Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

Leaving the hotel, he scoured the forecourt and checked each of the parked cars in turn until he found a number corresponding to that on his key fob, and then he understood the smile of the receptionist. Kelly himself smiled with slight bewilderment as he walked around the pre-war Austin 10. He had expected a gigantic gas guzzling Chrysler or Pontiac. An English Austin 10 looked quite incongruous in this car park, full as it was of giant American limos.

Kelly unlocked the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. A heady mixture of old leather, petrol, oil and polish assailed his nostrils. He felt quite nostalgic for a moment as he slipped the key into the ignition, pulled out the choke and pressed the starter button. Kelly was surprised at the eagerness with which the engine caught and coughed into life. He checked the petrol gauge. Full. Oil pressure. Good. Ammeter. Positive charge.

Kelly remained stationary and ran the engine for a moment, easing the choke in slowly until the engine was ticking over comfortably without it. He listened carefully to the note of the engine. Hunting, he thought; too rich, but it would do for now. Pressing down the clutch he eased the gearbox into reverse with only a slight screech of protest, and reversed out of the space. After checking the complementary street map, he slid out of the car park and onto the main road heading south.

It was a short drive to the area he was looking for. Once he was sure he was in the right vicinity, he scanned the street for a parking place. Satisfied, he switched off the engine and climbed out of the car, locking it behind him. Kelly walked to the end of the street and examined the sign. Santa Rita. Checking the map again, he set off down an avenue, running at right angles until he reached a road running parallel with ‘Santa Rita’. He checked the name on the sign. San Carlos. This was it.

Kelly strode down the avenue, checking each of the buildings in turn, until he located the Bar San Carlos, half hidden down a set of basement steps, in what would otherwise have passed for a large domestic house. Kelly descended the steps and found his way barred by a substantial wooden door. Unsure of how best to proceed, he knocked on the door and waited. There was no response. Grasping the handle, he turned it and pushed. The door swung easily on its hinges revealing a further set of steps downward.

Music drifted upwards from the dimly lit interior, a recording of ‘Satchmo’ straining his way through a blues number. He descended further, closing the outer door behind him and, on reaching the foot of the stairs, paused in the framed doorway allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Groups of young people huddled around rough wooden tables as smoke swirled around them. There was a buzz of low conversation audible above the crackling of the gramophone. Kelly surveyed the scene, the walls covered in artistic graffiti partly obscured by grime, the stone tiled floor and the bar in the corner with an array of optics visible behind the single barman.

Kelly walked to the bar and perched on a vacant stool. This didn’t look like a ‘mojito’ place, so he ordered vodka on ice. He was pleasantly surprised by the amount of change he received from a five-dollar note. After completing the order, the barman retired to the back of the bar and picked up a magazine. Kelly didn’t even attempt to engage him in conversation. Instead, he swivelled on his stool and, sipping his drink, he inconspicuously surveyed each table in turn.

On the nearest table were four young students with long hair and beards, or attempts at beards in some cases. On the next table were two middle-aged men, probably locals who enjoyed the atmosphere. Further away from him were two male students clearly paired with two female students. On a table next to them sat one woman with two male students. Kelly froze and did a double take. He watched the woman carefully; she was talking in an animated way, short brown hair, and slight build and judging by the upper part of her body, petite with not much of a figure.

Peregrine!

Kelly watched for a while. One of the students, the older of the two, was obviously taking a significant part in the conversation and seemed to be keen to maintain eye contact with the female. Judging by his body language he wanted more than verbal intercourse. The younger of the two looked bored, yawned frequently and shifted in his chair. He clearly felt out of place in this group. The chances were that he would leave shortly. Kelly needed to move quickly; it would be difficult to impose into the group if it was reduced to two.

Twisting in his chair he summoned the barman. Slowly, almost reluctantly he approached.

“Diego Diez?” asked Kelly, the barman first looked surprised then suspicious.

“Who wants to know?” he drawled. Kelly cut him off.

“Yes or no? Answer now!” The barman was about to protest or offer verbal abuse, but the look on Kelly’s face and the intensity of the gaze gave him pause to reconsider.

“Si, senor. I am Diego Diez, how can I help?” The tone was placatory.

Speaking quietly, Kelly said, “Kelly, G Branch. The group directly behind me. Do you know the woman?”

The barman looked frightened. “Si, she is one of us, senor.”

“Introduce me,” said Kelly. “Bill Shepherd. Fellow countryman. That sort of thing. Do it now!”

Diez came out from behind the bar, placed his arm around Kelly’s shoulders and smiling and chatting to him in broken English, steered him to the table. Kelly played the game, chatting back without looking overtly at the group.

“Senorita! Comrades!” said Diez expansively when he reached the table. “This is Senor Shepherd, a fellow traveller of Miss Kingstone. Perhaps you can swap stories about your adventures,