Could the downing of Air Force One have anything to do with this? Officer Mazatl wondered.
She drove directly for the Zona Rosa, the opulent and overpriced tourist district. It was near the U. S. embassy and therefore exactly the place the gringos would go-if they knew where to go in Mexico.
She checked at the desks in the Galeria Plaza and the Calinda Geneve hotels. The gringos had not been there.
Driving down Liverpool, past still-shattered facades of buildings damaged during the 1985 earthquake, she stopped at the Krystal.
"Senor, por favor." She accosted the desk clerk, quickly describing Remo and Chiun.
The clerk wordlessly passed her a key. It was stamped Room 67.
"Gracias," Officer Mazatl said, striding for the elevator.
She boarded the car with a pair of white-uniformed waiters carrying covered trays. They joked among themselves as the car ascended.
"si," the first one said, "driving a bread truck. Everyone is talking about it."
"I did not know that Bimbo Bread paid so well as to entice an American politician to drive one of their trucks," the other laughed.
"What is this?" Officer Mazatl said suddenly, erasing the smiles from their dark faces with her authoritative tone.
"Senorita, we only-"
"Officer," she corrected.
"Officer, I was merely repeating the stories going around that a man very much resembling the Vice-President of the United States was seen in the city driving a Bimbo Bread truck. It is one of those rumors one hears."
"Bimbo Bread. You are certain of this?"
"Si. But it is a joke."
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the sixth floor.
"We shall see who ends up laughing," she said, leaving them to exchange glances and uplifted eyebrows.
At the door to Room 67, Officer Mazatl used the butt of her gun to knock. She struck the panel so hard it shivered. Then she flipped the pistol around until the muzzle was pointed directly at whoever would answer.
The door flew open. It was Remo. Surprisingly, he was unfazed by the sight of her pistol.
"Who is it?" the squeaky voice of Chiun called from behind Remo.
"It's Lupe," Remo called back. "Told you I recognized her knock."
"Send her away."
" I have a pistol," Lupe warned.
"Down here, everyone has a pistol," Remo muttered. "Come in, as long as you're here."
Lupe shut the door behind her. The TV set was on, tuned to an English broadcast on CNN. The old one called Chiun lay on one bed, looking wan. Remo threw himself onto a chair and focused on the TV.
"How are you, old one?" Lupe asked Chiun.
Nodding to the pistol in her hand, Chiun warned, "if you discharge that thing in here, I will kill you."
Lupe almost laughed, but it was not a time for laughter.
"Why did you chase that bread truck?" Lupe demanded of Remo.
"What truck?" Remo asked, filling a water glass with Tehuacan brand mineral water.
"The Bimbo Bread truck with the Vice-President driving it," she said quickly.
Remo stopped pouring. He looked up. He looked to the one called Chiun. The old one looked back.
They shrugged in unison like two puppets attached to the same strings.
Remo spoke first. "Tell us what you know about the Vice-President," he said.
"Only that he is supposed to be in Mexico City."
"How do you know this?" Chiun demanded coldly.
"Everyone in Mexico City is talking of this."
"They are!" Remo said.
"But they think it is a joke. You do not think it is a joke, do you?"
"Look, can we level with you?" Remo asked.
"Remo," Chiun warned, "we are in a strange land. We can trust no one."
"Silencio, papacito!" Lupe hissed. Chiun's face wrinkled as if stung. "Go ahead, Senor Yones."
"Call me Remo," Remo said. "Look, I'm kinda glad you're here. We've been watching TV, hoping to get some news on the situation."
"What situation?"
"You know about Air Force One going down."
"I saw the wreck, same as you."
"Well, what you don't know is that the President was carried out of the wreckage alive. Never mind by whom. The important thing is that the Vice-President, or someone who looks exactly like him, rescued him."
"Are you saying that your President is in this city as well?"