by Allan Topol
“Who are you?”
“A friend of Pascual’s.” At the mention of the name, a look of terror gripped the man. “She’s not here,” he said softly, turning his eyes away from Craig.
“I can wait.”
“She’s not coming back.”
Craig was certain the man was lying. “Then where can I find her? I want to help her.”
“Give me a number. I’ll pass it on.”
Neighbors were now staring at Craig from nearby houses. He felt very uncomfortable. “Can I come inside?”
Before the man could respond, a woman hiding behind the doorway said, “Let him in Pierro.”
When the man moved away from the door, Craig followed him inside. As Pierro closed the door the woman stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and willowy with short black hair and dark skin from time in the sun. She was dressed simply in a white blouse and navy blue skirt.
“I’m Antonia,” she said, and pointed to the man at the door. “Pierro’s my husband. Who are you?” She spoke in a husky voice that showed none of the fear Pierro demonstrated.
He heard girls giggling nervously and looked across the room. Two sets of eyes, young girls, maybe six and eight, were watching from behind the edge of a curtain.
“Back to your room, you two,” Antonia called. “Do your school work.”
The girls disappeared into the back of the house. “What do you want?” she asked Craig.
“To know what happened to an American who met your brother Pascual a week or so ago. I’m a friend of his.”
Before Antonia could respond, Pierro said, “Don’t talk to this American. He’ll get all of us killed.”
“That’s not true,” Craig said.
Antonia turned toward Pierro. “I’ve been searching for someone to tell. Someone who could avenge Pascual.”
“Leave it alone,” Pierro said, his voice trembling with fear. “Tell him to go now before it’s too late.”
Craig was watching Antonia. From her face he knew she disagreed with her husband. Would she defy him?
“Give us a few minutes to talk,” she told Craig. Then she led Pierro into another room. For several minutes, Craig heard whispers, angry ones, coming from Pierro. Finally, the voices stopped. Antonia returned alone.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said to Craig.
She turned on the light and closed the blinds. “I have nosy neighbors. We don’t have to advertise that I have a foreign visitor. Want something to drink?
“I could use a glass of brandy.”
She poured one for him and water for herself. He took a large gulp. It made him feel better.
“You’re walking badly. An injury?”
“One of Colonel Schiller’s thugs attacked me.”
She looked alarmed.
“Don’t worry, it was thirty kilometers from here. I made sure no one followed me.”
As Craig sat down at the table, he winced.
“You want me to take a look at it?” she asked.
“Are you a nurse?”
“No, but I’m a ski instructor and lifeguard. I’m trained to give first aid.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I hope you gave as good as you got. For my brother’s sake.”
He realized she had decided to take a chance with him, putting her life and her family’s at risk by talking with him. He could do no less. “I killed the man.”
She closed her hand into a fist. “Good for you.” Then she sat down across from him. “You’ll have to forgive my husband, Pierro. He’s a good man, but timid by nature. He just wants to protect us. And now is a tough time for him. He’s a bookkeeper. He’s been out of work for more than a year since the factory closed.”
“Tell me what happened to your brother and the American he met.”
She sighed and closed her eyes.
“If it’s too painful or you’re afraid of putting your family at risk, you don’t have to talk to me.”
When she opened them, she stared straight at Craig. “No,” she said. “Quite the opposite. I’m glad you came. As I told Pierro, I made an effort to learn the truth. I’ve wanted to tell someone what happened, but I was afraid of taking it to the wrong person.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m willing to take a chance.”
She took a deep breath and began. “Pascual met an American with a strawberry mark on his face …”
“He was my friend,” Craig said interrupting her.
“Pascual met the American …”
Craig couldn’t bear to hear Dunn being referred to as a nameless American. “Please call him Dunn. That was his name.”
“Alright, Pascual met Dunn at the café where he was singing in the evenings. Maybe it was a chance meeting, or maybe Dunn knew Pascual was a driver for the biggest limo company in town and targeted him.” She shrugged. “I don’t know that part. The first I heard about it was the night before it all happened. He told me that an American CIA agent wanted his help. He had told Dunn he had to think about it. He wasn’t only afraid for himself. He was worried about the danger to me and the girls. I convinced him to do it … Because of what happened to our parents, he had to help. We have to stop the generals.” She shook her head and bit down on her lower lip.
Craig deduced she was sorry now that she had convinced Pascual to help Dunn, leading to her brother’s death.
“What exactly did Dunn want from Pascual?”
“To arrange to be the driver meeting some foreign visitors arriving by private jet the next afternoon at one for a meeting with Estrada at a villa on the lake.”
“And then?”
“To find out who the visitors were. Listen to what they said in the car. He was to meet Dunn that night and report.”
“Where were the visitors coming from?”
“Your friend Dunn didn’t know. That was one piece of critical information he wanted.”
“Did Pascual pick up the visitors?’
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never spoke to my brother after he called Dunn that morning and said he would help. That greasy swine, Jose Lopez, who runs the limo company wouldn’t say a word to me.”
“What were you able to find out?”
She rolled her hands into fists and gripped the chair hard. Her whole body was shaking. The words tumbled out of her mouth. “The day after the airport pick up, the police pulled the Lincoln Town Car Pascual was driving out of the lake. My dead brother was in the driver’s seat with his seatbelt on. The official police explanation was that Pascual was drunk and drove into the lake by mistake. They had the results of a blood-alcohol test to back it up, but I didn’t believe it for a minute.”
“Why not?”
“The police said Pascual had a bottle of scotch in his pocket. But he never drank scotch.”
“That’s not much to go on.”
“I talked to an old friend of my father’s, an auto mechanic. For me, he went down to the garage where they were trying to salvage the car for Lopez. What he learned was that the brake line had been cut. He saw indentations on the rear bumper. He had no doubt that someone had cut the brake line then pushed the car from the back into the water.”
She looked at Craig with huge, round eyes, pleading with him to help her comprehend. “How could they have done this to Pascual? He was kind and gentle. He wasn’t Dunn. What could he do to them?”
Craig looked at her sympathetically. “There are some evil people in the world. There always have been.”
That didn’t satisfy her. She shook her head pensively.
“What about my friend, Dunn? What happened to him?” Craig asked.
“Soldiers ambushed him at the deserted spot where he was supposed to meet my brother that night. They were shooting at him. He tried to escape by running across a farmer’s field to reach a getaway car he had parked on the main road. Unfortunately for him, the farmer had two German Shepherds. The dogs took him for an intruder. They chased and attacked him in a muddy
field.”
Craig gulped hard, visualizing the terror Dunn was facing—soldiers firing bullets at him, dogs howling and flying through the air to pounce on the heavyset former agent. He held his breath, waiting to hear what happened next.
Antonia continued in a quavering voice. “He was able to kill one of the dogs. But the other one drove him to the ground and was mauling him when Estrada’s soldiers reached him. They were yelling at him, ‘Who sent you? Who sent you? Tell us and we’ll shoot the dog.’ He screamed out, ‘Betty Richards.’ They let the dog kill him, then they shot and killed the dog.”
Craig was horrified. “No,” he cried out. “No. Are you sure that’s what happened?”
“This whole area is a small community. People talk. I found the farmer, who was cursing Estrada’s men. He was sickened by what they had done. When this was all happening, he had come out of his house and run toward the scene. He reached your friend when the soldiers did. Afterwards, he heard them say they would cut up the American and bury him in the woods. The farmer wanted them to pay for his dogs. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t bury his dogs, then go back into the house and keep his mouth shut.”
“You blame Estrada for all of this?”
Her face hardened with conviction. “He had to be responsible. The visitors were coming to meet the general. These troops the farmer encountered must have been working for him. And …” She was hesitating. Craig knew there was something else.
“Please tell me,” he said.
“The evening after my brother’s funeral, two soldiers came here to the house. They vowed to kill me and my children if I ever tried to challenge the police report about what they called ‘Pascual’s accident.’”
For Craig, horror at what had happened to Dunn gave way to rage that permeated his entire body. He rolled his hands into fists. One day, he would kill Estrada and whoever else ordered Dunn’s death—if it was the last thing he ever did.
Antonia’s eyes filled up with tears. Some rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her face with a paper napkin. “I’m sorry. My brother was an innocent. Come. I’ll show you.”
She led the way. Craig followed into what had obviously been Pascual’s room. It looked as if he still lived there. Two guitars rested against a wall. Several piles of music were on a desk. Next to them was a woman’s picture and an unfinished poem with the title Love Not Guns. A tennis racket and a couple of cans of balls stood in the corner.
Craig pointed to the woman’s picture. “His girlfriend?”
“A woman in town he was seeing. Her husband died last year. She has three small children. They were planning to get married next year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Pascual had so much to live for. He was a dreamer. I have to live with the guilt. I encouraged him to help your American friend. I couldn’t let Estrada and the generals come to power again. Not after what happened to our parents. These people have to be stopped before they create the nightmare all over again.”
She had alluded to that earlier, and Craig had let it pass. But not now. It was a critical part of the story. “Tell me about it.”
“Pascual and I were always close. We were children the last time the generals ruled. They said my parents were Communists, but they weren’t. So in March of 1981 they came to our house. There were five officers with machine guns. It was this house.” Her face turned pale and sad. Craig thought she would cry. Then her grim determination took hold.
“This is a great country,” she said. “With many wonderful people. But sometimes a few rotten ones take control, and one night, the army was on a sweep through the Bariloche area searching for Communists. An informer had given their commander the address of our house.
“My father was an auto mechanic. He was also a brave man and believed in freedom. Though he had rejected the appeals of the Communists to join their party, he had been vocal in speaking out against the rule of the generals. He had also armed a bomb that blew up a military transport killing ten soldiers.
“When he heard a knock on the door, he shouted to my mother, ‘Take the children into the bedroom and hide under the bed.’
“I was peeking out through a crack in the door. I saw my father run into the kitchen and grab a heavy knife he used for carving beef. He put on a light jacket, and concealed the knife underneath it, gripping it tightly in one hand. The commander didn’t bother to knock. He kicked open the door with a powerful boot.
“With a machine gun at his side, the commander moved up close to my father, who held his ground in the center of the room, refusing to cower before this Fascist and his four armed soldiers.
“ ‘Eduard Frigero,’ the commander announced, as if he was preparing to announce a death sentence.
“ ‘I am Eduardo,’ my father responded proudly.
“ ‘You’re coming with us. You and your whole family.’
“Before the commander had a chance to raise his gun and anyone had a chance to fire, my father yanked his arm out from behind the jacket. He took two steps forward and plunged the knife into the commander’s chest.
“As he did, all four soldiers opened fire. Machine gun bullets riddled my father’s body.”
Antonia began to cry again with loud sobs, her body shaking with emotion. Her story was ripping Craig apart with anguish. He sensed there was more to it, but he didn’t want to prolong her agony. “You don’t have to continue.”
“I want to. You have to know it all.”
She cleared her throat and continued, “My mother grabbed Pascual and me and pulled us under the bed with her. ‘Be still,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe they won’t find us.’
“My mother’s hopes were futile. Minutes later, I heard powerful boots pounding on the wooden floor of the bedroom. Those same boots kicked the bed across the room, exposing my terrified mother, Pascual, and me. We were all screaming. It didn’t do any good.”
The pain was written on Antonia’s face. She turned away from Craig.
“They had their way with my mother, one after another, while they forced me and Pascual to watch.”
She spat on the floor. “Pigs.”
Craig’s heart went out to her. He didn’t want to interrupt her until she was finished.
“When the last one was done, he strangled my mother with his bare hands while he was still on top of her.
“They were laughing when they left the house. As soon as they were gone, Pascual and I ran to our aunt’s house.
“I can still hear their laughter. They were young officers. Like Estrada at the time. Now I imagine they’re cronies of his. No doubt some of them are also generals, who will be in power if he takes over the country. That’s why I encouraged Pascual to work with Dunn. You Americans are our only hope to prevent Estrada from coming to power. If you stand by and acquiesce, the way you did the last time the generals seized control, then we are all lost.”
Craig couldn’t speak after hearing her story. He squeezed her hand empathetically.
Then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out several piles of hundreds of dollars. “There’s ten thousand altogether.”
She threw the money at him. It bounced off his chest and fell on the floor.
“You think money is a substitute for my brother’s life?”
He shook his head. “Believe me, I’m not suggesting that ten thousand dollars is the value of Pascual’s life. But it’s something. It’s small compensation from the American government for your brother’s death. He was helping us at the time.”
“I won’t take your money.”
He put it back into the briefcase. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes were blazing with hatred. “If you want to do something for me and Pierro and my two daughters, then stop Estrada and his generals from taking over my country and recreating the nightmare.”
That was precisely what Craig was trying to accomplish. He locked eyes with her. “I’ll do my best. I promise you.”
He stood up and paced the room, thinking about what
she had told him. The visitors who flew into Bariloche that day were the key. Estrada was so intent on concealing their identity and the purpose of the meeting that he was willing to have two people killed for it and threaten three others. All that Antonia knew was that they had arrived by private jet at Bariloche Airport at one o’clock in the afternoon.
“What was the date that Pascual did this job for my friend?”
“October the twelfth,” she said, without hesitation.
“You sure?”
“I’ll never forget that date.”
Antonia let Craig out through the back door. It was dark outside with heavy cloud cover blocking out the moonlight. Cautiously, he walked toward his SUV, wondering what he’d find. It looked exactly as he had left it. That didn’t mean one of the red-faced man’s friends hadn’t planted a bomb. He checked the wheels and tires. He climbed under the car and opened the hood, but found nothing.
He held his breath and started the engine. Everything sounded normal. He eased back on the road and drove toward the airport. Hopefully, he’d find some answers there, the information that Dunn had paid for with his life.
Two soldiers armed with Uzis were on duty outside the airport terminal in Bariloche, talking and smoking cigarettes. They didn’t seem interested in Craig as he headed toward the Avis counter, key in hand. After paying for the car, he asked the car rental agent for the office of the airport manager. A stubby finger pointed to a frosted glass door with black letters that read: “Operations.”
Craig didn’t know what to expect behind that door. It was evening and not a busy time for the airport. There was only one man in the office. Señor Ferraro was what the badge said on his navy shirt. He was tall and dapper with a thin, perfectly trimmed mustache and coal-black hair. The instant Craig saw Señor Ferraro, he liked him. What he most liked was that the man was wearing a Rolex watch and a gold ring with a diamond in the center—items Señor Ferraro could hardly afford on his income from the Airport Authority.
“I want to hire a private plane to fly back to Buenos Aires,” Craig said to Ferraro.
“The charter company is out front to the left. They have planes ready to go twenty-four hours a day.”
