by Jack Treby
‘Erm...’
‘I mean that as a compliment. Have you ever thought of joining the civil service?’
‘Er...well, not just at the moment.’
‘No, of course not. How tactless of me. You have other concerns. You are in a foreign country and you don’t really feel in control of events. I am here to put your mind at rest.’
‘The...general told me to listen very carefully to what you had to say. I got the impression he expected you to threaten me somehow.’
Viscoso stopped in his tracks. ‘You wound me, my friend. I wouldn’t dream of threatening you. Nor would General Malvado ask me to.’ The civil servant resumed his walk. He moved briskly and I had difficulty keeping up. ‘The general is far more comfortable with simple bribery. It’s a much more effective guarantor. He expects me to offer you a great deal of money. That, in his mind, will ensure your absolute loyalty.’
‘But...I’m not actually working for the general, am I? And...neither are you.’
‘No.’ Viscoso stopped again. ‘Although it would be best to maintain the fiction between everybody but ourselves.’
‘You know I spoke to Antonio Fracaso?’
‘Yes, of course. That’s why I am here. You have questions to ask me. It’s quite understandable.’ There was a bench to one side of the pathway. Viscoso gestured for me to sit. ‘I am at your disposal. Feel free to ask me anything you wish. I’m only sorry it’s taken so long for us to meet like this. I have to be very careful, you understand.’
‘I understand.’ I took a moment to collect my thoughts. ‘What – what I most wanted to ask was just...erm...well...why? I mean, I don’t really understand why someone of your stature would want to help the opposition.’
‘I am a civil servant, not a politician. I have been a civil servant all my life. What concerns me most is the stability of my country and the best interests of ordinary men and women.’
‘Right. Okay.’
‘You sound sceptical.’
‘No, it’s just...I wouldn’t have taken you for a philanthropist.’
‘Oh, my dear friend, it’s not philanthropy. It’s nationalism. I am a proud citizen of this great country of ours and I want us to be a major power in Central America. I’m afraid that cannot happen until the old uncertainties are resolved. As you know, I served for many years under El Hombrito and I like to think that I served him well. Ladrón brought prosperity and stability to San Doloroso. He was a brutal man, I admit, but he was at least fair. The provisional government care nothing for the people of San Doloroso. They are only interested in their own enrichment. While they remain in power, the country simply cannot progress.’
‘And you’re willing to risk everything to help Antonio Fracaso become leader?’
‘I have always been a gambling man and I see this as an ideal opportunity. All civil servants dream of subverting their government from within and if the government actually deserves it, so much the better. It’s wrong of me, I know, but I gain an enormous amount of satisfaction from undermining the authority of this regime. General Malvado is, I am afraid to say, a deeply unpleasant man.’
‘And you honestly think having me carrying on as I am will help the Freedom Party beat the government on polling day?’
‘Well of course. My dear fellow, you are absolutely vital. I’m sure Señor Fracaso explained it all to you.’
I nodded. ‘I’m here to reassure the Junta that the opposition vote will be split.’
‘Precisely! And when you pull out at the last moment, it will make all the difference to the voting.’
‘And you’re prepared to leave that to chance?’
‘Well, not entirely. We’ll exert pressure here and there, just as the government will. But in the final analysis, it will be a straight fight between Emilio Títere and Antonio Fracaso. You need have no fear on that score. Señor Fracaso is, I am afraid, deeply committed to the principle of fair play.’
‘And you’re not?’
Viscoso smiled. ‘Not entirely. But we do at least share the same goal.’
A sudden thought struck me. ‘Won’t my name still be on the ballot paper? I mean, if I pull out at the last minute.’
‘No, no, no. They’ll draw a line through it at all the polling stations. I assure you, we have thought this through very carefully.’
I had another concern. ‘What about Lolita?’
‘Ah yes. Our dear young friend from the Casa. Are you particularly concerned for the girl?’
‘Well, not...I mean, I wouldn’t want to see her hurt. They might take her out and shoot her if I withdraw from the ballot.’
‘You have a vivid imagination. I assure you, the girl is quite safe. She’s being held in a cell at the Central Police Headquarters. But of course, you know that already. I gather Chief Inspector Lopez has an unhealthy fondness for the girl.’
I nodded unhappily.
‘When the time comes, I can arrange for her to be transferred to a prison on the outskirts of town. Aislado. I believe that’s where remand prisoners are usually held. We can arrange for the vehicle carrying her to be intercepted and then we can spirit her away to a secret location until after the election.’
‘Are you sure that’ll work?’
‘Perfectly. I have the necessary authority and no one will be any the wiser.’
‘And what about me?’
‘We’ll do the same for you, of course. You can both disappear from the face of the earth and let the rest of us worry about the elections. And then afterwards we can arrange for you to return to England and we’ll make sure Lolita Corazón is fully exonerated of any charges against her.’
‘And what about my mother?’
‘Your...? Oh, of course. Do forgive me. I’d almost forgotten about that. You need have no fear there either. I will ensure the return of her ashes as soon as it is practical to do so. I may even be able to persuade the general to return the vase before the election takes place, as a sign of good faith. I can’t promise anything, but I’m sure once I tell him you’ve accepted our little bribe he’ll be feeling quite well disposed towards you.’
That was a sticking point. ‘Erm...I don’t really feel very comfortable accepting money from the government directly.’
‘My dear friend, you must. We need to put the general’s mind at ease. If a little bit of money reassures him of your loyalty it would be foolish to refuse.’
I nodded, reluctantly. ‘Well, it certainly does sound like you’ve got everything covered.’
‘I have done my best. One suggestion I would make, if you don’t mind me being a little impertinent...’
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘You might like to consider a change of address. I am a man of the world, of course, and I understand the attractions that Madam Fulana can offer a young man such as yourself. But it would be easier for us to look after you, and much safer, if you were to relocate yourself.’
‘I was thinking of moving across to the Intercontinental,’ I ventured.
‘That’s one option, certainly. But perhaps you might like to consider staying here.’ Viscoso gestured vaguely to the ranch.
‘Here? Oh, I couldn’t...’
‘I have broached the idea with our delightful host, the young señorita, and she was not disagreeable. I gather she is intending to spend quite a lot of time away, at General Malvado’s residence.’
‘Ah. Right. I see.’ Charlotte’s comments about Malvado were now beginning to make some sense.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, fine. I just...I wouldn’t have thought...’
Viscoso smirked. ‘The general is a man like any other. He has his weaknesses. And Señorita McBride is well practised at exploiting such things.’ For such a scrupulously polite man, Alberto Viscoso had a remarkable talent for putting people down. ‘If she is happy for you to stay here, I think it would be churlish to refuse.’
‘Erm...’
‘Well, promise me you’ll think about it, at th
e very least.’ Viscoso rose to his feet. ‘Shall we return to the house? I expect Señorita McBride will have dressed by now and she did promise us a little afternoon tea...’
Chapter Twenty
Dick Carter had never viewed a sunset at gunpoint.
The ruins at Entierro were swarming with Azulitos. Dick’s escorts had tied his hands behind his back and three of them had forced him to march up a steep hill. Apparently, the hill had once been a pyramid, but it was now so overgrown it was impossible to tell. At the top, he had been made to stand and wait as the sun began to wane on the western horizon. Dick had tried to engage the Azulitos in conversation but every time he opened his mouth one of them would hit him across the head with the butt of a rifle. In the circumstances, all he could do was stand and admire the view.
The ancient city of Entierro is well off the beaten track. It is not a public site and most of it is indistinguishable from virgin forest. Dick had only heard of the place in passing. It lies roughly a hundred and fifty kilometres south east of Toronja. Clearly the ruins had a special significance for the Escoria. Why else would they have brought him here?
He had been picked up that morning as arranged by a small group of men in a battered white van that was probably a colectivo when it was not in active service. There had been surprisingly few problems en route to Entierro. The Azulitos had zigzagged through the back roads winding around the hills and mountains that pepper the region. They had travelled all day – avoiding innumerable roadblocks but hitting a fair number of potholes – before arriving at the ruins just as the sun was beginning to drop.
The sky had reddened now in the aftermath of the sunset. The guards had quietly disappeared – Azulitos are good at disappearing quietly – but another figure had arrived in their place. Dick could hear the man’s slow, steady breathing from behind. There was a tug on the rope that bound his hands but he resisted the temptation to look back. Instead, he turned his attention to the canopy, laid out like a blanket before him. A small fire was burning somewhere close, down on the forest floor. There was a raised area too, in the distance, which Dick could only just see in the fading light. He hadn’t noticed that before. His hands were free now and he pointed down to the large stone platform.
‘Is that where you used to sacrifice your enemies?’
He slapped his neck involuntarily as an insect landed and attempted to draw blood.
‘Blood has been spilt here for hundreds of years,’ the Azulito replied, in a rich, confident voice. ‘Our enemies would be stretched out on that altar and cut across the breast and the thighs. Slowly, we would allow them to bleed. Then, when the moon reached its zenith in the sky, our people would thrust a dagger into the enemy’s chest and tear out his still beating heart. This is a sacred place. It is right that we should come here to plot our revenge.’
Dick waved the mosquitoes from his head and spun around to look at his host. The man was an Escoria, of course, but he was tall for an Azulito. He had a thin moustache and dark but intelligent eyes. ‘Dick Carter,’ the journalist said, proffering a hand.
‘I know who you are. You are the man who helped Father José escape his death.’
Dick lifted up his hands to affirm his innocence. ‘Look, mate. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was your lot who started shooting people.’
‘It is not important. I am Emanuel Cabrón. This is my domain. Come.’ The man gestured for Dick to follow him back down the hill. There was still a little light to see by, but the terrain was difficult and Dick would have preferred to use a torch. Insects continued to swarm around them as they descended the overgrown pyramid. Dusk was always the worst time in the jungle.
A small troop of Azulitos stood waiting at the base of the pyramid. There was nothing but hatred in their blank, unfriendly faces. At the slightest word, Dick knew, any one of them would happily slice his head off. Only Emanuel Cabrón displayed any semblance of humanity.
‘Return his bag,’ Cabrón ordered. The satchel was resting unregarded on the ground. One of the Azulitos picked it up and threw it at the him with obvious disdain. Dick unbuckled the flap and reached inside for his voice recorder. ‘You will not need that,’ Cabrón said. ‘A paper and pencil will suffice.’
Dick grimaced. It was getting a bit dark for shorthand. Cabrón had moved away and was standing by a large stone wall. The journalist followed him, notebook in hand.
‘This wall was built over a thousand years ago,’ the Azulito said. ‘No earthquake has been able to dislodge it. The same cannot be said for colonial buildings. And yet the Spanish had the audacity to try and teach us how to be civilised.’ He gestured for Dick to sit down. A small block jutted out from the ancient wall. Above them, a torch burned in a stone holder. ‘But you are not interested in our culture. You only wish to hear about our revenge.’
Dick settled himself. ‘Mate, I want to know everything. All this religious stuff. Where you get your money from. What kind of relationship you have with the provisional government.’
‘There is no relationship. They tried to buy us with money and power. And we played along, to begin with.’
‘The Junta?’
‘The Junta. After the death of El Hombrito, we came to an arrangement. They would continue to fund our organisation in an unofficial capacity. In exchange, we would carry out their dirty work.’
‘Like the attempt on Father José.’
‘A case in point. They could not be seen to bloody themselves in public. It would not fit with their new orthodoxy of freedom and democracy. They thought to use us as their servants.’
‘But then they got cold feet when everyone over–reacted?’
‘The government is myopic. It cannot see more than two metres in front of itself. That is what comes of being ruled by military minds.’
‘There’s always been an antipathy between the Azulitos and the military, hasn’t there?’
‘El Hombrito established the Azulitos to protect him from military men. He understood the old ways. He knew the meaning of honour and loyalty. He was our leader and he was a great man. But in the end, we failed him, and he died.’
‘You don’t think his death was accidental?’
‘Are you really such a fool? The military assumed power, under the fig leaf of a new constitution. They will not give up that power, under any circumstances. But this we promise: El Hombrito will be avenged.’
‘So why did you support the government after he died?’
‘Because we can see beyond the here and now. This government cannot last. Even Sentido realises that. It was expedient to assist them. It meant the backlash against us was less than it might have been. And it meant we could put our finances in place and withdraw from the public eye for a time. Until we were ready.’
‘And you’re ready now?’
‘We are ready. The government betrayed us, as they betrayed El Hombrito. It was inevitable. We knew they could not bring themselves to trust us for long. How could they? They are little children, frightened of the old ways. They know what we are capable of. And so they cut off the money and they kill our men. Seven more of us, in Lejano, when we were carrying out their instructions. We will not let that go unpunished.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘To hurt them.’
Dick looked up from his notepad. ‘How, exactly?’
‘That you will see for yourself. And soon. Very soon. You are our messenger. That is the message you will carry. The government has declared war by killing our kind. We did not ask for it. But we will respond. And before we are finished, this government will fall and San Doloroso will be awash with blood.’
Chapter Twenty–One
The key was not a perfect fit and I was struggling to insert it into the lock. A policeman stood by the front door, watching my clumsy efforts with thinly veiled contempt. At last, the key slotted into place and with a quick twist the door swung open.
I could hear voices coming from the floor above. That would be
Claudette and Lorena, the two secretaries. Charlotte McBride had introduced them to me a couple of weeks before. These young women were the heart of the PRD building. They manned the phones, opened the mail and politely declined any requests to speak to the party leader. I had already done two interviews and a couple of photo shoots and that was quite enough to be getting on with. But Viscoso had suggested putting my head around the door occasionally to help maintain the fiction of a real political party in action.
Officially, the PRD employed several hundred people. Not all of them were mere names on paper. Claudette and Lorena came into the office three days a week and there were other employees working in towns and villages across San Doloroso. The party had congressional elections to fight in tandem with the battle for the presidency. In theory, this office coordinated every aspect of these activities. In reality, it exerted no influence whatsoever. Each individual unit was set up and run autonomously by individual local candidates, who reported secretly to whichever local government official was responsible for funding in that area. It was a thoroughly corrupt system which left the nominal leader of the party free to campaign as much or as little as he desired. Juan Federico Pelele had been almost as inactive politically as I was. He had simply sat back and allowed the money to roll in. In many ways, he had been a genuine soul mate for Charlotte McBride.
I paused at the top of the stairs. This was the landing where my predecessor had been murdered. Charlotte had kindly pointed out some of the bloodstains to me when she had shown me around. I shivered. Despite Viscoso’s assurances, there was always the possibility that I might join Juan Federico in his grizzly fate.
A police escort followed me everywhere now but their presence was not exactly reassuring. The Metropolitan Police had done little to protect any of the other political leaders. The memory of those three wooden coffins at the churchyard haunted me still.
In the front office, one of the secretaries was rifling through some post. That was Lorena, a plump Hispanic woman in her mid twenties. Claudette, a tall black woman, was perched on a padded sofa, busily painting her nails. The two women greeted me with an obvious lack of excitement. I think I must have interrupted their conversation. ‘Any messages?’ I asked.
