The Pineapple Republic

by Jack Treby

  ‘But why lock us in?’ I wondered. ‘Why not just shoot us all?’

  ‘Perhaps they’re going to set fire to the building,’ Emilio suggested.

  ‘Or blow us all up,’ Fracaso thought. He had already been on the receiving end of one Azulito bomb. He met my eye and drew me away from the government candidate. ‘Are you well?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘Look, erm...’

  ‘It was all down to Viscoso,’ Fracaso said, holding his hands up to prevent an apology. ‘He betrayed us and forced you here today.’

  ‘I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘I can scarcely believe it. Viscoso was working for the government all along.’

  ‘Er...not the government,’ I corrected, apologetically. ‘He’s...erm...he’s working for the Azulitos.’

  Fracaso blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again without comment. I knew exactly how he felt.

  ‘This is all part of his plan,’ I explained, with misguided authority. ‘Not even General Malvado knows about it. I think there’s going to be some kind of coup.’

  ‘But the Azulitos...’

  ‘Yes. I don’t....it’s all a bit confusing, really. I mean, why would they lock Viscoso in here with the rest of us?’

  Fracaso closed his eyes. His face was ageing visibly before me. All the man’s dreams were slipping away. ‘I’ve waited so long,’ he lamented. ‘For it to end like this...’

  ~ ~ ~

  Viscoso led the way along the corridor towards the fire exit. There were no security guards at the rear of City Hall. The emergency exit could only be opened from the inside, so there was no danger of anybody bursting in from the street. Nobody could step out either without immediately setting off the alarm system. The Ayuntamiento was hi–tech by local standards. The fire door was solid metal, with a pole across that could be slid to unbolt the door. Viscoso stood back and allowed the officers to draw it open.

  The doors flew back to reveal three more soldiers masquerading as murderous Azulitos. The trio of men opened fire before the police could even draw breath.

  Viscoso was directly in the line of fire. He had no time to react. His body was torn apart. The policemen on either side of him were no better off. In a few seconds, the corridor was awash with blood. The automatic alarm bell started to drone, but there was nobody left inside to hear it.

  The fake Azulitos grinned with satisfaction as they surveyed the bloody scene. They let their guns drop and quickly began to close up the emergency exit from the outside. A colleague arrived carrying a large clump of chain–linked metal he had brought from the back of the white van. The doors were clicked back into position and the chain was wound around the exterior. A heavy steel padlock was then put in place, which the men made sure was properly secured. Even from the street, it would be difficult for anyone to cut their way through it. Nobody inside the building would have a prayer.

  ~ ~ ~

  I had been standing close to the stage area at the back of the main hall when Alberto Viscoso was shot. As soon as I heard the gunfire, I had raced through a door and back towards the emergency exit. By the time I reached the civil servant’s lifeless body, the metal doors were already firmly closed. Other people ran past me to try to force them apart.

  I crouched down and regarded Viscoso’s narrow, broken face. This was the man who had tried to set me up as president. Why he had been killed, I could not begin to guess. Perhaps General Malvado had become suspicious of his lieutenant. Or perhaps it was just a matter of expedience. Around him lay the scattered bodies of his accomplices, the policemen who would have killed me if I had failed to cooperate. I could never wish anyone dead, but I was glad that I had escaped from Viscoso’s lunatic schemes.

  It would not be so easy to escape the dead hand of General Federico Hernandez Malvado.

  I glanced up. The election officials were having no luck with the emergency exit. ‘There has to be another way out of here,’ I muttered, grabbing the handle of a side door, which was also solidly locked. I kicked at it hard, thumping my shoulder against the wood, but to no effect. If there was a window in there, it might be a way out onto the street. I kicked again, desperately. With one final, ankle twisting strike, the door swung open.

  It was just a storeroom. There were shelves and metal cabinets but no windows and certainly no other door. I growled in frustration and was about to turn away when I noticed a set of crude pipes leading out from the metal lockers. All at once, a cold fear gripped me. There were seven or eight plastic tubes feeding into a metal grill on the wall.

  I pulled at one of the locker doors but it was stuck fast. I looked around for something to force it open with; any kind of lever would do. There was a lot of random junk crowding up the store room. I spotted a small axe in a corner leaning up against a bucket filled with sand. Rudimentary fire–fighting equipment. I grabbed the axe and started hacking at the door.

  ‘What’s going on?’ a voice called out from behind me.

  Emilio Títere was standing in the doorway. ‘Señor Viscoso is dead,’ he whispered, in disbelief.

  I nodded as the metal doors of the locker swung open. Inside, attached to the pipes in a parallel row, were a large set of what appeared to be oxygen cylinders, though judging by the complex formulae written on the side they did not contain oxygen.

  ‘What on earth are they?’ Emilio breathed, coming forward.

  ‘It’s not a bomb,’ I said, following the line of pipes through the grill. ‘It must be some kind of...gas, I suppose. Does the ventilation system feed through into the main hall?’

  Emilio snorted. ‘I really have no idea.’

  Then it hit me. ‘My god! It must be poison!’ That was why all the entrances had been shut up. We had been deliberately entombed. ‘Some kind of poison gas!’ The Ayuntamiento had been converted into one enormous gas chamber. ‘They’re going to kill us all!’

  ‘Can’t we disable it?’ Emilio asked, gesturing to the cylinders.

  I shook my head. There were wires connecting the metal canisters to a little black box. An aerial extended out from the box and a small red light was blinking on the front. ‘I think there’s some kind of radio control,’ I said. ‘It’s probably booby trapped.’ If I touched it, it would almost certainly explode.

  I glanced across at the ventilation hatch. At that moment, the red light switched to green.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The senior officer in General Malvado’s assault squad was now sat alone in the driver’s seat of the white van some metres away from the emergency exit. Comandante Nicolao Torpeza was an ugly older man with a gap tooth and a badly shaven chin. He was dressed, like the others, in the distinctive clothing of the Azulitos, though he was actually Hispanic and the clothes were nothing more than fancy dress. The comandante had received word a few minutes earlier that the front of the building was secure. Now that the back entrance had also been locked up, it was time to unleash the gas.

  Only a handful of the General’s most trusted men had been involved in the last minute arrangements. The operation had been conducted in conditions of the utmost secrecy. Several large canisters of hydrogen cyanide gas had been connected up to the air vents in City Hall. Each of the cylinders contained a quantity of raw sodium cyanide crystals and a separate compartment filled with diluted sulphuric acid. The raw materials had been readily obtainable, as poison gas was the preferred method of execution in San Doloroso. The two substances would be mixed automatically once a six-digit code was transmitted.

  Torpeza had entered four numbers already. He grinned toothlessly and jabbed at the fifth.

  The boiling point of hydrogen cyanide is twenty–six degrees Celsius. The temperature in the centre of Toronja that afternoon was thirty–one degrees. The gas would be filtered through the ventilation system into the polling area. With the concentrations involved, everyone inside the building would be rendered unconscious in a minute and a half. In less than ten minutes, they would all be
dead.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a voice enquired, from the passenger window. Charlotte McBride was standing on the far side of the van. ‘I’m trying to get to the Plaza Mayor. I don’t suppose you could help me?’ Charlotte removed her sunglasses and gave the man a dazzling smile. The soldier stared at her. At that moment, nobody on Earth could have taken Charlotte for anything but a dumb – if very attractive – tourist. She leaned forward and rested her sizeable breasts on the frame of the open window. ‘Plaza Mayor?’ she repeated, with mock innocence.

  The comandante was at a loss for words. ‘No speak English,’ he mumbled, his eyes locked on her voluminous cleavage.

  Charlotte smiled again, keeping the man’s attention as the driver’s door behind him quietly clicked open.

  For all his faults, Nicolao Torpeza was not a complete idiot. As soon as he felt the tiniest of movements, he swung around to see what was happening. Dick Carter had only an instant in which to strike; but that was all he required. He had pulled the door open and landed the first punch before the officer had had any chance to react. Then he pulled the driver out of the seat and hurled him against the far wall.

  Dick had spotted the van shortly after Malvado’s squad had disappeared around the front of the Ayuntamiento; but it was only when he had heard the gunfire coming from the back exit that he had realised its significance. Like Antonio Fracaso, he remembered the circumstances of the last major terrorist attack in Toronja. Dick had slipped back and nearly collided with Charlotte, who had got her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The two had quickly hatched their plot. It was not perhaps the best plan they could have come up with, but there wasn’t any time to discuss alternatives. Charlotte had whipped off her top in an instant. The sight of her in just her bra would be all the distraction they required.

  Up ahead, the other soldiers had seen something was wrong and were preparing to open fire.

  ‘Get in, quickly!’ Dick yelled.

  Charlotte clambered into the passenger seat just as Dick started the engine. The transmitter lay between the two of them. But it was already too late. Torpeza had pressed the last button reflexively just as Dick had hit him in the face.

  The authorisation code had already been sent.

  ~ ~ ~

  I grabbed hold of the pipes and yanked them out of the grill as fast as I could manage, just as a loud clunk signalled the activation of the cylinders. A metal handle at the side of the ventilation grill was in an upright position. I pulled it down hard and the flaps slammed shut. The plastic tubes were hanging loose now. There was a hissing sound as the valves on the canisters automatically began to unscrew. The chemicals were mixing together. In seconds, the gas would be spurting out into the storeroom.

  I yelled at Emilio to get out of there. Grabbing the axe, I slammed the door behind me, but it bounced back open. The lock was too badly damaged to shut properly. I had done rather a good job of kicking it away. I handed Emilio the axe. ‘Get everyone to the front of the building,’ I instructed him. ‘See if you can break open the main doors.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Sort out this damned door.’ With the ventilation shaft closed off, none of the gas would be filtered through to the main hall – at least, I hoped not – but it could still spread outwards from the storeroom.

  I pulled my tie from around my neck and attached it to the remains of the door handle. Pulling it taught as best I could, I tied the other end to a nearby light fitting. The door held, but there was still a one–inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the door.

  This was no time for modesty. I tore off my shirt and stuffed it into the hole. It wasn’t enough. I grabbed hold of a body – one of the dead policemen – and dragged him awkwardly alongside the door to act as a rudimentary bulwark. His poor, hulking frame, still dripping with blood and now laying parallel to the base of the door, was just enough to block out most of the remaining gap. The policeman was proving more useful in death than he had in life. I stood back. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

  There was already an acrid smell in the air. I clamped a hand across my mouth. Two elections officials were staring at me from the emergency exit.

  ‘Into the main hall!’ I yelled at them. ‘¡Rapido!’

  ~ ~ ~

  The problems were not over for Dick and Charlotte either. The general’s men, standing guard at the emergency exit, had seen the two of them jump into the van and overpower the comandante. The soldiers immediately opened fire. Dick slammed his foot down on the accelerator and hoped for the best. He ducked his head as the windscreen disintegrated in a hail of bullets. Charlotte ducked down even further. The soldiers had only seconds to make their mark before the van thumped into them. Two of the men managed to jump clear before the vehicle hit, a third man was smacked to the side but the last was caught directly under the wheels. Charlotte felt the bump as the soldier’s body was crushed under the front and then the back axle. It was not a pleasant way to die.

  Dick put a fist through the windscreen to clear the view and arced left towards the Plaza Mayor. He almost hit a pedestrian and within ten yards was forced to put on the brakes. The two Brits leapt from the vehicle and ran into the crowd on the outskirts of the plaza. By the time the other soldiers had recovered their wits, it was impossible for them to even think of following.

  Their colleague was left for dead in the middle of the street.

  The remnants of Malvado’s squad were standing at the front entrance, making sure nobody outside tried to reopen the main doors. One of them was tapping his radio nervously. Perhaps the soldiers had expected to receive a signal from their leader as soon as the cyanide had been unleashed. Whatever the truth, it was obvious now that Malvado’s scheme was beginning to unravel.

  The soldiers conferred briefly. They were on their own, that much was clear. If they wanted to escape with their lives, they would have to make a run for it. With one final burst of machine gun fire they abandoned their position and split off in different directions to make their escape.

  For a brief moment, all was quiet in Plaza Mayor. Then, tentatively, some of the crowd lifted up their heads, peering out from behind the park benches, municipal statues and shop doorways where they had earlier scuttled to protect themselves.

  The front steps of the Ayuntamiento were empty now. It looked like the soldiers had disappeared for good.

  A couple of local journalists, braver than the others, began to move towards the building. Cautiously, they walked up the steps and then made a start on opening the heavy internal doors. Others quickly joined them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Inside, nobody moved. I had returned to the main hall, bare–chested, and was half expecting somebody else to open fire on us as soon as the entrance swung open. Luckily, only a handful of journalists and a couple of policemen were pushing the doors from the other side. Together they had managed to cut the metal chains and force an entrance.

  In the background, the alarm bell was ringing once more.

  Emilio Títere and I swept forward towards the daylight. Fracaso followed behind, breathing uneasily. All around us, people were rushing for the exit. Only the election supervisors were holding their posts. To their credit, they were not letting the police anywhere near the ballot boxes.

  The authorities, in any case, had other concerns. Emilio stopped an officer and quickly told him about the cyanide gas. It would need to be contained, and fast. We had done the best we could in the circumstances, but it had hardly been a professional job.

  I emerged blinking into the afternoon sunshine. A dozen or so bodies lay dead on the steps in front of me. A couple of injured soldiers were being attended to by public–spirited citizens. Sirens started up in the distance, but none of the ambulances would be able to get anywhere near the Plaza Mayor. Even in the aftermath of so much violence, there were still hundreds of people milling about.

  The gentlemen of the press were gradually moving back towards City Hall. The sight of the t
hree political leaders on the steps of the Ayuntamiento – albeit surrounded by voters and several dozen other dignitaries and bodyguards – was more than enough to draw the journalists in. We stood for a moment – Fracaso, Emilio and I – breathing deeply of the uncontaminated air and waving for the cameras. I could not yet bring myself to smile.

  Fighting his way forward through the crowd was Dick Carter. The sight of him in his green Bermuda shorts and blue vest brought joy to my heart. I beckoned him forward.

  Charlotte McBride was struggling behind in her stilettos and a bra top. She was showing off almost as much skin as I was.

  Further out, coming at some speed from the opposite direction, was Lolita Corazón, gesticulating wildly at me, with a huge grin on her face.

  Dick came to a halt at the bottom of the steps. He reached inside his leather satchel and with a sudden flourish produced a small brown vase.

  Finally, I smiled. Everything had worked out after all. I was alive, Lolita was free, Viscoso was dead and somehow Dick Carter had managed to recover my mother’s ashes.

  Antonio Fracaso was standing to my left. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded his head to an underling approaching from behind. This was one of the taxi drivers who had smuggled me away from Charlotte’s ranch the previous week.

  Lolita saw him reach into his jacket just as she was arriving at the foot of the steps. The man was going for his gun. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed the urn from Dick’s astonished hands and hurled it directly at the assassin’s head. She was so close to him, it couldn’t miss. The vase hit the fellow hard in the face, shattering into a thousand pieces just as he pulled the trigger. A shower of ashes enveloped him but the bullet found its target, hitting me full on just below the chest as I turned to see what Lolita was doing. The assassin fell backwards amid the ashes, while the force of the bullet knocked me through the air. I flew in a graceless arc and my body smacked down onto the pavement. My head cracked hard against the rough concrete. But that was the least of my problems.