River of Death by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online Page B

tailor. That's expensive. How come? Last night in the bar you said you had no money.'

'I came into some later on.'

Hiller and Serrano exchanged very peculiar looks. Hamilton continued to gaze placidly out of the window.

As promised a car met them at the private airport in Brasilia. 'Car' was really too mundane a word to describe it. It was an enormous maroon Rolls-Royce, big enough, one would have thought, to accommodate a football team. In the back it had television, a bar and even an ice-maker. Up front -very far up front — were two uniformed men in dark green livery. One drove the car: the other's main function in life appeared to be opening doors when the back seat — seats — passengers entered or left. The engine, predictably, was soundless. If it were part of Smith's pattern to awe visitors he most certainly succeeded in the case of Serrano.

Hamilton appeared quite unimpressed, possibly because he was too busy inspecting the bar; Smith had somehow overlooked providing a stewardess for the rear of the Rolls.

They drove through the wide avenues of that futuristic city and pulled up outside the Grand Hotel. Hamilton dismounted — the door having magically been opened for him, of course - and passed swiftly through the revolving door. Once inside, he looked out through the glassed-in porch. The Rolls, already more than a hundred yards away, was turning a corner to the left. Hamilton waited until it had disappeared from sight, left by the revolving door by which he had entered and started to walk briskly back in the direction from which they had come. He gave the impression of one who knew the city, and he did: he knew Brasilia very well indeed.

Five minutes after dropping Hamilton the Rolls, pulled up outside a photographer's shop. Hiller went inside, approached a smiling and affable assistant and handed over the film that had been taken from Hamilton.

'Have this developed and sent to Mr Joshua Smith, Haydn Villa.' There was no need for Hiller to add the word 'immediately'. Smith's name guaranteed immediacy. Hiller went on: 'No copy is to be made of this film and neither the person who develops it nor any other member of your staff is ever to discuss it. I hope that is clearly understood.' 'Yes, sir. Of course, sir.' The smile and the affability had vanished to be replaced by total obsequiousness. 'Speed and secrecy. Those are guaranteed, sir.'

'And a perfect print?'

'If the negative is perfect so will the print be.' Hiller couldn't think of how else he could threaten the now thoroughly apprehensive assistant so he nodded and left.

Another ten minutes later and Hiller and Serrano were in the drawing-room of the Villa Haydn. Serrano was seated, as were Tracy, Maria and a fourth and as yet unidentified man. Smith talked somewhat apart with Hiller — 'somewhat apart' in that huge drawing-room meant a considerable distance — glancing occasionally in Serrano's direction.

Hiller said: 'Of course, I can't vouch for him. But he knows an awful lot that we don't and I can always see to it that he'll make no trouble. Come to that, so would Hamilton. Hamilton has a rough way of dealing with people who step out of line.' Hiller went on to tell the sad tale of Serrano's mugging.

'Well, if you say so, Hiller.' Smith sounded doubtful and if there was one thing Smith didn't like it was being doubtful about anything. 'You certainly haven't let me down so far.' He paused. 'But your friend Serrano seems to have no history, no past.'

'Neither have most men in the Mato Grosso. Usually for the 'simple reason that they have too much of a past. But he knows his jungle — and he knows more Indian dialects than any man except maybe Hamilton. Certainly more than any man in the Indian Protection Service.'

'All right.' Smith had made up his mind and seemed relieved for that. 'And he's been close to the Lost City. Could be a useful back-up man.'

Hiller nodded towards the unidentified person, a tall, very heavily built, darkly