Renaldo

by James McCreath

  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

  480

  RENALDO

  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

  481

  JAMES McCREATH

  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

  482

  RENALDO

  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

  483

  JAMES McCREATH

  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.

  484

  RENALDO

  “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?”

  485