"You are making fun of me," Guadalupe accused. She pronounced it "fon."
"Anyway, we have to make a private phone call," Remo continued. "Mind waiting outside until we call you back in?"
"We who are working together should have no secrets. May I stay?"
"Can you say 'juniper juice jelly is yummy' three times fast without making a mistake?" Remo asked.
Guadalupe got to her feet stiffly. Such rudeness, she thought. These Americans ordered people around in their own nation like they were the landlords of the earth.
"Yust as you say," she said with studied formality, " I will go." She backed away from them, plucking the videotape off the nightstand while they were engrossed in their rice.
She left the room without another word.
After the door shut behind her, Remo finished the last of his rice, washing it down with mineral water.
"She is not coming back, you know," Chiun said pointedly.
"Better for us. Better for her," Remo said, reaching up for the telephone. He wondered how Smith would take the news.
Chapter 22
Jorge Chingar, alias El Padrino, arrived in Mexico City in a Lear private jet that was waved to a private hangar by the ground crew.
Mexican customs inspectors were already waiting for him as the hatch of his Lear dropped, revealing the lambskin-carpeted steps on its underside.
El Padrino stepped off the plane, grinning darkly.
"Buenos dias, muchachos," he cried, flinging out his arms grandly.
He came off the plane before his personal guard. Although he was a wanted man back in Colombia, and technically here in Mexico, El Padrino was unafraid.
The customs officers stepped forward, their faces very serious, as is the way of customs men the world over.
"Have you anything to declare, senor?" one asked.
"Any weapons? Any drugs? Any illegal contraband?" asked the others.
El Padrino reached into his silk Versace jacket, extracted an alligator-skin wallet, and began peeling off American hundred-dollar bills.
He presented two to each of the customs men and then handed the leader a sealed envelope.
"For your amigos," he said graciously.
"Muy bien, senor," said the chief customs officer.
They nodded their heads politely and, their duty fulfilled, left the hangar.
El Padrino clapped his bejeweled fingers, bringing his personal guard.
They came carrying weapons and looking fierce.
"Guard the plane. No one comes in or out. You cannot trust these Mexicans, no matter how much you pay them."
His men deployed around the hangar with military precision, as well they should. They had been trained by Israeli mercenaries.
El Padrino turned on his heel and reentered the cabin. In his private cabin he worked the phone.
El Padrino played the telephone like a master musician, his voice smooth almost to the point of unctuousness. He never overdid it. And so received quick polite answers.
But they were not answers he liked. Comandante Odio was dead, the DFS told him. It was most regrettable. No, there were no further details available at this time.
"This is unfortunate," said El Padrino to the primer comandante of the DFS. "Comandante Odio was a very valuable man. I fear I cannot replace a man so valuable as he."
"Perhaps we could work something out," suggested the primer comandante.
"Ah, I was hoping you would say that," said El Padrino, who understood that in Mexico, at least, money did not talk. It beguiled.
"If you would like to discuss this further, you may come to my office," the primer comandante was saying.
"I would much prefer that you experience the hospitality of my fine aircraft. The wines are French and the food is Andalusian."
"I shall join you directly," said the primer comandante. The phone went click.
Yes, thought El Padrino. These Mexicans were so very easy to do business with. Perhaps in a few years, if business continued to expand, he would move his operation to Mexico City. Colombia was more refined, but the government very, very entrenched. In Mexico they were more flexible. They even had a saying that governed their code of behavior: "Money does not stink."
El Padrino snapped his fingers and a steward entered the cabin.
"Prepare on excellent meal," El Padrino instructed. "We are having important guests. And see how the presidente's quarters are coming. I wish him to enjoy every civilized comfort during his journey to Colombia."
"Si," Padrino."
Chapter 23
Remo Williams noticed the missing videotape as he reached for the phone. It rang before he could ask Chiun about it. Frowning, he brought the receiver to his mouth.
It was Smith. "Remo!" he said tensely. "I've been trying to get you for hours!"
"We've been out working, remember?" Remo reminded him.
"Did you get any of my messages?"
"What messages?" Remo demanded.
" I left nearly a dozen. My God, didn't the front desk give them to you?"
"Smitty, you have a lot to learn about the way they do things down here," Remo said. "Look, we've got bad news. I hope you're sitting down."