The Pineapple Republic

by Jack Treby

Chapter Thirteen

  In the labyrinth of cells that compose the lower floors of the Central Police Headquarters in Toronja, on the evening of the sixteenth of October, some thirty-seven men and eleven women were being held for questioning. Most had been arrested during the riots of the previous two days. Four were members of an unsuccessful trade union. Two were drunks. One was a librarian who had inadvertently gone out without his identity papers. And one was Isabella Valentía, the Radio Libertad producer who had broadcast the interview with Father José. Isabella had been arrested on Sunday morning and charged with incitement to violence.

  And then there was me.

  I was in a state of blissful ignorance concerning the deaths of Luis Cuerpo, Rodriguez Smith and Juan Federico Pelele. In fact, I was in a state of blissful ignorance concerning almost everything. Despite the blaring sirens and the clomping feet of Chief Inspector Lopez – not to mention that brief, inexplicable glimpse of Charlotte McBride – the first I really knew of the day’s events was when the cell door swung open and a man entered carrying a Polaroid camera.

  I was ordered to stand against a wall and five photographs were taken in quick succession. The flash of the camera almost blinded me after two and a half days of subdued lighting.

  I had just about recovered my bearings when two burly constables grabbed hold of me and dragged me towards the now familiar environs of Interview Room One. I was seated in a metal chair on the far side of the room. This time, my wrists were not chained to the steel rods at the back of it. Obviously, I was no longer considered a dangerous criminal.

  My attention was caught by an object resting on the table in the centre of the room. It was the urn containing the ashes of my late mother. This was the first time I had seen it since the vase had been confiscated four days earlier. What was it doing here?

  Alberto Viscoso entered the dimly lit room and dismissed my two escorts. The slender civil servant was carrying an attaché case and several important–looking pieces of paper.

  Behind him thumped the bulky and unwelcome figure of Chief Inspector Lopez.

  Viscoso placed his papers down on the table. ‘Sorry to drag you out of your cell so late in the evening,’ he apologised. ‘We’ve got a few papers here we need you to sign.’

  Inspector Lopez stood at the doorway, his eyes glaring with unnecessary viciousness. I had the feeling he had been interrupted in the middle of a row. His hand gripped the frame of the door with alarming ferocity.

  ‘Papers?’ I asked.

  ‘Just a few formalities to take care of. Nothing important.’

  I glanced at the documents. They were written in Spanish and looked rather formal. A couple of them were application forms. I rifled through the papers. The smallest item was a rectangular piece of plastic; some sort of ID card, I supposed. As yet, there was no photograph embossed on it. ‘An identity card?’ I asked, looking up.

  Viscoso didn’t blink. ‘Much more convenient than a passport,’ he informed me smoothly. ‘You can keep it in your wallet. It will save any future misunderstandings.’

  I took a close look at the card. Etched in the bottom left–hand corner was a small symbol of a triumphant Escoria Indian. ‘This is for a citizen of San Doloroso,’ I observed, not quite grasping the significance.

  Alberto Viscoso nodded.

  My name had already been printed on the card, just above the national flag. ‘But I’m a British subject,’ I protested.

  Viscoso gestured to the urn and placed a gentle hand on the lid. ‘But your mother – God rest her soul – was a citizen of San Doloroso. And that automatically gives you right of abode.’

  I stared at the two men for a moment. Something was not quite right here. There was a hint of a smile on the chief inspector’s grim visage. ‘What is this? What’s going on here?’

  ‘Just sign the forms!’ Lopez barked.

  He spoke with such aggression, I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. Something was definitely going on and all my instincts told me it wasn’t anything good. ‘Look,’ I began, rising to my feet. ‘I honestly don’t think it would be right for me to sign anything without a lawyer present.’

  ‘Sit down!’ Lopez screamed, thumping towards me from the door. ‘Listen, Sunny Jim. You are going to sign these forms and you are going to sign them now!’ He grabbed my mother’s vase and held it threateningly in mid-air.

  I brought a hand to my mouth.

  ‘Inspector, please,’ Viscoso said. Lopez halted mid–threat. ‘I do apologise for the chief inspector. He has had a very difficult day and I’m afraid you’re the most obvious person to take it out on. Ordinarily, of course, I’d be the first to restrain him. Unfortunately, time is pressing and we do very much need your cooperation.’

  I took a deep breath and sat down slowly. ‘What are these forms?’

  ‘Just think of them as “release papers”. We can go into details later. It’s getting rather late. All you have to do is sign these documents and I personally guarantee you will walk out of here tomorrow morning a free man.’

  I looked at the forms. ‘It’s not a confession, is it?’

  ‘A confession of what?’ Viscoso asked. ‘My dear fellow, we all know you’re guilty of nothing. The charges are absurd. We just want to clear things up here and now and see you on your way. We’re trying to help you.’

  Somehow, that didn’t ring true. ‘Look, I am sorry, but I really don’t feel comfortable signing something when I haven’t any idea what it is.’

  Viscoso sighed deeply. ‘I honestly hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.’ He nodded to the inspector.

  Lopez placed the vase down on the table. For a moment, I expected him to smash it – he had been holding the urn threateningly all the while – but instead Lopez reached down to his waist and unclipped a holster. Inside was a standard issue police revolver. The inspector removed the gun, walked to my side and placed the nub of the revolver directly against my head.

  ‘I’m going to make it easy for you, son. You sign these documents within the next ten seconds or I blow your brains out.’

  I looked at Viscoso. The man shrugged apologetically.

  Lopez began to count.

  He might have been bluffing. The two men obviously needed my help in some way or another. But it’s difficult to think logically when your life is being threatened. And clearly, Chief Inspector Lopez was no stranger to violence.

  Reluctantly – but very very quickly – I signed the documents.

  ~ ~ ~

  The army barracks were not far from the Plaza Mayor. The building was surrounded by narrow iron railings capped with barbed wire. Sentries guarded the entrance to a small courtyard. The government liked to keep some of its men right in the centre of Toronja, just in case. The soldiers were certainly needed, what with all the unrest in the capital.

  Nacho had run there from the Casa in less than twenty minutes. He had called ahead, using a phone card he had stolen from a handbag the previous day. A series of coded rings had alerted the particular officer he wanted to speak to.

  The front of the barracks was ablaze with activity. The gates were open and an army lorry was driving out onto the street. Nacho skipped past on the other side of the road, then cut across Avenida 72 Sur towards the back of the complex.

  There was a small shop on the opposite side of the street. It had a large indented doorway. Nacho knew the owner. The old man had clouted him once for stealing a loaf of bread. The boy slid into the shadows of the doorway and waited.

  A young teniente – a lieutenant – appeared at the back gate a few minutes later and moved out onto the pavement. He locked the door carefully behind him. His departure would not go unnoticed but nobody would care so long as the gate was properly secured. The soldier crossed the street and slipped into the doorway. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’ he demanded, lighting up a cigarette.

  ‘I have information for you,’ Nacho told him. ‘Very important. You need to contact General Malvado.’

  The teniente frow
ned. ‘The comandante could put a call through if it was very important.’ The comandante was the highest-ranking officer on duty at the barracks.

  ‘It is very important. The Azulitos have found Father José.’

  The man’s eyes widened. ‘And the general doesn’t know?’

  Nacho shook his head. ‘You give me money?’

  The soldier reached into his wallet and Nacho gave him all the details.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlotte McBride had taken some persuading. The day had been bad enough already, what with the death of her boyfriend. The last thing she wanted to do was run an errand on behalf of the provisional government. But as legitimate deputy leader of the Partido Revolucionario Democrático, she was undoubtedly the logical choice. The general could hardly present the documentation himself. Officially, the SFA and the PRD were politically independent. In the end, Charlotte had agreed to help out, but only on two conditions: firstly, that this would be the last time she was called upon in this manner and secondly that she would automatically inherit Juan Federico’s estate. Even in her grief at his sudden death, Charlotte McBride had her wits about her.

  General Malvado agreed to both conditions with the wave of a hand.

  Emilio Títere volunteered to accompany the woman to Government House. The actor’s presence was easily explained, since he was known to be a close friend of the late Luis Cuerpo. The two had worked together on a telenovela entitled El Verano Del Amor (‘the summer of love’).

  The six members of the Electoral Commission were not in the best of moods. Several of them had been on the verge of going to bed when the call had come through to convene a meeting at Government House. They did not appreciate being gathered at such a late hour or in such an unseemly manner. Inspector Lopez’s men had been less than courteous.

  The formalities took the best part of an hour. It was touch and go whether everything would be completed before midnight. There was a small pyramid of paperwork to get through.

  Charlotte could only sit and watch. There were better places to spend a Tuesday night than a civil service meeting room. She yawned and closed her eyes. Her feet were killing her. She was still wearing the untested footwear she had put on when Inspector Lopez had phoned the ranch several hours earlier. The shoes didn’t seem to fit at all and walking in them was awkward. Her cocktail dress was too tight as well. She should have slipped into a pair of trousers – it would have been much more practical – but she had scarcely had any time to think before Lopez’s men had thundered up her driveway.

  After the meeting concluded, a driver brought Charlotte and Emilio back to police headquarters. General Malvado had deliberately stayed away from Government House but he was anxious to find out the result of their submissions.

  Quietly cursing her heels, Charlotte approached the office of Chief Inspector Lopez. There were raised voices from inside the room. ‘It’s a simple question, Lopez. Did you or did you not take this girl in for questioning?’ Malvado did not sound happy.

  ‘Yes, sir, I did.’

  ‘Why wasn’t she brought to police headquarters?’

  ‘I thought...’

  Emilio knocked on the door.

  ‘What is it?’ the general snapped. His tone softened when he caught sight of the ageing actor. ‘We have a problem, Emilio.’

  The actor grimaced. He disliked raised voices.

  As usual, Alberto Viscoso was on hand to provide the explanations. ‘It seems our dear chief inspector has been withholding information,’ he said.

  ‘Worse than that, he’s been giving it to the Azulitos,’ General Malvado blazed. ‘Did she tell you where he’s being held?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Lopez admitted. ‘But the girl has kin up in the mountains near Verdura. Bunch of troublemakers. Relocated six months ago. That’s most likely where the bastard will be.’

  ‘And you gave this information to the Azulitos and not to me?’

  ‘With respect, sir,’ Lopez replied, with very little respect indeed, ‘I’ve been up to my eyeballs in dead bodies since this afternoon.’

  Malvado rose to his feet. ‘You will not address me in that tone, chief inspector!’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. But the Azulitos are very superstitious. They don’t like leaving a job half done. And I thought if you didn’t know about this then you could deny everything...’

  ‘You’re an idiot, Lopez!’ the general snapped. ‘We need Sentido alive.’

  ‘The Americans are furious about the assassination attempt,’ Viscoso explained. ‘They came perilously close to abandoning us altogether. There have been riots in the streets. I’m afraid the only way to restore order is to produce Father José, alive and well.’

  ‘But it was the general who ordered...’

  Viscoso cut in. ‘My dear inspector. Chief inspector. Regardless of what may or may not have happened in the past, I’m afraid we now have no choice but to disassociate ourselves from the Azulitos. The Americans are demanding we put some of them on trial. We simply cannot allow them to carry on as before.’

  ‘But it’s too late,’ Lopez insisted. ‘The information will already have been passed on.’ The Azulitos in Toronja would have contacted their people in Ausente or Verdura.

  ‘This is not good,’ General Malvado asserted. ‘Viscoso, contact the barracks. We need to get our men there first. Do whatever it takes.’

  ‘Of course, general. If Inspector Lopez could give me the address of this girl’s family.’

  The inspector hesitated.

  ‘Give it to him!’ barked the general.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lopez opened the door and gestured for Viscoso to follow him.

  ‘I always said it was a bad idea, promoting Escoria,’ Malvado muttered, just as Lopez was leaving. The inspector stopped in his tracks. Charlotte could see his shoulders shaking with rage. He took a moment to regain control, then left the room without a word. Viscoso followed behind.

  The general turned to Emilio. ‘I hope you have better news,’ he said. ‘Did the commission accept the new party leaders?’

  Emilio paused. ‘They accepted one of them.’

  Malvado closed his eyes. ‘Which one did they reject? The journalist?’

  ‘No. The librarian.’

  The general frowned. ‘What reason did they give?’

  ‘He’s a civil servant.’

  Malvado slumped back into his chair. ‘The sooner we get rid of this bloody constitution the better.’

  A small lorry pulled up at the homestead of Fernando Corazón and his family at about half past three in the morning. There were seven men in the truck. Two of them slipped out and around the side of the farmhouse, breaking into the building through a rear window. The others approached the front door and began knocking loudly.

  Father José Luis Sentido was lying awake in his bed. At sixty-four years of age, he rarely slept a whole night through; and after the recent attempt on his life, the priest was understandably sensitive to noise. He heard the knock on the door and saw a light illuminating the kitchen cum dining area, which was the main room of the house. There were four rooms altogether, including three bedrooms. The adults slept in one, the children in another. Normally, the married couples would occupy the third room, but the Corazóns had kindly given this up for Father José.

  The priest had been very well treated by everyone.

  A lamp was being carried across the dining room by Fernando Corazón. Father José guessed it was him, though he couldn’t see the man directly. Fernando would have to cross the kitchen area, past the dining table, to open the main door. Before he got there, however, he was set upon by the intruders who had broken in at the back of the house. All Father José heard was the front door being unlocked and several unknown persons entering the front room. There were whispered voices and then footsteps towards the priest’s door.

  In the distance, another vehicle could be heard approaching the farm.

  The bedroom door swung open. Fernando was framed in the doorway with
a man who was holding a knife to his throat. The villain was short and dressed in blue clothes. He was an Azulito.

  Other men entered the room and Father José was dragged out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his nightgown. A hand was clamped to his mouth, to prevent him from crying out. The bullet wound in his shoulder had not yet fully healed and the sudden movement caused the elderly priest considerable pain.

  A thug at the front entrance signalled the two drivers to come inside. One of them brought a rope, which he strung from a beam up in the rafters. Someone else pulled Father José’s hands behind his back and tied them together.

  The rest of the family were herded up and brought out into the kitchen. The adults and children were kept apart, but the whole family were forced to watch as the frail priest was made to stand on a chair and a noose was placed around his neck.

  ‘There’s someone coming!’ one of the Azulitos cried out. Another fellow rushed to the window.

  ‘It’s the army. What are they doing here?’

  Father José heard metal doors slamming outside the farmhouse and the sound of footsteps on gravel. Moments later, a soldier entered the building; a captain. Behind him came two corporals.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ the capitán demanded, taking in the scene.

  ‘Nothing that concerns you,’ one of the Azulitos replied.

  ‘I am here to take Father José Luis Sentido into protective custody. He is to receive medical treatment for his wounds.’ The capitán stepped forward but an Azulito blocked his path.

  ‘He’s ours,’ the man sneered.

  The capitán gestured to his subordinates and the two men removed the safety catches on their automatic rifles.

  The Azulito leader clicked his fingers and the thug nearest Father José kicked the chair out from underneath the ageing priest.

  At this point, a number of things happened in quick succession. Firstly, the capitán launched himself forward, attempting to rescue Father José. Conchita Corazón, Fernando’s daughter, also rushed forward. The Azulito leader produced a knife and stabbed the capitán in the stomach. Conchita flung her arms around Father José, attempting to support his weight as the noose pulled tightly on his neck. Fernando tried to wrest another knife from an Azulito who was moving towards his daughter. The soldiers opened fire. Conchita’s mother screamed. And Fernando was stabbed through the heart.