It was El Presidente’s considered opinion that all this Yankee was going to get with his six holes—for that matter, with holes drilled at 50-foot intervals from border to border—was wet feet (the topography of San Sebastian is essentially swamp), but he refrained from offering this observation.
“Two million dollars? American dollars?”
“Either that, or the same figure in Swiss francs, whichever you want,” Horsey said.
“Colonel,” El Presidente said, “I pride myself on being a judge of character. I can tell, by looking into your somewhat bloodshot eyes, that you are a man of your word. It will, I am sure, be a pleasure to do business with you.”
“Fine,” Colonel de la Chevaux said.
“How long will it take you to draw up the contracts?” El Presidente said. “And in the meantime, I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to advance this country, simply as a gesture of your good intentions, a small advance. Say a thousand dollars? How about five hundred?”
“Francois,” Horsey said to the largest man in his group, Frangois Mulligan, who carried the money bags around. “Let me have a couple of million.”
“Francs?” Mr. Mulligan inquired, as he unzipped a bag, “or deutsche marks or dollars?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Colonel,” El Presidente said, “how about some of each?”
“Whatever you say,” Horsey said. “We’ll just make it three million down. That way Frangois won’t have to try to divide two million by three.”
Within a matter of moments, the currency had changed hands, and El Presidente had signed the necessary documents.
Then, overcome by emotion, he suddenly grabbed Colonel de la Chevaux by the lapels and kissed him, wetly, on each cheek.
“Hey, watch it!” Horsey said. “Not only am I not like that, but you need a shave, El Presidente!”
“By the authority vested in me by the constitution of San Sebastian, written by my own grandfather, may he rest in peace, I name you a Commander of the Order of St. Sebastian, Third Class,” El Presidente said.
“Gee, that’s nice of you,” Colonel de la Chevaux said as El Presidente snatched the medal of that order from the chest of Colonel Malinguez and pinned it on Horsey. Caught up in the emotion of the moment himself, Horsey snatched the Order of the Guardians of the Peace and Tranquility of the Knights of Columbus from Francois Mulligan’s chest and pinned it onto El Presidente’s tunic.
“By the authority vested in me as Grand Exalted Keeper of the Golden Fleece, Bayou Perdu Council, Knights of Columbus, I name you herewith an honorary member of the K. of C.,” Horsey said. He did not, however, kiss El Presidente.
“When do you think you’ll start looking for the oil, Colonel?” El Presidente said, examining the medal with pleasure. He had to admit it was more impressive than the one he had given Colonel de la Chevaux. He wondered if the diamonds were real.
“It’ll take a little time,” Colonel de la Chevaux replied. “I’ll get on the radio and order a drilling rig flown here from New Orleans. With the expected delay, we won’t start digging until, say, day after tomorrow.”
“By then, regretfully, I will not be here.”
“Where are you going, El Presidente?” Colonel Malinguez asked, at the same time putting one hand on the stack of bills on the table.
“Well, first things first,” El Presidente said. “First, I will deposit this money in the national treasury. Then I will ask El Chancellor of the Exchequer for my six months’ back pay. With what I have saved up, I should have enough money to buy a tourist-class ticket to Paris so that I can see my beloved grandson, Pancho.”
“Hell, El Presidente,” Horsey de la Chevaux said. “I’m on my way to Abzug. Be no trouble at all to drop you off in Paris. The least I can do, after you gave me this pretty medal.”
“I don’t want to impose,” El Presidente said.
“Not at all,” Horsey said. He extended the bottle again. “Have another belt, El Presidente.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” El Presidente said.
TOP PRIORITY
FROM UNITED STATES EMBASSY,
SAN JOSE, COSTA RICA
TO THE STATE DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON
ATTENTION: BANANA REPUBLICS DESK
1. THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLE’S DEMOCRATIC FASCIST REPUBLIC OF SAN SEBASTIAN WAS OVERTHROWN TODAY IN A COUP D’ETAT LED BY COLONEL JOSÉ MALINGUEZ.
2. ACCORDING TO USUALLY RELIABLE SOURCES, THE COUP WAS, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A PRIVATE FIRST CLASS SIMON SANCHEZ-GOMEZ, SR., WHO FELL OUT OF A JEEP AND GAVE HIS KNEE A NASTY CUT, BLOODLESS.
3. GUSTAV “BIG GUS” GONZALO, FORMER MAXIMUM LEADER, AND MEMBERS OF HIS IMMEDIATE STAFF, PLUS HIS FAMILY AND SEÑORITA ROSE LOPEZ, DESCRIBED AS HIS “GOOD FRIEND AND CONFIDANTE,” WERE EXILED FROM THE COUNTRY AND FLOWN TO SAN JOSÉ, COSTA RICA, BY AIRCRAFT OF THE REPUBLIC OF SAN SEBASTIAN AIR FORCE.
4. GENERAL FRANCISCO HERMANEZ, WHO HAD BEEN PRESIDENT OF THE REPUBLIC PRIOR TO THE PEOPLE’S DEMOCRATIC FASCIST REPUBLIC COUP D’ETAT OF SIX MONTHS AGO, AND WHO HAD SINCE BEEN HELD PRISONER IN THE MAXIMUM LEADER’S (FORMERLY PRESIDENTE’S) PALACE EVER SINCE, HAS BEEN RELEASED AND HAS RESUMED CONTROL OF THE GOVERNMENT.
5. FORMER MAXIMUM LEADER GONZALO, HOWEVER, IN A PRESS CONFERENCE HELD IMMEDIATELY UPON HIS ARRIVAL AT SAN JOSÉ (COSTA RICA) INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, CHARGED THAT THE CIA WAS CLEARLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS BEING DEPOSED. AS PROOF, HE POINTED TO THE FACT THAT IMMEDLVTELY UPON HIS RELEASE FROW PRISON, EL PRESIDENTE HERMANEZ WENT TO THE SAN SEBASTIAN HILTON, WHERE HE CONFERRED WITH A GROUP OF AMERICANS IDENTIFIED AS COLONEL J. P. DE LA CHEVAUX AND HIS STAFF.
6. THE CIA, WHICH HAS A LARGE FILE ON COLONEL (LOUISIANA NATIONAL GUARD) DE LA CHEVAUX, FLATLY DENIES ANY ASSOCIATION WITH HIM VIS A VIS RESTORING GENERAL HERMANEZ TO POWER.
7. THE CIA BELIEVES THAT EL PRESIDENTE MAY HAVE ENTERED INTO SOME SORT OF FINANCIAL ARRANGEMENTS WITH CHEVAUX, BUT EXACTLY WHAT KIND IS NOT AT ALL CLEAR. SINCE SAN SEBASTIAN HAS NO PETROLEUM (OR OTHER NATURAL RESOURCES OF ANY KIND), AND NO CURRENCY RESERVES WHATEVER, IT IS HARD TO IMAGINE WHAT EL PRESIDENTE IS EITHER SELLING TO OR BUYING FROM CHEVAUX. IT IS POSSIBLE, HOWEVER, THAT EL PRESIDENTE IS ATTEMPTING TO SELL THE WHOLE. COUNTRY (OR AT LEAST PARTS OF IT) TO CHEVAUX ALTHOUGH IT IS NOT AT ALL CLEAR WHY ANYONE, INCLUDING CHEVAUX, WOULD WANT IT.
8. WHILE THIS MESSAGE WAS BEING DRAFTED, REDRAFTED, EDITED, AND SUBMITTED FOR AMBASSADORIAL REVIEW, THIS EMBASSY WAS INFORMED, CONFIDENTIALLY, BY THE CIA THAT THEIR MAN IN SAN SEBASTIAN HAD REPORTED THAT EL PRESIDENTE HAD LEFT THE COUNTRY IN A 747 JUMBO-JET AIRCRAFT BEARING CHEVAUX PETROLEUM CORPORATION MARKINGS, DESTINATION UNKNOWN.
SPIRES I. RONALD
CHARGE D’AFFAIRES & PASSPORT OFFICER
This message, when it reached the State Department in our nation’s capital, did not, truth to tell, cause much of a stir. For one thing, the Banana Republics Desk was having its annual picnic in the Lyndon B. Johnson Memorial Gardens on the banks of the Potomac, and only a very junior foreign-service officer had been left behind to answer the phone and collect the pay checks.
She was so junior, in fact, that she possessed only a “top-secret” security clearance, and the messenger who delivered the radio-teletype message, which was classified “very top-secret,” at first refused to hand it over.
Once that had been resolved (the junior officer was given an interim “very top-secret” security clearance, good only until one of her superiors got back from the picnic, other problems arose. For one thing, she could not find San Sebastian, either on the map or on the labels of the file drawers. She had not, of course, been entrusted with the keys to the file cabinets, both because they contained “very top-secret” security information and because that was where the deputy assistant vice-chief of the Banana Republics Desk kept his gin.
But, although a newcomer, she had already begun to, as she put it, “learn the ropes.” She had, in other words, already learned rule one for a bureaucrat: When presented with a paper you don’t understand, mark it “for your information” and
put it as surreptitiously as possible in your immediate superior’s “in” basket.
This accomplished, the young foreign-service officer returned to her desk and resumed painting her fingernails, dreaming of the day when she would have enough seniority to go on picnics with the rest of the gang.
En route to Paris from San Carlos, San Sebastian, aboard Colonel Horsey de la Chevaux’s 747, Horsey and General El Presidente Francisco Hermanez, recently restored President of San Sebastian, became close friends.
They had a good deal in common in addition to their fondness for Old White Stagg Blended Kentucky Bourbon. Both had been born into, and spent long years in, poverty. Both had, on occasion, awakened to find themselves behind bars.
But it was more than this that brought together the two who had, in their heart of hearts, at first thought of each other as “one more lousy gringo” and as “a banana-republic Mussolini,” respectively. They were kindred souls, and it didn’t take long for both of them to find this out.
When the general had boarded the 747, Horsey de la Chevaux couldn’t have cared less about the general’s grandson, who was all alone in Paris. But an hour after they had taken off—long before they had opened the second half-gallon of Old White Stagg— Horsey excused himself and quietly went to the cockpit, where he had the flight engineer send off a message:
FROM CHEVAUX PETROLEUM NUMBER ONE
EN ROUTE PARIS
TO GENERAL MANAGER
FRANCO-CHEVAUX PETROLEUM
118 AVENUE DE LA CHAMPS-ELYSEES
PARIS
DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY TO LOCATE AND DELIVER TO ORLY FIELD TO MEET THIS AIRCRAFT ONE PANCHO HERMANEZ, MALE SAN SEBASTIAN, AGED TWENTY-TWO YEARS, LAST KNOWN ADDRESS STUDENT HOSTEL, UNIVERSITY OF PARIS, BOULEVARD ST. MICHEL. IF NECESSARY, CONTACT ROYAL HUSSIDIC EMBASSY AND GET THEIR ASSISTANCE.
J. P. DE LA CHEVAUX
CHAIRMAN & CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER
Normally, of course (for Chevaux Petroleum, International was actually just one big happy family), Horsey signed his radio messages “Horsey.” He signed this one the way he did because he wanted Francisco’s grandson found in time for him to be on hand when they got to Paris. From his own experience, Horsey knew that it was a heart-warming experience to have one’s close family on hand when one was released from durance vile.
Three hours out, as the level of the second half-gallon of Old White Stagg had begun to drop alarmingly, General El Presidente Francisco Hermanez started to cry.
“Whassamatter?” Horsey asked, not very clearly.
“You’re a good man, Horsey,” General El Presidente said, draping an arm around Horsey. “And I have been somewhat less than honest with you.”
“Don’t let that bother you, Francisco,” Horsey replied. “You’re a pretty good guy yourself, and I haven’t been exactly telling you the truth, either.”
“You mean, you never actually spent six months in the New Orleans Parish Bastille?”
“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” Horsey said.
“A simple lie—I forgive you. What harm is there in saying you spent six months on the New Orleans Parish road gang when you haven’t?”
“I did spend six months on the road gang,” Horsey said. “I was number 87-32098. That’s not what I meant.”
“Whatever you did, or said,” El Presidente said, the tears now coursing down his leathery, unshaven cheeks, “it is not as bad as what I have done to you— before I knew you, and realized what a good fellow you are, Horsey. . . .”
“What did you do to me?” Horsey inquired, his curiosity now aroused.
“I want you to understand, my friend, that if it were not for the absolutely beyond-rehabilitation state of the San Sebastian economy ...”
“Whassat mean?”
“If San Sebastian wasn’t so broke,” El Presidente explained, “if there had been any other way ...”
“If you’re going to make a confession,” Horsey said, “get to the point.”
“There is absolutely no oil in San Sebastian!” El Presidente said.
“Thass what you think,” Horsey replied.
“That’s what I know,” El Presidente said. “Every major oil company in the world but yours has explored San Sebastian for oil,” El Presidente said. “From border to border, from sea to shining sea.”
“So what?” Horsey said, and he handed El Presidente the jug.
“They didn’t find enough oil to grease a door knob,” El Presidente confessed, taking a little pull.
“Don’t worry about it,” Horsey said.
“But I knew this, my friend,” El Presidente said, taking another pull at the jug and then looking into Horsey’s eyes, “when I signed the contract and took that money.”
“Put it from your mind,” Horsey said. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”
“You don’t mind losing three million dollars? Being cheated out of three million dollars? American dollars?”
“Who’s going to lose three million?” Horsey asked mysteriously.
“But I told you there’s no oil in San Sebastian,” El Presidente said.
“An I tol’ you, Francisco, thass what you think,” Horsey said, and he patted El Presidente consolingly on the back.
“I don’t follow you, my friend,” El Presidente replied in some confusion.
“You know what’s the difference between Chevaux Petroleum and, say, Mobil? Or between Chevaux Petroleum and, say, Gulf?” Horsey asked.
“I don’t quite follow you,” El Presidente said.
Horsey put his finger to his nose (and made it on the third try). “Thass the difference, my friend!” he said with quiet pride.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mobil’s got geologists and engineers, all sorts of highly paid people,” Horsey said. “And so does Gulf. But what does Chevaux Petroleum have that Gulf and Mobil don’t have?” It was a rhetorical question, to which he expected no answer, and which, indeed, he answered himself. On the fourth try, he managed to again connect his index finger with his nose. “It’s a l’il secret,” he said. “But I’m sure I can trust you.”
“After the way I cheated you, how can you trust me?”
“Let me lay a little philosophy on you, Francisco,” Horsey said. “You can’t cheat an honest man. Especially an honest man with a nose like mine.”
“With a nose like yours?”
“Ssssh!” Horsey said, swaying slightly and moving his finger from his nose to his mouth in the well-known gesture of secrecy. “Thass my secret!”
“Your nose is your secret?”
“You got it, Francisco!” Horsey said. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“I’m a little confused,” El Presidente confessed.
“You’re a little plastered, thass what’s the matter with you,” Horsey cried gaily. “That Old White Stagg’ll sneak up and kick you, if you don’t watch out!”
“What about your nose?”
“I smell with it,” Horsey said triumphantly.
“Oh?”
“Oil, I mean,” Horsey explained. “All I do is take a good whiff, and I know, right then and there, whether or not there’s any oil.”
“You do?”
“I had a little trouble in San Sebastian,” Horsey said. “If you’ll promise not to take offense, I’ll admit it.”
“Why should I take offense?”
“Well, between the smell of all that Cheiroptera vespertilionodae fecal matter* and all those rotten bananas, I had a hell of a time sniffing the oil.”
(* Colonel de la Chevaux here actually used the vernacular names for the mouse-like quadruped Cheiroptera vespertilionodae and for its droppings, but this is, after all, a high-toned book, and the editors felt that the vernacular noun, no matter how precise, might unnecessarily offend some readers.)
“I am sorry that the smell offended you,” El Presidente said, somewhat huffily, “but that bat do-do and the bananas are San Sebastian’s only exports.”
“I didn�
��t say it offended me, Francisco,” Horsey said. “Hell, wait till you smell Bayou Perdu. What I said was that I had to get used to it before I could sniff where the oil is.”
“You’re telling me that you can smell oil?” El Presidente said disbelievingly.
“What I’m telling you is that I did smell oil,” Horsey said. “I was not being exactly truthful with you when I said I wanted to explore for oil, Francisco, old buddy. I knew that there was oil there.”
“I find this hard to believe!” El Presidente said.
Horsey picked up the radio telephone.
“Hey, are we patched in to San Carlos yet?” he asked.
“Chevaux Petroleum, San Sebastian,” a voice came back.
“Horsey here,” Colonel de la Chevaux said. “How we doing?”
“Got a little problem, Horsey,” the voice replied.
“What’s that?”
“Well, as soon as we got here, I went out to the swamp where you drove the stake to tell us where to drill.”
“And?”
“I run over the stake, Horsey.”
“So?”
“Well, first it made a little hissing noise. And then it blew. Turned the Jeep over on its back. It’s flowing ten thousand barrels a day it looks like, good heavy sweet crude. Lost the Jeep, though, Horsey. There’s sort of a lake of oil out there, and I don’t know where it sank.”
“Well, make sure it don’t catch on fire,” Horsey said.
“What did that mean?” El Presidente asked.
“It means that Chevaux-San Sebastian Number One came in at about three feet,” Horsey said. “Flowing ten thousand barrels a day. Seven dollars and twenty-one cents a barrel, less our ten percent—that’s about $68,500 a day for your government, Francisco.”
General El Presidente Francisco Hermanez wrapped Colonel de la Chevaux in his arms and kissed him on both cheeks.
MASH 11 MASH Goes To San Francisco Page 14