Escape from Nicaragua

by Stephen Mertz

  Eva watched Jorge light a brown cigar. Then she said, "What about Antonio?"

  Loughlin looked at her curiously. "Who is Antonio?"

  "The general's son. He knows as much as his father and he ought to be easier to get to."

  Stone perked up. "Why do you think so?"

  Eva smiled. "For one thing, he's married, and he probably goes to see his wife now and then—wouldn't you think?"

  Mora said, "Do you know that?"

  "Well, we can find out."

  Hog grinned at them. "Damn if it don't pay to have a woman around!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  General Romero Perez paced the room like an angry tiger. He puffed a cigar, hands behind his back, and stopped to glare at an aide, Colonel Villela. "Moscow won't tell us anything?"

  "Only that Volcheck is coming, General."

  "You know how secretive they are," Antonio said in a soothing tone. "But at least they told us that. He should be here in a matter of days." He was a slender young man in his mid-thirties and looked very much as his father had at that age. He had the Perez eyes, everyone said, and the ambition.

  "We don't need him," Perez growled, pacing again. "The advisers are a collection of fools. They would expect to get milk from a wooden cow." He pointed to Villela with the cigar. "I will send for you later."

  The colonel nodded, rose, and went to the door quickly. When it closed behind him, Antonio said, "Don't upset yourself, Father. What can we do about it?"

  "Protest, protest, protest. If we allow those damned Russians to rule us—" He shook his head and threw up his arms. "Then we are finished. They will push us around with their toes. El Presidente thinks that will never happen, but I have seen it happen other places. Look at Cuba!"

  "Do you want to throw out the Russians?"

  Perez halted and puffed the cigar, then looked at the glowing end. "I ask myself that question. We need their supplies, the things we cannot get from the Estados Unidos. But we do need their advice? Do we need people like Volcheck?"

  Antonio lit a cigarette. "What is it about Volcheck?" Perez gazed at his son. "Public relations."

  "What?"

  "They say that we military men are crusty and unfeeling. That we do everything according to the rules and regulations." He touched his temple. "But some of us can think, too. What if the world learns about Volcheck?"

  "Learns what?"

  Perez leaned forward. "That he is a torturer."

  Antonio was astonished. "How do you know this?"

  His father smiled. "I have ways." He rubbed two fingers together. "Money loosens tongues as well as anything. Yes, Volcheck will come here to torture the C.I.A. men, and if we permit it and the world press learns of it . . ." He shrugged. "We might never overcome it. They would brand us as barbarians."

  "They would jump at the opportunity."

  "Yes. And those stupid advisers will allow it. They will not listen to me."

  Antonio was silent for a moment. He smoked absently, then stubbed the cigarette out. The norteamericano agents must be interrogated, but not killed by torture. If that news was broadcast, the Estados Unidos would surely land troops and invade Nicaragua. That was what his father feared.

  It had happened before.

  Perez said suddenly, "How many were killed last night?"

  "Five. And four more wounded. The attackers got clean away. We think they also killed three militiamen in a weapons carrier when they left here."

  Perez shook his head. "Guerrilla tactics. How can we guard against them?"

  "It is very difficult. They strike targets of opportunity." He glanced at his father. "We think they came here to kill you."

  "Yes, I know." Perez made a face. "I could give them a list of men to attack . . ."

  "Will you stay here tonight?"

  Perez shook his head. "I will go to Tela this afternoon."

  "Do not drive . . ."

  "No. I will go in the helicopter. When is the baby due?"

  Antonio smiled. "In two or three days. You will be a grandfather."

  Perez smiled broadly. "Let me know instantly."

  Emilio Diaz squinted his eyes watching the helicopter land. It disappeared inside the estate walls, and he saw the dust kick up . . . then dissipate. He put down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He lay on a flat roof only half a block from the walls. There was a makeshift roof above him, covered with tar paper to keep out the rain or sun, and there was a trapdoor at his back that led down into the house.

  He and several others took turns watching the compound. They relayed what information they gleaned to Jorge Mora. Emilio and his friends were too old to go charging about the countryside fighting the Sandinistas, but they did what they could. It was their bit for freedom.

  From his vantage point Emilio could see the wrought-iron front gate and the guards. And often, through a telescope, see who came and went. Mora wanted this information.

  A closed car came from the estate. The guards opened the gate for it and one saluted. Emilio trained the binoculars on it but could not see who was inside. Some cars had some kind of dark glass, on the windows.

  He called down to his grandson, Jaime, who was twelve. "Tell Jorge that a helicopter came. I think El Presidente was on it. Ask someone the time."

  "Sí, Grandfather."

  Jaime got on his bicycle and pedaled off at once. He stopped by a row of shops to ask a man with a wristwatch the time. The man was astonished that a small boy in tattered clothes needed such information.

  When he got to the old factory, Jaime delivered his message, and Mora thanked him. Upstairs Mora said to his three guests, "Perez's helicopter just landed in the estates grounds; We think it brought El Presidente and that Perez will go with him to Tela."

  "Is that common?"

  "Sí. It has happened many times."

  "And will the son go with him?"

  Mora shrugged. "Quien sabe? Who knows? We will wait to hear again from Emilio."

  It was after dark before Jaime came to the factory again. The helicopter had flown. Emilio was sure it contained Perez. He had probably gone to Tela.

  "And probably Antonio with him."

  "Sí. Probably."

  Emilio Diaz and his friends had been asked to determine where Antonio Perez lived . . . specifically where his wife lived, and if possible to discover whether Antonio and his wife were on good terms. Did he visit her often?

  Emilio was in bed sleeping, and Esteban Viader lay on the flat roof with the telescope when the limousine came through the wrought-iron gates of the estate.

  Antonio Perez was in the back. Esteban saw him clearly in the glass. He yelled down into the house at once, and Jaime and another boy, Angel, thirteen, hurried out to follow the car. Jumping on their bicycles, they pedaled furiously. The lost the limousine once and found it again as it made a turn ahead of them, then was slowed by narrow streets for two short blocks. It entered an exclusive part of the city, and the boys lost it on a hill. When they walked the bikes to the top, it had disappeared.

  "Separate," Angel said. "You go that way, I'll go this way."

  They rode along half a dozen winding roads, the home of affluent people who preferred the cooler air of the hills to the humidity of the city. Jaime was tired and about to give up when he saw the grille of the limousine, half hidden by shrubbery. It was the same car! Laying the bicycle down, he crept to the ornate fence and peered through the leafy tangle—it was the car!

  Heart racing, he jumped on the bicycle again and rode down the hill to report.

  Stone listened as Jorge Mora related what the boy had seen. He asked, "Can you watch the house?"

  "That is being done."

  Loughlin scratched his chin. "I thought Antonio was his old man's keeper . . . I mean, the only one the general trusted. How come Perez flew off somewhere and the son stays here?"

  "Family fight," Hog said. "The old man got pissed off, kicked the kid in the ass, huh?"

  Mora shrugged.

  "How big i
s the house?" Stone asked. "Lots of servants?"

  "It is a small mansion, señores. Perez and his family are very rich. They have been stealing from the treasury for generations. I cannot tell you without a report, but I would imagine there are many servants."

  "How many is many?"

  "Perhaps five, maybe six. And also guards. The driver of the limousine is a soldier, one of the elite guards. Usually there is another beside him in the front, well armed despite the car's armor. There may be another two guards at the house beside them."

  "Four in all."

  "Yes. At least four. They probably have a guardroom in the house, where they sleep."

  Stone nodded. "What about an airplane? You were hoping—"

  "It is impossible." Mora shook his head sadly. "There is no plane available without many government papers and rubber stamps. We could not qualify. Our friends tell me to forget it."

  "Damn," Loughlin said. "We'll have to go in blind again."

  "Can we get a look at the house?" Stone asked. "Are there grounds around it?"

  "I will ask my friends to take you there—but at night." Mora paused. "You will not be able to stop near the house—the guards will be very suspicious because of the raid on the Perez estate."

  "Comprendo," Stone said. "We can see a lot with one look and three pairs of eyes."

  Another truck was stolen, and the three norteamericano met it at midnight away from the factory. The driver was another of Mora's group and very young, barely out of his teens, named Paulo. He grinned at them, saying, "No speak—" He shrugged. "No Inglés."

  "OK," Loughlin told him. "Drive the lorry, chum."

  He knew exactly where to go and took them by a roundabout course that avoided busy streets and traffic.

  In the hills he slowed and drove the hill roads very carefully, looking at each house. When they came close to the Perez villa, he pointed. "La casa."

  They drove past slowly. The house was set back from the street. It had a circular drive in which a green car was parked under floodlights. The house was apparently stucco over stone with a jungle of vines and plants and a chain-link fence with two strong-looking gates. They saw no guards. The house was not close to its neighbors and was on the side of a gentle slope with a number of trees. Hog said, "Get over that fence easy. You figure it's electrified?"

  "Hope not," Loughlin replied.

  "Big question," Hog said. "How d'we get away afterwards? I mean, if we raise hell by shooting the place up?"

  "We use the silencers," said Loughlin.

  Stone nodded. "So we mail the guards some silencers? Listen, we've got to get in and out without firing a shot. Otherwise the damn militia will cover us like chocolate cream on a cookie."

  "Things get harder," Hog complained. "We had it easy in Nam. Why the fuck we take on a job like this?"

  "Because no one else could do it."

  Hog sighed deeply. "No one else was dumb enough." Loughlin said, "Could we get in, grab Antonio, and get out again with him?"

  "That'd be ideal," Stone said, nodding. "Let's do it that way." He looked at them meaningfully. "And let's do it tonight."

  In the upstairs factory room they discussed it with Mora and Eva. They still had the stolen truck, Mora told them. Paulo or another would drive them there and wait for them. "How long will you be inside the house?"

  "Maybe five minutes," Stone said. "Maybe less. We'll cut the telephone wires as we go in so they can't call for help."

  Hog rapped his knuckles on a table. "What's this bugger look like? Antonio?"

  Jorge Mora had pictures of him, cut from newspapers. He passed them around. Antonio was a good-looking young man, trimmed mustache, glasses, a college man. He had gone to school and graduated from a California law school. His wife was from Managua and they had been married only about a year.

  They cleaned weapons and discussed their roles in the light of what they knew or could guess about the house. In the afternoon a man on a bicycle came into the alley with a battered paper sack, leaving it at the door. It proved to be full of uniforms that had been liberated from Sandinista soldiers. A few had bullet holes. They were able to find some that fit.

  In the paper sack was also a note to Mora. It had been learned, the note said, that Antonio's wife was pregnant and was expecting her child any day. There was an ambulance waiting, on call.

  Mora said to them, "That's why he didn't go to Tela with his father."

  It seemed a likely answer. And the ambulance would take her to the hospital to have the child.

  Eva was certain about it. There was, she said, an excellent hospital in the city.

  "Damn!" Stone swore. "Then Antonio will go with her!" The entire thing was getting complicated. But—if they had to, they could take Antonio off the ambulance. Maybe. How many guards would accompany it?

  "Wait a minute," Stone said, facing them. "We have to go ahead with the plan as discussed. She may not have the baby for a week. And anyhow, if we have to change plans in the middle of the stream—we've done it before."

  Loughlin offered, "Best tell Jorge to get someone to drive the truck who's fluent in the Queen's tongue."

  Everything was ready. They would enter Antonio Perez's house with the silenced weapons and back-up pistols. Their biggest weapon, of course, would be surprise.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The truck, driven by the same bearded man, who spoke English, took them to within a hundred yards of the hillside mansion. It was just past midnight. The truck went on past the house and parked another hundred yards away to wait.

  They had brought mats to lay over the chain-link fence, which had ugly points along the top.

  They were over the fence, along the side of the house, in moments. Loughlin had noted the telephone wires and quickly cut them.

  The ambulance was still waiting in front of the house. They were in luck, Stone thought. The baby was working for them so far. Stay in the womb where it's warm, kid.

  It was a very large house and on one side were garages. Stone peered through a window, seeing nothing. Dark as the inside of a mule. He pulled tape from a pocket and laid it crisscross on the glass, then shoved his elbow through, pulling out most of the glass to toss into the shrubbery. He picked out the shards, then Hog hoisted him up and he was inside, stepping on a long bench, then to the floor beside a big sedan.

  In a moment he pulled the bolt on a door, and Loughlin and Hog came in.

  It was a three-car garage containing the sedan and a smaller sports model that, in the gloom, looked like a Porsche. On the far side was a door into the house. Hog took a moment to let the air out of two tires so neither car could be used to pursue them quickly. Loughlin cracked the door open an inch. On the other side was a hall and to the right the main entry to the house.

  He closed the door and whispered, "Two guards in the entry."

  "Doing what?"

  "Sitting. They look half asleep."

  Stone said, "They have to go."

  Loughlin nodded. He stepped quietly into the hail with the silenced pistol pointed.

  One guard looked up in astonishment as he fired: Phut, phut.

  The second guard never knew what hit him.

  They entered the hall as Loughlin switched magazines. Stone led toward the back of the house. Where would the wife's bedroom be? Probably upstairs. The stairs were to the left and he turned that way.

  A voice said, "Que quiere usted?"

  Stone looked around in surprise. A guard had appeared from a room on their right, obviously startled to see men in uniform, and even more astonished to see they were not Nicaraguan.

  He dug for the pistol on his hip, and Hog shot him through the cheek. Blood spattered the wall as the guard slid to the floor.

  But he got off one shot into the floor.

  And it sounded like doom in the confines of the hall.

  "Jesus!" Loughlin said. "That'll bring the bloody marines!"

  "Rear guard, Hog," Stone said and dashed up the stairs with Loughlin. A
man came from one of the rooms as they raced up. The man was in striped pajamas and had a Colt pistol in his hand. He started to raise it, then saw the two silenced pistols pointed at him.

  Stone said, "Drop it."

  Antonio was astonished. "You speak English!"

  "Of course. Get your pants on. You're coming with us."

  The Colt thudded on the carpet. "Going with you?"

  "We're not going to kill you," Stone assured him. "Get your pants on." He picked up the pistol and shoved it into his belt. He followed Antonio into the bedchamber, pushing the silenced Walther in the other's back. Loughlin stood at the door.

  It was a plain room with a single bed. There was a dresser with a ticking clock, an open closet, and two chairs. Stone asked, "Where's your wife?"

  "You're not going to hurt her?"

  "Of course not."

  Antonio pointed. "In the next room." He pulled his pants on over the pajamas.

  "Grab a coat and let's go."

  Antonio picked a coat off a hanger and went out, holding it. Stone shoved him down the stairs. "Hurry—" Hog said, "Somebody turned lights on in the front."

  "Side door," Stone said to Antonio. "Quick. Where is it?"

  Antonio pointed. They went that way. The door was off a laundry room, and as they opened it, lights went on overhead. Stone paused. "Hog—get the lights."

  Hog slid out, looking in all directions. The pistol coughed and the lights shattered. Glass tinkled into the shrubs. From the front of the house someone shouted.

  "Over the fence," Stone said. "Terrance, you first."

  They ran to the fence as someone shone a flashlight in their direction. Hog stopped, extended the pistol, and fired three times. The light went out. Then he jumped to the fence and rolled over, grabbing the mat off, tossing it into the darkness.

  They hurried down the street to the truck and piled in, Hog and Loughlin in the back with Antonio. They covered him with blankets as he protested.

  Hog said, "Shut up. We ain't hurtin' you none." They had done it.

  They took him blindfolded to the old factory and sat him on Mora's couch. With Mora and Eva out of the room, they removed the blindfold.