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“The same bell you and your men would have killed us for had we been aboard our boat? I’m going to have to decline.”
“I’ve been authorized to offer you a finder’s fee should the bell turn out to be the one we’re looking for.”
“No, thanks. We’ve got all the money we can use.”
“Take me to the bell, let me inspect it, and my employer will donate fifty thousand dollars to a charity of your choosing.”
“No.”
Rivera’s eyes turned cold, and he let out muffled growl. “Mr. Fargo, you’re making me angry.”
“They have pills for that.”
“I prefer a different approach.” Rivera lifted his shirttail to expose the butt of a pistol, a Heckler & Koch P30—just like the one they took off Yaotl, Sam saw.
“We’re leaving now,” Rivera muttered. “Don’t make a scene or I’ll shoot you dead. We’ll be gone before the police are even notified.”
“The police,” Sam repeated. “As in the police in that station house across the road behind us?”
Rivera glanced over Sam’s shoulder. His mouth tightened, the muscles of his jaw pulsated.
Sam said, “You should have done your homework. I realize it’s an old schoolhouse, but how hard would it have been to check? I’m sure this is embarrassing for you.”
“¡Cabrón!”
Sam’s grasp of Spanish slang was slim, but he suspected Rivera had just called his parentage into question. He said, “If you look a little closer, you’ll see a man and woman sitting on a bench near the station’s steps.”
“I see them.”
Sam pulled out his phone, hit Speed Dial, let it ring twice, then hung up. A moment later Remi Fargo turned on the bench, faced the cricket grounds, and gave a single wave.
“The man she’s talking to is a Tanzanian police superintendent from Dar es Salaam.”
“Police can be bought. Just as naval officers can be bought.”
“Not this one. He happens to be a close personal friend of the FBI’s legal attaché in the U.S. Embassy.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Right now my wife may or may not be telling the superintendent about a man named Yaotl who tried to break into our vacation home last night. He was armed with a gun identical to the one you’re carrying and had no passport.”
Rivera’s brows knitted together. “The accident . . . the raft. That wasn’t Yaotl.”
Sam shook his head.
“How did you do it?”
“I took a few theater classes in college.”
“It doesn’t matter. He won’t talk. Even if he does, he knows nothing.”
“Just your name and appearance.”
“Both of those can be changed. Give me the bell and return my man to me, and you’ll never be troubled again.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you by day’s end tomorrow. If you bother us before then, I’ll call our superintendent friend. Care to tell me where you’re staying?”
Rivera smiled grimly and shook his head. “No, I would not.” He recited his phone number. “I expect to hear good news.”
