Midnight Harvest (69 page)

“You’re lucky,” said the driver as the attendant gave him their destination. “The bridge is open. You couldn’t have done this a day ago.”

“A day ago we wouldn’t have been here,” said Rowena, sitting on the pull-down chair on the rear door. She stared at him anxiously. “Is there anything you can do?”

“We’d take off his clothes, if you weren’t here,” said the attendant in the rear with her. “It has to be done.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” she said. “I’m an artist; I’ve seen any number of naked bodies.” But not Saint-Germain’s, she reminded herself, not entirely.

“If you’re sure? He’s not going to be pretty,” said the attendant even as he reached for heavy shears.

“Go ahead,” said Rowena, and steeled herself for what she would see; it had been a long time since she had seen him without a shirt or a robe on.

The attendant began to cut Saint-Germain’s trouser-leg, taking care not to touch the wounds. “It’s amazing he doesn’t have any broken bones, not that I can see. A fall like that should mean fractures everywhere.”

“The car must have protected him,” said Rowena, feeling the ambulance swaying. How strange, she thought, to be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time and not be able to see anything.

“We must be the first ambulance over the bridge,” said the attendant as he dropped the cloth into a paper sack and began on the jacket; where he was not battered and bloody, Saint-Germain was very, very pale, his skin seeming almost translucent.

“I guess so,” said Rowena.

“He’s in pretty good shape, I’ll say that,” the attendant went on as he tossed the right side of the jacket into the sack and started on the shirt. “Silk. Don’t see too many silk shirts.”

“He dresses well,” said Rowena.

The attendant had cut the shirt and undershirt; he caught sight of the wide swath of scars on Saint-Germain’s torso, running from the base of his sternum to the top of his underdrawers. “Will you look at that?” he marveled. “He must’ve been in the Great War.”

“He was in Europe before the war,” said Rowena truthfully enough.

“Someone got him.” The attendant kept at his task as the ambulance slowed for the tollbooths. “Those are old scars.”

“Yes; they are,” said Rowena. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying, all the while wishing she were stronger, more able to maintain a proper deportment under pressure. Her headache was getting worse and she felt herself growing hot, a symptom of her change-of-life. This was hardly the time for such nonsense, she thought as she felt a finger of sweat slide down her neck.

“You all right?” the attendant asked.

“I’m upset,” said Rowena.

The attendant nodded. “Small wonder.” He moved the paper sack aside.

She rubbed her hands together. “How much longer?”

“Fifteen minutes, maybe less,” said the attendant “We’re running the siren, and the cops won’t stop us.”

“Is that really an advantage?” She could feel the ambulance rock as it sped along the street that led to the passage through Golden Gate Park.

“We’ll go up to Ninth Avenue, probably, then up the hill.” The attendant had taken out a towel and was cleaning his hands.

“The driver must know the best way; the fastest,” said Rowena as if to convince herself.

“He sure does.” He took out a white drape and spread it over Saint-Germain, taking care not to do anything to make his injuries worse. The fine cotton was soon spotted with red. “It’s gonna be hard to clean him up. There’s sand and rock and glass in his wounds. And shock is always a problem when you’re dealing with an accident.”

“I’m sure his doctor will know how to manage it; he will meet us there; I know he will,” said Rowena She would have liked to hold Saint-Germain’s hand, to care for him herself, but that would not be possible yet.

“They’ll take care of him in Emergency,” said the attendant “They have a good staff, and they’re hard workers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Rowena, hoping that Rogerio would be there to meet them.

“He’s gonna need blood,” said the attendant.

“Oh, yes,” said Rowena.

The attendant found a jar of saline solution and an intravenous needle and line. “I should try to get this started.”

“It might be better to wait,” said Rowena. “I think his physician will want to do it. He’s supposed to be coming to the hospital.”

“Did you talk to him?” The attendant hesitated.

“No; I spoke to his associate, who assured me he would call Ragoczy’s physician.” She mustered all the authority she could. “I don’t want to do anything that could compromise his recovery.”

“Makes sense to me,” said the attendant, and moved back from the stretcher to sit down next to Rowena. “My name’s Holmond, Walter Holmond,” he said.

“It’s good to meet you, Walter Holmond. I’m Miss Saxon,” she said, offering her hand.

His handshake was firm but not so tight that it hurt. “You’re a real trouper, Miss Saxon. Not many women could do this,” he said, and fell silent.

Rowena sat back, longing for an aspirin. She would be so glad to have this day behind her, to have Saint-Germain safe once more; that was her biggest worry now, that she would be unable to protect him from the kind of scrutiny he most dreaded. As the ambulance turned left, she hung on to the side of the seat, her queasiness increasing, not all of it from the motion of the vehicle.

“He’s a good man?” Holmond asked, jutting his chin in Saint-Germain’s direction.

“The best I’ve ever known,” Rowena said.

“Then I hope for your sake he pulls through,” said Holmond, adding, “We’re almost there.” He coughed. “You’ll have to pay the driver.”

“Fifteen dollars,” said Rowena. “Yes; I will.”

The ambulance slewed to the right and barreled across the intersection, then sped up Ninth Avenue.

“Maybe three minutes more,” said Holmond.

Let Rogerio be there, let Rogerio be there, Rowena repeated silently. “Hang on,” she murmured to Saint-Germain, and thought she saw him nod, trusting it was something more than the motion of the ambulance that caused it.

T
EXT OF A LETTER FROM
C
OLONEL
A
NDREAS
M
ORALES IN
S
EVILLA TO
C
ENERE IN
S
AN
F
RANCISCO; SENT AIRMAIL
.

88, Calle de los Obreros

Sevilla, España

11 June, 1937

Cenere

North Point Hotel

901 North Point Street

San Francisco, California, USA

My dear Cenere,

Your telegram has finally caught up with me, and I am grateful to you for keeping me informed of your activities, although I cannot entirely call it progress; I am also surprised you should spend so much on a telegram when an airmail letter would have been less than twenty percent of the cost of the telegram. Still, you were obeying my instructions and what’s done is done. The same cannot be said of your mission. I will agree your attempts on Ragoczy’s life should have succeeded, and that they have not is hardly to your discredit, but I also agree with you that to act again soon would be a great risk that is likely to be too problematic to contemplate, at least for the next month or so; Ragoczy must be on the alert, and he has shown himself to be a formidable opponent, and for that reason alone, circumspection is called for.

Let me tell you now, however, that your failure to kill Ragoczy is not acceptable. You will remain where you are until this mission is complete. And you will not threaten me again in regard to informing my superiors. I may have exceeded my authority, but you have taken the most flagrant advantage of my desire to see this Ragoczy removed. Consider all you have done and you will be grateful that you are being permitted to do the work you have been so handsomely paid to do, rather than suffer the same fate as Ragoczy must-I say must advisedly, certain that you will not miss my meaning. If you should fail to kill him, do not return to España, or you will find that you will have to answer for your failure before a firing squad.

I cannot recommend another attack on the artist-woman, no matter how closely associated she may be to Ragoczy. She is a noted personage, and attacks on her could bring about the very scrutiny your work is supposed to evade. The police have investigated the break-in, you tell me, and have not closed their case. This situation can too easily turn against you; bide your time if you must As much as I want Ragoczy dead, I want more to have no connection, directly or indirectly, to that so-called accident or the break-in at Miss Saxon’s house, not with the police taking such an interest in the matter. I want you to keep that in mind as you make your next plans as you undertake to fulfill your pledge to see Ragoczy dead.

You say you tampered with his brakes and the steering-linkage on his automobile, which is totally wrecked due to the fall the auto took into the water. Had matters gone only a bit more in our favor, Ragoczy would be dead now and you would be returning to Europe, where there is more work waiting for you. But such is the perversity of fate that your best efforts succeeded only in causing severe injuries, and the destruction of the vehicle. In regard to the latter, I am assuming that the damage you inflicted on the auto could not be easily identified as artificial rather than unfortunate; if your role in the accident can be determined, then you must reevaluate your task and determine if it is prudent to continue as you have done. It may be that another approach is called for, and it is up to you to discover it and put it to the most careful use. Under no circumstances are you to be arrested; if that should happen, you will be utterly on your own, for your apprehension by the police would undo all the advantages you have so carefully achieved.

You also inform me that Ragoczy has been in the care of a private physician from the time he was injured until now, making it impossible for you to reach him through hospital personnel, a most distressing development, and one you must factor into your next plans. I will not support any action that will expose your purpose, and that includes more attempts on those close to Ragoczy, for that makes for complications that may lead to the sort of discovery you are sworn to evade.

Another two thousand dollars has been wired to you, as per your request I cannot imagine how you contrive to spend so much. For most Americans, two thousand dollars would be a handsome salary for a year, and you claim to need five times that amount to do your work, which, on the face of it, is a simple thing to accomplish. You may be very good at what you do, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are expensive to maintain. This is the last money I will vouchsafe you until I have word from you that you have succeeded. I have been patient, but I expect results, discreetly achieved. I will pay you your price, but I also ask that you do this with as much dispatch as you can without risking discovery. Be certain that any prevarication will only be held against you, and any revelation to the local authorities will bring swift reprisals. If you are identified as what you are, you must leave or assure your silence. I know I make myself dear.

Should anything bring a compromise upon me, or any project to which I have been assigned, I will see that you answer for it Now that General Franco is advancing so successfully, it is essential that nothing interfere with the triumph of our cause. With all you have demanded, it will go badly for you if anything you have done comes to light You will have to answer for your failure, and if I must, I will make a public display of you; I will disgrace you and see you stand before a firing squad. So if you are losing determination on this mission, let me assure you it will be far worse for you, should you attempt to make a bargain with Ragoczy or the American authorities. You are not the only assassin known to me, and I will not hesitate to silence you if it is necessary. If you continue to threaten me with exposure, I will break off all ties with you and consider our association at an end. Do the work you have contracted to do and I will see you appropriately rewarded.

You may continue to use this address for the next four months, for I will be supervising General Franco’s supporters here in Sevilla. Our cause is gaining momentum every day, and coordinating the actions of those who are willing to join with us is increasingly important, so it is also crucial just now that no nefarious deeds be attributed to us. You must know that my strictures on this point apply to you as well as to our fighters here. I look forward to your telegram informing me of your completion of your commission, and your plans for a prompt return to España to answer for all you have accomplished.

Andreas Morales, Colonel

chapter eight

“What a beautiful day to visit the winery. Why must we discuss your leaving in the midst of all this?” Rowena said as she and Saint-Germain motored out of Petaluma on their way to Geyserville; the September morning was hot and the traffic on Route 101 was crawling; up ahead about a mile a maroon DeSoto was pulled onto the shoulder, the driver sweating at the task of changing a tire as the rest of the north-bound cars inched by, stately as a parade.

“There are only a few minor matters to clear up, including the automobiles. Oscar King has all the paperwork done to arrange the transfer to you. The Auburn isn’t your Chancellor Miller Speedster, but it is a very nice machine, for all of that,” said Saint-Germain. “I think you’ll enjoy it; if you don’t, sell it.” He was in his black tropical-weight summer suit, a crisp linen shirt beneath and a red-and-black foulard tie; he had not worn a hat.

She turned to him, watching his profile as he concentrated on the road ahead. “I wish you’d let me pay you for it. I can easily afford it.”

“I’d just as soon not,” said Saint-Germain.

“Do you think you might come back?” Her question was wistful, and she made no apology for it. She played with the ruffled peplum of her mallard silk blouse and brushed imaginary dust off her khaki twill skirt.