gunners partially erased his skepticism and the feeling of being taken for a
sucker by the rotund facilitator. Reggie still felt that it was a ridiculously
exorbitant amount of money that his daughter had forced him to commit to
paying the two South Americans for their services in England.
We’ll see how these warm weather Latinos react to playing a man’s game of football
in real soccer weather! thought the still unconvinced Englishman.
For Mallory Russell, it wasn’t a matter of the money at all. The play of
Vida and De Seta would be enough to keep her father off her back, at least for
the time being. No, the money would be well spent. For her, there were two
tangible things that exhilarated the fair-haired beauty.
The first was a chance to bring the South American style and skill to
the paying English soccer public, and to use these two imports as a means of
showing the Football Association that their navel-gazing attitude about how
the game should be played needed a good dose of soul searching.
But most importantly for Mallory Russell, it was the opportunity to
continue watching that gorgeous number seventeen ply his trade. To be close to
him, to get to know him, to help him get adjusted to his new life in England,
and to make him her lover!
For Simone, the day held a very mixed bag of emotions. She was thrilled
for Renaldo and his success, but she knew that this same success would take
him away from her. She was already aware of the pending deal that would send
the object of her desire to another continent. Astor Gordero had informed her of
all the particulars the day before the final. He had also informed the chanteuse
that should there remain any doubt in the boy’s mind as to whether or not to
accept the English offer, that she was expected to ‘close the deal’ on his behalf.
She was in no position to refuse her domineering manager’s instructions, no
matter how much her heart ached.
As the team and coaching staff left the podium for their victory lap
around River Plate Stadium, Lonnie De Seta tried to seek out his brother to
offer congratulations. He had been able to forget about his own predicament
completely during the past two hours of high drama. Now with tears of joy
streaming down his cheeks, he joined the ever-growing crush of press and
supporters that were jockeying for position around their conquering heroes.
Rojo Geary’s only instructions from Astor Gordero had been to make sure
that the brothers did not come in contact with one another. Lonnie’s subsequent
disappearance would be too difficult to explain if Renaldo knew that his older
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brother had, in fact, been in Buenos Aires for the final game. Better he think
that Lonnie had met his demise in the intended traffic mishap in Bariloche
instead of the truth.
Gordero had already laid the groundwork for the ruse, and only the brothers
coming face-to-face could disrupt things. Rojo Geary was a professional, and
for that reason, Gordero had felt totally at ease that nothing would happen
that wasn’t planned. Let Lonnie see his brother play for the championship as a
farewell gift. After that, his fate rested in the hands of the assassin.
Rojo Geary was truly touched by his companion’s outpouring of pride and
joy. Geary was also thrilled that Argentina was the champion of the world. He
had admired the skills of Lonnie’s brother, and thought that the two goals the
boy had scored were a fitting tribute to his soon to be departed brother. Yes,
Rojo Geary had enjoyed the emotion-packed afternoon immensely, but now it
was down to business.
The stadium pitch was, by this time, a madhouse of uncontrollable
Argentines of every description. People were tearing up chunks of turf as
souvenirs or trying to carry away any stationary object that wasn’t permanently
secured. Water bottles, coolers, the team benches, and even the newly installed
seats all fell prey to the pillaging hordes.
The more zealous fanatics tried to rip the game jerseys off the backs of
their heroes as lasting mementos of the greatest day in Argentina’s history. The
players themselves were swarmed at first, then hoisted aloft and paraded around
the pitch in triumph. Skipper Bennett kept an iron grip on his golden prize,
lest it be swept away by the frenzied celebrants.
Lonnie De Seta tried to locate his brother in the swirling sea of powder-
blue and white, but it was no easy task. So irrationally intense was the jarring
turbulence of his fellow idol worshippers that nothing positive could be
accomplished. Geary was ever at his side, trying to gently coax the terrorist
into giving up his quest. There would be an easier means of paying his respects
later that evening.
“Lonnie, this is crazy. I’m getting trampled to death here. I told you that
Señor Gordero secured a pass for you to this evening’s reception. You can see
your brother there and actually talk to him. You won’t even get close to him
now! Let’s go.”
“No, no! I have to tell him that I am here, that I saw him play. I must!
You don’t understand. Look, there he is. Renaldo, Renaldo over here!”
Several yards away, riding aloft on a surging tide of ecstatic believers swept
the day’s scoring sensation. Renaldo thought that he had heard a familiar voice
calling his name, but in the pandemonium that had enveloped his person,
nothing could be certain. Number seventeen was actually more concerned for
his physical safety at the hands of his boisterous admirers. All he wanted to do
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was work his way to the stairwell leading down to the safety of the National
Team’s dressing room.
Rojo Geary was prepared to take action right there on the pitch. The six-
inch, spring-loaded, stiletto dagger that lay in the pocket of his leather jacket
could do the job silently if the stubborn fugitive persisted with this idiocy. In
the crush of people, Geary’s trained hand-to-hand combat techniques would
serve him well. No one would see a thing. When the mob had moved on,
and Geary with it, only the recently departed Lonnie De Seta would remain
behind.
Still, the assassin preferred to stick to his number one plan, and all it took
in the end to keep things on the ordained course was an outstretched right leg
that sent Lonfranco De Seta tumbling to the turf. Geary and several others fell
on top of the tragic figure, and no one, especially Lonnie, was able to tell just
who or what had felled him in the jostling crowd. By the time they had righted
themselves, Renaldo De Seta had made it to the tunnel steps. With the help
of the now very prominent security forces, number seventeen disappeared from
the field of play to safety.
“Son of a bitch! I almost got to him. Damn, I wanted to see him so badly!”
An exasperated Lonnie’s eyes filled this time with tears of frustration.
“Don’t worry, my friend. As I told you, I have your money and a pass for
tonight’s gala in my car. We must get out of here now and retrieve them. I can
drive you to wherever you have to go to get cleaned up and c
hanged.”
Lonnie grudgingly gave in to his new acquaintance’s suggestion. The two
men slowly made their way for the nearest exit, still surrounded by victory-
crazed Porteños.
The walk to the side street near Café El Molino took close to half an hour.
Both men were constantly hugged and kissed by overjoyed citizens of both
sexes. Rojo Geary didn’t mind their playful celebrations, for he had all the time
in the world to carry out his plan. It was Lonnie that seemed distracted, having
little patience for this tomfoolery.
He was deep in thought about his next move. Had Gordero sent him
enough cash to find a place to clean up, change his clothes, and make an
appearance at the Presidential Gala? Would it be safe for him to go out in
public in the first place? He had to see Renaldo one last time before he left the
country, though. Only God knew how long it would be before he would have
another opportunity to hold his brother in his arms and tell him how much he
loved and respected him.
Yes, he would go to the Presidential Gala, and he would say good-bye
to Renaldo. Tomorrow, he would make another visit to his bank, and if he
successfully gained access to his safety deposit box, he could secure an airplane
ticket and travelers checks with his American Express card. No one should
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notice him leaving Argentina among the general exodus of foreign football
fans.
Lonnie would have the redhead drive him to Marla’s, where he would
retrieve his bag from the alley. Maybe the stranger would then deliver him to a
nearby hotel. If he could have this one night to celebrate with his little brother,
he would leave Argentina a happy man.
“My car is over here. Hold on. I’ll unlock the passenger door for you.”
Rojo Geary pointed to a little red coup parked near the end of a one-way
side street. He slid behind the wheel, leaned over, and unlocked the black glove
compartment, then lifted the chrome door-latch for Lonnie. Geary turned the
key in the ignition as his passenger made himself comfortable.
“Man, it sure feels good to sit down after all that time kneeling on the
grass at the stadium.” Lonnie let out a sigh of relief. “So, where is the envelope
that Señor Gordero sent for me? I can’t believe he actually got me a pass for the
gala tonight.”
“It’s in the glove compartment, my friend. I’ve already unlocked it, so go
ahead, see for yourself.”
Lonnie bent forward to open the compartment with his right hand. At
the same time, Rojo Geary slid his left hand into his jacket pocket and grasped
the ivory-handled stiletto. The assassin’s right hand reached over and took a
firm grip on the back of Lonnie’s leather jacket collar. In one swift motion,
Geary turned so that he was facing his passenger, pressed the release button
on the deadly weapon, and thrust its entire length up under the unsuspecting
terrorist’s sternum, directly into his heart.
The solid grip on the dying man’s collar forcibly calmed the convulsions
of Lonnie’s death throes, and within seconds, all was still and peaceful. Geary
reached over to close the lids of his victim’s shocked, disbelieving eyes, then
extracted the murder weapon from its resting place.
A quick flash of the coup’s high beams brought two men bounding out of
the unmarked five-ton truck that was parked immediately in front of Geary’s car.
The men opened the rear doors of the lorry as Rojo Geary exited the execution
vehicle, leaving the ignition running. He calmly strolled down the side street
as one of the men slid behind the wheel of the red Fiat holding Lonnie’s corpse.
Geary didn’t say a word or glance back as the four-wheeled coffin was driven up
a ramp and into the rear cargo hold of the lorry. No one would see Lonnie De
Seta again until he turned up, burned beyond recognition, in the wreck of that
same vehicle, several weeks later in Bariloche.
Astor Gordero is a very thorough man, thought Rojo Geary as he climbed
into his customized Jeep CJ4, parked just a few yards down the side street. Yes,
The Fat Man always pays attention to details. That must be how he became so
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successful. Well, it has been a great day! Great for Argentina, great for Astor
Gordero, great for everyone. Everyone except poor Lonnie De Seta!
Octavio Suarez had given strict orders that only the players and their
coaches be permitted into the National Team’s dressing room immediately
following the championship final. When everyone that mattered had assembled,
Suarez commanded that the door be locked tight, then called for silence.
“Señors, I would ask that you join me in a silent prayer of thanksgiving
and deliverance. A prayer giving thanks for the great achievement that you, the
players, have accomplished today. A prayer for delivering us safely through the
turbulent waters that we have travelled. Let us pray.”
What had been a noisy chamber instantly resembled a mausoleum.
Grown men bowed their heads, many with tear-filled eyes, to acknowledge
their personal indebtedness to a higher being. Suarez was not known as a
religious man, but no one was surprised at his sudden willingness to share the
managerial spotlight with the Creator of all mankind.
In due course, he broke the introspective silence.
“My friends, thank you. Words alone cannot describe my pride and honor
at being associated with each and every one of you in this room. I know that
you have warmed the hearts of millions of people today throughout this great
land. What you have accomplished here is more than just a victory in a game
of football. You have shown the world that Argentina is, once and for all time,
a unified nation. A nation that can rise above political and economic difficulties
and meet any challenge laid before it, just as you have met every challenge laid
before you.”
Suarez’s eyes were brimming with tears now, his complexion ruddy with
emotion, his clothes soaked with perspiration.
“Think back, my noble gladiators, to when there was talk of taking the
tournament away from Argentina. If we had not believed in the Organizing
Committee, this triumphant day might never have occurred. Think back to
when we lost to Italy in the first round. If we had not believed in ourselves,
we would not have this golden symbol of world supremacy to look after for the
next four years. I believed! You all believed! The entire nation believed! And
here is the prize for our strength of conviction. The World Cup Trophy!”
The manager held the golden globe aloft for all to see. For the first time
since he began to speak, the silence in the room was broken by hearty cheers. A
two-fingered whistle from the manager silenced them instantly.
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“Now, back to business. In a few minutes, the doors will be opened and
we will be besieged with press and dignitaries. Remember that you are still
ambassadors for your country and act accordingly. I will allow them thirty
minutes, that is all. Then the room will be cleared while you shower and
change into your number one dress. The bus will depart in one hour’s time
for the reception at the Hotel Presidente. It will be your last official function
as a member of the Argentine National Football Team. Each of you has been
assigned a room at the hotel for your personal use tonight, but I expect you
to be present at the gala until I dismiss you in the farewell speech that I am
apparently obliged to make.”
The head man took one last triumphant look around the hushed chamber.
His heart was in his throat when he continued.
“So, now you are the supreme champions, and I thank you for having faith
in your coaching staff and advisors. All the world will remember what you have
achieved here today. I am proud to say that I was a small part of your great
success. God bless you all, and Viva Argentina!”
Octavio Suarez was flushed with pride as he nodded to Estes Santos. The
goalkeeper coach echoed the manager’s final exclamation as he let fly the cork
on the first of several score of Mumm’s Cordon Rouge champagne bottles that
had mysteriously appeared. These were about to be both sprayed in celebration
and consumed in honor of this great day.
Ubaldo Luque then unlocked the dressing room door and allowed the
legion of impatient journalists into the inner sanctum. The air was filled with
shouts of ‘Viva Argentina!’ over and over again as each of the newly arrived
guests was given an impromptu shower with France’s bubbly export.
Renaldo De Seta sat in front of his cubicle, stripped to the waist, his
tender limb wrapped in an ice compress. He calmly answered questions from
the scrum of journalists that transcribed his every word. It was his obligation
to respond to even the most inane query, but the shy lad would have much
rather that the attention be redirected elsewhere. All he wanted was to shower
and dress in preparation for his rendezvous with Simone.
“Renaldo, are you aware that you have won the Golden Ball Award for the
tournament’s most valuable player?”
“Renaldo, what are your future plans? Will you stay in Argentina to play
football or head abroad to Spain or Italy as rumored?”
“Renaldo, is it true that you had to have your foot frozen before each half,
and that you pop painkillers like candy to keep going?”
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