[Magazine 1967-­12] - The Pillars of Salt Affair - Пронзини Билл (электронные книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

"If the road hasn't been mysteriously blocked by some sort of slide," Illya said.

"The desk clerk would know," Solo said.

They went downstairs. The informed them that the road had indeed bee temporarily blocked by a heavy mud slide, two miles below the lake, apparently caused by the rains they had had in the area for the past few days.

It was curious that they should ask, he said. Illya Kuryakin quickly explained that they had heard conflicting reports of such a slide and since they were planning to photograph the lake they had wanted to confirm the reports.

I suggest we have something to eat," Illya said to Solo then. He smiled. "You would do well to feed that cold, you know."

Solo agreed, although he was not particularly hungry.

The hotel dining room was poorly lit, smelled of garlic and contained several wooden tables so flimsy-looking that they appeared to have been made of lacquered balsa wood. There was an open verandah at the upper end, affording a view of the flat plain and the foothills beyond it. Solo spied a table there, basking in warm sunlight and went directly to it.

A fat Mexican woman in a garish dress gave them a gap-toothed smile. "Senors?"

"Napoleon?" Illya said.

Solo shrugged, looking at the woman.

"I would suggest the pozole," the woman said, smiling. "It is the specialty, as you say."

"Pozole?"

"A very delicious dish," the woman said, "of pig's feet and hominy."

Solo's stomach quivered.

"If you don't mind," Illya said, "we'd rather have a steak. You do have steak, don't you?"

"Si," the woman said, a little hurt that they did not wish to try the specialty. "Yes."

"Rare," Solo said. "Very rare, please."

The woman nodded. "You would like coffee?"

"Coffee would be fine," Illya said.

The woman moved away. They sat looking out toward the foothills as they waited. Up there lay the lake, perhaps a party of THRUSH scientists and agents and possibly the answer to what THRUSH was planing to do with the chemical they had developed. They would know more that afternoon.

The girl came out onto the verandah while they were waiting. Solo saw her first. He had been looking of to his right at the square, where a group of young boys carrying baskets laden with chewing gum and peanuts were trying to intimidate two elderly tourists, when he caught a glimpse of swirling color out of the corner of his eye. He swiveled slightly in his chair.

She was tall and slender, tiny-waisted and her carriage and figure suggested that of a professional model. She wore a brilliant red and yellow enredo—wrap-around skirt—a white peasant blouse and braided sandals.

She walked to one of the tables where Solo and Illya sat. Solo watched appreciatively as she seated herself, smoothing the skirt. She had black hair, long and falling across her shoulders and in the sunlight slanting down on to the verandah, faint reddish highlights danced in its glossy sheen. Her eyes were a deeper black than her hair and very large and the light pink lipstick she wore contrasted well with her bronzed skin. She appeared to be Mexican, with perhaps traces of North American ancestry.

She caught Solo's admiring glance and lowered her eyes. Solo smiled. "Hello," he said.

The girl cocked her head, raising her eyes. A smile touched her mouth, widening and a soft musical laugh cam from her throat.

"Do you have a cold, senor?"

"Yes," Solo said sadly.

She laughed again. Solo said, "Won't you join us? It always depresses me to see people eating alone, especially very pretty young ladies."

"Well," the girl said hesitantly. Then, "Yes, all right. Thank you very much."

"Not at all," Solo said. Illya said nothing. He was used to Solo's ever-present, wandering eye for the ladies.

Solo stood, holding the chair for the girl as she sat down. He introduced himself and Illya. She told them her name was Estrellita Valdone and then said, "I do not believer I have seen you in Teclaxican before." She paused then. "I am sure that I would have remembered if I had."

"We arrived this morning," Solo said, pleased at the compliment.

"You are Americans, are you not?" Estrellita asked. "Touristas, no."

"Americans, yes," Solo said. "Touristas, no."

"What brings you to Teclaxican, may I ask?"

"An assignment," Solo said.

"Assignment?"

"Travelogue Magazine," Solo said. "We're doing a series of articles on the area."

"You are a writer?" Estrellita said, impressed.

"Not actually," Illya said. "What we're doing is a series of pictorial articles. I take the pictures and he writes the captions."

Solo scowled at him. The girl laughed. "It must be very interesting work," she said.

"Oh, yes," Illya said. "Very."

Solo said, "Do you live in Teclaxican, Estrellita?"

"No," she said. "I am from Mexico City. I have friends here and I come down quite often. You could not have chosen a more beautiful place to photograph."

The fat Indian woman appeared at their table again and Estrellita ordered something in Mexican. The woman moved away again. Estrellita said, "will you be in Teclaxican long?"

"About a week, more or less," Illya said.

"What will you be photographing, do you know as yet?"

"The Zapotec burial grounds, for one," Solo said, remembering Diego Santiago y Vasquez's oratory of that morning. "And we have heard of a waterfall in the mountains which appears promising."

Estrellita nodded. "When will you begin?"

"Tomorrow, probably," Illya said.

"Perhaps I cold accompany you," Estrellita said. "I know of many places which might be of interest to you."

"That could be arranged," Solo said. "On one condition, of course."

"And what is that, senor?"

"That you agree to have dinner with me tonight." Estrellita smiled. "I would like that very much."

The Indian woman returned momentarily with their steaks and a steaming plate of fresh shrimp, lemon and hot sauce. Estrellita explained that the shrimp were freshly caught and brought in daily from the coast. She offered Solo one, dipped in the hot sauce. He declined in deference to his wobbly stomach.

He set about eating his steak. He was surprised to find that it was very good and as a result was equally surprised to find that he was much more hungry than he had previously thought.

When they had finished eating they made small talk over strong but good Mexican coffee. Solo and Illya used the opportunity to test their cover story, mentioning places they had been and photographed.

They learned that Estrellita was indeed a model, showing summer clothing for one of the large Mexico City shops. She was between modeling assignments, now she said and relaxing with her friends for a week or two here in Teclaxican.

Presently, Illya decided that he had had enough banter and reminded Solo that they had several things to do preparatory to embarking on their assignment. Solo knew that Illya was anxious to have a look at the lake in the foothills behind Teclaxican and was in agreement that they best go down to the real work that had brought them there.

They bade goodbye to Estrellita, Solo eliciting her promise to meet him there for supper and returned to their room to change clothes. They wanted to see the lake without the instant travelogue of Diego Santiago, but they needed the use of his car and of his knowledge of the area to guide them. It appeared his company was a necessity, at least part of the way.