Part 3 (1/2)

There was another man in his drawing-room, and a young woman. Jack Tracy was a young-middle-aged man, blond, with a pock-marked face and a general air of capable toughness about him. The toughness and capability were undoubtedly there -- they had to be for any man to be the general manager of Smith's vast chain of newspapers and magazines.

Maria Schneider, with her slightly dusky skin and brown eyes, could have been South American, Southern Mediterranean or Middle Eastern. Her hair was the colour of a raven. Whatever her nationality she was indisputably beautiful with a rather inscrutable face but invariably watchful penetrating eyes. She didn't look kind or sensitive but was both. She looked intelligent and had to be: when not doubling -- as rumour had it - as Smith's mistress she was his private and confidential secretary and it was no rumour that she was remarkably skilled in her official capacity.

The phone rang. Maria answered, told the caller to hold and brought the phone on its extension cord across to Smith's armchair. He took the phone and listened briefly.

'Ah, Hiller!' Smith, unusually for him, leant forward in his armchair.

There was antic.i.p.ation in both his voice and posture. 'You have, I trust, some encouraging news for me. You have? Good, good, good.

Proceed.'

Smith listened in silence to what Hiller had to say, the expression on his face gradually changing from pleasure to the near beatific. It was a measure of the man's self-control that, although apparently in a near transport of excitement, he refrained from either exclamations, questions or interruptions and heard Hiller through in silence to the end.

'Excellent!' Smith was positively jubilant. 'Truly excellent. Frederik, you have just made me the happiest man in Brazil.' Although Hiller claimed to be called Edward, his true given name would have appeared to be otherwise. 'Nor, I a.s.sure you, will you have cause to regret this day. My car will await you and your friends at the airport at eleven a.m.' He replaced the receiver. 'I said I could wait forever. Forever is today.'

Moments pa.s.sed while he gized sightlessly into the flames. Tracy and Maria looked at each other without expression. Smith sighed, gradually bestirred himself, leaned back into his armchair, reached into his pocket, brought out a gold coin, and examined it intently.

'My talisman,' he said. He still didn't appear to be quite with them.

'Thirty long years I've had it and I've looked at it every day in those thirty years. Hiller has seen this very coin. He says the ones this man Hamilton has are identical in every way. Hiller is not a man to make mistakes so this can mean only one thing. Hamilton has found what can only be the foot of the rainbow.'

Tracy said: 'And at the far end of the rainbow lies a pot of gold?'

Smith looked at him without really seeing him. 'Who cares about the gold?'

There was a long and, for Tracy and Maria, rather uncomfortable silence.

Smith sighed again and replaced the coin in his pocket.

'Another thing,' Smith went on. 'Hamilton appears to have stumbled across some sort of an El Dorado.'

'It seems less and less likely that Hamilton is the kind of man to stumble across anything,' Maria said. 'He's a hunter, a seeker - but never a stumbler. He has sources of information denied other so-called civilised people, especially among the tribes not yet cla.s.sified as pacified. He starts off with some sort of clue that points him in the right direction then starts quartering the ground, narrowing the area of search until he finally pinpoints what he's after. The element of chance doesn't enter into that man's calculations.'

'You might be right, my dear,' Smith said. 'In fact you're almost certainly right. Anyway, what matters is that Hiller says that Hamilton seems to have located some diamond h.o.a.rd.'

Maria said: 'Part of the war loot?'

'Overseas investments, my dear, overseas investments. Never war loot. In this case, however, no. They are uncut -- rough-cut, rather - Brazilian diamonds. And Hiller is an expert on diamonds -G.o.d knows he's stolen enough in his lifetime. Anyway, it appears that Hamilton has fallen for Hiller's story, hook, line and sinker - in Hiller's rather uninspired phrase. Two birds with one stone -- he's found both the European gold and the Brazilian diamonds. Looks as if this is going to be even easier than we thought.'

Tracy looked vaguely troubled. 'He hasn't the reputation for being an easy man.'

'Among the tribes of the Mato Grosso, agreed,' Smith said. He smiled as if antic.i.p.ating some future pleasure. 'But he's going to find himself in a different kind of jungle here.'

'Maybe you overlook one thing,' Maria said soberly. 'Maybe you're overlooking the fact that you've got to go back into that jungle with him.'

Hiller, in his room in the Hotel Negresco, was studying a gold coin which he held in his hand when he was disturbed by an erratic knock on the door. He pulled out a gun, held it behind his back, crossed to the door and opened it.

Hiller put his gun away: the precaution had been unnecessary. Serrano, both hands clutching the back of his neck, swayed dizzily and practically fell into the room.

'Brandy!' Serrano's voice was a strangled croak.

'What the h.e.l.l's happened to you?'

'Brandy!'

'Brandy coming up,' Hiller said resignedly. He gave a generous double to Serrano who downed it in a single gulp. He had just finished his third brandy and was pouring out his tale of woe when another sharp rat-tat-tat came on the door, this knocking far from erratic. Again Hiller took his precautionary measures and again they proved unnecessary. The Hamilton who stood in the doorway was scarcely recognisable as the Hamilton of two hours previously. Two hours in the Hotel de Paris's grandiloquently named Presidential suite -- no president had ever or would ever stay there, but it had the only bath in the hotel not corroded with rust -- had transformed him. He had bathed and was clean-shaven! He wore a fresh set of khaki drills, a fresh khaki s.h.i.+rt without a rent in sight and even a pair of gleaming new shoes.

Hiller glanced at his watch. 'Two hours precisely. You are very punctual.'

The politeness of princes.' Hamilton entered the room and caught sight of Serrano who was busy pouring himself another large brandy. By this time it was difficult to judge whether he was suffering the more from the effects of the blow or the brandy. Holding the gla.s.s in one rather unsteady hand and ma.s.saging the back of his neck with the other, he continued the restorative process without seeming to notice Hamilton.

Hamilton said: 'Who's this character?'

'Serrano,' Hiller said. 'An old friend.' It would have been impossible to guess from Hiller's casual off-handedness that he'd met Serrano for the first time only that evening. 'Don't worry. He can be trusted.'

'Delighted to hear it,' Hamilton said. He couldn't remember the month or the year when he last trusted anybody. 'Makes a welcome change in this day and age.' He peered at Serrano with the air of a concerned and kindly healer. 'Looks to me as if he's coming down with something.'

'He's been down,' Hiller said. 'Mugged.' He was observing Hamilton closely but could well have spared himself the trouble.

'Mugged?' Hamilton looked mildly astonished. 'He was walking the streets this time of night?'

'Yes.'

'And alone?'

'Yes,' Hiller said and added in what he probably regarded as a rather pointed fas.h.i.+on: 'You walk alone at night.'

'I know Romono,' Hamilton said. 'Much more importantly, Romono knows me.' He looked pityingly at Serrano. 'I'll bet you weren't even walking in the middle of the road - and I'll bet you're that much lighter by the weight of your wallet.'

Serrano nodded, scowled, said nothing and got back to his self-medication.

'Life's a great teacher,' Hamilton said absently. 'But it beats me how a citizen of Romono could be so d.a.m.ned stupid. Okay, Hiller, when do we leave?'

Hiller had already turned towards a gla.s.s-fronted wall cupboard.

'Scotch?' he said. 'No firewater. Guaranteed.' He showed Hamilton a famous proprietary brand of Scotch with the seal, unbroken.

'Thanks.'

Hiller's gesture had not been motivated by an undiluted spirit of hospitality. He had turned his back on Hamilton to conceal what he knew must have been a momentary flash of triumph in his face; moreover, this was definitely a moment for celebration. Back in the bar of the Hotel de Paris he had been sure that he had his fish hooked: now he had it gaffed and landed.

'Cheers,' he said. 'We leave at first light tomorrow.'

'How do we go?'

'Bush plane to Cuiaba.' He paused then added apologetically: 'Rickety old bus of cardboard and wire but it's never come down yet. After that, Smith's private jet. That's something else again. It will be waiting for us at Cuiaba.'

'How do you know?'

Hiller nodded towards the phone. 'Carrier pigeon,'