by PJ Skinner
‘This is pretty irregular but then nothing with you ladies is straightforward. At least it’s not a restricted area. If it were, I wouldn’t be able to help you. As it is, I don’t think there is any harm in skipping a couple of steps in the protocol. You mustn’t tell anyone though, and you must promise to ask the police for help if you need it.’
‘We can have them?’ said Sam.
‘Don’t sound so surprised. Every man has his price and I prefer tight dresses.’ He winked. Bureaucracy is a random system, thought Sam. You never knew when it was going to stop you but sometimes it worked in your favour.
The Colonel picked up his phone and dialled a number.
‘Mr. Chiriboga, I am sending two ladies to see you. Can you please make up an order for the aerial photographs of the Lago Verde region? What scale have you got? Okay, that’s fine. They are on their way.’
‘Thank you, Colonel,’ said Gloria, ‘we are so grateful.’
‘It will take a couple of days to print if they are not in stock. I’ll sign the order and you can pay for them now. Bring it up to me when it is ready. Now get out of here. Your outfits are distracting me, which I’m sure was the plan in the first place. Next time, just ask.’
The photographs were not in stock but Mr. Chiriboga promised to have them ready in forty-eight hours. They paid the cashier and left the form with the Colonel’s secretary. Then they walked down the hill with the receipt tucked into Gloria’s ample bosom for safety. Sam could not bear her shoes any longer and risked the walk in her bare feet, swinging her heels by the straps.
‘Amazing what a tight dress or two will do.’
‘It made our Colonel jump to attention.’
‘You’re so rude.’
‘Yes, so you noticed, too, huh?’
Gloria laughed. ‘Yes, he had to hide it under the desk.’
***
Holger Ponce arrived at Hernan Sanchez’ house in a ministerial car, ensuring that he got a parking space and obsequious attention from the security guard.
‘Minister, what an honour. Who are you visiting today?’
‘Senor Sanchez, and be quick about it. I don’t have all day.’
‘Of course, Minister. Is he expecting you?’
‘No, he is not.’
‘One moment please and I will check that he is in. Hello? Can you please tell Senor Sanchez that the Minister of Foreign Affairs is here to see him? Thank you.’
Holger Ponce lit a cigarette and puffed on it but the guard would not be rushed. The Minister was important but Senor Sanchez was a lot more intimidating. The buzzer sounded.
‘Rosita? Okay, I’ll send him up. Thank you. Minister, please go up to the fifth floor. Mr. Sanchez is waiting for you there.’
He opened the door of the lift and pressed the button with as much ceremony as he could muster. Holger Ponce stalked into the elevator, dropping his cigarette on the floor of the lobby. He was not anticipating a difficult chat. Hernan Sanchez always had the best scotch in town, with which he was always generous.
‘Minister, you are welcome. Come on through to the sitting room. Senor Sanchez is waiting.’
‘Thank you.’
Hernan Sanchez was waiting beside the drinks cabinet in anticipation. A big welcoming smile creased his features but was not reflected in his eyes. He was not used to unannounced visits by government ministers.
‘Thank you, Rosa. I’ll do the drinks. Good afternoon, Minister Ponce.’
‘Holger, for heaven’s sake, Hernan. Do we need to be so formal?’
Holger crossed the room in a couple of long strides and extended his bony fingers which he withdrew almost as soon as Sanchez tried to grasp them. This was not the big shake and the mutual grasping of elbows favoured by the menfolk in Calderon. Sanchez looked cross but he recovered.
‘Do you want a whisky, Holger? It’s a nice triple malt.’
‘Yes please. Two fingers with a little ice.’
To avoid a long meeting, Hernan directed Holger to the hard-backed sofa instead of the armchairs. They sat down and swung around to face each other.
‘To whom or what do I owe the honour of your visit?’ asked Hernan.
‘It’s about your daughter.’
‘My daughter? What on earth has she been up to this time? I find it hard to believe that Gloria has attracted the attention of the cabinet. She has been on her best behaviour.
‘Well, not so much your daughter as the company she has been keeping.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Dr Alfredo Vargas, to be precise.’
‘Alfredo? But she is not going out with him anymore. They broke up.’
‘Not according to my sources.’ He rubbed his nose and chin, playing for time. ‘The thing is, Hernan, that Dr Vargas has been associating with a man named Ramon Vega, who is conducting an investigation into the collaboration of our government with certain fugitive German officers after the second world war. Many of the people involved are still connected to the government and as you can imagine, it is a sensitive subject.’
‘What’s that got to do with Gloria?’
‘This Dr Vargas is missing and your daughter is upsetting people by asking intrusive questions concerning his whereabouts.’
‘How does that concern me?’
‘I should’ve thought that you would be concerned. Your ability to get government contracts relies on a bit of give and take. It would be a pity if your standing took a knock and it was no longer possible for us to look with favour on your bids for work.’
‘I get her to back off or my contracts disappear?’
‘In a nutshell. I hope you understand. These matters can be vexing. We want to shut this down before a can of worms is opened.’
‘Naturally.’ Hernan Sanchez took a couple of deep breaths. He stood up and gestured towards the door. ‘Well, it was good of you to visit. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you and I have a previous appointment. My apologies.’
Holger was surprised but hid his emotions, and his disappointment at having to abandon his whisky. He considered gulping it down but there was no polite way of doing so.
‘Of course, my friend. I’m sure we understand each other. There is no need for this to interfere with our relationship.’
Hernan rang a silver bell on the mantelpiece and Rosa appeared.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘The Minister is leaving. Can you show him out, please?’
The maid looked surprised. Most visits from the Minister lasted for hours and he almost had to be carried out of them.
‘Yes, sir. Minister?’
Holger travelled down in the lift feeling as if his mission was accomplished. He was also a bit smug at taking Hernan Sanchez down a peg or two. Insufferable jumped-up street urchin! He’d put him back in his box and no mistake. His driver was lounging on a bench across the street chatting up a maid from the other building. He ran across the road.
‘Everything okay, Minister?’
‘Perfect, thank you. Take me home, please.’
***
Hernan Sanchez was shaking with anger after Holger Ponce left. The bare faced cheek of that man threatening him in his own house had left him quite discombobulated. He poured himself another whisky and sat in one of his more comfortable chairs trying to slow down his heart rate. One of these days he would have a serious heart attack if he didn’t lose weight and stop smoking but these were not the ideal circumstances. He marvelled at Gloria’s ability to get herself in trouble. He was annoyed that she had disobeyed him and gone back to Alfredo but he understood affairs of the heart were not that simple. Her loyalty to Alfredo was quite touching and he felt pleased that she had found someone about whom she cared enough to defy him. What on earth was Vargas researching that had made the government so paranoid? He had to find out.
And then he remembered Gloria’s trip to his bedroom. She was not very good at hiding a secret. He stood up and made his way to the chest of drawers on his wife’s side of the bed. Openin
g the drawers with reverence he ferreted around until he found the sheath of paper hidden amongst the clothes. He breathed in the faintest waft of his wife’s perfume from the untouched legacy of her presence. The document was quite heavy and he dropped it as he removed it from the drawer, scattering pages over the bedroom. It took him quite an effort to retrieve them again, especially those that had floated under the bed. Puffing with exertion, he laid them out on the bed and reordered them, holding them together with the bulldog clip he found in his dresser drawer. Then he took the report back into the sitting room, poured himself yet another whisky and made himself comfortable.
CHAPTER 14
September 1988
The next morning Alfredo made Saul remove his gun from his rucksack and put it behind the side panel at the back of the jeep, along with the jack and other tools for changing the tyre. There was always the chance that they would encounter a random police checkpoint on the roads leading south, manned by individuals who were looking to augment their paltry salaries. Generally, the police would invent some infraction and an instant fine would be paid, almost like a toll. However, if they found a weapon, things could get nasty, especially if it was in the hands of a foreigner. This gave the police license to extort much greater sums of money and to employ violence if they didn’t get what they wanted. Alfredo and Saul didn’t need any extra trouble on this trip which was going to be quite dangerous enough already. Alfredo had assessed the risks without taking into account the fact that one half of his team had been hiding his light under a bushel, posing as a mild-mannered investigative journalist while he was a vengeful Jew with a gun. The stakes were much higher than he had anticipated. They would need some more whisky.
Some of his worry soon dissipated. Saul was full of the joys of Spring, humming tunelessly as they drove along. He had never been to South America before and was in a constant state of amazement. There were lots of unplanned stops for perusing vistas and sampling of local delicacies. Alfredo was quite happy to let him relax and forget about his mission of revenge for as long as possible. He was not sure how he would control Saul if they ever found Kurt Becker but he wasn’t going to get between them if things went wrong. That gun needed to stay in the wheel hub.
They had lunch at an ancient food stand in one of the villages along the main road after Saul spotted that it had a primitive barbecue with a rotating spit from the car. As they pulled in to the side of the road, Alfredo realised what was cooking and waiting for the inevitable reaction as Saul took in the skinned guinea pigs with accusing faces, bucked toothed grimaces and begging paws turning on their skewers.
‘What are those animals? Are they rabbits?’
‘No, they are guinea pigs. The local people farm them for food.’
‘Oh my! Are you serious?’
‘They are quite tasty.’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’
To Alfredo’s surprise, Saul ate two of them, sucking the bones with gusto, as if he were a local. The owner of the stand, a toothless old crone who smelt like a corpse, encouraged him to eat more, and brought him extra rice and corn to mop up the juices. A loud burp from Saul broke the silence of a good lunch and brought it to an end. Alfredo paid for their meal and they got back into the car.
‘You are the first gringo I ever saw who ate guinea pig with such gusto,’ said Alfredo.
‘Oh, we ate rat often when we were children. I used to think it was normal. And now I can see that it is. Life is super weird, huh?’
Alfredo was speechless. The phrase ‘the condemned man enjoyed a last meal’ ran though his brain like the electric advertisements in Times Square. Maybe they wouldn’t find anything and it would be remembered as a nice trip to the mountains. Maybe.
They drove south for a couple of hours between the two rows of volcanos that form the peaks of the Andes. Then they turned east into the plains and valleys of the upper reaches. The road became narrow, and the tarmac patchy, as they drove towards the lakes. The roads, which were empty, got steeper and narrower with precipitous drops into green patchwork alleys. They passed some over-loaded open wooden buses which bumped along at bicycle speed and could only be overtaken with great caution on wider stretches of the roads. These broader pieces of gravel were few and far between so progress was glacial. To make matters worse, as the evening drew in, sheep and cattle making for home blocked their route and kept them waiting in fading light. Finally, they entered an area where the road flattened out again. A village loomed out of the darkness, the whitewashed shapes of the thatched houses bright in the gloom. There was an old inn on the main square. A sign over the door said Hostal Lago Verde.
‘We’ll stay here tonight,’ said Alfredo.
‘Looks good to me,’ said Saul, ‘do you think we can get some whisky?’
There was no whisky but their host managed to procure a bottle of cheap local rum which they drank with the local version of Coca Cola and some dubious looking ice. They ate a piece of well stewed beef with some fried yucca and rice before bedding down for the night. The bathroom was a little primitive with no running water but, as Alfredo observed, at least it had a flushing toilet and their precious supply of toilet paper was going to come in handy.
The next morning, they were up early and ate some eggs scrambled with onion and bell peppers before setting out for San Blas. Alfredo stopped the car three times to ask different people for directions before taking the way indicated by them. Saul got a little irritated.
‘Why did we need to get instructions from three people? Didn’t they give you the same answer?’
‘Yes, they did. However, it’s local custom to send people on a wild goose chase so I had to check.’
The roads got even narrower and sunk into the peat until it was like driving in a ditch with the sods piled up into banks on the sides of the road.
‘I hope we don’t meet anyone,’ said Saul.
‘It’s pretty unlikely. We’ll have to reverse into a gateway if we do.’
‘This place is hidden from view. It’s lucky you know where it is. How ever did you find it?’
‘I had a girlfriend whose father was German and she told me about it years ago, I guess it stuck in my mind. I’d forgotten about it until this came up.’
‘They may not be here anymore.’
‘Some of them will have died by now, too, but there may be some who have stayed put. We will soon find out.’
There was one road to follow so it was hard to get lost. It wound on through the boggy terrane skirting the snow topped peaks. Suddenly, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, the jeep popped out into a street of neat houses with carved window sills and wooden tiled roofs. It was like a Swiss alpine town.
‘Jesus!’ said Alfredo, ‘all we need now is Heidi and a flock of goats.’
‘Man, it’s creepy as hell.’
‘This must be the place.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They drove down what looked like the main street of San Blas and came out into a neat square with precision cut box hedges and a carousel in the centre. There was a hotel on one side of the square, which was so picturesque that it looked as if it belonged on the lid of a box of chocolates. It had window frames with carved hearts and birds in relief and wooden balconies with baskets of geraniums still dripping from a recent watering. Alfredo drove through a side entrance into a car park at the back of the hotel. They sat there for a while with their thoughts. A large cat emerged from some bushes and jumped up on the bonnet where it curled up and went to sleep.
‘What do we do now?’ said Alfredo. ‘We haven’t thought this through.’
‘I have a feeling that they’ll come to us rather than the other way around.’
‘You could be right. We’d better see if we can book a room then.’
‘Lead on, Dr Vargas.’
They stepped into the foyer which was also ornate and decorated like a Swiss chalet. There was no one at the reception. A cuckoo clock started to chime making them both jump. They watch
ed mesmerised as a couple of dolls emerged from the doors of the clock and spun around in a circle before going back inside. One of them appeared to be wearing a uniform of some sort.
‘Nice, isn’t it?’ said a voice behind them. ‘My name is Fritz Schmitt, I am the hotel manager. How can I help you?’
They both spun around in an uncanny imitation of the figures in the cuckoo clock. There was a large blonde man in lederhosen behind the reception desk. All he needs is a Tyrolean hat to complete the hallucination, thought Alfredo but he recovered.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Schmitt. Myself and my companion here would like a room each for tonight please and possibly tomorrow night as well.’
‘Certainly, sir. We have ensuite rooms if you are interested?’
‘Yes, please, that would be wonderful.’
‘Are you here for the cheese making or the Germanic culture?’
‘Oh, I think we’ll do both.’
‘Excellent. Can I have your passports, please? I need to get your details for the tourist log.’
‘My passport is in my suitcase,’ said Saul. ‘Can I bring it down later, please?’
‘Of course, sir, as long as I have the details of this other gentleman here, that will be fine.’
Alfredo was relieved that Saul had been so quick thinking. If the hotel manager realised that a New York Jew was staying at the hotel, the news of their presence would travel fast. Of course, this might not be a bad move. Perhaps it would speed things up. He wasn’t sure how they were going to proceed if they met a Nazi. That eventuality was still a bit fuzzy in his mind. What they needed was a nice shower and a big supper with ample liquid fortification to give them some breathing time.
‘Let me show you to your rooms,’ said Schmitt.
***
Saul knocked on Alfredo’s door.
‘Hello, can I come in?’
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘I think we should give the manager my passport. He said his name was Fritz Schmitt. Isn’t that one of the Schmitt brothers that you used to play football with?’