by Jack Treby
For a moment, I lay on the ground, looking dazedly up at the sky. The pain was so intense, it did not seem quite real. Perhaps it was all a dream. Perhaps I would wake up back in England and Miranda Bullock would make a sarcastic comment. But all I could hear were footsteps scuffling around me. My vision began to speckle and fade.
‘Está muerto?’ somebody asked. Is he dead?
I didn’t catch the reply.
My heart had already stopped beating.
Chapter Thirty-Five
By Medieval standards, I had ceased to be.
My cardiovascular system had come to an abrupt halt, my stomach was gushing blood and I was no longer breathing. In ages past, this would have been the point where somebody would have sent for an undertaker. Thankfully, modern medicine recognises only one definitive proof of death: an absence of electrochemical activity in the brain. As we now know, brain activity can continue for several minutes after heart failure. It is this strange loophole that allows some people to “survive” death. The brain can apparently continue to function for a short while even if the head has been entirely separated from the body. Many of those guillotined in Revolutionary France were observed to move their lips or blink their eyes after their heads had been cut off. My condition was not that severe, but even I would not have been able to effect a recovery without some outside assistance. I would have died there out on the street but for the intervention of the people around me – and most specifically of Lolita Corazón.
Emilio had been standing on the pavement when I had crashed backwards onto the sidewalk. He was the first to bend down and examine me. ‘There’s no pulse,’ he exclaimed.
That was when Lolita had launched herself forward. The girl didn’t have any training but she had watched an awful lot of medical dramas on cable television back at the Casa. A combination of intense kissing and horrendous body blows were just enough to jump–start my beleaguered body.
I coughed and spluttered, opened my eyes for a second and then slumped back unconscious onto the pavement. But I was breathing again and there was now a weak pulse.
Lolita had saved my life.
Ambulance men, running on foot from the other side of the plaza, were quickly able to take over. Their main priority was to staunch the bleeding. A respirator was attached to my face and in minutes, I was lifted on to a stretcher and carried to a waiting ambulance.
I was not the only person to require medical attention. Three ambulances had arrived and each would be filled to capacity. I was unconscious all the while, but Dick and Lolita travelled with me to the hospital.
~ ~ ~
Back at the Ayuntamiento, Emilio Títere stood uneasily beside his opponent, Antonio Fracaso. A policeman approached the two leaders and told them a containment team was on its way to deal with the cyanide gas. The constable had nobody else to report to and it seemed likely that one or other of these men would be president by the end of voting.
The leaders consulted with the relevant electoral officials and ordered alternative polling booths to be set up in the nearby Catedral. The vote should continue, they insisted, as if nothing had happened. And throughout the country – with only a handful of minor exceptions – that, according to the Electoral Commission’s final report, is exactly what did happen.
~ ~ ~
Medicine is a luxury in San Doloroso. The country has no public health service. It follows the US system of private insurance. Since most citizens are unable to afford such cover, this means the majority have to go without. There are a few small charity hospitals and the occasional benevolent GP but in most cases, if you are ill and you are not rich, you will simply be left to die.
My position as leader of the PRD guaranteed me all the medical treatment I could ever need. I was taken to a plush private hospital on the outskirts of the city and given a private room in the most exclusive ward. The top professionals in a country with alarmingly few doctors were at my disposal. I cannot help but be grateful to them, even if they were only doing it for the money.
A little over forty–eight hours had passed before I opened my eyes a second time. The first thing I saw when I did was Dick Carter’s face, caught in the middle of an enormous yawn. It was a couple of seconds before he realised I was watching him. ‘Back in the land of the living, are we? About bloody time.’ He grinned and pulled his chair up closer to the bed. ‘How are you, mate?’
I took a deep breath and considered for a moment. More than anything, I felt numb. Presumably, I was heavily drugged. ‘I think I’m all right,’ I told him. ‘Apart from the pain and everything. How long have I been out?’
‘Two days. The doc said it was a miracle you pulled through. “Sheer force of personality”, he said. So he must have got the paperwork mixed up.’ Dick laughed at his own joke.
I frowned. My memory seemed rather patchy. I could more or less recall kicking that door open in City Hall, but I couldn’t remember what had happened after that. It was several minutes before anything else came back; then I became anxious to catch up. Forty–eight hours is a long time in San Doloroso.
Dick, as always, had the news at his fingertips. ‘Mate, you’ve missed it all. Old Malvado was assassinated, alongside half the Junta. Looks like most of the police force were working for Viscoso. But he bought it too.’
That I did remember. I had stood over his body.
‘Antonio Fracaso’s had a stroke. All that pressure. He’s not exactly a spring chicken. Lost his voice, temporarily. He’s being looked after in the room next door.’
‘I think it might have been one of his men who shot me,’ I said. I had only seen my attacker for a split second.
Dick confirmed my suspicion with a nod. ‘He’s under guard, two doors down from here. Lolita hit him pretty hard with that vase of yours. They’ll take him away and lock him up as soon as he’s well enough.’
‘How is Lolita?’
‘Fine. She’s just down the corridor. She’s been here all the time. We had to drag her away to get some sleep. She saved your life, you know.’
I nodded. ‘It was a pretty good throw.’
‘Not just the vase, mate. Kiss of life and everything. You were stone cold dead.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Hardly surprising. Shame about your mum.’
‘I think she would have seen the funny side.’
Dick grinned again. ‘Just goes to show. The dead can have an impact on the living.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t think that was exactly what the Azulitos had in mind. How did the election go?’
‘Close run thing. Fracaso did well in the congressional elections. Got nearly thirty–seven per cent of the vote. But he only got thirty per cent in the presidential ballot.’
‘So Emilio won?’
‘No, he only got twenty–nine per cent. And he didn’t make much of a mark locally at all. Not outside of the cities at any rate.’
‘So who...?’
‘The PRD got thirty four per cent. They announced it yesterday afternoon.’
‘You mean...?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. You jammy sod.’
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘The hospital grounds are under siege. Haven’t seen this many hacks in one place outside of Happy Hour at the Intercontinental bar. Even Miranda’s been on the phone, asking to talk to you. You’ve won the election outright. It’s official, old chum.’ Dick smirked. ‘Congratulations, Mr President!’
The inauguration ceremony took place in the vast reception hall at the heart of Government House. All the Election Commissioners were there to give their seal of approval, as were the ambassadors of every major country that had a presence in San Doloroso. The press, likewise, were invited to attend. It was the first time foreign journalists had been allowed inside Government House. Even Father José put in an appearance, though more out of curiosity than approval. He had never been inside the government’s headquarters either. In fact, I think that of all the prominent people in San
Doloroso at that time, the only person who wasn't able to attend the inauguration was yours truly. I was in no fit state to go anywhere.
The deputy leader of the PRD was sworn–in in my place.
And so it was that Charlotte McBride became the first democratically elected President of San Doloroso.
As far as I was concerned, she was welcome to the job.
Charlotte visited me in hospital the day after the ceremony. It was a flying visit. She was in the middle of establishing an entirely new government and there were a dozen or more meetings she had to attend. It was kind of her to find the time to see me. I know she must have been very busy that day.
When she entered the room, my jaw dropped open. Charlotte was dressed in a smart lime green suit, with a knee length skirt, plain white blouse and sensible shoes. Her brown hair was loose but straight and shoulder length. For all the world, she looked like a young Margaret Thatcher. There was not even a hint of cleavage on display. It was all I could do to stop myself from staring. I mumbled something about how smart she looked and Charlotte shuddered, gazing down at her self.
‘It’s horrible,’ she exclaimed, with conviction. ‘I look like somebody’s grandmother.’ She slid a hand inside her blouse and starting scratching her stomach. ‘But this is the image to go for, everyone says. Make it look as though you’re going to take the job seriously.’ She grinned. ‘I just can’t believe I’m going along with it all.’
It was certainly a remarkable change of heart. The Charlotte McBride I knew had always possessed an unwavering dedication to idleness.
Charlotte was equally perplexed. ‘It’s really odd. A month ago, this would have been my idea of hell. But standing there in front of everyone, watching them watching me, it’s such a turn–on. It’s almost better than sex. I’m beginning to see why Freddie was so hooked on it all.’ Her eyes sparkled happily. ‘This is going to be so much fun. Once I’ve ditched the costume, I’m going to get a real kick out of all this.’
I was at a loss for words.
Charlotte frowned suddenly. ‘You are intending to stand down, aren’t you? I mean, Dick did say that you were happy to leave it all to me.’
Dick had not lied. ‘I just want to go home. The presidency is all yours. If you think you can make it work.’
Charlotte grinned again. ‘I’ll certainly give it a try.’ She sat down on the bed. ‘Well, I’ll give it six months anyway. If I get bored I can always abdicate or step down or whatever presidents do.’
‘Er...resign, I think.’
‘Whatever. Always assuming some bastard doesn’t try to bump me off.’ She glanced down at my battered body. ‘Oh, sorry. It can’t have been much fun being shot like that.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ I lied, badly.
‘You just take your time and get better. All your medical expenses are taken care of. You deserve a bit of a holiday.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I’m done with holidays. Well, for the time being, anyway. This is going to be hard work.’
‘Do you think you can hold it all together?’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’
At the very least, the opportunity was there. Nobody was actively trying to destroy the fledgling administration. No-one yet knew quite what form it would take. The Azulitos had openly supported the winning party, so they were not about to assassinate anybody – at least, not yet – and the military were still in a state of shock. The provisional government had all but been decapitated. Three of the five man Junta, including General Malvado, had been assassinated outright, all by policemen sympathetic to the Azulitos. A fourth, Ronaldo Pelón, had been badly stabbed but was alive and in hospital (he was three doors down from me). The fifth man, Miguel Corto, had fled the capital altogether and had last been seen crossing the border into Nicaragua.
A nurse entered the room carrying a tray of hot coffee. She poured out the beverage and handed me a cup. Charlotte sat back. The nurse didn’t offer her anything, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my companion had just been elected President of San Doloroso.
‘I was sorry to hear about the general,’ I said, after the nurse had left. ‘I mean, not exactly sorry, but...I know you cared for him...’
Charlotte held up a hand. ‘It’s in the past. He’s dead. Life goes on. He was a good shag, but nobody’s really going to miss him, are they?’
I blinked.
‘Sorry, does that upset you? I’m going to have to stop being so blunt. But it’s better to be honest. Freddie was just setting himself up as another Ladrón. I’d have gone with it if he’d lived, but things have changed now. There’s a chance for something better. We owe it to ourselves to make the best of it all.’ Charlotte grimaced. ‘God, I’m really starting to sound like a politician, aren’t I?’
‘You’ve got my vote,’ I volunteered. Charlotte laughed. ‘No really!’
‘I’m going to have to get used to that sort of stuff. Making speeches. Emilio’s been a real help. He’s been coaching me. He was a professional actor, you know.’
‘Yes, so I’ve heard.’
‘He’s going to stand down as leader of the PSI. I think he’s had enough of politics. His heart wasn’t really in it. But he’s been really sweet to me. Offering me all kinds of advice. And he’s still a very handsome man.’ There was a gleam in Charlotte’s eye that I’d seen there before. She slid a hand down inside her skirt. ‘And he’s a bloody good shag too.’
I choked on a mouthful of coffee.
The woman was incorrigible. She would make a memorable Presidente.
Epilogue
I left San Doloroso on the twenty–second of April.
There was a small gathering in Ardiente the day before. Everybody was there to see me off.
Dick Carter had driven all the way over from Guatemala. His Volkswagen Beetle was on its last legs but he arrived in plenty of time, wearing his favourite orange and black Bermuda shorts and a lime green vest.
Madam Fulana had brought along her girls from the Casa. Lolita was looking particularly radiant in a long white dress.
I had grown rather fond of Lolita. She had been at my bedside almost day and night during my time in hospital. I had long since ceased to be intimidated by her. Now, I simply enjoyed her company. The girl smothered me with lipstick in full view of Father José. The elderly priest smiled.
So far, Father José had avoided any public statements about the outcome of the election. No doubt he was biding his time. He had been rashly optimistic after the death of El Hombrito and he was not about to make the same mistake twice.
Nacho had also come along to bid me farewell. The boy had just celebrated his eleventh birthday. He gave me a big hug and in the process somehow managed to filch my wallet. I was happy to let him have it.
Even Charlotte McBride found a few moments to put her head around the door and wish me well. She had ditched her new look, as expected, and reverted to the more familiar Barbie doll image. I tried not to stare, but her pleated miniskirt was ridiculously short.
All in all, it was a rather emotional day.
Esperando, the indigenous airline, had a flight leaving for Mexico City at seven thirty the following morning.
Dick drove me to the airport. We pulled up at the terminal at exactly eight o’clock.
Dick Carter is never late. I flew home with Air Mexico.
Acknowledgements
A factual work of this nature cannot be created in a vacuum. A great deal of research and cooperation is necessary to ensure that it is accurate and fair. To this end, I would like to give due credit to the many people who have assisted me in the creation of this tome; not least the many citizens of San Doloroso who have consented to interviews – both with myself and others – and who have given permission for those interviews to be reprinted here. I would like to thank Isabella Valentía, Nacho Pícaro, Conchita Corazón and the late Antonio Fracaso. This book would not have been possible without their invaluable contributio
ns. I am particularly indebted to Father José Luis Sentido for the extensive accounts he provided of the events surrounding his assassination and to Her Excellency The President of San Doloroso for granting access to recording material and documentation I would otherwise have had difficulty obtaining. Special thanks must go to my colleague and friend Dick Carter, who provided much of the factual background for this book and who was kind enough to correct the many basic errors he discovered in the completed manuscript. Thanks also to Radio Libertad, Canal 7 and the BBC for permission to quote from broadcast material. Finally – for her tireless energy, enthusiasm and support – I would like to thank my dear wife Lolita.
Patrick Malone
Holland Park, London
3rd November 1992
Also Available On This Imprint
The Scandal At Bletchley
"I've been a scoundrel, a thief, a blackmailer and a whore, but never a murderer. Until now..."
The year is 1929. As the world teeters on the brink of a global recession, Bletchley Park plays host to a rather special event. MI5 is celebrating its twentieth anniversary and a select band of former and current employees are gathering at the private estate for a weekend of music, dance and heavy drinking. Among them is Sir Hilary Manningham-Butler, a middle aged woman whose entire adult life has been spent masquerading as a man. She doesn’t know why she has been invited – it is many years since she left the secret service – but it is clear she is not the only one with things to hide. And when one of the other guests threatens to expose her secret, the consequences could prove disastrous for everyone.
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