The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (life changing books .txt) 📕

and Rinaldo Morales wasn’t expected back from his home village until Monday, Bell had some time on his hands. Marion’s knowledge of Spanish made things easier, but she didn’t have any knowledge of the local politics that Bell needed if he was going to understand Viboras Rojas. He hired Jorge Nuñez, a retired teacher whom the Webbs had hired through the hotel as a guide to the city. Marion was spending the day shopping and sightseeing with Juliet Webb. Bell felt certain the Viboras would lay low after such a spectacular assault and was comfortable leaving his wife for a few hours.

“At first, people thought the Viboras were a joke,” the bespectacled academic said. His face was nut brown and deeply wrinkled, and he barely reached to Bell’s shoulder. His straw hat was more like an Old West Stetson than a panama, while the cane he used was just some gnarled root. “Who could possibly stand up to the Americans? Their power is undeniable. We just need to look at how they transformed our country to realize they are an unstoppable force.”

“But then?”

Bell and Nuñez were strolling along Panama City’s streets with no real destination in mind. When they walked past some building of significance, Jorge would briefly explain its history and then they would move on. The day was hot and humid, as they all were, but at least there was no rain.

“They had some success in their attacks and grew bolder. When they derailed a supply train and managed to steal some canned food that they gave away, people started taking them to heart. The story of Robin Hood was on everyone’s lips, though I don’t recall ever hearing it before Viboras Rojas.”

“So, they have a propaganda wing?”

“I don’t think I understand what that means,” Nuñez said.

“It means they made certain the people knew who had provided the food and taught them context by way of a well-known legend. This is the hallmark of a very well-organized force. I voiced my concerns to Court Talbot. Do you know him?”

Nuñez nodded quickly. “Ojo Muerto? Everyone in Panama knows the Major.”

“I think there is a professional behind this group, someone well versed in how revolutions are supposed to work.”

Nuñez seemed to take exception to this. “Do you think so little of my people that we need an outsider to tell us how to fight? That we are incapable of helping ourselves? Remember, we cast off Bogotá’s shackles just ten years ago.”

Bell held up a hand in a defusing gesture. “I mean no disrespect, Señor Nuñez. Talbot told me that the Viboras are motivated by Marxist doctrine. That’s an economic system for an industrialized country with a strong class structure, not an agrarian society where the majority of the people are subsistence farmers. Communism is a very Europe-specific ideal. The chance that someone here is well versed enough without outside tutelage doesn’t seem likely. You were an educator, surely you understand that the brightest pupil still needs a teacher to reach his full potential, yes?”

The older man couldn’t fault Bell’s logic, as it appealed to his very core. “I can see why you’d reach that conclusion. Go on.”

“I guess my question is, have you heard any rumors about some Europeans backing the Viboras or even just a group of foreigners in the country with no real reason to be here?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Almost all the white people here work on the canal in some form or another. We sometimes get missionaries trying to spread Christianity among the indigenous peoples. I suppose that could be a cover story for Bolshevik agitators.”

“Is there any way to track them?”

“Not once they clear customs.”

“Would you know anyone who could get me a list of foreign nationals visiting Panama in the last, say, three months?”

“I know people in the government, so I can ask around, but it’s doubtful they will share anything without some kind of legal precedent.”

Bell reconsidered. “On second thought, don’t bother. There would be too many names, and any of them could be an alias. I would need an army of investigators to back-check each and every one.”

“No doubt for the best.”

“What about the leadership of Viboras Rojas? What do you know about its head?”

“Nothing. And no one else does either. They’ve never said who he is, though the people call him Tío. That is Spanish for ‘Uncle.’”

“Usually, these kinds of things are started by someone with charismatic charm and a vision. The central figure is key, like Lenin or Simón Bolívar.”

“Maybe maintaining their secrecy is the key,” Nuñez countered.

“I don’t know. Movements like this are ultimately about the power to control other people’s lives. It takes a certain type of personality to want that, and all the autocrats throughout the ages had one thing in common—massive egos. They liked to wield their power on a personal level. They didn’t hide in the shadows.”

What concerned Bell was that the leader of the Vipers would finally show himself in some spectacular fashion, some unifying act that would generate a spontaneous uprising. During dinner the night before, Talbot had shown proper discretion to not ask about the search for the missing dynamite. There was no sense in fanning the flames of rumor over the explosives’ whereabouts, but their eventual use was very much on Bell’s mind. Blowing up the crane had been an act to slow the canal’s construction, a tactical attack in a way. What Bell feared now was a strategic move, something bold and unexpected.

He wished Archie Abbott was along for this particular ride. Abbott was another Van Dorn agent and Bell’s closest friend. At times like this, he liked to have another investigator he could bounce ideas off of without jeopardizing security. While he doubted Jorge Nuñez was a risk, Bell made it a habit to keep his own counsel around all but a select handful of people.

“Perhaps,” Nuñez said after a couple minutes of walking in silence, “the Vipers’ leader will show himself when the time is right, build anticipation