‘Without looking at a map, I’d say about three hundred miles from here.’ She added: ‘Stupendous place. Vast plains. Thousands of cattle.’
Morgan said: ‘And these aeroplanes of his? You think he would fly us to some point in America?’
‘It’s possible. He’s got a pilot. I’ve flown his planes myself. But I could hardly steal one.’
‘Why not? We hijacked Big King’s boat. You could send Horst an apologetic telegram from Florida telling him where it is. What fuel range has it got?’
‘The big one’s a Cessna Twin. About a thousand miles.’
Morgan visualized the map. ‘We’d have to refuel somewhere.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘If it works, this is the answer to our immediate problems. Even if we don’t get his plane, just the passports. Well – we better get our story straight, so we don’t contradict each other. And the next job is to find a car to rent. Can you telephone Horst first, to make sure he’s there?’
‘Yes. Though South American telephones are not the most reliable.’ She looked at her watch. ‘He’ll be up by now.’
Morgan said, ‘Don’t say anything compromising. Just find out whether he’s there.’
There was an antique telephone in the café.
Morgan sat in the far corner, watching Anna repeatedly dial, wait, then hang up and dial again. Finally her face lit up and he heard her speak in Spanish, her free hand over her ear.
She spoke, then listened, then spoke again. Then she replaced the receiver in exasperation. She dialled again.
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