The Pineapple Republic

by Jack Treby

  Dick had also dressed for the occasion and he was feeling uncomfortable in a patterned shirt, long trousers and lace–up shoes. He sipped the wine, winced slightly, and made his way over.

  ~ ~ ~

  It is only when you have to do without the comfort of padded seating that you realise how much it cushions you from the road. This was the second time in my life I had been locked in the boot of a car. If there had been any other way to smuggle me into the embassy I would gladly have taken it. The pain was excruciating. It took all my self-control not to yell out at the frequent, nerve–shattering jolts as the back wheels struck pothole after pothole. My elbows and ankles were not spared either. The Mexican dignitaries must have wondered just what the chauffeur kept in his boot that could result in so many loud thumping noises.

  My one positive thought as the car wound left and right and left and right through the Toronja one–way system was that at least it would not be a long journey. Between ten and fifteen minutes, I had been assured. I cannot categorically say that it was longer than that, but the sheer number of bumps forming on my head suggested otherwise.

  At last, bruised and battered, I felt the limousine begin to slow. We had turned into the embassy road. As expected, somebody had forced the car to a halt. I heard the voice of the chauffeur chatting good–naturedly to what I assumed was a soldier. I heard the officer say ‘Okay’ and the chauffeur restart the engine. The driver put the car into first gear and we moved forward and around towards the gates of the embassy.

  When we stopped the second time, the brakes were applied with unexpected ferocity. Fortunately, there hadn’t been much of a chance to get going, although I still managed to bang my head. Outside, I heard raised voices. A car door opened – the chauffeur getting out – and I heard footsteps walking around to the back of the limousine.

  I grabbed hold of the grey blanket underneath me and threw it over my head. The key was turned in the lock and the trunk swung open. Perhaps if the soldier didn’t look too closely, he might not see me.

  The man looked closely. He was not a soldier, he was a policeman. His torch flickered across the interior of the boot and he extended an arm.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The document looked formidable. Dick Carter could feel the weight of the thing in his hands. At just over two hundred pages, this was the commissioners’ interim report on the election campaign. A summary of their findings had been placed at the front of the booklet. Dick flicked through it quickly.

  The document must have been printed some days before as it contained no reference to the Azulitos’ sudden support for the PRD. It did refer to some of the atrocities committed by the men in blue, as well as to possible links between the Azulitos and the provisional government. It also mentioned the violence and intimidation directed at the opposition parties, but noted that some of this violence – notably the assassinations of key political leaders – appeared to have been carried out by opposition supporters themselves. There was widespread evidence of fraudulent vote registration but again this was not wholly the responsibility of the Junta. The printing and distribution of ballot papers, which had been one of the main tasks undertaken by the commission, appeared to have passed smoothly and with the minimum of fuss.

  The election, the report concluded, would not be wholly free and fair but the result would more than likely represent the will of the people. This was the clean bill of health the Junta had hoped for.

  Dick was having difficulty concentrating on the words. He glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. It was half past eight. Fracaso’s man had assured him the Mexican delegation would arrive at the embassy – complete with British stowaway – by seven thirty at the latest. He gazed out of a large window at the front of the embassy. The huge iron gates across the courtyard were closed now. Nobody was going in or out; and Dick could have sworn he’d seen the Mexican delegates strolling into the meeting room earlier on. He looked at his watch again. 8:31pm.

  He would give it another ten minutes and then he would come looking.

  ~ ~ ~

  From the boot of the limousine, I had been bundled into a colectivo and driven across town. The ride was more comfortable than my previous journey, but all told I would rather have stayed in the limousine. A policeman with an automatic rifle sat opposite me in the back of the van. Presumably, I would be taken straight to police headquarters and another meeting with Chief Inspector Lopez.

  Fracaso’s plans were in ruins. I was in the hands of the enemy. I was no longer pretending to be a stooge, supporting the government; I was simply their prisoner. All the authorities had to do was keep me in custody for forty–eight hours and the election could go ahead as planned: a three horse race, with the PRD draining vital votes from Antonio Fracaso.

  I had no idea where we were when the van pulled up. I was led out into the street and was still none the wiser. Machine guns jabbed at me and for a brief moment, I felt certain that I was going to be killed. Then I was bundled through a gate into a large office complex that looked like it might have been owned by a legal company or a prestigious publishing firm. In fact, it was a government building, but one that had been unused since the death of El Hombrito.

  The facilities inside were somewhat lacking. There were no cells here for the incarceration of political prisoners, only desks, locked cupboards and an ageing drinks dispenser which had long–since ceased to function. I was forced along a corridor. The policeman unlocked a door at the far end and switched on a light. The room inside was the size of a suburban bathroom. It had very little in it, apart from a broken photocopier and a blanket on the floor. There were no windows and only the tiniest of air vents. The young officer shoved me inside and shut the door before I had time to protest.

  A few minutes later, another policeman entered the room, carrying a bottle of mineral water and a metal bucket. He placed both items by the door and then departed. I heard the key turn in the lock and the man walk away. Then there was silence.

  After a few minutes, I switched out the light and snuggled down under the blanket.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dick had arranged the meeting with Antonio Fracaso well in advance. The two men hadn’t met in person for several days, but Fracaso had sent various go–betweens to reassure the journalist that everything was going to plan. Initially, the opposition leader hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the secret deal he had made with me; but once Dick had learnt of it and had proved himself sufficiently circumspect, Fracaso had agreed to let him in on the whole scheme. None of Fracaso’s men could get near the embassy on Sunday night and Dick was his best chance of finding out whether the ruse had been successful.

  The meeting place was a restaurant on Avenida 42 Sur. Luigi’s was a popular carvery, serving western style food at exorbitant prices. Most of what was available could be bought out in the street for a couple of Cambures, but the wealthy and the foreign liked to pay the extra to give themselves a feeling of superiority. Fracaso did not eat here regularly. It was Dick who had chosen the venue; he could put it all on the company’s expenses. And what could be more natural than a high–profile journalist interviewing the leader of the opposition over dinner on the eve of a national election?

  Fracaso was running late. Dick ordered an ice–cold pitcher of Sonrisa and poured himself out the closest approximation of a pint the local glasses would allow. He took out some cigarette paper and rolled himself a small joint. He had smoked the entire roll–up before the politician arrived.

  The leader of the opposition did not look well. His large, rounded eyes lacked focus and his eyelids were sagging badly. Dick waited for him to sit down and the waiter to depart before he leaned across and asked him what was wrong.

  Fracaso told him about the abduction.

  It was just as Dick had feared. I had been taken into custody before I had even reached the gates of the British Embassy. And now I was in the hands of the provisional government. ‘Do you know where they’ve taken him?’
/>   Fracaso shook his head. ‘It makes no difference. They’ve got him under lock and key. There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. As far as we can determine, none of the other cars were searched. A police sergeant came forward and insisted the chauffeur open the trunk. Nobody knows why.’

  Dick grimaced. ‘So somebody must have set us up.’

  ‘It’s the only explanation. You’ve known Malone a long time. Is it possible he colluded in all this? He did accept a large sum of money from General Malvado.’

  Dick was adamant: ‘All he wants is to get the hell out of this country. Believe me. I’ve known him for years. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘Then that leaves only one alternative.’

  Dick had already guessed. ‘Viscoso. It has to be. He was the only one who knew all the arrangements.’

  ‘But it makes no sense!’ Fracaso exclaimed. ‘You don’t realise how much Alberto has helped us. If even a fraction of it became public knowledge, his career would be in ruins.’

  ‘Not if he’s acting under orders. Malvado could have known about everything from the beginning. He might have suggested roping you in, so we’d play along with it all.’

  ‘And then at the last moment he arranges for your friend to be taken back into custody and the Freedom Party loses the election.’

  ‘Exactly. And we fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘We can’t let them get away with this,’ Fracaso said. ‘Not after all our work. Not after all these deaths.’

  Dick shrugged. ‘You never know. You might win the election anyway.’

  ‘I can’t take that chance. Patrick Malone has to be removed from the equation. Especially now the Azulitos have come out in his favour.’ Fracaso believed the men in blue were still working hand in glove with the government. He believed that the rift was merely a ploy to curry favour with the Americans. He was wrong, of course, but in the circumstances his confusion was understandable.

  ‘Well, if you can think of a way to do it,’ Dick said, ‘I’d be happy to help.’

  Fracaso considered for a moment. ‘They’re going to have to let him out on polling day. Otherwise, people will get suspicious. When they bring him out into the open, then we can get to him.’

  Dick shook his head. ‘That’ll be too late. He won’t be able to resign on the day of the election.’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ Fracaso was thinking hard. ‘So that just leaves us tomorrow.’

  Monday morning dawned and Lolita Corazón stretched herself out underneath the cotton bed sheets. She yawned contentedly. The girl was being well looked after. For the past two days, she had shared a large and well–furnished apartment with an elderly married couple, relatives of one of Antonio Fracaso’s men; in fact, the friendly Hispanic who had rescued her from the police van. There were no guards here to keep an eye on her but it had been explained how important it was that she stayed indoors until after the election. Even phoning Madam Fulana might compromise her security. Lolita didn’t mind. Polling was only twenty–four hours away. And then, if Fracaso’s men were to be believed, she would be free to go wherever she liked.

  She sat up in bed. The family had provided her with a pleasant little room at the rear of the apartment. She drew back the curtains and looked out onto a small courtyard filled with washing. The sun was already doing a good job of drying the clothes. Lolita recognised some of her own things hanging there. It was the first time that anybody had done her washing for her. Even as a child, she’d had to help her mother with the chore three times a week.

  She rose to her feet and rubbed her face with some water left in a bowl near the bed. Señora Cariñoso had given her plenty of other clothes to wear. They were not really her style – Lolita wasn’t keen on trousers and the blouses were a little on the small side – but it was kind of the couple to provide her with something while her own clothes were being dried. She slipped out of her nightgown and pulled on a pair of slacks.

  There was a mirror on the bedside table. Lolita caught sight of herself in the glass. She looked a lot better now than she had when she’d first arrived – at the time, she had seemed very pale – but her hair was still a mess and her roots were showing badly. Her skin, however, had regained its healthy glow and her hosts seemed intent on fattening her up.

  She was surprised they hadn’t woken her up. They usually gave her a call at half past seven or eight o’clock.

  Lolita came out into the hallway. The aroma of burnt toast and sizzling eggs filled the air. She called out to the señora but the woman didn’t hear.

  She slipped past the bathroom and into the kitchen. The eggs were frying unattended on the hob. She looked down and let out a sudden cry. Señora Cariñoso was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The body of her husband was stretched across the kitchen table. His throat had been cut.

  Lolita’s exclamation was cut short by two masked men, who jumped her from behind. A wad of fabric was clamped to her mouth and she felt a sudden dizziness invade her mind. The cloth was impregnated with a powerful anaesthetic. A few seconds later she blacked out and slumped into the waiting arms of her attackers.

  Chapter Thirty

  Daylight crept feebly through a thin slit at the base of the door. I was dead to the world. I don’t know how I had managed to fall asleep in that airless room, but somehow I did. It was only when I heard the key turning in the lock that I started to rouse. It was ten o’clock on Monday morning. The door opened and a shaft of light momentarily blinded me. I was lifted up, unseeing, and escorted into an abandoned open–plan office. Sitting on a plastic chair behind a ramshackle desk was the slim and suddenly unwelcome figure of Alberto Viscoso. He rose to his feet with a rueful smile.

  ‘My dear fellow,’ he said. ‘What can I say? I’m so sorry things haven’t worked out the way you planned.’ He dismissed the guard and we were left alone in the office. ‘I do hope you were able to get some sleep. Would you like something to drink? I believe there’s a drinks dispenser in the other room.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ I mumbled, coughing slightly. I slumped down into the nearest chair and rubbed my eyes.

  Viscoso returned to his seat and waited politely for me to get my bearings.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked at length. ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘The government were one step ahead of you, I’m afraid. The general knew you would have to meet with the Electoral Commission and the embassy was the obvious place to try. He set up a roadblock and here you are. Most unfortunate’

  I frowned. I couldn’t work out whether Viscoso was playing at being a loyal government official, for the benefit of any eavesdroppers, whether he was actually a loyal government official, or whether he was being deliberately perverse.

  ‘Why wasn’t I taken to police headquarters?’ I asked. Why had I been brought out to a near derelict government office? It didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Ordinarily, you would have been, of course. But we don’t want anyone to know you’ve been arrested. Bad publicity. I’m sure you understand. As far as the public are concerned, you’re still at Señorita McBride’s ranch. And you will appear, as scheduled, on Tuesday to cast your vote at the Ayuntamiento.’

  ‘You planned this?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The general is very pleased to have you safely under lock and key.’

  ‘But...you told me you hated him. You said he was deeply unpleasant.’

  Viscoso frowned unconvincingly. ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘And really you’ve been working for him all along.’

  ‘Well, after a fashion. But I assure you, my opinions of General Malvado haven’t changed in the slightest.’

  This was confusing. ‘They haven’t?’

  Viscoso smiled brightly. ‘You’ll have noticed it was the police who arrested you and not the army.’

  Mention of the police immediately brought an image to my mind; a particularly unpleasant one. ‘You’re in league
with Lopez?’ I couldn’t hide the incredulity in my voice.

  ‘Chief Inspector Lopez has certain sympathies outside of the normal channels. As do I.’

  Finally, it clicked. ‘You’re working for the Azulitos.’

  ‘I am working for the overthrow of the provisional government and its replacement by a strong, stable leadership. I said as much to you before and I try to tell the truth whenever possible. But in all honesty, I have little faith in the likes of Antonio Fracaso. His heart is in the right place, I am sure, but he doesn’t have the strength to make a really powerful leader. And that is what this country needs. Father José is right. San Doloroso isn’t ready for democracy. Now more than ever we need a strong hand. And the Azulitos are the real power in San Doloroso. The army are corrupt and incompetent. They must be swept away. San Doloroso will have a new, powerful leadership that will not hesitate to put its own interests before those of foreign nationals and international corporations.’ The civil servant was working himself up into a mild frenzy. I had never seen him so animated.

  I grabbed hold of the sides of my chair nervously. ‘You’re mad,’ I whispered. ‘You’re absolutely insane.’

  Viscoso beamed at me with a sudden, chilling serenity. ‘This is San Doloroso. I’m afraid we’re all mad here.’

  My mind was struggling to make sense of what I was being told. ‘But...you’re not even an Escoria,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Neither was El Hombrito. But like Ladrón, I am a patriot. And I assure you, I know exactly what I’m doing. You should be honoured. My dear friend, you are going to be the next president of San Doloroso.’

  There was a long pause. I knew the Azulitos had been putting up a few posters on my behalf and Dick had told me about some of the government rallies they had disrupted, but I had assumed that was all part of their ongoing war with the government. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be part of a coordinated scheme. I stared at Viscoso for what seemed like several centuries, my mouth wide open. Now I knew he was insane. ‘The next president?’