything. How selfish of him that was, really.

She picked up the tape recorder, rewinding it as she went into the bedroom. When the cassette was completely rewound, she pressed the play button. Argenti’s voice boomed out so loud it made a crystal wall sconce tinkle before she could lower the volume. If Argenti was anywhere near, he must surely have heard. Wiley opened the door to the corridor and peeked out. No one. He also took a look out the window. There was Argenti. But far out on the lawn, walking with his niece, Clementina.

The tape contained about forty-five minutes of Lillian and Argenti’s luncheon conversation. Lillian remarked that she sounded dreadful and silly. At a few places on the tape the voices became momentarily muffled.

“That’s where I forgot to keep my legs apart,” Lillian explained.

Several times they rewound and played what they believed was the critical part. They went into the bathroom, closed the door and windows and played it at normal speaking volume. The fidelity was excellent. As though Meno Sebastiano Argenti was there in person.

The following day they went to the
barrio
to check in with Miguel.

He too had made progress. Most important, he had arranged for a training site at a place in the mountains near the town of Pacora, which was close to where he’d been raised. He thought it would serve their purpose well. It was isolated, had a small house for their living quarters and a patch of open field with not too much of a slope.

Another thing. Miguel had “obtained” a car. He hadn’t seen it yet, but it was being driven up that day from Cali. Actually it was a panel truck, as he’d specified, an older model, beat up, incapable of much speed and certainly inconspicuous.

Would Wiley and Lillian need weapons? Miguel asked. He could easily supply them with sidearms and automatic rifles.

They already had weapons, Lillian told him. He should see to his own.

Miguel needed money.

How much?

Two thousand dollars.

Lillian looked to Wiley.

Wiley gave Miguel two thousand in hundreds. He had noticed Miguel’s lips purse to say one, change to say two.

Miguel told them how good he felt about this operation. He complimented Wiley, said it proved how valuable an education in electronics could be.

And a family farm in Ohio, Wiley put in.

Miguel said that if this operation was successful he would be able to go ahead with the major incident he had spoken to them about. As though he hadn’t always been cryptic about it.

Again, Lillian asked what it was he had in mind.

For now they had enough to concern themselves with, Miguel said. Not to worry, they’d be in on it when the time came. Wiley would be especially useful. Anyway, he expected enough money from this operation to finance the incident and launch the national uprising that was certain to follow. Argenti and all his kind would fall and never get up again.

Great, Wiley thought, but come the revolution, he’d be long gone to some peaceful place—Lillian or no Lillian.

Before leaving the
barrio
, they took a look at their objective. Seeing the building now, in daylight, using the windows for a measure, Wiley realized he’d been off quite a bit on his estimate. The building was no more than 120 feet long, judging by its proportions, 100 feet wide.

From the
barrio
they dropped in at the Kennedy City house. The mattresses had arrived. The Cubans had unpacked theirs but left the others in the cardboard containers. The Cubans weren’t around. Lillian remarked that they were probably off to the races. Wiley noticed the wide ring they’d left on the only bathtub, along with several curly hairs that were probably pubic. He reminded Lillian to get some Ajax.

At least, she said, they were taking baths.

On the way back to the villa, Wiley and Lillian went to the photo laboratory to look over the contact prints.

“These are right on the button,” Lillian said, indicating a series of exposures.

They were of Astrid and Maret sunning nude at the pool, unaware they were being photographed. Thus the angles and details were of Wiley’s choosing, even more revealing of him than of his subjects. With the two-hundred-millimeter lens he’d gotten a number of shots so close they were anatomical puzzles. Others of that sort were quite recognizable.

“I got bored shooting gargoyles and trees,” he explained.

“What’s so entertaining about an armpit?” She pointed out a certain photo.

“That’s not an armpit.”

“It looks like a European armpit.”

“Armpits are concave.”

Out of the two rolls of film, seventy-two exposures altogether, Wiley had managed to get about half in focus. All the vital ones, however, were sharp, would enlarge well.

That evening, Lillian gave Argenti another dose of encouragement. Told him she needed time, but only a little, to think about his proposal. Also, his presence was certainly not fair to her. She didn’t want to be swayed, had to be objective, thought she could reach a decision sooner if she went home to Mexico City. Which way was she leaning? Well, he shouldn’t yet order the engraving but he might doodle an invitation list.

Later that evening, aside, Argenti told Wiley he understood Wiley had almost run out on him three days ago. That would have been unwise, he said. Kellerman had been upset about it, wanted to take some sort of action. Wiley should stay put, considering the five million still outstanding on his ledger with The Concession.

Wiley nodded compliantly.

He told Lillian about it when they got to bed. How could he go to Mexico City with her when he was Argenti’s prisoner of debt?

She’d finagle Argenti into letting him go along.

Wouldn’t Argenti be jealous?

Some people just weren’t, ever, Lillian said. Didn’t Wiley think Argenti knew what had been going on in his own house?

That was true, Wiley thought, and odd.

Next day, as scheduled, Lillian’s secretary and driver arrived in Bogotá.

Wiley and Lillian met with them in a suite at the Hilton.

This was the first time Wiley had seen Marianna. An intelligent blonde of about thirty. Attractively understated. She knew which side her toast was caviared on. Not for an instant did she compete with Lillian, while giving her the limit of her competence.

As for Bryan, he was merely along for the ride, would do whatever he was told. He made double the pay of most drivers for working half as much, and Marianna was a fringe benefit more attractive than Blue Cross.

Wiley noticed right off that the jeans Bryan had on were a pair from his own original Las Hadas wardrobe. If there is one thing a man knows, it is his jeans, and these were definitely the straight-legged, slightly vibrant blue pair he’d bought last spring on East Sixtieth at the French Jean Store.

Now was not the time to make an issue of it, Wiley decided. No doubt his entire original wardrobe was over the garage in Bryan’s closet. His most recent one was sitting in baggage claim in Miami.

Lillian had Marianna order up some breakfast. No ham, bacon, or sausage for Wiley, she stipulated. He had developed an aversion to pork in any form since Barbosa.

They got down to business.

Marianna had brought the equipment Lillian had requested. It hadn’t been available in Mexico City. She’d flown to New York for it.

Wiley squatted for a closer look at the three identical black packs that were side by side along the wall.

While in New York, Marianna had also arranged for the four passports. She had already fixed up two of them.

Lillian brought out her and Wiley’s passport photos. Marianna glued them in proper position on the third pages of the other two passports. Wiley and Lillian signed them. Then Marianna used a pressure stamp on the faces of the photos to emboss an official State Department seal.

Cash. Marianna handed a manilla envelope to Lillian, who, without a look inside, passed it on to Wiley. He found it contained five bound bundles, a hundred hundreds to each bundle. He riffled through a bundle twice just for the feel of it.

Breakfast came.

Wiley ate too fast and finished first. He went out on the balcony to have a smoke. Twenty-five stories below was the Circo de Santamaría, Bogotá’s bull ring. At the moment it was concentric circles of empty seats. There were two figures against the pale ground of its center. Flashes of bright pink and blood red, billows of those colors. Wiley watched the two matadors practice with their capes, whirling in place time and time again. Smart of them, he thought, to get acquainted with where they would face death. Cutting down assumptions.

One of the matadors spun, lost balance, and went down covered by the red of this cape.

At that moment Marianna came out to give Wiley another envelope, something else from New York.

What was in it told him Lillian had made a point of remembering the name of his divorce lawyer. She’d paid the Jennifer tab. That part of his life was right there in his hand, signed and settled.

It was more than a favor.

Wiley did the final errands.

He took along the three black packs. Picked up the photo enlargements and the guns and ammunition. Dropped everything off at the Kennedy City house.

The two Cubans were in the backyard playing catch with a baseball. Wiley observed, unnoticed, from a rear window. The Cubans were catching barehanded. They wound up and burned the ball as hard as they could to each other. Stinging smacks when it hit their palms but only one drop in ten throws.

It was enough to make Johnny Bench wince.

Lillian was dressed for travel. Tan slacks, blue sweater, blue-and-beige figured scarf and silver-framed aviator-style dark glasses. Wiley wore what he’d had on for the last four days: navy blazer, gray slacks.

The limousine was loaded.

Argenti offered to take the ride, see them to the airport.

Lillian told him not to bother.

Argenti insisted, mildly.

Lillian told him she would prefer not to remember him in such an unsuitable plebian atmosphere as the air terminal.

He was dissuaded.

Lillian gave him three farewell cheek kisses that were actually more lip sound than contact.