Escape from Nicaragua

by Stephen Mertz

  "You are with Eva . . ." The man beckoned. "Come in, close the door."

  "He is a guide," Eva said. "He has friends outside the city. They would come here."

  Fortun said, "The password is Colonel Haskins."

  "Ahhh, that makes a difference!" The man took Fortun's hand and shook it. "Welcome, welcome. I am Jorge Mora. What is it your friends want? I was told they would come here."

  "I do not know, sir." Fortun looked about him. He was in a small room, furnished with only a cot bed and two rickety-looking chairs, a bench, and a table. There was a small portable stove on the table, some clothes draped over the chairs, and a Colt .45 automatic on the cot. There was another in Mora's belt.

  "Very well," Mora said. "Who are your friends?"

  "They are three norteamericanos, sir."

  "I see."

  "They asked me to bring you to them."

  Mora glanced at Eva. "I think it would be better to bring them here. Nothing can be done outside the city. And here I have my group to help whatever it is they must do."

  Fortun nodded gravely. Mora was unshaven, dressed like a campesino. His hair was long and he looked exactly like an ordinary worker . . . which undoubtedly was his camouflage.

  Mora smiled. "They will be safe here," as if Fortun had asked the question.

  Fortun looked at the room, and Mora said, "There are other rooms. We can put up a dozen here."

  "Jorge is right," Eva said. "We will bring them here."

  "Tonight," Mora replied.

  They waited till long after dark, then Eva drove down the alley and back across the city and outside it to park the car near the wide ravine. Fortun got out and went alone, whistling, walking across the field toward the hiding place. He halted when Hog's voice said, "You alone, tiger?"

  Fortun slid down into the ravine. "No. There is a woman with me."

  "Of course there is," Hog said, slapping his back. "She in yore pocket, huh?"

  Stone said, "Start at the beginning, shortstop. Did you find Mora?"

  He told the story quickly, the meeting with Roberto, then Eva, and finally Jorge Mora in the old factory. "He says it is better if you come there."

  "Probably right," Loughlin agreed.

  Hog asked, "There's really a girl waitin' out there with a car?"

  Fortun nodded.

  "Well, damn me. Let's go chop, chop." He regarded Fortun doubtfully. "But she's a big fat one, right? Tits like watermelons?"

  "She is not! She is beautiful."

  "Get your gear," Mark said. He slung his AK over his shoulder and climbed out of the ravine.

  Damn! She was beautiful. Fortun hadn't told half of it! She stood by the little car, waiting for them, shaking her head at the sizes of them. Fortun introduced her. "This is Eva . . ."

  They said their names, staring at her, the first pretty girl they'd seen in a while. Loughlin said, "Can we all get in that bug?"

  Hog opened the door. "It's gonna flatten the tires!"

  Eva said, "Two in the back with Fortun, one in front with me."

  They did as she said, and Mark squeezed in the front when all were settled. "Is it far?"

  "A few miles," she told him and started the engine. She gave him the silenced pistol. "If we are stopped by the police, you must use this, or we all go to the carcel." She looked at him. "I am serious."

  He could see it in her eyes, she was serious. He said, "of course." It looked, in the gloom, like a homemade silencer. It was on a Spanish 9mm Astra. He rolled down the side window, glancing at her sidelong.

  They went by narrow, unpaved streets, moving slowly, crossing busier streets with bursts of speed. The little engine chugged mightily, pushing them along. Mark thought she was taking them a roundabout way, but he made no comment.

  They had just crossed a paved boulevard when Eva said, "A jeep turned with us." In a moment she said, "It's an army car." She glanced at Mark. "Slide the pistol onto my lap."

  He did as she said. Hog growled, "We got four grenades left . . ."

  "No noise," Eva warned. "They are coming up close now."

  The jeep appeared on the left, close to them. Two men were in it, one with an automatic rifle pointed in their general direction. He called, "Stop the car."

  Eva smiled at him. "Of course, señor." She applied the brakes and the little VW stopped, the jeep only a yard away.

  Eva said sharply, "Señor?"

  The men looked at her and she extended the silenced pistol and fired five times. Both soldados crumpled.

  Quickly Eva put the VW in gear and moved away, turning into the next street. Stone let out his breath.

  "Holy Christ!" Hog said. "You're a ring-tailed terror, missy!"

  She said, "It had to be done."

  Mark took the Asta from her and reloaded it.

  Minutes later she turned into the dark alley and stopped before the doors. Stone got out and opened them, and she drove through and killed the engine.

  They extracted themselves from the little car, stretching and looking about. Mark closed and barred the double doors and Eva banged on the pipe again.

  Jorge Mora was waiting for them in the room above. They shook hands, exchanging names. Mora asked, "Did you have any trouble?"

  Mark looked at the girl. She shrugged slightly, "No, not very much."

  Fortun said, "She killed two policemen!"

  "It was necessary. They had stopped us." She looked annoyed.

  Mora sighed and nodded. "With the silenced pistol?"

  "Sí," she said.

  Mora had food set out for them, with coffee heating on the small stove. There were no windows in the room; they had been boarded up with plywood, but a fan in the ceiling exhausted the humid air.

  As they ate, Fortun explained that he must return to the hills. He had done what he had come to do; now Captain Ortega would want him back. Eva said she would drive him to the outskirts in the little car.

  When he was ready to go, Mark said, "We appreciate it, shortstop."

  "Put a gold star next to your name," Hog told him. "You're a honorary Texan, boy!"

  Fortun laughed and Loughlin said, "Don't take that lightly. He means it."

  "I'm honored." Fortun shook hands all around. "Good luck."

  Eva put the pistol in her belt, and they went downstairs to the car.

  When they had gone, Mora said, "I am in communication with several people. Nobody knows where the C.I.A. men are being held." He paused. "But we are positive General Perez knows—Colonel Haskins told you this, I am sure."

  "Yes, he did. Will it be difficult to get to General Perez?"

  Mora shook his head. "I think it is impossible. But of course, no one has tried it. It is exceptionally difficult because no one knows exactly where General Perez is."

  "We were told he has an estate here," Mark said.

  "That is true. But he also has one, or a villa, in a small town not far from the city, on the lake. Many affluent people live there, or have second homes there."

  "Does he have an office?"

  Mora spread his hands. "He has several, depending on things we know nothing about. We have never been able to keep track of his movements because he comes and goes in a private helicopter, and we have no such vehicle. He can be halfway across Nicaragua before we are aware he has gone."

  Hog commented, "Folks has habits."

  "Yes. We know that Perez likes to stay at Tela. He has several boats and is a boating enthusiast. He is also very fond of giving extravagant dinners or parties. He considers himself an international playboy. Some of his friends are movie stars, you know."

  "I suppose he collects things?"

  Mora shrugged. "I do not know. Señoritas, perhaps. He has been seen with a hundred different women—"

  "He is not married?"

  "Oh, yes, he is married. But those bonds are apparently very fragile, or elastic. His wife lives at the estate here in the city and apparently never goes to Tela."

  "Children?"

  "He has two bo
ys—young men. One is in the army and the other is always close to Perez. We suspect that Perez does not trust many and that his son handles his affairs."

  "And Perez himself . . . is he a brain or a politician?" Mora smiled. "From all we know, he is a politician." He went to a wooden cabinet in a corner, opened a drawer, and flipped through a number of folders, then turned back, handing Mark a photograph. "This is Perez."

  Mark showed the others. They saw a head shot of a good-looking man in uniform. He was gazing past the camera in a rather theatrical pose. He had straight brows, a slightly aquiline nose, and a heavy chin. He wore a carefully clipped mustache and a tailored smile. The photo was obviously one taken for publication.

  Hog said, "Looks like this feller's got the world by the balls."

  "Well," Mora said with a sigh, "as far as Nicaragua is concerned, he has. He is a very rich man, of course; his family has always been immensely rich. They were able to send Perez to the finest schools—where he was an indifferent student."

  "Why did he choose the military?"

  "I have no idea. Apparently it appealed to him, or perhaps the uniform appealed to him. He is somewhat of a showman, you know. I mean, he poses and struts. And the military has given him what amounts to a private army. His men wear a special patch and are specially picked. You will have your work cut out. It will not be easy to get near him."

  "Is he always surrounded by his guards?"

  Mora shrugged. "There have been attempts on his life in the past, though none recently. Since then Perez has taken extreme precautions."

  "Gun shy," Loughlin said.

  Mora smiled. "It is said he wears a bulletproof vest at all times."

  "We don't want to kill him," Stone remarked. "We just want to discuss a few things with him. In a friendly tone."

  Mora got out a bottle, looked at it critically, and set it on the table. He found glasses and lined them up. "No ice, I'm afraid." He poured into the glasses. "Your mission is to find out where the C.I.A. agents are held . . .?"

  "Yes. And get them out if we can."

  "General Perez is not the only one who knows. I am sure his chief aide, Colonel Villela, knows as well. Several others may know."

  "Could we get to Villela easier?"

  "I cannot tell you. We know that Villela is well guarded also." Mora pushed the glasses toward them. He picked one up and held it out. "To freedom!"

  They clinked glasses and drank.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lieutenant Paco Suran was not the luckiest of men. He was smart, industrious, and had a measure of imagination, but he had failed to find the norteamencanos. Nothing had come of his investigation of the Ford truck and now the debacle at the airstrip defeated him. He had been positive the three fugitives were behind it, but they had disappeared into thin air.

  He began to be equally positive they had help. They had swept over the airfield, completely destroying six valuable aircraft, and had killed seven men and wounded six others. A jeep had also been smashed up. How could three men do so much damage without help? And disappear into nothingness?

  Worst of all he had to report that he had not caught them. He had to admit he was nowhere near catching them. He had no clues, except his conviction that they were headed for Managua. And he knew that if they got into the capital he had lost.

  Major Rosas could not contain his venom. Paco was an idiot who could not catch a common cold. He could not catch the clap from the lowest puta in all Central America . . . no, the world!

  Major Rosas did not hesitate to say that he himself was on the griddle because he had sponsored the stupidest of worms, Paco Suran, and believed in him enough to tell his superiors that the three Norte Americanos were as good as in the carcel. "How does that make me look! Idiot!" Rosas shouted on the telephone. "You are recalled! Bring your men back here instantly!"

  Rosas would have had Paco shot if that were possible.

  Instead he contented himself with distributing the men into their various units. But he saved the best for Paco. There was a microscopic station on the far Mosquito Coast, where the humidity was intolerable and the rainfall the heaviest in all the known world, and Paco was sent there.

  He could reasonably expect promotion about the time Halley's Comet returned. But not if Rosas was still alive.

  Jorge Mora was able to get a few newspaper clippings of General Perez's estate on the edge of the city, but they were not very helpful, having been taken for different reasons than military ones.

  Stone put on a disguise, a black mustache and dark glasses, and in Eva's little red beetle drove past the estate with Eva at the wheel. Unfortunately, there was little to see. The entire compound was walled and there were six guards at the fancy wrought-iron gate.

  Even driving past the gate they could not see the house itself. They had only a glimpse of a curving tree-lined drive and of much shrubbery.

  The guards stared at them and Eva smiled.

  Stone said, when they were past, "No telling what's inside that wall. Maybe dogs."

  "Oh, yes, probably dogs," she agreed.

  "I wonder if it would be possible to get a plan of this house and grounds—and Tela, too."

  Eva made a face. "I'm sure that is impossible. Perez is not stupid."

  Stone sighed. "Yes, I suppose not."

  Eva looked especially beautiful this morning, he thought. It was difficult for him to reconcile the sosharply-etched picture of her this lovely morning with that of the night before—as she had extended the silenced pistol and pumped five shots into the two soldiers. Could she be the same young woman? He looked at her fingernails. They even had red polish on them.

  To be a hunted rebel in a city full of enemies could not be a piece of cake. They had sat in the little factory room and listened to the terrible stink on the radio when the two bodies had been found. Men in high places had shouted. Further curfews had been announced, a hundred people rounded up . . .

  It was prudent to go past the iron gates only once in the red VW. Too much curiosity might bring questions, and questions might well bring jail.

  He asked her why she kept it red.

  "Because red is black at night. Red is also a popular color here, too." She gave him a sidelong look. "But sometimes we paint the car another color with a paint that washes off easily."

  "It confuses witnesses?"

  "Sí. It does."

  He asked, "You say you came from the mountains. Why are you here in the city?"

  "My aunt died not long ago, and I came to her funeral. I had not been in the capital for a very long time, so I have stayed a bit. I will go back soon."

  "You are not married?"

  "No." She sighed. "I was betrothed, but he was killed a year ago fighting the Sandinistas. So I have taken his place, doing what I can do."

  "I imagine that's quite a lot."

  "It is not as much as I would like to do." She smiled at him. "I envy you your strength."

  She drove back to the old factory, taking a roundabout course as usual, watching in the rearview mirror. Finally she turned into the alley, and Stone jumped out to open the double doors.

  Stone reported what they had seen—not much. The walls would be easy to scale, but there was no way to know what was inside, dogs or more guards. Also, they could not be certain the general would be there. Too many ifs.

  Jorge Mora doubted they would be able to get a plan of the estate, but he ventured the idea that it might be possible to fly over it and take photographs, though one overflight might be all that was possible.

  "They would send up a jet fighter to do something serious to us."

  Mark asked, "Is there a place to rent a plane?"

  Mora shrugged. "I doubt it. The government has confiscated all or most of them. But I will ask my friends. We have people working in government offices who supply us with information. Maybe one of them knows about a plane."

  There were half a dozen rooms adjacent to Mora's. They had once been offices and now were boarded up
with plywood. They moved into the largest, and Mora produced three cots from somewhere.

  They had been using the factory for almost a month, he told them, and would have to move again soon. They did not dare stay too long in any one spot. The government had spies and informers everywhere; people who, Mora said, would sell out their own mothers for money. It was another reason they used the red VW as little as possible and usually only at night. Mora was afraid someone would notice it entering or leaving the alley and investigate.

  "Since you have people in government offices," Mark said, "It ought to be possible to get an idea of the general's movements."

  "I'll pass the word," Mora promised.

  Eva was able to get a newspaper each morning. For a long time they had been getting information from it. Mora said it was surprising how much could be gleaned, especially over a period of time, by careful readers. Many leaders, including General Perez, seemed to enjoy seeing themselves in the press and hearing of their successes . . . no matter how imaginary.

  So it was a newspaper that told them General Perez was expected in the city in several days. Mora alerted his group and a watch was kept on the estate. But it was rumored that the general planned to stay at a hotel instead.

  Mora thought it would be easy to get drawings of the hotel so a plan could be made.

  But there was more to it than just reaching the general. It would be necessary to spend some time with him, because he was certain to be difficult. How would they get information from him?

  "Hold his feet to the fire," Hog suggested.

  Mark nodded. "Doesn't that mean kidnapping him?"

  Jorge Mora took it a step further. "And when you're through with him, then what? Do you kill him? You can't let him go, or he will stop you from carrying out the rest of the plan."

  "We'll have to hold him somewhere. I don't see killing him in cold blood," Mark said.

  "It's going to be bloody messy to get him out of the hotel alive, mates," Loughlin said, shaking his head. "How many guys will he have around him?"

  "Probably quite a few," Mora thought.

  Hog offered, "We oughta have some idea where they're gonna be. Otherwise we'll be goin' in blind."