The Pineapple Republic

by Jack Treby

  The mortuary was a large, whitewashed room well below ground level. It had no windows but it was staggeringly well lit. The glow from the ceiling was almost blinding. It was as if all the hundred–watt bulbs that should have been allocated to the holding cells and interview rooms had been collected together and used to flood the place.

  Charlotte McBride tottered unsteadily into the room. She wasn’t nervous; her new stilettos didn’t quite fit.

  Several metal tables were laid out in front of her. This was where the three corpses had been collected. Lopez mouthed a name to an attendant. The man gestured to a particular table and pulled back the sheet covering the dead body. Charlotte peered across at it and suppressed a shudder. The face of Juan Federico was unmistakable. There was a deep gash across his neck, which Charlotte tried very hard not to look at. Instead, she nodded quietly and turned away.

  ‘This has been a shock for all of us,’ said Emilio Títere. The distinguished former actor had arrived at the mortuary some minutes earlier. He had been summoned to identify Luis Cuerpo, the SFA leader and a close personal friend. Cuerpo had also been an actor before being approached by the Junta. Now he had given his final performance.

  ‘Does anyone know who did it?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘We’ll find the bastards,’ Chief Inspector Lopez growled. ‘They won’t get away.’

  Feet could be heard marching along the corridor outside. Abruptly, two soldiers entered the mortuary. They pulled back the doors and Alberto Viscoso strode confidently into the room. This was the same thin, obsequious civil servant who had helped conduct the interrogations with Lopez the previous Sunday. In his right hand, he was carrying a small brown attaché case.

  Behind him walked General Federico Hernandez Malvado, the de facto President of San Doloroso.

  Malvado was a short man, with thickset shoulders and a bushy moustache. He had an ageing, somewhat chubby face and unnaturally large eyes. This was the first time Charlotte McBride had seen him in the flesh and she was quietly impressed. Malvado dominated the room as soon as he entered it and his manner commanded instant obedience. It was hardly surprising he had come to dominate the five man provisional government which had taken over after the death of El Hombrito.

  ‘Where are they?’ he asked the chief inspector, his tone surprisingly light and unthreatening.

  Lopez showed him the bodies.

  ‘This will not do,’ Malvado whispered, his voice absurdly quiet. Charlotte had to strain to hear what he was saying. He stopped at the third body and frowned. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Rodriguez Smith, General,’ Inspector Lopez replied. ‘The deputy leader of the SFA.’

  The man looked up sharply. ‘We weren’t informed.’

  ‘He’s only just been found.’

  Malvado grimaced. ‘This is not good.’

  Alberto Viscoso nodded gravely. The civil servant rarely ventured far from his master’s side. ‘It’s dreadful. Utterly dreadful. The general was considering promoting Rodriguez and notifying the Electoral Commission tonight,’ he explained.

  The party leaders had all been formally registered some weeks before – as had Emilio Títere – but the deadline for registration was about to expire. ‘That must be why poor Luis was murdered,’ the actor guessed. Somebody was obviously determined to prevent the government fielding more than one candidate.

  General Malvado shook his head. ‘No. These murders were spontaneous. They were not planned.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘I’m afraid we underestimated the impact of Father José’s assassination,’ Viscoso cut in. ‘We knew there’d be a backlash, of course, but not on this scale.’

  The murder of three politicians in one evening was unusual even by San Doloroson standards. The Junta had been completely wrong-footed.

  ‘The timing is not good,’ General Malvado declared. ‘We needed those candidates.’ The two leaders had been a vital component of the government’s election strategy. If they were there, pulling votes away from Antonio Fracaso, the government stood a good chance of winning the election outright.

  ‘However, there is still time to repair some of the damage,’ Viscoso informed the general brightly. ‘Inspector Lopez...’

  ‘Chief inspector.’

  ‘Chief inspector. Of course. I have an urgent task for you. We need you to send out some of your men.’

  ‘What, at this time in the evening?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The Electoral Commission will have to be gathered and brought along to Government House. The commissioners are all staying at the Intercontinental Hotel. Unfortunately, so are the press. We need to get the commissioners away as quickly as possible, but without drawing attention to the fact. We also need to get hold of the deputy leader of the PRD and have him brought here.’

  Charlotte McBride, who had been listening to these instructions, suddenly started to feel very nervous.

  ‘We’re going to have to hurry, I’m afraid,’ Viscoso insisted apologetically. ‘We need to fill out the forms and get the fellow registered tonight. It’s a terribly complicated procedure.’

  ‘Tonight?’ Lopez exclaimed. ‘That’s bloody ridiculous.’

  ‘We have no choice, I’m afraid. Time is running out. And we’ll need to find someone to replace the SFA leader as well.’

  The chief inspector stared at the civil servant as if he were demented. ‘What, in three hours?’

  ‘There is no alternative,’ the general agreed.

  ‘This election has to go ahead as scheduled,’ Viscoso explained. ‘The Americans insist on it. But we can’t afford to have a straight fight between Antonio Fracaso and our dear friend Emilio here. Every indication we have says that Emilio would lose.’

  Emilio Títere coughed in embarrassment. ‘Well, not necessarily,’ he ventured.

  ‘You would lose,’ Malvado stated flatly.

  Inspector Lopez didn’t care either way. ‘All right.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll organise it. But you’ll need to give me the names. Who’s the deputy for the PRD?’

  Viscoso retrieved a sheet of paper from his attaché case. ‘A man called McBride, apparently. Charlie McBride. Never met the fellow myself. He lives...oh.’ Viscoso paused. ‘This is a bit odd. Apparently, he lives at the same address as Juan Federico.’

  Charlotte swallowed nervously. This was the part of the conversation she had been dreading. ‘Actually, erm...that’s me.’

  Viscoso looked up. ‘You?’

  ‘Who is this woman?’ the general demanded. ‘What is she doing here?’

  ‘Charlotte McBride. Nice to meet you.’ She held out her hand. The general stared at it coldly. ‘I was identifying one of the bodies.’

  ‘She’s Juan Federico’s girlfriend,’ Emilio volunteered. The actor had met the woman at the dinner party two days earlier.

  ‘And this is your name, registered as deputy leader of the PRD?’ Viscoso clarified.

  ‘Yes. Freddie’s idea. He just needed a name for the form. I happened to be with him. It was a bit of a joke, really. He didn’t think it would matter too much. After all, he was only pretending to be a politician.’ Charlotte stopped talking. All four men were staring at her, their mouths agape. She scratched her stomach nervously. ‘If I’d known it was going to be a problem...’

  The general turned to Viscoso accusingly. ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘Not at all, general, I assure you. My understanding was that only citizens of San Doloroso were eligible.’

  ‘I am a citizen.’ Charlotte lifted up her handbag and began to rifle inside. It took her a few moments to find the identity card amidst a jumble of lipstick and emergency underwear. ‘I have been for a few months,’ she added, handing the card across.

  Emilio Títere examined it with curiosity.

  Freddie had sorted it all out for her. Charlotte had been getting rather fed up having to cross into Nicaragua every three months to renew her visa. As a citizen of San Doloroso, there was no such hassle. She could stay in the cou
ntry as long as she liked. ‘Not a very good photo,’ she admitted. ‘I always look better in black and white.’

  ‘This is dreadful,’ Viscoso was saying. ‘I can only apologise general. Juan Federico, God rest his soul, was specifically told to choose an associate he could trust. I’m afraid it can’t have been checked properly.’

  ‘The damage is done,’ the general said.

  Emilio flipped the card over in his hands. ‘Is it really a problem?’ he wondered. ‘Why not let the young woman stand, if all the paper work is already completed?’

  This time, it was Charlotte McBride’s mouth that fell open. She raised a hand and was about to protest when General Malvado cut across her. ‘That is not an option,’ he declared firmly. Charlotte closed her mouth.

  ‘It would rather defeat the object,’ Viscoso agreed. ‘I’m afraid even an illiterate peasant would be able to tell the difference between a photograph of a man and a photograph of a woman, especially a striking young woman like the señorita here.’

  Malvado looked at his watch. It was already nine fifteen. ‘We are not going to be beaten by terrorists,’ he stated flatly. ‘And we are not going to allow a two–horse race.’

  ‘But what else can we do?’ Emilio asked.

  ‘Bloody obvious, if you ask me,’ Inspector Lopez replied. Nobody had asked the inspector anything. ‘We should take out Antonio Fracaso.’

  ‘Is this man an idiot?’ the general demanded bluntly.

  Lopez was momentarily stunned into silence.

  ‘The Americans would know it was us,’ Alberto Viscoso explained, anxious to avoid an argument.

  The inspector was none the wiser. ‘So what?’

  ‘Well, unfortunately, the United States are insisting these elections are fair and free. They’re already on the warpath because we tried to bump off Father José. Or somebody did,’ he added hastily, catching the eye of Charlotte McBride. ‘I’m afraid if we killed off the leader of the opposition too, the US would suspend their aid programme.’

  ‘We’d be bankrupt within six months,’ the general confirmed. ‘No. We have to play this by the rules.’

  ‘With less than three hours in hand,’ Emilio pointed out. ‘Can you find two suitable replacement leaders and get them registered before midnight?’

  ‘We can try,’ said the general.

  ‘But who can we find at this hour?’ Viscoso wondered.

  Malvado rubbed his moustache. ‘I’m open to suggestions.’

  ‘Presumably not the military,’ Emilio said. ‘The constitution forbids that, doesn’t it?’

  Chief Inspector Lopez was growing agitated. ‘Bugger the constitution,’ he growled.

  ‘Chief Inspector Lopez, you have been given your orders. I suggest you attend to them. Matters of policy will be discussed by those who have the intelligence to understand them.’

  Once again, General Malvado’s sudden anger rendered the inspector speechless. ‘Yes, sir,’ he muttered eventually, barely managing to contain his own anger. ‘Excuse me.’

  Viscoso watched the fellow leave. ‘Of course, the police aren’t eligible either,’ he noted. ‘Or the civil service. It makes things terribly difficult. Anyone with even the slightest connection to Ladrón is absolutely forbidden from standing.’

  ‘Who else have we got close at hand?’ Malvado demanded.

  ‘In a police station? Only criminals, I’m afraid.’

  The general considered for a moment. ‘All right. Get that idiot back in here.’

  Inspector Lopez was summoned back to the mortuary.

  ‘Who have you got in the cells at the moment?’ General Malvado asked.

  Chapter Twelve

  A flurry of messages awaited Dick Carter at the Intercontinental Hotel. His editors were demanding to know where he was and why on Earth he hadn’t filed anything about the assassination attempt. Dick wasn’t worried. He had a world exclusive for them: José Luis Sentido was alive and well.

  He had drafted the story on the way back to Toronja.

  Lolita’s father, Fernando, had dropped him at the railway station. Dick had promised the señor he wouldn’t make any mention of the Corazón family in the article he was writing. He didn’t put it past the authorities to have another crack at the priest.

  He typed up the story in his hotel room that evening. CNN was playing in the background as he worked. Latest news on the international service was the death of Luis Cuerpo of the SFA and Juan Federico Pelele, the leader of the Partido Revolucionario Democrático. ‘Bloody hell!’ Dick exclaimed. Away from Toronja for two days and now everything was falling apart.

  The murders would be a major setback for the provisional government. The Junta had been relying on those two leaders to undermine the popularity of Antonio Fracaso; and as the deadline for registration of presidential candidates was just a few hours away, there simply wasn’t time to replace them.

  Dick adjusted his article to take account of these new events and went down to reception to fax the story to New York. While there, he picked up a handful of new messages.

  One of them was from the Casa de Doña Fulana.

  Lolita Corazón had been arrested.

  Madam Fulana had spent most of the day fretting about the loss of her most popular girl. She had even dragged Nacho in off the street and asked him to find out what was happening. It was only later she had found Dick’s phone number and called the Intercontinental Hotel. By the time the journalist arrived at the brothel it was well past nine o’clock and Lolita had already been released. The police had held the girl for the better part of the afternoon but now she had been returned to the Casa, apparently unharmed. The authorities had more important things on their plate at the moment than one rather aggressive prostitute.

  ‘I tell them nothing!’ Lolita spat defiantly. Chief Inspector Lopez had been behind her arrest. ‘He is a pig!’ she spat again.

  The inspector had made a point of coming to arrest her in person. She had been taken away for questioning in an unmarked police vehicle.

  ‘I follow the car,’ Nacho boasted, ‘on foot.’ It is a peculiarity of the Toronja one–way system that it is often quicker to run from one place to another than it is to drive. ‘He no take her to station. He take her to another building. There is a man there. I see him. He is brother of Lopez. Azulito man. You give me money, no?’

  Dick frowned. ‘Why would Lopez take her to the Azulitos?’

  ‘I know why. You give me money?’

  ‘Sure I will, kiddo. But tell me why.’

  ‘The Azulitos, they no like to fail. Lopez, he help his brother. If the girl tell them where the father is, they go kill him, finish the job.’

  ‘I tell them nothing!’ Lolita repeated vehemently.

  ‘I know you didn’t, love.’ Dick rubbed his chin. ‘But the Azulitos aren’t stupid. They’re going to put two and two together. Did they take anything from you?’

  Lolita shook her head. ‘Only my identity card. I think they take a copy.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Dick thought. ‘They want to find out where Father José is. You were with him. If they know who you are, they’ll find out if you’ve got any relatives and then go pay them a visit. That’s what I’d do, anyway. And it wouldn’t take them long to find out where they are. Not with Lopez in their pocket.’

  ‘They go find the family, then kill the father,’ Nacho agreed. ‘Finish the job. You give me money?’

  Lolita drew a breath in alarm. ‘Señor Dick, you must not let them hurt my family!’

  ‘I won’t, love. Not if I can help it.’ He scratched his head. ‘We’ll have to warn them, somehow.’

  That was easier said than done. The Corazóns were not on the telephone and it had taken Dick the best part of a day to get back to Toronja from the farmstead. The Azulitos would get there before anybody else.

  ‘I’ve got a mate in Ausente. I suppose I could get him to drive up there.’ Dick looked at his watch. It was already nine thirty-five. ‘How did Lopez find out about
you?’ he asked Lolita.

  ‘She have sex with him,’ Nacho volunteered.

  The girl nodded glumly. ‘Madam Fulana, she says I have to.’

  The doña did not deny it. ‘What can I do? If the inspector is happy then he leaves us alone.’

  ‘Fair enough. All right, look. I’ll try and get hold of this mate of mine.’ Dick rubbed his chin. ‘But I don’t think he’ll be able to get there till morning. Lejano’s a fair way out and the roads aren’t much cop in that part of the country. If the Azulitos have got their wits about them, they could get there long before morning ...’

  ‘I have good idea,’ Nacho said. ‘The government, they no want Sentido dead no more. You give money?’

  ‘Yeah, in a minute. Just tell me the idea.’

  ‘Lopez, he nasty man. He go behind their backs. I get word to somebody. They get there first.’

  ‘A tip off?’

  Nacho nodded. ‘I know a man in barracks. His boss is big man. They get there first,’ he repeated. ‘Before Azulitos. But you must give me money.’

  Dick thought for a moment. It was a risk. The government had certainly been embarrassed by the bungled assassination attempt. Nacho was right. If the Junta could produce Father José alive and well it would halt the rioting and placate the Americans. On the other hand, if the government did find him, they might try to kill him a second time. After all, as far as the general public was concerned, Father José was already dead.

  It was worth the risk. With the distances involved, only the army could get to Father José before the Azulitos did. There was a base not far from Ausente. ‘All right, kiddo,’ Dick said. ‘You sure you can get word to the right place?’

  Nacho nodded. ‘No problem. You give me money?’

  Dick agreed. He reached into his pocket and produced some notes. ‘A hundred Cambures?’

  Nacho grinned and stuffed the money into his pocket. He was down the stairs and out on the street before Dick had even closed his wallet.