Hitler's Finger

by PJ Skinner

  He went to his wife’s dresser and removed the report again. Finding DHL’s number in the phone book, he contacted them and asked them to come and collect a document for immediate transport to Miami. Then he put the report in an envelope and sealed it with tape. He went into the kitchen and put it on the table.

  ‘Rosa? The man from DHL will be here in an hour or so. Can you please give him this envelope?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  He still felt a little emotional and panicky. He was exposing himself to the criticism that would result from the publication of such inflammatory information. It was tempting to change his mind but his daughter was his life. To the surprise of Rosa and the building security guard, he decided to take a walk to calm his nerves. It had been years since he had voluntarily walked anywhere and he felt a bit self-conscious. It took him a while to get into the rhythm but soon he had gathered speed. He walked around the block, stopping to eat an ice cream in the pizza place, and by the time he got home again, he was calm but his blood was still boiling. He’d had about enough of Holger Ponce. That bastard was going down this time, but not until the girls were safe.

  ***

  Night fell in San Blas where Dr Becker and Boris Klein were eating at the hotel. Klein wolfed down his dinner, disgusting Kurt Becker who was a stickler for good manners. He started to talk before swallowing, giving Becker an unwanted view of his last mouthful.

  ‘The Sanchez bitch is on her way with the Englishwoman. They think they can rescue Dr Vargas. This is a complete farce.’

  ‘It’s becoming like a soap opera.’

  ‘However, I venture to suggest that it presents us with an opportunity as well.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The Englishwoman is the perfect incubator. She’s Anglo-Saxon, in her thirties. I didn’t want you to use a non-Aryan. The blood of the Fuhrer must not be contaminated.’

  ‘But we can’t keep her here, they will find her.’

  ‘I have been thinking that we should contact Argentina. It’s about time we moved down there. Sierramar is no longer safe. How close are you?’

  ‘In theory, I am ready. We may only get one chance at this rate.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. After all these years of work, we may be thwarted at the last by a Jew, a drunk and an Indian.’

  ‘Sounds like a joke.’

  ‘There’s nothing funny about it. Get ready for the implantation. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Ramon Vega, Miami, September 1988

  There’s a package for you, Mr Vega,’ said the receptionist, flicking her hair back and giving him a laser-beam smile.

  Ramon Vega, who had been crossing the lobby of the Miami hotel at speed in order to avoid her, turned reluctantly back to the desk.

  ‘A package? Excellent.’

  She handed it to him without letting go and stared at him. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Thank you, Silvia,’ he said, tugging it out of her grasp, ‘much appreciated.’

  ‘Have a nice day,’ she replied, with an insincerity that made him feel even more guilty. Was it his fault that American women loved Latino men? She had practically begged for it and now he had to put up with her resentful stares. He had been going to change hotels, but the thought that Hernan Sanchez might repent and send his research report to him had kept him there. His luck had changed. He recognised the weight and thickness of his report in the courier’s envelope. Gloria must have convinced her father to send it. Now it was up to him to get it published and he knew the place. Without opening it, he spun around and walked back through the revolving door into the pouring rain.

  The hotel concierge got him a cab and he jumped in, tipping the man a couple of dollars.

  ‘Take me to the offices of the Miami Herald please.’

  ‘The one in Biscayne Bay?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’

  During the ride to the offices, Ramon took his report out of the package and started to read it again. He had no doubt that it was explosive stuff and that his life would never be the same after he handed it over. Would he even be able to go home again? Could he claim refugee status in Miami? Mostly, he wondered why Hernan Sanchez had changed his mind.

  ‘Here we are, sir,’

  ‘Thanks. Keep the change.’

  Ramon walked to the main doors and went in unchallenged. He breezed up to the reception wearing his best smile and looking into the woman’s eyes from under his dark, floppy fringe.

  ‘Good afternoon. I need to see Guido Luna, please.’

  ‘I’m afraid that Mr. Luna is in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?’

  It was not often that his full-on charm had no effect. He decided to change tack.

  ‘No. I don’t. But this is a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Life and death? That sounds serious.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘It is,’ he said, making his best sad puppy dog face, the one that always worked on other people’s wives.

  ‘Hmm, let me see what I can do.’

  ‘Hello, Nadia? Yes, I have a man here who says he has to talk to Guido Luna.’ She put her hand over the receiver. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Ramon Vega.’

  ‘He says his name is Ramon Vega. No, he doesn’t. Okay.’

  She put down the phone.

  ‘Guido can’t see you today. He is busy. Can you come back tomorrow? I could try and get you a meeting.’

  ‘No, it’s urgent. I need to see him today.’

  ‘I’m sorry sir. It can’t be done.’ Seeing the real devastation on Ramon’s face, she added, ‘he does like to have a cigar outside in the afternoon, though. No guarantees.’

  ***

  The meeting went on longer than an hour but Ramon was so absorbed in reading his report that he didn’t notice time passing. He was sitting outside the newspaper building on a bench in the sun and sweat soaked his shirt and ran into his trousers. Finally, a short man with a bushy moustache and a big mop of grey hair stepped through the revolving door and lit up a cigar. He smoked it in short puffs as if impatient to finish. The pungent smell wafted over to the bench making him wrinkle up his nose and look for the source of the odour. That must be Guido Luna. It was now or never. Ramon stood up and approached him with his hand held out.

  ‘Mr Luna?’

  His hand was ignored and the piercing grey eyes gave him a once over that seared his flesh.

  ‘Yes. And you are?’

  ‘Ramon. Ramon Vega, at your service, sir.’

  ‘So, what do you want Mr Vega? I’m a busy man.’

  He didn’t look that busy but Ramon wasn’t stupid enough to comment.

  ‘I have a scoop for you.’

  ‘A scoop, eh? We’ll soon see about that. You have thirty seconds.’

  ‘I have proof that there is a group of fugitive Nazis hiding in the mountains in Sierramar.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘That’s an irresistible bait for a journalist. Perhaps you knew that already?’

  His piercing blue eyes examined Ramon’s face for signs of trickery but he found none. He took a deep drag on his cigar and then threw it into the bin with a look of sorrow.

  ‘You’d better not be leading me on. That was Cuban.’

  ‘No sir, I’m serious. It’s a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Come on, we’ll talk in my office.’

  ***

  When Ramon finished talking, Guido ran his fingers through his mop of grey hair a couple of times. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Good God man! This is dynamite. Why have we never heard about this before? Where’s this proof you were talking about?’

  Ramon handed him the report. ‘I have only one original,’ he said. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could make a photocopy and give it back to me.’

  ‘Nadia!’ Guido shouted, and she appeared in an instant. Ramon wondered
if she had been eavesdropping. ‘Go get a copy of this for me right now. Do you want a coffee, Ramon?’

  He didn’t. ‘Yes, please,’ he said.

  They sipped their coffees while Nadia copied the document, lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘If I publish an article on these revelations, I imagine that things at home might become a bit difficult for you.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Once the horse has left, it’s a bit late to shut the barn door. I’m more inclined to think that they might improve.’

  Guido nodded. Nadia handed the original to Ramon and Guido put the copy on his desk. He bent over the document and leafed through it, stopping to gaze at the photographs and other facsimiles. A couple of times, he whistled and shook his head. At last, he glanced up, his eyes sparkling. He looked ten years younger.

  ‘A scoop! It’s been years since I had a proper scoop.’ He dashed out of the room, leaving a startled Ramon behind. ‘He’ll be back,’ said Nadia, ‘he’ll be trying to get it in tomorrow’s edition.’

  ‘Stop the presses,’ said Guido, who had returned at the same speed as he had left. ‘Well, it’s too late for tomorrow’s edition but we will mock up the front page and a double page spread for the following day. How does that sound?’

  ‘That’s excellent. Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll pay you for an exclusive. We will do an interview with you as a follow up.’ He rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘That’ll teach them to label me as washed up,’ he said to no-one in particular. Nadia beamed.

  ‘Show Ramon out. We’ll see you here tomorrow morning at ten for a photograph and an interview. I’ll be here tonight if you need anything.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’

  ***

  Back at the hotel, Ramon phoned Hernan Sanchez.

  ‘Mr Sanchez, it’s Ramon speaking. I received the document.’

  ‘Ramon, that’s great. I’m so sorry I didn’t send it straight away. It took a tragedy to make me see sense.’

  ‘A tragedy. What happened?’

  ‘There was a car crash near Lago Verde and they found two burnt bodies. The police told us that one of them was Alfredo. We mourned him for three days.’

  ‘Alfredo? Oh my God.’

  ‘Don’t panic, the autopsy proved that it couldn’t be him. But there is no doubt that we were meant to think that it was. My daughter and her friend have set out to find him.’

  ‘Is that a good idea? They may also be in danger. I never dreamt that my research would lead to this.’

  ‘I sent my fixer with them so they should be pretty safe, but I wanted to be sure. I decided that if we published the report, the Nazis wouldn’t have any reason to try and keep their presence a secret. It’s up to you now. How soon can we have it on the front pages?’

  ‘I managed to get into the Miami Herald today and talk to one of their longest standing journalists. He has agreed to do a write up on my report. The day after tomorrow, the revelation that some Nazis are hiding in Sierramar, and that the government has been complicit in hiding them, will be front page news.’

  ‘I hope that will not be too late. I tried to stop the girls from going to find Alfredo but my daughter is so stubborn.’

  ‘As soon as I have a copy of the article I will fax it to every newspaper in Calderon. Can you please help me?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘I will need the fax numbers.’

  CHAPTER 23

  Sam and Gloria September 1988

  It was almost dusk when Sam and Gloria got to the crossroads where Segundo Duarte was waiting. Hernan Sanchez’s fixer was standing by himself outside a local shop festooned with baskets of fruit and footballs hanging in net bags. A woman crossed herself as she passed him on her way into the shop, his scarred face causing her superstitious soul to revolt. He didn’t give her a second glance and came over to the car, a rucksack slung over his shoulder and a cigarette in his mouth.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, lowering his head, and then, ‘how are you, Miss Sanchez? I am at your service as always.’

  ‘Segundo, how good to see you. Get in.’

  Ignoring Sam, he climbed into the back seat of the four-wheel drive, flicking his cigarette into the gutter as he shut the door.

  ‘Senor Duarte, buenas noches,’ said Sam, determined not to be left out. ‘Me llamo Sam.’

  ‘Ya se, lo mismo a usted.’ (I know, the same to you).

  He didn’t look her in the eye or notice that she was looking at him with frank interest, and had not crossed herself or shown any interest in his scar.

  ‘Let’s go. We should get to the hostel by midnight,’ said Gloria, who hadn’t noticed the chill in the air.

  She released the brake and they were off into the gloom. She put the music on full volume, making it impossible to chat. Sam wondered what Segundo made of Fleetwood Mac. They were singing ‘you make loving fun’ and Sam thought about Simon and the baby, and whether Alfredo would live to see it. She had not yet confessed the result of the pregnancy test to Gloria and as time went past, it seemed less easy to do. It was so ironic that she should get pregnant at the drop of a hat, while poor Gloria, who still hoped for children, could never do so. She wanted to talk about her wildly fluctuating feelings about it and about Simon but Gloria’s recent trauma had made this seem trivial in comparison so she kept a lid on it.

  As usual, the passage of time was making her reconsider her decision to leave Simon, mostly because she didn’t see anyone else doing better in the boyfriend stakes. There was always something wrong. Was it better to stay with the devil she knew or discover some other man’s Achilles heel? Should she prefer Simon, who couldn’t say no to a seductive body, to a man like Alfredo who couldn’t say no to a seductive bottle? Sam was not good at compromise. Being inflexible when it came to her expectation of others, she thought that if she could resist temptation, it was only logical that her other half should, too. She was unusually iron willed which could lead to success against the odds but it often caused her unhappiness as it was hard for her to accept that mere mortals were a lot more likely to succumb to the easy choices.

  ***

  After driving for a good six hours, they stopped at the same hostel where Saul and Alfredo had stayed. They were weary and hungry when they arrived. It was close to midnight, but they managed to persuade the owner, who was still drinking in his own bar with a couple of friends, to rustle up some bowls of soup left over from the evening meal. Gloria questioned the owner about Saul and Alfredo.

  ‘Yes, I remember those gentlemen,’ he said, ‘they stayed up late talking and drinking.’

  ‘When was that?’ said Gloria.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure now, perhaps a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Where were they headed?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure they were off to San Blas but they were planning to stay in Lago Verde on their way there. They told me they’d need a room on their way back but they never turned up. I guess they went somewhere else. That American was interested in the local culture. Perhaps they went to the Indian Market at San Marco?’

  Sam managed to get Segundo alone. She was not sure why they had started off on the wrong foot but she was determined to make an effort to improve their communication. There was no way of knowing how much they might need each other on the trip.

  ‘I’m glad you are with us. Senor Sanchez trusts you completely. Have you known him a long time?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘Did you meet him in Calderon?’

  ‘Why are you asking me questions about it? It’s none of your business.’

  Gloria, who had come to join them, interjected.

  ‘Don’t be rude to Sam. She’s only being nice. Segundo met my father when he saved him and his family from the clutches of a loan shark who was holding his son for ransom. Segundo was looking for work and my father hired him to make a road or something.’

  ‘It was the road to San Blas.’

  ‘San B
las? But that’s where we’re going. What a coincidence,’ said Sam.

  ‘That’s all it is,’ said Segundo. ‘Gloria’s father found out that someone was threatening my family and he sorted it out. I’ve been working with him ever since.’

  ‘Senor Sanchez is a legend,’ said Sam.

  ‘He’s a special man,’ said Gloria.

  ‘Amen,’ said Segundo.

  Sam didn’t feel as if she had made any progress but at least now she understood the fanatical loyalty.

  She shared a room with Gloria. They lay side by side in their single beds, wide awake despite the hour. Sam could see the glow of Gloria’s cigarette deepen in the darkness as her friend inhaled. Normally she would have complained about smoking in the bedroom but she hadn’t the heart.

  ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ asked Gloria

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sure that they would’ve put him in the car with Saul if he was dead. It seems like they were trying to put us off the trail.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, why push Saul off a cliff with a random body in the car? They could have pushed him off by himself. Also, why set fire to the car? I think they burned the bodies to slow down identification. They were obviously hoping that the police would assume the body was Alfredo’s and put it in the newspapers. It was a message.’

  ‘A message? To whom?

  ‘To us. They know we are on to them. I don’t know how, but they must know. That’s the only explanation. They are trying to stop us going to San Blas to look for Alfredo, by pretending he is already dead.’

  ‘So, they were buying themselves time? But what for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve no idea why they don’t run away to Argentina if they think they’ve been discovered. There must be a reason that they are staying in San Blas, when they should be leaving. I can’t imagine what it is though.’

  ‘It must be important.’