—Lucky man —he resigned—. I've thought about taking a few days off; I honestly do not feel like giving talks about boats.
—It seems perfect to me —Jonás approved, drying himself with a towel the German had brought him—. Thereby you can guide me.
—For the moment we will be starting in going out to eat —he said bringing both hands to the temple—. Later, God will say.
—Can I take a shower?
—If you've found one of my swimsuits, you'll know how to find the bathtub —Jurgen declared, stretching out on the sofa.
****
The smell of forest was so intense that it even dizzy. The years of accumulated pollution in his lungs became noticed when the clean air and the light path became more pronounced.
—My God, this is like sucking a pine air freshener! — Juandi exclaimed.
—And what did you expect, an escalator? —Raquel said—. This is the forest!
—And why did you have to choose the forest? —he complained again—. We should have gone with Jonás! We could have taken this as a vacation, I don’t know, beaches, mojitos ...
—For God's sake, how heavy you are— she rolled her eyes—. I decided not to have children because of this and now I must carry with you.
—I'm just saying it does not seem like a good idea that he goes to the other side of the globe when they've just murdered his father, and we run to hide ourselves in the world's ass— he insisted, dragging a heavy suitcase—. What the hell are you carrying here, a dead man?
The road ended in a staircase with four stone steps that led to a wide esplanade of gravel. A beautiful wooden cabin stood in the middle, with a porch and a hammock in the center for two people. From the gabled roof stood out anachronistic, a huge satellite dish.
—Besides, don’t complain— she said, smiling mischievously—. It is not as wild as it seems, we have Wi-Fi, cable TV and a widely stocked bar of bottles.
The giant dropped the heavy suitcase on the gravel and noticed the wide path that disappeared under the tall pines.
—Can you get here by car? — he asked with his mouth open.
—Well, of course! — she said, entering the house—. What do you think I am, an unconscious?
—Admit it— he huffed—. It makes you a lot to make me suffer right?
She clicked her tongue and made a mocking gesture.
****
The pine fragrance was remarkable inside, but in a delicate way. The cabin was a mansion that had replaced the cement with the birch, with a staircase that divided the first floor from the second floor. The living room was huge, with the floor at two heights and well differentiated the relaxation area with a kitchen in which there was not a single detail missing.
Rachel left the laptop bag on a square glass table and told Juandi where he should place the suitcase. The man maintained the same expression of astonishment as he walked the many meters of the house, whistling in admiration with each luxurious detail. He fell flat on the sofa that had a scandalous size and sighed with pleasure.
—If we must hide doesn’t mean we should do it in a hovel— Rachel said seeing her friend’s satisfaction’s face—. Also, from here we can continue working.
—Where have you found this wonder? —he asked.
—It belongs to a friend. The best thing is that I haven’t had to use any cards or names to rent it, so nobody knows we're here.
—That is, that we consider it our love nest?
She gave him a friendly nudge. She then began to take out folders from a briefcase and unfold the laptop. After connecting to the Wi-Fi network, he started surfing in the internet.
—We're not on vacation— she said—. We must continue to make all this clear, for the sake of Jonás.
—Where will he be? —he said worriedly—. He should have contacted us.
—If he has not, it's because he doesn’t need us— she tried to reassure him—. But we must be prepared for when he does.
Juandi sighed with weariness and began to reread the files that they had been collecting, and to place them according to their importance and chronological order in the time.
****
They were sitting in a beautiful restaurant called El Chilote, where Chilean dishes were exclusively homemade prepared. When Mariana approached —a gross woman with an apron and a silver ribbon at the nape of her neck—she greeted Jurgen with a brutal pat on the back.
—What happened mister? —she asked loudly—. You look like you're stuck on work.
—I'm not very well Mariana— Jurgen whispered.
—Don’t you make me a goof— reprimanded the woman—. You are a jerker off because you went out to take a few shots and you are drunk.
Jonás watched amused as the woman scolded Jurgen with a marked Chilean accent, as if it were his own mother.
—Please, Doña Mariana—. The German massaged his temples again. Bring me a Pig in stone and as second a Mote with huesillos.
—Uyyyyy, yes you went painting the town last night— teased the woman—. She turned to Jonás—. And you, killer, you’re going bad bodied as well as this numbnuts?
—No, ma'am— Jonás exclaimed amusedly—. I will take what you recommend, I see that you have a good eye.
—Pos not to mention it more— she wrote down two numbers on a crumpled page—. A stewpot with pounded walnuts sauce first and a pichanga for the killer! —she shouted toward the kitchen, which was communicated with the dining room through an open window behind the bar.
Jurgen plugged his ears with the indexes, making himself dramatic. Ten minutes later, after having sipped some soft drinks, the first plate arrived at the same time, served with the skill of the years by Doña Mariana. Jurgen stirred his plate of crushed tomato, (a kind of gazpacho) without much conviction, however Jonás attacked his stewpot of seasoned bird meat with a fierce hunger. The morning bath had opened his appetite.
—This is death— he exclaimed as he put a piece of meat in his mouth and accompanied it with tender corn. Doña Mariana, you have a great hand!
The woman answered him from a distance with a roguish gesture.
—For God's sake, stop screaming— murmured Jurgen, turning his crushed tomato salad one more time without daring to try it yet—. I can really see that you are Spanish.
Half an hour later they were both in front of a very black Peruvian cafe. Doña Mariana watched them with the satisfaction of a mother who sees her children finished their meal.
—Man, it's not a coffee with legs, but it's fine— exclaimed the woman—. And black, what you need!
—A coffee with legs? — Jonás asked when she walked away.
—Other day I will explain you what it is — the German promised.
Jonas had been holding the question since he was up, but it seemed that Jurgen was waiting for him and was watching him with interest, as if he were weighing when he would do it.
—Jurgen, I need you to tell me more about what you told me yesterday— he said. I must understand all this.
The German added a pinch of sage to his coffee and removed it quietly. It seemed that the light food based on fresh products had made him feel better than he thought.
—I know— he admitted—. But you should also know that once I tell you, our situation will change.
Jonás did not understand it very well, but he nodded.
—I'll start at the beginning. I'll give you a summary of what my father told me and then yours.
Jonás drank his coffee in one gulp and felt the thick liquid went down a trachea that had suddenly closed.
—As I told you yesterday, Tiempos Libres used all kinds of means to cover up their crimes, from hiding the corpses to disguising them as crimes of passion. The main media that echoed those murders was El Caso, the newspaper where your grandfather worked. Suarez, the director and close friend of your grandfather, discovered that several of its publishers and partners charged a good sum for publishing events that, to put it in some way, had not happened a
s they wrote. At that moment your grandfather and Suarez initiated an action plan, which was to follow their collaborators and see who collected the "special bill". They got pictures of them and their payers. For long time they collected a graphic file of those people and their raids. Secret meetings, payment documents, falsifications, and even some other murder. After that, you already know the story. Your grandfather was marked, and Suarez sent him to work undercover abroad. When the company was sold, Suarez made sure that your grandfather went with it to Almeria when he returned to Spain. There Chacón hired a local mobster to set fire to the store where the weekly was made, and the album was lost in the flames. Years later, when your grandfather knew what my father was doing, he got in touch with him.
—What exactly was your father doing? — Jonas asked, totally absorbed by Jurgen's story—. What is that you wear around your neck?
—Step by step— he reassured him—. My father, long before that knew he was going to die, contacted several secret services, but I’ve already told you that. The fact is that he gathered certain material, and after several meetings with your grandfather they agreed to unify what they two had and finish with Chacón and Gutiérrez. What they didn’t consider was that Stefano Delle Chievo, who in addition to be bloodthirsty he was quite intelligent. Days later, my father died of a supposed heart attack, but he had never suffered even fears of coronary problems. After that your grandfather disappeared, and the album that was supposed to have burned disappeared.
—It may not have been completely lost— Jonás clarified.
—I grew up here in Chile, with a host family, but I never lost contact with Anabel, who visited me regularly. I always thought that she had taken care of me, but nothing could be further from reality.
—She wanted what you wear around your neck— Jonás said.
—Only that she doesn’t know for sure if I keep it or where it can be hidden.
Jonás meditated on it and could not less than think that Jurgen's life must also have been quite complicated.
—Anabel tried everything; buy me, threaten to reveal who I was, and even suggested that something bad could happen to me or the people I loved, but I always maintained that I didn’t know anything about my father, and even less anything that could interest her— he smiled bitterly—. Until one day she sent your father.
—My father was here in Chile?
—Yes, a couple of times— the German scratched his head, remembering—. He told me that he had found the album, and that we could continue what our parents had started. I even believed it.
—What do you mean?
—Your father was as manipulated by Anabel as I was at the beginning— he confessed—. She was not interested in unveiling the true plot of murders and embezzlements that occurred more than fifty years ago. She was not even interested in Billy the kid, as I told you, she was just looking for what I showed you yesterday and Delle Chievo. At the beginning I trusted your father, but he was also cheating on me.
—But that's impossible! —Jonah was startled—. Why Delle Chievo? why not Chacón? In addition, Stefano Delle Chievo is dead!
Jurgen left a generous sum of money in a wicker basket and leaned his elbows on the table to approach Jonah.
—She doesn’t want Stefano, but Mauro, his son— he hardened his tone—. And what I wear around my neck because this little pendant is worth millions of euros.
Jonás thought about all this, although it was difficult for him to get used to the idea.
—And why do you say that my father cheated on you?
—Because he couldn’t have the album— he confessed—. Since I have
Chapter 36
The private runway at the Diego Aracena airport was in worse condition than the commercial ones, as the airport's maintenance services did not take charge of it. That was one more way to make money from wealthy foreigners. They were provided with an airstrip, which was shared with thousands of private flights a year, and a hangar to store their aircraft, but they were required another maintenance fee.
The Beechcraft King Air landed with little effort, thanks to its powerful turboprops. Chacon had thought that this plane was a disproportionate waste for the company —which had invested almost six million in that bug— but the truth was that it had been amortized to a large extent. Being able to cross the world from end to another end in a few hours had facilitated their lives on many occasions. In addition, they had rented the plane for business flights many times, charging real fortunes for just a few days. After a quick stopover in Paris to pick up Mauro and refuel, they had taken off for Chile at four in the morning.
A Jeep Wrangler was waiting for them at the foot of the runway, and when they climbed down the ladder of the modern airplane the tropical heat hit them hard in the faces. Mauro, who had spent the whole trip without looking and manipulating his Beretta again and again, came out first, so excited that he looked like a kid on a trip. Chacón detested to travel, especially the ocean liners, but at least he had not woken up since leaving the French capital and was quite rested. The pilot signaled to them, confirming the plan to prepare the plane and to stay near the airport for a possible emergency takeoff. Chacón nodded.
The journey to Iquique was only fifty kilometers, but the old man felt worse in that car than in the whole flight by plane. The Jeep did not stop bumping into the bumpy road, and the driver —an Arican less than five feet tall— seemed to want to take them all.
—You, Chilote, could you not try to dodge at least one of those potholes? — The old man replied sullenly.
—Yes? — replied the man, who stopped looking at the road to turn around completely.
—Nothing, look at the road!
At noon, they were booking two luxury suites at the Terrato Hotel.
—What now? —Mauro asked anxiously.
—Now, my friend— answered Chacon smiling, patting him on the back—. Now let's go sightseeing. I have been told that here they prepare cocktails that take away the jet lag in one go.
****
He had spent most of the trip to Jurgen's house without opening his mouth. The German, nevertheless, talked endlessly about the wonders of his city. He explained to an absent Jonás that the architecture of the palaces that were huddled up in the old town possessed up to three styles as differentiated as the neoclassical, the Arab, and the North American colonial in their facades; that the port was a construction worthy of the best engineering, and that the long Chilean coast possessed one of the best coral areas in the world. Jonás nodded, but he was very far away.
—In response to what you're thinking— Jurgen interrupted, knowing what was in the young man's mind—. Anabel Santorini was once called Mariana Zaffaroni, daughter of the important judge Mauricio Zaffaroni. The couple was kidnapped in 1976 in Argentina by members of the Gladio in one of the many operations that Condor led. Years later, Mariana reappeared as Anabel Santorini, who had been adopted by a member of the intelligence service. She had lost her parents’ track years ago in a clandestine car center, and later she came to know that they had been transferred, and possibly killed in Uruguay. The material author was a member of the CIA, according to Delle Chievo, but everyone knew about the terrorist and his implications. Stefano took care of the kidnapping, but the girl's torture and the subsequent murder of her parents was taken over by a young man who had just started in the crime business, a boy named Mauro Delle Chievo.
—Holy Virgin!
—Yes, Holy Virgin— accepted the German—. Anabel has been chasing Mauro since Stefano left the business to his son, since he has been in a wheelchair for fifteen years, and for that he has thrown his career in the intelligence services into the trash; and practically his whole life.
—Yes, I know the obsessions that this organization has created since it began — Jonás said remembering his own family.
—The fact is that Anabel has unlimited resources and contacts, and in addition to Mauro, in her mind there was room for one more obsession.
Jonás looked at the pendant on Jurgen's neck, and he nodded.
—Anabel longs to take revenge on Mauro and get this— continued touching the medallion—. Possibly to disappear and start a new and safety life.
—Are you going to tell me once and for all why everyone wants that medallion? — Jonás was getting tired of Jurgen's mysterious aptitude.
—Jonás, I want you to know that I didn’t give it to Anabel or your father for a simple reason— the German had hardened his tone—. And it's for my own safety. The moment I lose this shield nobody assures me that I’ll not end up like everyone who has been involved in this story.
—I don’t want the pendant— Jonás explained—. Just understand this story and see how I can destroy those killers.
—My father, in his last years dedicated himself to two things in an almost obsessive way —he continued—. One was to give asylum to those who mattered him, former colleagues or relatives, and another was to distribute the Tiempos Libres’ fortune for hundreds of accounts in tax havens. As you know, my father was the intellectual part of the organization, and both Chacón, Gutiérrez and Delle Chievo were dedicated to killing and requisitioning. When my father got the light, he gradually distributed those possessions in banks around the world. He emptied the accounts and blocked them, distributing them on different diskettes; then he created one more, where he saved the unlock codes. Before dying, my father handed the account numbers to Anabel as payment for my safety, promising that they would be hers once I was safe and those murderers in jail or dead. I don’t know where those accounts are, but I do know where is the one that unlocks all the Tiempos Libres’ fortune.
Jonas remembered the pen driver on his jacket —and that he had kept in his friend's laptop case— and a cold sweat ran down his spine. His legs bended when he understood that his father had hidden it there when he realized that the murderer was going to kill him.
—For this reason, Jonás everyone is looking for this— he pointed his index finger at his neck—. Anabel to flee, and Chacón and the others because for more than thirty years they have been looking for the money that will allow them to start up a new dictatorship.
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