Cities of the Red Night

two settlements inland from Guayaquil in a heavily wooded and mountainous area; and settlements above Panama City on both the Atlantic and Pacific sides and in the mountainous interior.

Production of the weapons is now standardized and we have fifty Indians working under our supervision. As soon as they learn how to assemble the guns, they are sent back to their villages and jungles since decentralization is a keynote of our strategy. Instead of one central factory, there are a number of small shops that can turn out a few guns a day. We are distributing guns through the store in Port Roger. Arming the native population is another essential step. The cannon that protect Port Roger are being converted to receive breech-loading shells.

Necesita automovil

I hadn't been in Mexico City in fifteen years. Driving in from the airport I could hardly recognize the place. As Dimitri said, a selective pestilence may be the only solution. Otherwise, they will multiply their assholes into the polluted seas.

Kiki, Jim, and I checked into a small hotel off Insurgentes, which was a few blocks from John Everson's Mexico City address. Then we split up. Jim and Kiki went to John Everson's address to see what they could pick up from the landlady and the vecinos. I went to the American Embassy, found the Protection Department, and sent in my card. I saw the girl hand it to a man at a desk. He looked at the card and looked at me. Then he did something else. I waited twenty minutes.

'Mr. Hill will see you now.'

Mr. Hill didn't get up or offer to shake hands. 'Yes, Mr. uh ...' He glanced down at the card. '...Snide. What can I do for you?'

There is a breed of State Department official who starts figuring out how he can get rid of you without doing whatever it is you want done as soon as you walk into his department. Clearly, Mr. Hill belonged to this breed.

'It's about John Everson. He disappeared in Mexico City about two months ago. His father has retained me to locate him.'

'Well, we are not a missing-person service. So far as we are concerned, the case is now with the Mexican authorities. I suggest you contact them. A colonel, uh ...'

'Colonel Figueres.'

'Yes, that is the name, I believe.'

'Did John Everson pick up his mail at the embassy?'

'I uh don't think ... in any case, we don't encourage ...'

'Yes, I know. You are also not a post office. Would you mind calling the mail desk and asking if there are any letters there addresses to John Everson?'

'Really, Mr. Snide ...'

'Really, Mr. Hill. I have been retained by an American citizen—rather well connected, I may add, working on a U.S. government project—retained to find an American citizen who is missing in your district. So far, there is no evidence of foul play but it hasn't been ruled out.'

He was also the type who backs down under pressure. He reached for the phone. 'Could you tell me if there are any letters for John Everson at the desk.... One letter?'

I slid a power of attorney across the desk which authorized me among other things to pick up mail addressed to John Everson. He looked at it.

'A Mr. uh Snide will pick up the letter. He has authorization.' He hung up.

I stood up. 'Thank you, Mr. Hill.' His nod was barely perceptible.

On the way out of the office I met that CIA punk from Athens. He pretended to be glad to see me, and shook hands and asked where I was staying. I told him at the Reforma. I could see he didn't believe me, which probably meant he knew where I was staying. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about the Everson case, like gathering vultures.

I waited almost an hour to see Colonel Figueres, but I knew he was really busy. He'd