Renaldo

by James McCreath

  about things military that he wanted to put his classroom training to the test.

  In real life. On a real battlefield.

  Orville Richard Geary Jr.’s American birth certificate was the passport

  to travel and adventure that he needed to accomplish this feat. His first port

  of call on what would turn out to be an extended four-year stopover was at

  Bien Ho, South Viet Nam, in December 1968. Orville had joined the U.S.

  Army to help stop the dreaded forces of communism from gaining a foothold

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  in this lovely Asian country. The grunt with the Spanish accent was assigned

  to be a radio man in ‘C’ Company, Second Battalion, Twenty-Eighth Infantry

  Regiment of the First Infantry Division. Charlie Company of the Big Red One!

  ‘Duty first, no mission too difficult, no sacrifice too great.’ Orville Geary was

  in deep, and he loved it.

  A transfer to Army Rangers and a promotion to sergeant followed the

  end of his first tour, then three more years of blood and guts. He had become a

  skilled, methodical killer who relished a ‘clean hit,’ ‘large enemy body counts,’

  and ‘firefights.’

  It was a disillusioned and frustrated Orville Geary that returned to South

  America with an honorable discharge in early 193. He could not shake the

  stinging humiliation of the shellacking that the U.S. forces were taking several

  thousand miles away. But it didn’t take long for the former American combat

  soldier to find out that the political backdrop in Argentina provided a perfect

  venue in which a trained killer might ply his trade.

  Left-wing advocacy had been on the ascendant during Orville Geary’s

  absence from Argentina, along with increased civil strife, terrorist attacks

  against industry and state-run commerce, and a lack of respect for the

  ineffectual military. One seemed to have only two political choices, radicalism

  or Perónism. There was no right-wing military option at all, and that fact

  stirred Orville Geary into action.

  The highly proficient killer took it upon himself personally to eliminate

  anyone that was obstructing the eventual return of a strong military junta

  to power. That was the only hope for Argentina as Orville Geary saw the

  situation.

  There were many people to eradicate on his list, but each select ‘hit’ would

  carry the process a step further. Originally, Orville operated on his own, but

  as time passed, he found it useful to employ the services of other patriots that

  shared his philosophy. Supplies for his missions were always readily available,

  as were schedules and timetables of important targets. Ironclad alibis could be

  provided, if necessary.

  The last item was never needed, for Geary was so good at his profession

  that the trail he left behind always turned cold. He drew around him a band

  of disillusioned military specialists, forming his own platoon of underground

  right-wing activists. Through the ensuing years, he played a large part in paving

  the way for the eventual bloodless military coup that took place in March of

  1976. The country had witnessed the return of Juan Perón in June of 1973, his

  untimely death from pneumonia in July of 1974, the assumption of his office

  by his widow Isabel, and her eventual exile in 1975.

  During all these events, Orville Geary was working in the shadows to

  strengthen the position of the right-wing military coalition. The ousting of

  Isabel Perón was the last stumbling block.

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  Her successor, President Italo Luder, declared a state of siege and

  immediately signed a decree ordering the army to annihilate armed left-wing

  subversives. With the economy stagnant and inflation at eight hundred percent,

  the general population was looking for relief from the civil strife and terrorism

  that rocked the country. Only the military could provide the strong, often

  ruthless, guidance so many sought, and President Luder read the writing on

  the wall.

  After March 24, 1976, the country was run by men in uniform, and those

  men continued to hold Orville Geary in extremely high regard. His particular

  skills were constantly required, especially those which involved removing thorns

  from the junta’s paws. Orville Geary and his platoon could be relied upon to

  handle the most delicate assignments, and Orville Geary always accomplished

  his missions.

  While young Geary had inherited his military bearing from his father, he

  had just as significantly inherited a shock of red hair from his mother. It was a

  characteristic that would give him his lifelong nickname, Rojo, meaning ‘Red,’

  in English.

  Among his friends in Buenos Aires initially, then to his fellow grunts in ‘

  ’Nam,’ he was always ‘ Rojo’ Geary, never Orville. It was the same Rojo Geary

  that Astor Gordero hired to track down Lonnie De Seta in early May of 1978.

  The trail, after a long, frustrating month, was now heating up nicely.

  June the sixth had turned out to be a particularly rewarding day for Astor

  Gordero. The initial good news came via Wolfgang Stoltz shortly after eight

  a.m. Florencia De Seta had consented to A.R. Gordero and Sons handling her

  personal investment portfolio and estate matters, and she had promised to

  pursue the same arrangement with her seventy-eight-year-old mother-in-law

  Lydia immediately.

  Stoltz had convinced Florencia that it made sense to consolidate all the

  asset supervision under one roof, considering Lydia’s age. She alone controlled

  the De Seta empire, and it was imperative for Astor Gordero’s plan to work

  that Señora Lydia De Seta be brought into the fold. Stoltz had pointed out to

  Florencia that it would be much better for the decision-making powers to be

  handed over to the future heir’s financial advisors while the family matriarch

  was still living. That would ease the strain of bureaucratic paperwork for the

  bereaved family after Lydia’s departure. Renaldo’s grandmother had granted

  Florencia and Wolfgang Stoltz an audience in Pergamino one week hence to

  discuss the matter. Things looked very positive!

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  The second piece of uplifting news came by phone on Astor Gordero’s

  private line shortly after nine a.m. Rojo Geary had been instructed to phone

  in once a week, using this constantly monitored and debugged line. He had

  relayed positive progress for the first time. It appeared certain that Lonnie De

  Seta was hiding out in the Boca section of the capital, and Geary was close to

  making the initial, and also the final, contact.

  The beautiful Symca had accepted Gordero’s invitation to accompany him

  to that evening’s football match without hesitation once Gordero relayed the

  news that Renaldo De Seta would be in the starting lineup. Octavio Suarez had

  confirmed the boy’s starting role in a noon telephone conversation with The Fat

  Man, who, in turn, relayed the news instantly to Señorita Symca. He would not

  tell Renaldo of the lady’s presence in the stands, however, for fear that it would

  distract his concentration.

  “We only need the boy running on two legs, not thr
ee!” he had

  laughingly told Wolfgang Stoltz. A stellar performance by his young client

  before a worldwide audience would certainly increase Renaldo’s value on the

  open transfer market. Now all that was needed to make Astor Gordero’s day

  a total success was an Argentine victory and a strong showing by his client.

  An extended lunch at the Jockey Club with Stoltz, then a few hours of sexual

  frolicking with two blonde, Dutch sisters seeking tickets to the tournament

  would kill much of the time until kickoff. As things transpired, June the sixth

  would be a very, very good day for Astor Gordero.

  Renaldo De Seta’s heart started to pound as his visitor to the National

  Team Training Center handed him a heavily perfumed envelope. There was

  no mistaking either Simone’s handwriting or her fragrance. Thoughts of their

  dressing room embrace at Teatro Colon flooded the boy’s mind. Her scent had

  made his head spin then, as it did now. He tore open the missive with shaking

  hands, unable to wait until he was completely alone to read its contents.

  Astor Gordero smiled patiently as his client devoured Symca’s words. She

  had written the note in the back of Gordero’s limousine on their way home

  from the match the evening before, and while she would not let The Fat Man

  read her private jottings, she assured him that what she had inscribed would

  fill the recipient with courage . . . and passion!

  Renaldo was no more forthcoming with the letter’s contents than the

  author had been. Gordero was smart enough to give the boy his leave to go

  off and ponder the words and thoughts that preoccupied him at the moment.

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  RENALDO

  Before parting company, however, Gordero again offered Renaldo tickets to

  the upcoming Argentina-Italy match for his mother and brother, Lonnie. The

  answer was exactly the same as it had been for the last month.

  Señora Florencia De Seta had absolutely no interest in watching her son

  play his dangerous little games, and as for Lonnie, Renaldo had not heard from

  him for the last several weeks.

  “I think he still must be traveling the country with his girlfriend, but he

  did express an interest in seeing me play if I made the team. He will probably

  show up before long. I just don’t know when,” Renaldo explained.

  Gordero was careful not to make the boy suspicious by asking too many

  questions concerning his brother’s whereabouts, so he dropped the subject.

  Wolfgang Stoltz had also inquired after Lonnie’s locale in a discreet manner

  when the opportunity arose with Florencia, but the lady would turn to ice

  and make some offhand comment about her vagabond, communist son. The

  impression was given that there was no love lost between mother and offspring,

  and Stoltz would never pursue the topic after getting the standard response.

  There was no doubt that neither Renaldo nor his mother had the slightest

  inkling of Lonnie’s whereabouts.

  Astor Gordero was shocked by the foul humor that he found manager

  Suarez in as he entered the team leader’s inner sanctum after leaving Renaldo.

  One would have thought that the thrilling victory over France the previous

  evening would have elevated Suarez temporarily to cloud nine, but the manager

  sat chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette as he picked up files that were

  scattered pell-mell over his office floor.

  “Those bastards from Independiente. Do you know what they are trying

  to pull? Juan Chacon comes in to see me at nine a.m. sharp and informs me that

  I had better start Miguel Cruz at center half against Italy because he has served

  his suspension! That if I had other plans for that position, I should rethink

  them, for if Cruz is not in the starting lineup, all five of the Independiente

  players will leave the team in protest. Then he pushed me further into a corner.

  He insisted that his cohorts Arzu, Argueta, and Rios be returned to the starting

  lineup as well, or Chacon will refuse to play! How do you like that? The ugly

  cocksucker is trying to run this team!”

  “So what will you do, Octavio? De Seta played so well against France,

  and on the whole, the lineup for that game was much more cohesive than the

  game against Hungary. You can’t let the inmates rule the asylum!” Gordero

  responded.

  “I know, I know, Astor, but I must have Chacon on the back line against

  Italy. He is the one player who sets the tone and tenacity of our defense. I am

  afraid that without him guarding the gate, the Italians will swarm all over our

  goal area.”

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  JAMES McCREATH

  “What does it matter?” an agitated Gordero screamed. “Both Italy and

  Argentina have already advanced to the second round. The game is meaningless.

  Call their bluff! If you give in to them now, they will own you for the rest of

  the tournament!”

  Suarez’s eyes narrowed, his face turned red, and the veins in his temples

  bulged.

  “Goddamn it, Astor, no one runs this team except me, and you know

  that. I am not afraid to stand up to Chacon, no matter how badly I need him

  on the pitch, but this game is not meaningless! If we lose, we have to pack up

  our operation and play the second round in Rosario. I want to stay right here

  in Buenos Aires! Your boy De Seta had his opportunity and did an admirable

  job. Cruz wants the chance to win back his old position. After all, he did have

  an enviable record in the warm-up matches.”

  “One game, Octavio, one game is all that he excelled in. A lucky hat

  trick, and now he is untouchable? My boy can play circles around that little

  fagot, Cruz. I think that you owe the position to De Seta on the merit of his

  performance against France. Do you not agree?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes, of course, I do. But these are not normal

  times. We are in the middle of the biggest sporting event this nation has ever

  seen, and five of my players are threatening to pack up and leave! I must think

  on this subject for a while. Stand by me, Astor, for I might just have to give the

  Independiente players enough rope to hang themselves with.”

  With that, the beleaguered manager walked out of his office, en-route to

  the training pitch where his charges were limbering up for the first workout of

  the day. There were three days left to prepare for the contest against Italy, and

  Astor Gordero knew that they would not be good days to spend in the company

  of Octavio Suarez. He would leave the manager to his own designs and trust

  that he would make the right decision come the night of June the tenth.

  The reaction of his bedraggled customer was startling. The news vendor

  could see the drifter’s hands start to shake and his knees buckle slightly. Fear

  seemed etched in those black eyes for the first time since he had met the

  stranger. Señor Geary would be pleased. This was definitely his man.

  The statement that someone was looking for the ‘Attractive Assassin’ had

  drawn an affirmative reaction. The two Argentina-Italy football tickets that

  had been promised as a reward for positive identification would be like manna

  from heaven to the newsy. He doubted that he would ever see his shaggy
client

  again, but the tickets more than made up for the loss of a customer!

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  RENALDO

  Rojo Geary had gone directly to the special investigative services branch

  of army intelligence to have the poster likeness of a clean-shaven Lonnie De Seta

  enhanced by computer to include a long beard and scraggly hair as detailed by

  the newsy. It was this updated version of Lonnie’s countenance that Geary’s

  agents showed to boarding house and hotel owners in the Boca district.

  Once again, there was an affirmative reaction from one particular landlady,

  who confirmed that a person resembling the new poster image was a resident

  in her establishment. A wad of pesos freed up the information that this guest

  resided in lower room number three, and that he seldom, if ever, was seen by

  anyone.

  It took less than an hour for Rojo Geary to arrive on the scene with two

  other heavily armed men. Swiftly and silently, they descended to the lower

  level, set their positions on either side of the door bearing the numeral ‘3,’ then

  Rojo Geary sent a jackboot flying against the cheap door clasp.

  The obstruction came crashing off its hinges, tumbling back into the

  room. The assassins, their heads now covered in black balaclavas, surged into

  the quarters beyond, fanning out and hitting the floor as soon as they cleared

  the portal. Not a single shot was discharged. Silence, absolute silence!

  The intruders studied every corner of the fusty dungeon, their fingers

  gently stroking the triggers of their silenced Uzzis. The room was empty. The

  terrorist had eluded the assassin . . . this time!

  Lonnie De Seta was well-known to the manager and staff of the Banco

  Rio de la Plata on Avenida San Martin back in Palermo. After all, he had

  been given a sizable inheritance on his twenty-first birthday. Branch manager

  Anthony Rodrigues was the man that personally designed the boy’s investment

  portfolio. Rodrigues’ father had been Lonnie’s grandfather’s banker, and this

  same branch also counted Florencia De Seta among their valuable clients.

  The female staff at the Banco had their own reasons for noticing Lonnie.

  He had bedded several of them personally, which, in truth, was the reason he

  kept all his assets under Señor Rodigues’ roof, rather than divesting the funds