by Allan Topol
“Los desparecidos, we called the ones they took and we never heard from again. They disappeared. This was total repression. Due process of law was cast aside. Nobody knows how many were taken altogether. The best estimate is that twenty thousand were killed. Most were buried in mass shallow graves.” She shrugged. “Many more were tortured. All went without trials.”
“I had no idea the repression and deaths were so widespread.”
“Of course not,” she said bitterly. “Your government did its best to hide the facts. Our generals were an ally in your wars against the leftists in Central America.”
She had a glazed look in her eyes as if she was remembering a specific incident. “The military acted arbitrarily and indiscriminately, making the events all the more terrifying. No one knew when they would hear a knock at the door and find a group of soldiers who came to take a family member away. All normal life ceased. Some who could went abroad. Very few had that option for financial and other reasons. So we lived and we suffered.
“A few dared to speak out. Every Thursday evening a group called Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo defied government threats and intimidation by holding weekly silent protest meetings. Each mother stood with a candle, whispering the names of their children who had disappeared.”
“After civilian rule was reestablished in the early eighties, how many were tried and punished?” Craig asked.
She sighed and shook her head. “Only a handful were brought to justice. There never was a full accounting. It’s disgraceful.”
“So that’s why you put your life at risk to help Dunn. You don’t want the generals to return to power.”
“It’s much more than that,” she said, her face now a mask of hatred. “Estrada is a monster. Even in a group of thugs, he was particularly venal. During the Dirty War, he did things …”
“What kind of things?”
She screwed up her face in a terrible grimace. “I don’t want to talk about it. The point is that Estrada’s not fit to rule my country. And now he’s rebuilt the army. He’s taking poor boys from destitute families and molding them into a tough, fighting machine. I have a friend in the Ministry of Defense who told me that thanks to the weapons you Americans have shipped here in the last few months, the Argentine military is a match for anybody in South America. They’re on a par with Chile, Brazil, and Paraguay, something that seemed inconceivable two years ago. The trouble is that a man like Estrada shouldn’t be armed in this way. Am I making myself clear?”
He nodded. Craig found her compelling. He was persuaded by the sincerity of her words. Though he was anxious to hear what Estrada had done in the past, he didn’t press her.
She continued in a sharp tone. “It’s a formula for disaster for all of us. If I can stop the train wreck from happening, I will.”
“What’s Estrada want to do? Take over the government?”
“To be sure. But he doesn’t merely want to rule Argentina, he wants this to be a country that’s an economic power as well. As a result, most business people support him.”
“Your father, too?”
She shook her head. “Never. Not after what Estrada did in the past, but Papa has to play along. Otherwise, they’ll burn his plant to the ground, the way they’ve done with some other opposition businessmen.”
“Don’t the business leaders who support Estrada know about these terrible things the general did. The ones you won’t talk about.”
She shrugged. “Some do. Most don’t care. They want to forget the past with a collective amnesia and have the country’s economy expand. It’s a Faustian bargain.”
“Get the trains running on time?”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“In the materials I read Estrada refers to himself as a Peronist. For the life of me, I can’t understand what that means.”
She laughed. “Welcome to the crowd. You obviously know all about Peron and Eva.”
He nodded.
“As a young officer, in the thirties, Peron was sent to Italy for training. There he found something more valuable: a hero to emulate. Mussolini. Since then almost every Argentine politician says he wants to help the poor so he pins the Peron label on himself, hoping he’ll gain labor and popular support. For Estrada, it might fit. Like Peron himself, Estrada is a general bigger than life and equally fraudulent. But I’m outspoken on the issue of our monumental Peron. If you’re committed to doing something to stop Estrada, tell me what I can do to help. And if you’re not,” she pointed to the staircase, “You can go to Bariloche and find out about Dunn on your own.”
He had no doubt that she meant it. This tough-talking, no-nonsense woman had suffered or seen others suffer at Estrada’s hand. He respected her convictions. She would be a valuable ally.
“We have the same objective,” he said forcefully.
“Good,” she replied softly.
“I’m supposed to meet Emilio Miranda. Where does he fit into this?”
“Miranda owns a large oil and gas company based in Patagonia in the south as well as a huge estancia, a cattle ranch, you call it. Also, a winery in Mendoza. He was one of Estrada’s earliest supporters, and he has the general’s ear. Miranda’s a man without principle for whom profit is the only driver. You have people like that in the United States. I’m sure.”
“Every country has them.”
Though he was convinced he could trust her, that she hadn’t set up Dunn, he thought perhaps Pascual had. “Let’s go back to the driver—the poet and musician in Bariloche. I need an address for him, where he lived with his sister.”
Nicole hesitated. “You can’t bother her.”
“Why not?”
“As a young girl, she suffered.”
“And if we don’t stop Estrada, she’ll suffer again. You know that better than I do. Everybody in this country will suffer.”
Nicole rifled through a shoe box filled with papers until she found what she was looking for. He watched her take a blank piece of paper and write down the name Antonia along with an address and telephone number.
“Your filing system is impressive,” he said, trying to add some levity.
When she handed him the piece of paper, her expression was grim. He read it, committed it to memory, and set it on fire with a match in her ashtray.
She looked surprised.
“I’ve memorized it,” he said. “I won’t create problems for her.”
Nicole snarled: “You may not be able to avoid it. Are you finished with me now?”
He shook his head. “I need something else.”
She eyed him with trepidation. “What’s that?”
“Dunn learned that Estrada has a secret headquarters in the north somewhere. Dunn never found where it was and why Estrada needed it. But he thought it was important. You obviously have good sources of information. Will you try and find out for me?”
While she pondered the question, Craig reached into his briefcase and pulled out ten thousand dollars. He placed it on the table as if he were paying for a pair of shoes. “I know you won’t take money for yourself, but you might have to persuade people to give you information.”
She got up, pulled an empty shoe box off the shelf, stuffed the money inside and put it back. “If I manage to get the information, how will I find you to pass it on?”
“I’m at the Alvear. Leave a message that Fiona called to say she has the briefcase I wanted. We’ll meet inside the Metropolitan Cathedral at ten that evening. If one of us doesn’t show, we repeat it at ten the next morning and every twelve hours after that.”
“No. The Metropolitan Cathedral is too dangerous. I have a better place.”
“Go ahead.”
“Take highway twelve north from Buenos Aires. You’ll wind up in the hills. Pass the intersection with highway eight and continue on twelve. About two kilometers after the intersection, you’ll pass a restaurant and gas station on the right. Immediately following, there’s a scenic overlook at the crest of the road. Pull in
to the overlook and park. That’s where we’ll meet.”
Craig was impressed with Nicole. He closed up his briefcase, preparing to leave when she reached her hand across the table and put it on his arm. “I like you so I’ll give you some advice.”
He wondered what was coming next. “Yeah?”
“Stay here in Buenos Aires and talk to Miranda. Schiller is vicious and sadistic. If he finds out you’re snooping around in Bariloche, he’ll kill you.”
He was moved by her entreaty. The concern was genuine. “I have to know what happened to Ted Dunn. The answer is in Bariloche.”
She squeezed down tightly on his arm with her nails digging into his flesh. “You’d be better not to go.”
Pulling away, he said, “I have to know. Dunn has a wife. She’s my friend, too.”
Nicole sighed in resignation. She added one more bit of advice. “With Estrada, you have to be strong. Tough as nails. He destroys weak people.”
He thought about his dealings with Chinese General Zhou who had planned to wreck the American economy. He had stood his ground with Zhou, refused to be intimidated, even in Beijing when Zhou was trying to kill him and Elizabeth. “I don’t know how to behave any other way.”
“Good.” Now she smiled and reached into a pile of papers and extracted an airline schedule. After studying it for a few seconds, she said, “A plane leaves in two hours from the domestic airport, Jorge Newbery. You have plenty of time.”
“I have a gun,” he said. “Will I be able to take it?”
“I’ll give you a small suitcase. Check it through. They’ll never x-ray it. We’re erratic on security down here.”
She pulled a small black wheelie out of a closet and handed it to him.
“I appreciate your help, Nicole.”
She locked eyes with him. “I’m just glad some people in your American government are smart enough to know they have to block Estrada before he comes to power.”
Craig watched her yank a plastic shopping bag from a box. “When you walk out of here,” she said, “I want you to look like you’ve been shopping for shoes.” She disappeared among the rows of shoe boxes. “What size does your wife or girlfriend wear?” She called to him.
He thought about Gina. She would no doubt love a pair of those beautiful shoes. That wasn’t an option. It would link him to Nicole. “I’m between girlfriends,” he called back.
“I’ll give you one thirty-six and one thirty-eight. Try to find a woman to match,” she said, as she reappeared with the bag.
“Can I pay you for them?”
She smiled. “My shoes are expensive, but ten thousand should cover two pairs. Be careful. I want to see you again someday. Alive. Not in the morgue.”
Bariloche
In the plane Craig took copies of La Nación and La Opinion from a flight attendant and sat down on the aisle in the last row of the business class cabin for the flight to Bariloche. The window seat was empty.
Once the cabin door closed, he scanned the front page of La Nación and stopped on the upper right hand corner. An article under Gina’s byline reported on a meeting that the Brazilian president had with President Treadwell at the White House. According to the article, Luiz Dumont, the Brazilian president, was complaining about the huge shipments of American arms that had been made to Argentina in the past few months, and which according to Dumont, threatened “to destabilize the region.”
Gina had interviewed the Brazilian president after the meeting and obtained a quote; “I told President Treadwell there was no reason for Argentina to be so heavily armed, that the United States should cease sending arms to Argentina and begin arming Brazil to the same degree. If the United States continues on this path, Brazil will have no alternative but to seek arms from another supplier, such as China.” So on top of everything else, Estrada was destabilizing the region. But to what end? Border issues among the various South American countries were always flaring up. Estrada must have some reason for putting the Brazilians on edge. Right now Craig couldn’t figure out what it was. Estrada was playing a dangerous game.
As Craig ate lunch on the plane, he continued reading La Nación, which was filled with gloomy economic news. The Argentine stock market had fallen sharply in the last week. Health officials were warning about child malnutrition in rural areas. In Buenos Aires hordes of porteños, as residents of the capital were called, came out of the barrios at night to scavenge garbage cans for food and search for paper and other objects they could sell for recycling.
He put down La Nación and picked up a copy of La Opinion. To his surprise, on the front page, he saw an editorial with a black box around it. Craig began reading.
Some have told us that we are foolish and subjecting our families and employees to great risk by speaking out. However our obligation to the noble profession of journalism and to the wonderful country of Argentina compels us to break our silence. There is a cancer in our land, pernicious and growing. That is the movement of Alfredo Estrada and his fellow generals. Many of us remember all too well and painfully the horror of the last rule of the generals from 1976 to 1983. Those who value and cherish freedom cannot permit this to reoccur. Already, honest citizens are being murdered for speaking their minds. We, the editors of this paper, are aware of the risks we are taking in making this plea. Our names are well known. Should we die suddenly, do not mourn us. Do everything possible to eradicate this cancer and defeat Estrada.—The Editors
The editorial rocked Craig. He had spent his CIA career in the Middle East where Americans had fought and died trying to create a semblance of democracy for people far from the United States in places such as Iraq and Afghanistan. Now, Estrada was planning to curtail freedom in one of the most important countries in the United States’ backyard—in South America. The rights of the Argentine people deserved as much protection as the Afghans and Iraqis.
No, even more, Craig thought. The United States always had a special relationship with South America, dating back to the Monroe Doctrine in 1823. Moreover, a military dictatorship in Argentina was likely to spill over to other South American countries. Freedom was always tenuous on that continent. And as freedom was snuffed out, waves of immigrants would try to get into the United States.
Craig recalled Betty telling him about Estrada’s trip to Beijing. Estrada’s regime might expand its relationship with China, trading oil and other natural resources the United States needed in return for arms. And once armed, Estrada could make a move, with Chinese support, on one or more neighboring countries—Chile, Brazil, or Paraguay—to seize their oil and other resources. This would destabilize the continent, creating a devastating problem for the United States. So while the editors of La Opinion were terrified of what would happen to the Argentine people if Estrada seized power, Craig saw a whole set of additional adverse consequences for the United States.
As Craig put the paper down, he thought about Nicole’s warning to him. She, much more than he, knew how dangerous the situation was and the risk he was taking. There was no turning back.
“We’re on our final approach to Bariloche,” the flight attendant announced. Craig looked out of the window at the pristine blue waters of the lake below. Snow was on the ground in the hills above the lake, but it wasn’t fresh. The roads looked clear.
Once he hit the frigid mountain air, Craig realized that spring hadn’t yet come to Bariloche. In the small terminal he bought a blue ski jacket with thick, fluffy material in the lining.
On his way to the Avis counter, he spotted, standing near an exit, a heavyset man with a red, beefy, pockmarked face who was watching him. The man wasn’t making any effort to leave the small terminal.
He’s planning to follow me, Craig decided.
Craig rented a bulky SUV with four-wheel drive. He climbed into the vehicle, studied his map, and then set off.
The sign at the end of the access road pointed toward the left for the city of Bariloche. This was where Antonia, the sister of the driver, Pascual, lived. After wh
at Nicole had told him about Antonia, he couldn’t risk endangering her. If he was being followed, he had to lose his tail before he approached her house. Craig turned to the right. In a matter of minutes, he was on the main road circling the lake, which was on his left. Traffic was light. A maroon sedan was behind him, hanging back, making no effort to close the gap or to pass, even when Craig slowed to a crawl. That had to be the red-faced man.
In an effort to lose him Craig sped up as he reached a curve in the road. He saw a tree lined driveway and turned in. Confident he couldn’t be seen from the road, he waited ten minutes, then pulled back out and drove in the opposite direction. The maroon sedan was parked along the side of the road. As soon as Craig passed it, the driver of the maroon sedan executed a U-turn and resumed following Craig.
He must have worked with the Avis people to plant a tracking device on my SUV, Craig decided.
Craig decided not to stop to locate the tracking device and destroy it. That could come later. For now, he continued following the lakefront road until he saw a cutoff on the left that climbed into the hills. He turned off and began a gradual ascent in a deserted area. There were no houses or other buildings that he could see.
Through the rearview mirror, he watched the maroon sedan trailing. Suddenly, he got a queasy feeling in his stomach. He may have outsmarted himself by isolating the two of them this way with the red-faced man behind him. Unwittingly, he had given his adversary the superior position, reversing their relationship, so that red-faced man was now the hunter and Craig the hunted.
Maps were useless on these mountainous back roads. Craig was determined to get back in control. Using his best driving skills, he revved up his speed in the bulky SUV and shot forward, picking his turnoffs from one muddy dirt road to another by instinct while trying to avoid taking curves so fast that the SUV would roll over. No matter how fast he went, the maroon sedan kept pace. The man was a good driver. Craig figured his car must have four-wheel drive.
