by Ed Gorman
"Since we will now be retailing the cars ourselves, profits will no longer have to be shared with any middlemen, and more can be diverted into other profitable ventures which will ultimately generate more funds with which to buy arms. To that end, our Delaware corporation will open a branch office in one of the modern, new high-rise office buildings in San Salvador. Monte will have an office there, and both Amelia and Tela will work there. I will have offices in the same building, for another subsidiary to be known as Delaware Investments, Limited, a secondary corporation under SA, Inc., which will invest profits from U.S. Cars in other ventures. For instance, I am already looking into a balsam forest in the Chula region, because balsam resin is now being used extensively in the manufacture of cosmetics. I am also looking at stock in a new hydroelectric plant being planned."
Tony walked back to his chair and sat down. The others were stone silent, obviously overwhelmed by what they had heard, more so because it applied to them, and because this business wizard sent to them from the grave of Francisco Barillas could recite it all without notes or papers or figures of any kind. They felt like kindergartners on the first day of school.
"I know it all sounds very complicated." Tony said to allay some of their unease, "but I assure you that no one will be required to do anything that he or she has not been trained to do. Temporary consultants will be in place to teach each of you everything you need to know about the responsibilities you will have and how to cope with them." He looked around the table. "Does anyone have any questions?"
"I do," Tela said. "What about Perico?"
"Perico?"
"Yes. Perico and I are the two who have been against you all along. You mentioned a place for me and for everyone else in the room, except Perico. What about him?"
Tony shrugged. "I have no information about Perico. Monte made all the assignments among you; I merely described the various jobs and what they would entail. Monte did not mention Perico to me."
"And you did not inquire?"
"It is not my place to inquire about matters involving Mara Salva people. I am a business consultant, not a revolutionist."
"Perhaps, then," Perico said, speaking for himself for the first time, "you do not belong among us."
"That," Tony countered, meeting Perico's cold stare with one of his own, "is a matter for you to take up with Monte. Unless, of course, you wish to overthrow him in his absence. Perhaps you would like to take a vote among the people here to challenge the leadership passed on to him by Francisco Barillas?"
Perico's stare turned into a look of open malevolence. He would kill me here and now, Tony thought, if he could get away with it. But the others, including the always mercurial Tela, were staring at their comrade with expressions that said he dare not try to seize control from Monte Copan.
Finally, after a deep breath of resignation, Perico yielded. "I will await my orders from Monte," he said quietly.
"Good," Tony nodded curtly, and rose. "Monte will return from San Salvador in two or three days and begin putting everything in order here. I will attend to some financial matters today and will go back down there on this evening's flight. Tela, Monte has given permission for you to accompany me, to assist in setting up the new offices in San Salvador. You have a valid passport, do you not?"
"Ah— yes, I do," Tela replied hesitantly, perhaps even suspiciously.
"Good. Amelia, will you please arrange for two first-class tickets to be held at the AeroMexico check-in counter?"
"Yes, Tony," Amelia said. It was the same tone she used when speaking to Monte.
"I guess the meeting is over, then," Tony said. "Tela, I'll pick you up at your place at six for the flight. You'll be ready?"
"I'll be ready, Tony," she said.
Tony frowned. There was something about the way she said it, something in her voice, an intonation or pitch, that he had never heard before, or at least never noticed. But her expression was inscrutable; nothing in her eyes told him anything.
"Okay, see you then," he said, and left.
* * *
At four o'clock that afternoon, Tony came out of the Los Angeles federal building with another man. They stood at the top of the steps for several moments, talking, then shook hands. The other man went back inside and Tony came down the steps and walked to the parking lot. Before he reached his car, Tela stepped from the doorway where she had been watching and fell in beside him. He felt the muzzle of a gun against his side, concealed by a sweater she carried over her arm.
"Don't make me kill you in public, on a parking lot," she said.
Halting, Tony replied, "I'm not going to make you kill me anywhere, Tela. You followed me?"
"I had you followed."
"Not Armando and Benito again? I would have spotted them."
"No. A loyal young couple with a baby, whom you had never seen. They watched you go into the FBI office, then called me. So, you were an agent all along?"
"Yes."
She prodded him with the gun. "Walk to your car."
In the car, Tela had him leave the Civic Center and drive back toward East L.A.
"It's been a trap from the very beginning, hasn't it?" she asked, putting the sweater aside to reveal a four-inch barreled revolver with a two-inch Stifler silencer attached.
"That's how it started out," Tony admitted.
"You never knew Francisco Barillas."
"No."
"The letter you showed me was a forgery."
"Yes."
"And your name is not Antonio Marcala."
"No. Antonio Marazan."
"When you trained to become an FBI agent, did they give you special lovemaking lessons to use on foolish women like me?"
Tony's expression tightened. "Tela, I'm going to pull over and park. There are things that I must tell you. If you do not want to hear them, you will have to shoot me."
"Keep driving," she ordered.
"No." He slowed and pulled out of traffic. Tela cocked the hammer of the pistol.
"I warn you, keep driving!"
"Shoot if you must," Tony said grimly, and eased the car to a parking place at the curb. Turning off the ignition, he sat with both hands on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, waiting to see if the bullet came. It did not.
"You son of a bitch," she said tearfully. "You made me fall in love with you even when I knew— I knew— that you were an agent."
"Tela, listen to me," he turned to her. "I was an agent; I'm not any longer. I've resigned from the bureau. From now on, I am the president and chief executive officer of Salvadoran-American, Incorporated, the new Delaware firm we formed for Mara Salva last week. I will also be president of the other businesses we now have: Ari-Mex, Salvo Printing, Lago Shipping, U.S. Cars, and Delaware Investments. I'm going to do exactly what Frank Barillas would have wanted me to do if we had known each other. Within a year or two, Tela, I can turn Mara Salva's operation into a completely legitimate multi-diversified business that someday will be able to finance a revolution without its leaders being outlaws or criminals. In the meantime, we can use profits to make life better for our people now."
"Our people?"
"Yes, of course." He was slightly taken aback. "I am a Salvadoran, just like you. Why do you think the bureau selected me for the assignment?"
"I don't know. I guess I didn't realize—"
"Tela, uncock the gun. Please."
"No."
"All right. But please be careful. As I was saying, the revolution may be far in the future, but we can begin laying a foundation for it now, with something besides hidden stock-piles of weapons. We can build small, private schools in the rural areas to educate the peasant children. We can establish private utility firms to provide electricity and running water. We can open co-operative food warehouses through the church to import non-profit food products to stop the malnutrition among the poor. There are dozens of other ways that Monte and I have been discussing—"
"Monte will kill you when he learns that you are
FBI."
"Was FBI. And Monte already knows it."
"You tol' him?" she asked, aghast.
"Yes. When we arrived in San Salvador, I told him the entire truth. I even told him who among his ranks was an informant."
"Informant? In Mara Salva?"
"Yes. How do you think I was so well briefed about Frank Barillas? Where do you think the bureau got all its information?"
"Who is it?" Tela asked, almost in a whisper.
"Who do you think?"
"Perico?"
"Yes."
"Then Monte will kill him when he gets back."
"Monte already is back," Tony told her. "He is with the others right now. And I imagine Perico is already dead."
Tela lowered the pistol and uncocked it. For several minutes, she stared straight ahead, as if in a trance. All of the strength Tony normally saw in her seemed to have drained away, leaving her traumatized and unable to function. After a while, she said simply, "Take me home, please, Tony."
* * *
That night, thirty thousand feet in the sky, as the AeroMexico jetliner cruised toward Mexico City where they would change planes for San Salvador, Tony and Tela relaxed over drinks in the Aztec-decorated first-class cabin. Tela had been quiet and subdued back at her apartment when she packed a small bag and got her passport out. As Tony drove them toward LAX, she made only light, inconsequential conversation about things like weather, traffic, the increasing smog problem in the Los Angeles basin. It was as if all the sudden and significant changes about to occur within Mara Salva, therefore within her life, were weighing on her so heavily that she had been forced, in the interest of her own emotional well-being, to put everything of any importance on hold, and allow herself to mentally consider only the most trivial and common of subjects. She remained in that repressed mode as they checked in at the Bradley International Terminal, went through security, and finally boarded the plane. It was only after they were airborne and had each finished one margarita and began sipping their second, that the alcohol helped Tela return to her old self, albeit a much less inflexible self. From her window seat, she reached over and brought Tony's left hand across to her lips, kissed it, then held it comfortingly to her cheek.
"You know, you are really the very best," she said softly, her voice shaded, almost nostalgic. Tony leaned his head toward her.
"The best? You mean the best lover?"
"No, I mean the best liar. You're an excellent lover, don't misunderstand me. But telling lies is your real talent."
"There will be no more lies between us," he promised.
"That," she said, rolling her eyes, "might be the biggest lie of all."
"You still don't trust me completely." It was a statement, not a question. Tela shrugged.
"If you were only an agent, how could you have done all the things you did with Monte? All the business things? Where did you get such knowledge?"
"What I told you about my education was the truth; I do have a master's degree in business administration from Stanford. In the bureau, I was assigned to the CRBA Division; that stands for Covert Racketeering Business Affiliations. Our work was to uncover legitimate businesses that were fronts for organized crime or terrorist organizations. I've investigated enough front businesses to be very familiar with them. The one I set up for Mara Salva is complex and very elaborate; I don't think anyone will catch onto it before we become completely legitimate. Does that satisfy you, my angel?"
"I don't know," Tela said. "I mean, suppose you were part of an even larger sting operation than simply infiltrating Mara Salva in southern California? Suppose this is a joint undertaking involving the CIA, the state department, and the Salvadoran government, with the goal being to expose all undercover members in Salvador, all hidden arms, all supporters in the church, the unions, the universities? Suppose you are but one of many agents involved?"
Tony shook his head helplessly. "Tela, my sweet, is there nothing I can do to prove myself to you once and for all?"
"Perhaps." She took a sip of her drink. "If you would do it."
"Tell me what it is."
"You said that I never seemed happy. Do you know what would make me happy?"
"What?"
"What would make me happy would be to see the end of the Sombra Negra. The end of the death squads. The way you and Monte are going, the Mara Salva will become like some giant corporation. You seem to be thinking only of profits and expansion, becoming legitimate. But, Antonio, there is still much killing to do."
She took Tony's hand from her cheek, put it to her lips, and kissed it again. And she bit one of his knuckles, just enough to hurt. Tony frowned.
"I want to begin killing the Sombra Negra," she said. "I want to see all the black shadows die. That would make me happy."
In the muted light above the seats, Tony saw in Tela's eyes a consuming desperation, not just a desire but a need to kill. Perhaps, he thought, it was in revenge for her parents and little sister, or for the thousands she had spoken of who died in the long Salvadoran civil war. Perhaps it was because she did not understand all the complicated things that were going on within Mara Salva, and she did understand the simplicity of killing. Whatever the reason, Tony sensed that it was a deep, deep paranoia, one that had not yet reached the plateau of madness, but seemed so near as to be irreversible. He suddenly knew that through whatever was to come in El Salvador, that he had to protect her. He had to remain at her side, doing as she wished, even if she slipped farther into the dementia that was decaying her mind.
"All right, that is what we will do," Tony said.
"Yes, you and I together, Antonio. We will find members of the Sombra Negra and execute them, one by one. Promise me."
"I promise, my love." Now he drew her hand to his lips, and kissed it as if taking an oath. "And when the black shadows die, you will trust me completely?"
"Yes, Antonio. Completely."
"And you will be happy?"
"Oh, yes! I will be very happy when they are all dead."
Her eyes became fierce again as she spoke. Her bloodlust stirred in him a more intense loyalty than he had ever known.
For her, he silently swore, he would do whatever he had to.
Miguel Agustí
Rebirth (Cain and Abel)
MIGUEL AGUSTÍ published his first story at nineteen and, since then, he has written more than a hundred articles and short stories for magazines such as Nueva Dimensión, Bazaar, Spirit, Rufus, Playboy and others. Agustí has also contributed to newspapers and has cultivated many different genres, including thrillers, fantasy, science fiction, and comic strips. He has been editor in chief for several Spanish magazines and also worked as a script writer for the TV series L'Ofici d'Aprendre, broadcast by the Catalan regional channel. All of which has given him a unique way of looking at the world. In his story "Rebirth (Cain and Abel)," first published on the Web site Mysterypages.com, he takes a look at a very different kind of sibling rivalry.
Rebirth (Cain and Abel)
Miguel Agustí
It could not be hell, but he had dreamed that silence and darkness has enveloped him. It was a silence that was almost a vacuum but not quite nothingness.
He was not alone. In this dream he sensed a very slight presence of someone or something watching him, attempting to probe inside him but in vain. For a moment he thought that the silence had taken on a tangible form. Maybe that was it. He rejected the idea. All forms are tangible yet this one was not. Silence lacks form and can only be measured by its intensity. It must be someone who, like himself, was dreaming. The thought appealed to him: two beings who found themselves in the same dream. Was it possible?
"Who are you?" he asked without speaking. Would silence answer him? No, it would have been too human a reaction, befitting only a living being, and he guessed that he had ceased to live as had the other thing who remained hidden and spied upon him.
Perhaps the other presence was so distant that it could not eavesdrop. That would mean he had
tried to draw closer to nowhere because the vacuum that surrounded him had no direction or beginning and was vague and unfathomable.