Fool's Gold

by PJ Skinner

  ‘That’s the master plan,’ said Mike. ‘It’s a bit sketchy right now.’ He gestured at the windows. ‘The furnishings are sparse but you can’t complain about the view.’

  Sam, who mourned the lack of a comfortable sofa or chair to read in, gazed out of the apartment, first to the front and then to the back. The windows in the living room looked over most of modern Calderon and showcased the enormous volcano on the other side of the valley. The view from the back of the apartment was even better, taking in the valley of Bela Vista and several more snow-capped volcanoes, including El Grande, which resembled an ice cream cone. She felt a bit disappointed that she had been given the back bedroom with no view but she was sure that Mike hadn’t done it on purpose. Maybe someone else was using it. Best to wait until he was in a good mood and ask to move then.

  She turned down offers of food and went to her room to unpack. She opened her suitcase to find that her mother had furtively concealed supplies of teabags amongst her clothes. It made her smile. Living at home often cramped her style but this was her mother’s way of saying ‘I love you’. There were also some bars of Cadbury’s chocolate and some McVities chocolate digestive biscuits. Ready for anything then I guess.

  ***

  Further up the Avenida Miranda, a few of the old colonial style houses still stood. In the prettiest and most decrepit of them, Alfredo Vargas, Sierramar’s pre-eminent young historian, paced the room trying not to look at the bottle of whisky that sat on the table in the middle of it. The golden liquid changed colour as dim light entered though a gap in the heavy velvet curtains, falling on the bottle. Vandals had broken the streetlight outside months ago so he could tell it was the sun creeping through. Losing track of time was a common occurrence for Alfredo, as he often worked through the night without result. He grabbed a notebook and sat down in a tattered armchair, the smell of his unwashed body rising unpleasantly on the puff of air released from the cushions. It was time to have a shower. He ran his fingers through his prematurely grey, salt and pepper coloured hair, making flakes of dandruff fall on his battered tweed jacket.

  How was it possible that, after twenty years, he still couldn’t figure out where a tribe of primitive people had put a hoard of treasure in a tiny country like Sierramar? There must be something he had missed. He was a failure. Something hidden in those piles of paper and books spilling all over the floor like an explosion in a library. Could someone have already found it and taken it out of the country, piece by piece, undetected? What if they had melted it down to disguise its origin?

  To make things worse, his dear friend, and the financier of his adventures, Jorge Vasquez, had died and left him lonely and broke, removing his only hope of finding the treasure. Never again would they talk through the night beside a campfire or spend the expedition’s funds in a filthy cantina at the bottom of some remote mountain. Their chaotic adventures were over. Bereft and empty, he felt as if he had lost an organ. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the compass he had been given by Jorge on his deathbed, and gently polished it with his shirt tail. The battered instrument was a useful tool but its sentimental value was incalculable.

  When Jorge died, Alfredo’s first reaction had been to drink all the bars dry but this hadn’t given him the relief he craved. His search for the elusive treasure was the only thing that gave his life meaning. In one last effort to sharpen his mind, he had given up drinking. Five whole months without a drop. But he had failed to solve the mystery of the treasure’s hiding place, and the bottle sat on the table, a testament to his weakness. He had kidded himself that he was buying the bottle for ‘guests’, not that he ever had any. It took less than a minute to buy, hardly time to change his mind and now he weakened, enslaved again by its siren charms. He imagined the whisky burning a path down his throat and the intake of breath as it hit his stomach. One drink would be enough to calm the demons that tormented him. But that was the problem. It would not be a single glass. It never was.

  Why had he bought the damn whisky? Why was he such a failure? He grabbed the bottle from the table, and a glass tumbler from the cupboard, and went to the kitchen to get some ice.

  ***

  Mike dropped an Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water and swirled it around with his finger. He was relieved that Sam had come to Calderon. They hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot but he blamed Edward for that. Edward put him under pressure In Lindos and treated him as if he was disposable. If things didn’t go as planned in Sierramar, Mike knew that he was walking a tightrope.

  Chapter IV

  When it was light, Sam had a shower in the pristine new bathroom, leaning into the hot water and letting it run down her back, which was stiff from the twelve-hour flight. She dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and put her hair in a bun before venturing out of her room where she bumped into a pretty young mulatto woman who seemed unsurprised to see her and addressed her in Spanish.

  ‘Buenos días. Yo me llamo, Tati,’ she said. ‘Yo soy la empleada.’

  The young woman spoke with a strong, almost impenetrable accent but Sam understood that her name was Tati and that she was the maid.

  ‘Buenos días. Yo me llamo, Sam,’ she said.

  There was an awkward silence while Sam searched her memory for another phrase that might suit the occasion but she was too jet-lagged and eventually shrugged apologetically. Tati was used to foreigners who didn’t speak much Spanish. She was not put off by her mute guest. Beckoning Sam over to the table, she gave her a breakfast of eggs, toast and tea.

  At half past nine, Mike’s personal assistant, Marta, let herself in to the apartment and sat down at one of the desks. Her legs dangled over the edge of her chair, and, despite her vertiginous heels, did not quite reach the floor. She wore a lot of make-up with clumps of mascara on her long lashes and a huge quiff in her long, wavy, bottle-blonde hair. She had squeezed into a skin-tight skirt and jacket with a frilled shirt spilling out of it almost covering an ample cleavage. Her fingers were swamped with rings, and she jangled when she moved due to the number of bracelets she wore. She stared at the interloper with frank interest before speaking, and Sam felt a bit underdressed compared to someone who appeared to have stepped out of a New Romantics music video.

  ‘Buenos dias. You must be Sam?’

  ‘Um, yes, buenos dias. I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.’

  ‘I’m Marta, Marta Perez. I work for Señor Mike as his assistant.’

  ‘Oh, I see, it’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘Did you have a good flight?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m a bit jet-lagged. There are no curtains in the bedroom so I couldn’t sleep very well.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. I’ve tried to make Mike buy curtains but he doesn’t think they are essential.’

  Sam heard the italics and imagined that Marta and Mike had not seen eye to eye on this matter.

  ‘It’s lovely and sunny today. Is it always like this?’

  ‘Mostly. We are on the equator here so daylight lasts from six in the morning until seven in the evening every day of the year except for the rainy season. Do you speak Spanish?’

  ‘A bit. Not well, I’m afraid. You speak beautiful English. Where did you learn?’

  ‘I spent several years in Miami. I can help you with your Spanish if you like.’

  ‘That would be great. I’m a bit rusty but I understand everything. Does anyone else work for Mike?’

  ‘Hernan Sanchez’s daughter, Gloria.’

  ‘And what does she do?’

  ‘Chica, Gloria is the daughter of Hernan Sanchez; she does anything she wants to.’

  ‘Is he an important man in Calderon?’

  ‘Yes, he’s Mr. Big.’

  ‘Mr. Big, okay then,’ said Sam, feeling a bit out of her depth. ‘What time does she get here?’ she asked, sure that she already knew the answer.

  ‘Whenever she feels like it, but I doubt she’ll be in today, she had a party last night.’

  This was followe
d by a dismissive swish of the hair, and question time was over.

  ***

  As predicted, Gloria did not come to work but Mike was not at all fazed by this. He took Sam to eat at a local restaurant so that they could meet her there instead. Gloria kept them waiting half an hour before she appeared, cigarette in one hand and expensive handbag in the other. She gave Sam a long, appraising look before offering her face for a kiss on either cheek. Not wanting to appear intimidated, Sam stared right back. Gloria was petite with a large bosom and skinny legs. She wore a yellow silk blouse with big, red roses, and a pair of skin tight designer jeans. She had multi-coloured hair that had originally been a reddish-auburn colour but had succumbed to various experiments in the hair salon. It was long and naturally curly and made Sam a bit jealous. Like most of the girls in Calderon, Gloria was heavily made up. The overall effect had originally been sultry but her mascara had flaked around her eyes, giving her the look of an indignant panda. Sam wondered if she had been wearing it since the night before. Gloria was not the least put out by Sam’s inspection, and she pouted with her cigarette held in the air. Then, tossing her head like an impatient pony, she led them into the restaurant.

  The place was packed, but when they walked in with Gloria, a table became available as if by magic. There was an air about her that mesmerised mere mortals. She was very polite but it was like a veneer over something harder and more threatening. The maître d’ almost wet his pants when she sent back her soup to get reheated. The soup was fine and it had started out hot but her constant smoking stopped her from making any progress. She chain-smoked all through lunch oblivious to the fact that Sam and Mike were eating, and then, she started to speak to Sam, somewhat at random, on the subject of her boyfriend, her husky voice conspiratorial.

  ‘Aye chica, Diego isn’t treating me right.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Sam, not sure of the correct response to this revelation, voiced with real emotion. There was a vulnerable centre to the onion that was Gloria.

  ‘Not taking me seriously. He’s quite happy to get drunk and do chaka-chaka with me, but last night he disappeared and I heard that he was seen with another woman.’

  ‘How dreadful,’ said Sam. Gloria’s boyfriend, Diego, sounded like a complete jerk, but it was rather a lot of information for a first meeting.

  ‘Oh yes, he likes to get drunk with me, but I want him to get serious.’

  ‘How annoying. You must be a saint to put up with that sort of behaviour.’

  Mollified, Gloria drank her coffee and sucked on another cigarette. Sam felt as if she had passed some sort of test.

  ‘What’s the story with Gloria?’ she asked Mike on their way home from the restaurant.

  ‘She’s the daughter of one of Sierramar’s richest and most powerful men. I met him at a cocktail party given by the chamber of commerce. He asked me if I would give her a job to keep her out of mischief. So I did.’

  ‘Does she work full time?’

  ‘Sort of. Gloria is not the most diligent worker but she’s effective. If we go out with Gloria, we always get a table, no matter how busy it is. She helps me on an ad-hoc basis.’

  Sam had a feeling that from the way Gloria and Mike talked to each other, there might have been some other ad-hoc activity involved from time to time but she didn’t comment.

  ‘She certainly seems to get around. That Diego sounds like a bit of a bastard.’

  ‘Yes, I think he’s only using her to make contacts. She’s more vulnerable than she looks.’

  ‘Does she have children?’

  ‘No, she’s not married, and anyway she told me that she can’t have children. I’m not sure how she knows that. I didn’t want to pry.’

  ***

  Gloria turned up the next morning and took Sam to buy maps for Mike at the Geographical Institute, which was perched on a hill at the boundary between old and new Calderon. The only way to get there was by car. Driving in Sierramar was an erratic affair due to the fact that most of the population bought their licenses on the black market instead of taking a driving test. Gloria drove as if she were being chased by the four horsemen of the apocalypse, putting on her lipstick and lighting cigarettes at high speed, while nonchalantly throwing the jeep around the corners on two wheels with one hand. Sam gripped her seat with white-knuckled hands.

  ‘Are we in a hurry?’ she said, hoping to alert Gloria to her distress.

  ‘Oh no, chica. Mike told me to drive slowly because you were not well and might vomit. I normally drive a lot faster than this.’

  When they got to the gates of the institute, armed guards stopped their jeep and asked them to park in the street and walk up the steep driveway instead of parking in the car park at the institute.

  ‘I have a sore leg, officer,’ Gloria said, fluttering her long eyelashes at him. ‘I can’t climb all the way up that hill in these heels.’

  ‘No one may park up at the institute except the management.’

  ‘Oh, but I would only be parking for a short time. I have to collect something. Please let me drive up. Or you will have to carry me.’

  The teenage soldiers giggled at the thought but allowed themselves to be persuaded by Gloria’s blatant flirting. They kept the women’s identification papers as surety, but for what Sam couldn’t imagine. Gloria drove the car up the hill and parked in a space that was reserved, a fact she ignored.

  They entered the institute through a large door into a cool vestibule lined with kiosks occupied by uniformed staff who dealt with the different stages needed to purchase a map. The maps Mike wanted them to buy were of areas close to the border with Peru, so they had to fill in a form and sign a promise that they would not give the maps to any foreigners. Sam found this pretty amusing. Each map had a separate form and they all had to be filled in triplicate using ancient carbon paper that did not transfer properly. This was fiddly and time consuming.

  ‘You know that Mike is dyslexic?’ said Gloria.

  Sam shook her head.

  ‘He often gives me the wrong reference numbers. There is only one public telephone in the building, so it is difficult to call him and check them. I have had to return to the office and start again more than once.’

  When they had filled in the forms with the correct serial numbers, they took them upstairs to the Colonel, the senior officer on site, for countersigning. They were kept waiting half an hour outside his office before he found the time to sign their form. Sam started getting impatient.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, ‘In England we choose the map we want from a rack, pay and go. Why do we have to go through all this bureaucracy?’

  ‘That is how we do things in Sierramar. You will have to be patient.’

  Sam sighed. It was obvious that there was nothing to be done about this stupid system. Gloria pretended not to hear her. When the Colonel’s secretary finally beckoned them in, he was in an expansive mood.

  ‘Buenos dias, Señoras, how can I help you today?’

  ‘Please sir, can you sign the form for us so we can get some maps for our work?’ asked Gloria, batting her eyelashes with practiced skill. The Colonel was much more interested in Sam, who fidgeted in her seat, bored by the whole process.

  ‘Do you speak Spanish, señorita?’

  ‘I used to, Colonel. I learned to speak at school, but I’m still trying to remember it.’

  ‘No problem, your friend will translate,’ and here he looked inquiringly at Gloria who nodded sullenly, her attempts at flirting having been ignored. ‘Do you know why I have to sign this form for you?’ he asked Sam.

  ‘No, I don’t, I’m afraid,’ Sam said. Maybe to annoy them by stringing out the process?

  ‘During the conflict of 1941, Peru stole a large piece of the Amazon basin from Sierramar. Since then the two countries have disagreed about the position of the border between them. The government of Sierramar has refused to redraw the border or issue new maps. It’s illegal to bring a map into the country with the new border on it.’ />
  Sam remembered the map on the wall of Mike’s apartment. It definitely had the new border on it. Contraband. She tried not to smile.

  ‘I thought the war was over forty years ago. Why hasn’t the position of the border been fixed yet?’

  ‘As part of negotiations to end the war, a remote river valley between two mountain ridges was proposed and accepted as the border between the countries. The advent of aerial photography and satellite photographs has led to discovery of a second parallel valley on the Peruvian side which has generated disputes about which river was originally intended as the border.’

  Gloria said, ‘Sierramar has refused to change its international boundaries to exclude the part annexed by Peru. The hostility between our two countries still simmers and occasionally bubbles over.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Sam.

  ‘The result of all this controversy is that the nearer an area is to this disputed border, the more difficult it is to buy a map of it. That is why you have to come and see me to get permission for copies of any maps in that area. To make sure you are not a Peruvian spy.’

  Sam felt embarrassed at her attitude, which he had clearly read.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel.’

  He nodded and signed the form.

  ‘So, have a good day, ladies. See you again.’

  He winked at Sam who was not sure how to reciprocate but she winked back anyway. When in Rome...

  They went downstairs to queue at the cash desk. This time Sam did not complain. She tried to imagine what it was like to lose a large chunk of your country to an aggressive neighbour. Chastened, she muttered, ‘I had no idea about the border.’ Gloria did not comment.

  ***

  ‘Hi, Daddy, it’s Sam. Can you hear me?’

  ‘Hello, darling. Yes, you sound as if you’re next door. Are you?’

  ‘No, I’m still in Calderon.’

  ‘How is it? Have you been to the field yet?’