by PJ Skinner
‘Hello? Is anyone at home?’
Creaking floorboards indicated that there was. A large silhouette filled the hall.
‘Alfredo? Is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Punch me now so we can be friends again.’
‘You stupid sod!’
The deep voice caught in the massive throat. Moving rapidly for such a large man, Ramon launched himself at Alfredo. At the last moment, Alfredo realised that his friend’s arms were open and his hands were reaching and not bunched into fists. He relaxed and let the tidal wave of affection that was Ramon Vega flow over him. He felt tears on his cheeks and he was not sure to whom they belonged. Why had he waited so long to apologise? What an idiot. He should have known it would be like old times.
When the two men had unwrapped themselves from their fitful embrace, Alfredo followed Ramon into a sitting room that was lined with books. The walls were covered in shelving and many groaned with the weight of double rows of books of every shape and size. Alfredo sank into a comfortable armchair from which he knew it would be hard to extricate himself. Ramon sat opposite in its twin leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs.
‘Marta! Bring us some fresh coffee, please. And some empanadas.’
There was a squeak of assent from the kitchen.
‘So, Alfredo, what can I do for you? It must be important for you to brave my wrath after such a long time.’
‘I know, I am sorry, so sorry. I was such an idiot. I do have an urgent matter to discuss but our friendship is more important and I am a fool.’
‘Come on now, don’t get me upset again. Let’s pretend it never happened. Spill the beans. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.’
Alfredo told Ramon about the call he had received from Saul Rosen, leaving out the bit about the generous payment, and the strange story of Gloria’s school friends and their dyed hair, and then about the missing documents in the library. Ramon remained perched on the edge of his seat washing down cheese empanadas in a sea of milky coffee. His brow became more and more furrowed until he resembled a worried bulldog.
‘So that’s it. I thought that you might be able to point me in the right direction as the trail is cold and I don’t know where to start.’
‘How extraordinary,’ said Ramon, moving to the door which he opened in order to look into the hall and then shut again. ‘What a coincidence. I can’t believe it.’
‘Believe what? I don’t understand.’
‘Saul is not alone in doing research on the presence of Nazis in Sierramar. I have been immersed in this subject for eighteen months after a chance discovery in the archives. I found a whole box of documents in the basement under the wrong section. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But it didn’t take me long to realise that I’d stumbled upon a cover-up.’
‘The only filing cards I found on the subject were stored upside down. I found your note when looking for the relevant documents in the file boxes.’
‘I still have them. There is no point putting them back. They’ll disappear too. Like the fugitives that came here in 1945.’
‘What do you mean disappeared?’
‘Some of them have died but the other’s melted away and they need to be traced. I believe there’s a hard core of about six of them left. but I have been concentrating on the collaboration end of things and haven’t searched for them yet.’
‘They must be the people Saul is looking for.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, I’ve almost finished a report on the government collaboration with the Third Reich that I hoped to have published.’
‘Hoped? Are you having trouble finding a publisher?’
‘I’m having trouble with a lot more than that. There are some prominent people in Sierramar who would do anything to prevent this document seeing the light of day. You wouldn’t believe who was involved with helping the Third Reich to hide its officers in Calderon. It goes right to the top and most of the main protagonists are still alive’
‘Jesus, that’s terrible. You should be careful that they don’t find out what you are doing.’
‘I thought I had managed to keep my studies a secret but I fear that I am being watched. It’s a feeling I can’t shake off.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve decided to leave the country for a while and try to get the report published in the United States. Once it’s in the public domain, there isn’t anything they can do to stop the information getting out.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Next week, so it’s lucky you caught me here. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you borrow the document for a few days and photocopy any relevant pages?’
‘That’s a hell of a responsibility. Are you sure it’s a good idea?’
‘I’m more worried about keeping it here. They would steal it if they got the chance. This house is isolated and easy to burgle. I would feel better if I knew you had it safe. People know that we aren’t on speaking terms. They won’t suspect you of having it.’
‘So, when do you want it back?’
‘You can give it to me when I pass by your house on my way to the airport. Ring me if you have any questions before I go.’
‘Okay, I’ll take it.’
‘It’s the sole copy. Don’t lose it or take it to the bar with you. It could get you killed if someone thinks you have it.’
Alfredo ignored the pointed reference. ‘I’ll guard it with my life.’
‘I’m sorry but you have to go now. I’m expecting a visitor and my guest is a bit shy.’
Ramon winked and Alfredo realised that he was still participating in extracurricular activities with other people’s wives despite his perilous personal situation.
‘I’m going, don’t get caught.’
‘Don’t be silly. Who’d suspect me of being a secret lothario?’
He had a point. Despite his big brown eyes and mop of unruly black hair, he was as wide as he was tall and looked a bit like a genial toad, not the sort of man who seduced other men’s’ wives, although it wasn’t the irate husbands that Alfredo was worried about. He took the document and stuffed it in the poacher’s pocket of his jacket. Waving goodbye, he stepped back out into the sunshine and headed for his car. He drove slowly back up to his house, pondering on the coincidence that had led him back to Ramon after that stupid argument. He couldn’t even remember what it had been about. Again, he regretted his addiction and what it had cost him. It was unfortunate that he could stop drinking for months without any trouble and then when he thought he was free, the tendrils of addiction would tenderly enfold and seduce him, with the power of a siren.
***
Kleber Perez watched Alfredo leaving Ramon’s house. He appeared to be empty handed but he was wearing a jacket that could conceal a multitude of secrets. This was the worst possible outcome. Kleber had never imagined that a drunk could put together a few nebulous clues and come up with the jackpot. How had Alfredo known where to go for more information? There must have been a connection between them in the past. How else would Alfredo have known who Armando Bronca was? Kleber was annoyed with himself. He should have changed the name on the files when he had the chance. It was his experience that most rich people knew each other so he shouldn’t be surprised that Alfredo knew Ramon and recognised the nickname. He jumped on his moped and made for the nearest public telephone in a local shop opposite the police station. There was a queue for the phone and he sat quivering with indignation in the corner until it was his turn.
‘It’s me. I have bad news about Ramon Vega. He has a new accomplice.’
‘I thought he was working alone.’
‘He was, honestly, I haven’t seen him talk to anyone for months.’
‘Jesus! This is a disaster. We have to get rid of him before he talks to anyone else.’
‘I can do it.’
‘Okay, but make sure it looks like an accident. We can’t leave any clues.’
‘I know what to do.’
***
On reaching his house, Alfredo locked the doors and made a pot of strong coffee. He was dying for a drink but he knew that alcohol would not help him navigate the noxious pages. The fact that there was no drink in the house helped him decide, as he had drained the bottles the week before, on a binge that lasted two days. Instead he poured out a mug of coffee and added three teaspoons of sugar to give him a boost. Clearing the papers from his favourite armchair, which was a cavernous affair made of soft brown leather, he sank into its shiny embrace with the document and started to read.
The report was dynamite, starting from the first page and continuing until the last. The thought crossed his mind that Ramon had been writing a novel and was pulling his leg. The more he read, the less believable it seemed. It was profoundly disturbing. The extent of the collaboration between the Nazis and the Sierramar government during the second world war was breath-taking. So much so that the government of Nazi Germany had presented Sierramar with a decoration for helping them out. No wonder certain people didn’t want it to be published. Hot shame swamped him as when he read about the Jews being expelled from the country in 1943 and their businesses being taken over by locals.
It didn’t get any better. He leafed through photographs of people dressed as Nazis posing in front of government buildings. Not all of them were Germanic, some were from Sierramar. Worse still, he recognised some of them, including Gloria’s father, Hernan Sanchez, who looked about nineteen. Their arrogance horrified and bewildered him. What would Gloria think if she found out? Why hadn’t he come across any of this information in his studies? He couldn’t understand how this awful episode had remained secret. Now he knew why Ramon was fleeing the country. The document was nothing short of explosive and many of the protagonists on the Sierramar side were still alive and still involved in politics. He had no doubt that they would kill to get hold of it. He had to tell Saul Rosen.
***
He booked a call to New York. Sitting in his chair waiting for the phone to ring, he pondered the nature of the report. He had often been perplexed by historical mysteries like the burial place of Alexander the Great and the whereabouts of the lost City of Atlantis. But hundreds of years had passed since those events, blurring truth and fiction until they were indistinguishable. What he didn’t understand was how Sierramarians had managed to keep something in the recent past so secret. Powerful people must have buried the references to their shameful collaboration, and those involved must have expunged any trace of their cooperation. It was strange and quite worrying. The telephone rang loudly beside his ear making him jump.
‘You are connected to New York, sir.’
‘Thank you. Saul? It’s Alfredo Vargas.’
‘Hey, Alfredo, how are you? I suppose you realise that it’s two in the morning?’
‘Is it? I’m sorry to wake you. I lost track of time. The thing is, I’ve discovered some important information pertaining to your research.’
‘Wow, already? We haven’t even signed a contract yet.’
‘I know. It couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay with you. If you’re a friend of Dick Gallagher, you must be pretty trustworthy.’
‘He is pretty choosy. I had to go through a tough vetting process involving lots of alcohol.’ He guffawed. ‘So, what have you uncovered?’
‘It turns out that you were right. There’s a whole can of worms down here when it comes to our German friends. By an extraordinary coincidence, a trusted friend of mine has been doing research on this subject and he thinks that there’s a clandestine group of Nazi officers still hiding in Sierramar.’
‘Outstanding! Just as I suspected. You’ve hit the mother lode. I’m surprised.’
‘Yes, well that makes two of us. My friend has lent me his research and the extent of the collaboration between the Nazis and the Sierramar government was nothing short of appalling.’
‘That’s thrilling news. What are you planning to do next?’
‘I’m thinking of investigating the existence of this group in the present day. Are they still alive? Where are they hiding? That sort of thing.’
Saul did not hesitate. ‘Man, that’s exciting. I’ll come with you. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid. Contract or no contract.’
‘You’re coming?’ Alfredo was surprised. He was used to working alone, but it was too late now, Saul had made up his mind.
‘As soon as I can get organised. I’ll let you know my flight times in the next day or two.’
‘I look forward to meeting you in person.’
‘How do I find you in Calderon?’
‘I’ll pick you up at the airport. Meanwhile, I’ll make a copy of the research for you.’
‘I can’t wait. See you soon.’
‘Goodnight, Saul, and sorry for waking you.’
‘No apology necessary. I won’t sleep tonight but for once I don’t care.’
***
Saul put down the phone and leant forward in the wooden hall chair, grasping his knees and resting his forehead on them. He took a deep breath and let it out. It caught in his throat. Finally. After years of searching, a bit of luck. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Relieved? Ecstatic? He stood up and walked towards his bedroom, stumbling as his toe caught on his pyjama bottoms and almost falling headlong through the door. He was blinded by a sudden onrush of tears and felt for his handkerchief on the bedside table. Removing his glasses, he sat on his bed in the dark, weeping his heart out. It was as if he had been lost his entire life and had found a map in his pocket which had been there from the beginning. The threads were coming together. The final act was approaching.
He opened the slim drawer of the bedside table and took out a gun which he had bought in the local gunsmiths. A Glock. It was chunky and workmanlike and, according to the salesman, deadly. He had tested it in the firing room of the store, aiming at the human targets hanging in the back room. The recoil had thrilled him almost more than the holes he made in the paper tracings. He had no doubt that he was capable of firing it at a real human being, especially the men who had taken everything he had. He didn’t care what happened after that. It would be in the lap of the gods.
CHAPTER 5
September 1988
Sam’s flight arrived at Calderon airport in the middle of a terrifying thunderstorm. Landing at nearly three thousand metres above sea level was always a challenge due to the thin air, but now the sky was alive with streaks of lightening. Rain was sheeting down the windows of the aircraft making it hard to see the runway and it was being buffeted from side to side by ferocious cross winds which whipped around the sides of the volcano overlooking the airport. The pilot had to abort the first landing as they overshot the runway. The engines roared as the plane gained height again through the sodden air pushing the passengers back against their seats.
‘Okay, ladies and gents, as you can see, it’s raining and a bit windy so we’re going to have to try that again. If we don’t get a quiet slot, we will have to fly to Guayama instead. So, fingers crossed and here we go again.’
There was a hush on board broken by the rattling of rosary beads as they came in to land for the second time. Sam could see that even the air hostesses were gripping the edges of their seats. The aircraft landed with a big bounce and the tyres squealed as they fought for grip on the wet surface. One of the overhead lockers sprang open and someone’s duty free cigarettes fell to the floor. The customary round of applause for the safe landing was augmented by relieved cheering. Even Sam joined in with the clapping to shake loose the iron grip of the priest sitting beside her who had abandoned hope of being saved by higher forces during the landing and gone for human contact instead.
‘Thanks be to God,’ he said.
‘Thanks be to the pilots,’ replied Sam. Credit where credit’s due, she thought. It was God that caused the storm so she wasn’t too sure why he deserved any for trying to kill them. She was also angry at having to sit in the smoking section of the aircraft, which she hated, and her crabb
y mood was not improved by an hour in the immigration and customs queues. She watched with envy as the local people filed past the immigration desks, chatting and waving their passports while she stood in a long queue of tourists being attended by only one desk. Even more frustrating was the search of her luggage in customs by a man who appeared to be in a trance and who picked up each individual piece of clothing and dangled it in the air as if expecting something to fly out. By the time that she emerged outside into the shiny wet streets of Calderon, she was at the end of her tether and desperate for a cup of tea.
There was no sign of Gloria who was in the habit of waiting for the plane to fly over her house before leaving for the airport. She was later than usual though, and Sam began to fret. They didn’t have a plan B. If Gloria didn’t turn up soon, she would have to change some money at the horrible airport rates and take a taxi with the ensuing arguing about whether she should pay local or tourist prices. She could negotiate in Spanish after her first trip to Calderon, and that always had the effect of reducing the tourist premium, but Sam was stubborn. The longer she stood there, the more the taxi drivers besieged her, hoping that she would break and take one of them into town.
Then Sam spotted Gloria’s jeep swinging into the airport road. Ignoring the do-not-enter signs, Gloria drove into the taxi lane and screeched to a halt right beside her. The taxi drivers swung away from Sam to protest at this sacrilege but one look from the driver was enough to quell the rebellion. A bedraggled Gloria leapt out of the car and ran around to embrace her, smelling of smoke and patchouli.