by P J Skinner
‘Saul is not alone in doing research on Nazis in Sierramar. I have been immersed in this subject for eighteen months after a chance discovery in the archives. I found a whole box of documents in the basement under the wrong section. I thought someone had put them there by mistake. But it didn’t take me long to realise that I’d stumbled upon a cover-up.’
‘The only filing cards I found on the subject were stored upside down. I found your note when looking for the relevant documents in the file boxes.’
‘I still have them. There is no point putting them back. They’ll disappear too. Like the fugitives that came here in 1945.’
‘What do you mean disappeared?’
‘Some of them have died but the others melted away and I am trying to trace them. There’s a hard core of about six of them left. I have been concentrating on collaboration and I haven’t searched for them yet.’
‘They must be the people we want.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, I’ve almost finished a report on the government collaboration with the Third Reich that I hoped to have published.’
‘Hoped? Are you having trouble finding a publisher?’
‘I’m having trouble with a lot more than that. There are prominent people in Sierramar who want to prevent this document seeing the light of day. You wouldn’t believe the people involved. It goes right to the top and most of the main protagonists are still alive’
‘Jesus, that’s terrible. You should be careful that they don’t find out what you are doing.’
‘I kept my studies a secret until now but I fear that I am being watched. It’s a feeling I can’t shake off.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m leaving the country for a while and will try to get the report published in the United States. Once it’s in the public domain, there isn’t anything they can do to stop the information getting out.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Next week, so it’s lucky you caught me here. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you borrow the document for a few days and photocopy any relevant pages?’
‘That’s a hell of a responsibility. Are you confident it’s a good idea?’
‘I’m more worried about keeping it here. They would steal it if they got the chance. It’s an isolated house and easy to burgle. I would feel better if I knew you had it safe. People are aware we aren’t on speaking terms. They won’t suspect you of having it.’
‘So, when do you want it back?’
‘You can give me it when I pass by your house on my way to the airport. Ring me if you have questions before I go.’
‘Okay, I’ll take it.’
‘It’s the sole copy. Don’t lose it or take it to the bar with you. It could get you killed if someone thinks you have it.’
Alfredo ignored the pointed reference. ‘I’ll guard it with my life.’
‘I’m sorry but you have to go now. I’m expecting a visitor and my guest is shy.’
Ramon winked and Alfredo realised that he was still taking part in extracurricular activities with other people’s wives despite his perilous personal situation.
‘I’m going, don’t get caught.’
‘Don’t be silly. Who’d suspect me of being a secret lothario?’
He had a point. Despite his big brown eyes and mop of unruly black hair, he was as wide as he was tall and looked like a genial toad, not the kind of man who seduced other men’s wives, although it wasn’t the irate husbands that worried Alfredo. He took the document and stuffed it in the poacher’s pocket of his jacket. Waving goodbye, he stepped back out into the sunshine and headed for his car. He drove back up to his house, pondering on the coincidence that had led him back to Ramon after that stupid argument. He couldn’t even remember what it had been about. Again, he regretted his addiction and what it had cost him. It was unfortunate he could stop drinking for months and then, when he thought he was free, the tendrils of addiction would enfold and seduce him with the power of a siren.
***
Kleber Perez watched Alfredo leaving Ramon’s house. Alfredo wasn’t carrying anything but he was wearing a jacket that could conceal a multitude of secrets. This was the worst possible outcome. How could a drunk like Dr Vargas put together a few nebulous clues and come up with the jackpot? There must have been a connection between them in the past. How else would Alfredo have known Armando Bronca was a nickname? Kleber thumped his fist on the handle bar of his moped. He should have changed the name on the files when he had the chance. It was his experience that most rich people knew each other so it wasn’t surprising that Alfredo knew Ramon and recognised the nickname. He jumped on his bike and made for the nearest public telephone in a local shop opposite the police station. There was a queue for the phone and he sat quivering with indignation in the corner until it was his turn.
‘It’s me. I have bad news about Ramon Vega. He has a new accomplice.’
‘I thought he was working alone.’
‘He was. I haven’t seen him talk to anyone for months.’
‘Jesus! This is a disaster. We have to get rid of him before he talks to anyone else.’
‘I can do it.’
‘Okay, but make it look like an accident. We can’t leave any clues.’
‘Leave it with me.’
***
On reaching his house, Alfredo locked the doors and made a pot of strong coffee. He was dying for a drink but alcohol would not help him navigate the noxious pages. There was no drink in the house, as he had drained the bottles the week before, on a binge that lasted two days. Instead he poured out a mug of coffee and added three teaspoons of sugar to give him a boost. Clearing the papers from his favourite armchair, which was a cavernous affair made of soft brown leather, he sank into its shiny embrace with the document and read.
The report was dynamite. Could it be that Ramon had been writing a novel and was pulling his leg? The more he read, the less believable it seemed. It was profoundly disturbing. The collaboration between the Nazis and the Sierramar government during the second world war was breath-taking in its extent. The government of Nazi Germany had even presented Sierramar with a decoration for helping them out. No wonder certain people didn’t want it published. Hot shame swamped him as he read about the Jews being expelled from the country in 1943 and their businesses being taken over by locals.
It didn’t get any better. He leafed through photographs of people dressed as Nazis posing in front of government buildings. Not everyone was Germanic, some were local. Worse still, he recognised some of them, including Gloria’s father, Hernan Sanchez, who looked about nineteen. Their arrogance horrified and bewildered him. What would Gloria think if she found out about her father? Why hadn’t he come across this information before? He couldn’t understand how this awful episode had remained secret. Now he knew why Ramon was fleeing the country. The document was nothing short of explosive. The protagonists on the Sierramar side were well known politicians. They would kill to get hold of it. He had to tell Saul Rosen.
***
He booked a call to New York with the operator. Sitting in his chair waiting for the phone to ring, he pondered the contents of the report. He was often perplexed by historical mysteries like the burial place of Alexander the Great and the whereabouts of the lost City of Atlantis. But hundreds of years had passed since those events, blurring truth and fiction until they were indistinguishable. What he didn’t understand was how Sierramarians had kept something in the recent past so secret. Powerful people must have buried the references to their shameful collaboration, and those involved must have expunged any trace of their cooperation. It was strange and worrying. The telephone rang beside his ear making him jump.
‘I’ve got your connection in New York, sir.’
‘Thank you. Saul? It’s Alfredo Vargas.’
‘Hey, Alfredo, how are you? I suppose you realise that it’s two in the morning?’
‘Is it? I’m sorry to wake you. I l
ost track of time. The thing is, I’ve discovered some important information pertaining to your research.’
‘Wow, already? We haven’t even signed a contract yet.’
‘It couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay with you. If you’re a friend of Dick Gallagher, you must be trustworthy.’
‘He is choosy. I had to go through a tough vetting process involving lots of alcohol.’ He guffawed. ‘So, what have you uncovered?’
‘It turns out you were right. There’s a whole can of worms down here involving our German friends. By an extraordinary coincidence, a trusted friend of mine has been doing research on this subject and he thinks there’s a clandestine group of Nazi officers still hiding in Sierramar.’
‘Outstanding! Just as I suspected. You’ve hit the mother lode. I’m surprised.’
‘Yes, well that makes two of us. My friend has lent me his research and the collaboration between the Nazis and the Sierramar government was nothing short of appalling.’
‘That’s thrilling news. What are you planning to do next?’
‘I’m thinking of investigating this group’s existence in the present day. Are they still alive? Where are they hiding?’
Saul did not hesitate. ‘Man, that’s exciting. I’ll come with you. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid. Contract or no contract.’
‘You’re coming?’ Alfredo hesitated. He liked to work alone, but it was too late now, Saul had decided.
‘As soon as I can get organised. I’ll let you have my flight times in the next day or two.’
‘I look forward to meeting you in person.’
‘How do I find you in Calderon?’
‘I’ll pick you up at the airport. Meanwhile, I’ll make a copy of the research for you.’
‘I can’t wait. See you soon.’
‘Goodnight, Saul, and sorry for waking you.’
‘No apology necessary. I won’t sleep tonight but for once I don’t care.’
***
Saul put down the phone and leant forward in the wooden hall chair, grasping his knees and resting his forehead on them. He took a deep breath and let it out. It caught in his throat. Finally, after years of searching, a bit of luck. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Relieved? Ecstatic? He stood up and walked towards his bedroom, stumbling as his toe caught on his pyjama bottoms and almost falling headlong through the door. A sudden onrush of tears blinded him and he felt for his handkerchief on the bedside table. Removing his glasses, he sat on his bed in the dark, weeping his heart out. It was as if he had been lost his entire life and had found a map home. The threads were coming together. The final act was approaching.
He opened the slim drawer of the bedside table and took out a gun which he had bought in the local gunsmiths. A Glock. It was chunky and workmanlike and, according to the salesman, deadly. He had tested it in the firing room of the store, aiming at the human targets hanging in the back room. The recoil had thrilled him almost more than the holes he made in the paper tracings. He could shoot it at a real human being. Those evil men would pay. He didn’t care what happened after that. It was in the lap of the gods.
CHAPTER V
Sam and Gloria, Calderon, September 1988
Sam’s flight arrived at Calderon airport in the middle of a terrifying thunderstorm. Landing at nearly three thousand metres above sea level was always a challenge due to the thin air, but now the sky was alive with streaks of lightening. Rain was sheeting down the windows of the aircraft making it hard to see the runway and it was being buffeted from side to side by ferocious cross winds which whipped around the sides of the volcano overlooking the airport. The pilot had to abort the first landing as they overshot the runway. The engines roared as the plane gained height again through the sodden air pushing the passengers back against their seats.
‘Okay, ladies and gents, as you can see, it’s raining and windy which makes it difficult to land. We’ll go around and try again. If we don’t get a quiet slot, we will have to fly to Guayama instead. So, fingers crossed and here we go again.’
There was a hush on board broken by the rattling of rosary beads as they came in to land for the second time. Sam could see that even the air hostesses were gripping the edges of their seats. The aircraft landed with a big bounce and the tyres squealed as they fought for grip on the wet surface. One of the overhead lockers sprang open and someone’s duty free cigarettes fell to the floor. The customary round of applause for the safe landing was augmented by relieved cheering. Even Sam joined in with the clapping to shake loose the iron grip of the priest sitting beside her who had abandoned hope of being saved by higher forces during the landing and gone for human contact instead.
‘Thanks be to God,’ he said.
‘Thanks be to the pilots,’ replied Sam. Credit where credit’s due, she thought. It was God that caused the storm so she wasn’t too clear why he deserved any for trying to kill them. She was also angry at having to sit in the smoking section of the aircraft, which she hated. An hour in the immigration and customs queues had not improved her crabby mood. She watched with envy as the local people filed past the immigration desks, chatting and waving their passports while she stood in a long queue of tourists being attended by only one desk. Even more frustrating was the search through her luggage in customs, done by a man who appeared to be in a trance and who picked up each individual piece of clothing and dangled it in the air as if expecting something to fly out. By the time she emerged outside into the shiny wet streets of Calderon, she was at the end of her tether and desperate for a cup of tea.
***
There was no sign of Gloria who was in the habit of waiting for the plane to fly over her house before leaving for the airport. She was later than usual though, and Sam fretted. They didn’t have a plan B. If Gloria didn’t turn up soon, she would have to change money at the horrible airport rates and take a taxi with the ensuing arguing about whether she should pay local or tourist prices. She could negotiate in Spanish after her first trip to Calderon, and that always had the effect of reducing the tourist premium, but she was stubborn. The longer she stood there, the more the taxi drivers besieged her, hoping that she would break and take one of them into town.
Then Sam spotted Gloria’s jeep swinging into the airport road. Ignoring the do-not-enter signs, Gloria drove into the taxi lane and screeched to a halt right beside her. The taxi drivers swung away from Sam to protest at this sacrilege but one look from the driver was enough to quell the rebellion. A bedraggled Gloria leapt out of the car and ran around to embrace her, smelling of smoke and patchouli.
‘Hello, gringa. Sorry I’m late. Did you wait long? How was your trip?’
‘Hello, Gloria. It’s lovely to see you. How are you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. The usual.’
‘Thank you for picking me up. What kept you anyway? I’ve been here over an hour.’
‘Ah, but it is not my fault, Sam. The government changed the clocks and I keep forgetting what time it is.’
This piece of Glorified logic made Sam feel dizzy. She hugged her friend again and got into the car, holding on to her seat as it shot off into the traffic. Some things never change and Gloria still drove like Fangio. It began to rain again and the large volcano on the western side of the city poked out of a blanket of bright green conifers that draped over its sides like a cashmere shawl. The black rocks near the summit were free of snow for once and stood out against the clouds. Its brooding presence made Sam feel a sense of foreboding. She shook herself and turned to chat to Gloria.
***
‘She should have arrived by now,’ said Sam’s father looking at his watch.
‘I hope she rings us soon,’ replied her mother.
‘Give her a chance, she’s only just landed.’
‘You know how nervous I get. It’s a long way to Sierramar.’
‘Yes, but she’s got Gloria to look after her. What can go wrong?’
They both laughed.
‘G
loria is wonderful. Do you realise that she is Sam’s first female friend? Most girls don’t appreciate Sam’s tomboy traits. I am so glad she has someone to confide in. Especially now she is back with Simon.’
‘Hmmm, the slimy one. It’s a pity she can’t seem to give up on that relationship. I think it’s toxic for both.’
‘Anyway, a break might make her see the light.’
‘It will be a welcome one for her. That feasibility study she reviewed was turgid in the extreme. I had to read some of it and I fell asleep twice.’
‘I’ll have to put up with the catty remarks about her lifestyle at the golf club again.’
‘You ignore them, sweetheart. Sam is brave and adventurous and we should be proud of her.’
‘Oh, I’m proud. I hate pretending to agree with them, not that I have any choice if I want to remain a member.’
‘They pick on her because she’s different. Hannah isn’t married but they don’t make comments about her. That reminds me. We haven’t spoken to her in ages. Do you want to ring her, or shall I?’
***
Simon was not impressed at being left alone again. He stalked her flat, sniffing the pyjamas that Sam had dropped on the floor when she left to go to the airport. She would be furious if she found out he had let himself in while she was out of the country. This was her territory, filled with balsa painted parrots and rugs with weird Incan insect and animal designs. It smelt of cooking and coffee. She had moved in after coming back from Sierramar and filled it with furniture from junk shops and cast offs from relatives. Coloured throws and big velvet curtains salvaged from a theatre covered the chairs. The big metal radiators were cold and he shivered. Why couldn’t Sam be the same as other girls? He didn’t understand why she had to go waltzing off to Sierramar to look for a drunk with his nutty girlfriend. Why wasn’t he enough for her? Lots of other women were interested. He could have anyone he wanted.
And that was the irritating thing. He wanted Sam more than other women. He missed her physical presence, the way she could pick up large pieces of luggage and chuck them on the bed with no visible strain. The way she fiddled with her fine hair and failed to put it in a neat bun no matter how much she tried. The way her shoulders looked when she came out of the shower in a towel. He missed her cooking and her random pronouncements on government policy. She was different and he hated how much he wanted her.
