The Pineapple Republic
Page 20
The officers lifted their hands warily. Lolita herded them into the broom cupboard, locked the door and let out a yelp of triumph.
Viscoso and the others were heading for the Plaza Mayor. Lolita had overheard them talking about it. She would follow them there as quickly as she could and she would do her damnedest to rescue her friend. After two and a half months of confinement, Lolita Corazón was finally free.
Charlotte stood over the small grave of Juan Federico Pelele. Somebody had placed flowers there. She didn’t know who. She stared down at the inscription on the tombstone and tried not to look at her watch. The graveyard was the only legitimate place she could think of to bump into a fellow Briton.
There was no one watching the church. Charlotte had kept a careful eye on the rear–view mirror as she had driven into town. She had been out shopping, just as she had told her manservant. What could be more natural than stopping by afterwards and paying her respects to a former lover? Admittedly, Charlotte hadn’t been back to the church since the day of the funeral, but grief does funny things to a person.
Nonetheless, she was grateful when Dick Carter finally arrived. He wasn’t late, of course. The man is never late. Charlotte had turned up at the graveside ten minutes early, wearing a pair of dark glasses. Dick had had the same idea.
For a couple of seconds, the two of them stood next to each other, staring down at the grave.
Charlotte grimaced. For a brief moment, she regretted having phoned the journalist. Even an off–the–record conversation was a betrayal and General Malvado had been good to her. But there had been something deeply unnerving about the way he had spoken to her that morning. She had seen the coldness in his eyes and an icy shiver had rippled through her. She had always known that General Malvado was something less than saintly. He had been responsible for quite a lot of unpleasantness over the years. But while that unpleasantness was restricted to people Charlotte didn’t know, it had always been possible to ignore it. This, though, was different. ‘Something bad is going to happen at the Ayuntamiento this afternoon.’
Dick chuckled. ‘What, you mean Emilio might get elected?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘No, I mean apart from the election.’
The journalist was sceptical. ‘The Azulitos won’t try anything. They’re rooting for the PRD. And no one else has got anything to gain. The government want a clean bill of health from the commission and the opposition want to win fair and square. Nobody wants any trouble. And all of Malvado’s cronies will be there. Emilio. Viscoso. You name it. Antonio Fracaso. Several high ranking government ministers, so rumour has it.’
‘I know,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Maybe it’s just my imagination. But Freddie made a point of telling me to steer clear of City Hall and there was something about the way he said it. As if he knew something dreadful was going to happen.’
‘And you think he’s planning it?’
Charlotte closed her eyes. ‘Yes I do.’
Dick frowned. ‘But he’s already got the winning hand. He’s got everybody going who needs to be there. He’s got the PRD undermining the Freedom Party vote. What else would he need to plan for?’
‘I don’t know, Dick. But he’s not going there himself. And Freddie always goes to political rallies. I can’t explain it, but I just know a lot of people are going to get hurt.’
Dick shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. He’s not going to start shooting when his own people might get killed in the crossfire.’
‘Emilio’s going to be there,’ Charlotte conceded. ‘He would never hurt Emilio.’
Dick considered this for a moment. ‘Maybe that’s it,’ he said. ‘Maybe he would hurt Emilio, if it meant the election was called off altogether. If he’s getting cold feet. Blow the place to kingdom come and blame the Azulitos. That’d wrong foot the Americans. He could declare a state of emergency and postpone the elections indefinitely.’
‘But he wouldn’t kill his own people,’ Charlotte protested, half–heartedly. ‘He’s a soldier. Loyalty is very important to him.’
‘Look, love, I don’t mean to bad mouth your boyfriend, but I think he’d do more or less anything to keep himself in power. And if that meant killing damn near everybody in the capital, then that’s what he’d do.’
Charlotte took a deep breath. Why did life have to get so complicated? ‘Can we stop him?’ she asked.
Dick scratched his head. ‘Well, if he’s going to do anything, he going to do it when all the politicians are gathered together.’
‘What time is that?’
‘About three o’clock.’ Dick glanced at his watch.
‘What time is it now?’ Charlotte asked.
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
General Malvado had several large offices in the labyrinth of buildings that constituted Government House. The largest were kept for formal occasions; meetings with foreign leaders and ambassadors. Several conference rooms were also available. But Malvado reserved a smaller office for his day-to-day affairs. He had a secretary on the door – one of his most loyal tenientes – and there were a dozen more reliable men between him and the outside world. Only a handful of people could pass through all these functionaries and demand the general’s direct attention. The four other leaders, of course, had ready access. Each had their own office nearby. Alberto Viscoso was in and out all the time, although this afternoon he was acting as an escort for yours truly. One or two other senior civil servants were also permitted inside and the Commissioner of Police was welcome to request an audience at any time.
Chief Inspector Lopez was not part of this charmed inner circle; but in extreme circumstances the inspector had the aggression to cow even the most belligerent of officials. And this was one such day.
‘I must see the general,’ Lopez demanded urgently. ‘We’ve uncovered a plot to assassinate the Junta. Malvado must be informed at once.’ He neglected to add that he was one of the assassins.
‘I’m sorry,’ a young teniente protested, ‘the general is not to be disturbed.’
‘Listen, Sunny Jim, I can have you taken out and shot. I have can have you put up against a wall, with your wife and children watching. And then I can have them executed as well. Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.’
In this manner, Lopez blustered his way into the outer office. The inspector did not bother to argue with the last functionary. He simply slit the man’s throat, locked the outside door and moved through into the main office.
General Malvado was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk. He glanced up in irritation. Chief Inspector Lopez was the last person he would have expected to walk through the door unannounced. ‘Lopez, what the hell are you doing here?’ he demanded. ‘How dare you burst in like this!’
‘It’s important, general. I had to see you at once.’
‘It had better be. What is it, Lopez? You should be overseeing security at the Ayuntamiento.’
‘I have deputies,’ the inspector replied, with a distinct lack of respect. ‘This is more important.’
‘I don’t like your tone, Lopez.’
‘I don’t give a damn what you like. I’m not here to talk, Malvado.’ Quietly, Lopez removed a revolver from the holster at his waist and pointed it at the general.
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ Malvado asked, his voice unnaturally calm.
‘You’re a dead man, Malvado. Make your peace with the world.’
‘Inspector, this is Government House. Every word we say is being listened to and recorded. My men will be here in a matter of seconds and you will be shot dead.’
‘Do you think I care? Listen, Sunny Jim, it’s all over. You’re history. This government is history. One way or another, we’re taking over.’
‘You?’ the general scoffed.
‘The Azulitos. We’ve got it all rigged. I’m not the only assassin. And there’s nothing you can do. I volunteered to come here and put a bullet in your head.’
‘Insulting me isn’t very clever, general.’
‘It hardly matters if you’re going to kill me. And then what? You and your Azulito rabble are going to take over the government?’
‘We’re going to win this election and we’re going to rule San Doloroso. El Hombrito will live again. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.’
‘You’re a fool Lopez. Nobody’s going to win this election. There isn’t going to be an election. In a few minutes time the leaders of all the main political parties will gather in the Plaza Mayor. And there they will all be killed in a terrorist atrocity for which the Azulitos will be held responsible. The provisional government will declare a state of emergency and postpone the elections indefinitely. And not even the Americans will raise a voice in protest. You’re too late, Lopez. Kill me if you like, but the provisional government has already won.’
There was an uncomfortable pause.
‘You’re bluffing,’ Lopez said.
‘I don’t tell lies to idiots like you. I wouldn’t waste the energy.’
‘A terrorist atrocity?’ The inspector tried to sound scornful, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
‘A nasty little surprise I’ve had implanted in the wiring of the Ayuntamiento,’ Malvado said.
Lopez grunted in disbelief. ‘What, you mean explosives?’
‘Nothing so crude. Unlike you Escoria, I am blessed with a little imagination. If you’re going to kill me, I suggest you do it now.’
The inspector stepped forward. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this,’ he admitted. He took careful aim and fired the revolver at point blank range. Malvado’s head was almost completely obliterated.
Ten seconds later, the general’s men burst into the office and Chief Inspector Lopez was cut down in a flash of ammunition. He did not return fire.
~ ~ ~
The guards disappeared as the car pulled up on the outskirts of the main square. I peered nervously out through the shaded windows. There were lots of people in the streets. Alberto Viscoso smiled and gestured for me to get out of the car. His supporters would already be mingling with the crowd. If I made a move to get away, I would be shot dead before I got ten yards.
The Plaza Mayor was choked with dutiful citizens. I had never seen the place so full. Even the transport demo – which I had watched on television – had not managed to bring so many people out onto the streets. For a brief moment, it made my heart glad to see the ordinary citizens of San Doloroso turning out in such numbers to participate in the country’s first democratic election. Then I remembered that it was not intended to be democratic at all.
The press caught sight of us as soon as we entered the square. The police cleared a passage through the crowd to the front of the Ayuntamiento. I eyed them suspiciously. Viscoso claimed to have selected most of the police officers himself. They were all Azulito sympathisers. Any one of them might also serve as my executioner.
A flood of people were bubbling in and out of the huge double doors at the front of City Hall.
Emilio Títere, the government candidate, was arriving from the opposite direction, surrounded by soldiers. He had made the mistake of trying to drive a Rolls Royce into the plaza. It hadn’t got him very far. He halted at the steps of the Ayuntamiento and waved at the crowd. His bright teeth, confident eyes and superbly groomed moustache presented a perfect image of benevolent control.
Antonio Fracaso was already inside the building, looking somewhat less confident. Journalists clustered around the opposition leader as he proceeded into a booth to cast his vote.
What the assembled media wanted most of all, though, was a shot of all three political leaders together.
The interior of City Hall was less crowded than the square outside. The flow of people was more regimented here and there was a careful separation between officials and the general public.
Viscoso guided me gently towards the polling booths.
Fracaso emerged from one of them and caught sight of me. I could see the resentment burning in his eyes as he went over to place his voting slip in the ballot box. In all honesty, who could blame him? I had probably just cost him the election.
~ ~ ~
Dick and Charlotte were now heading at some speed towards the Plaza Mayor. They had not been able to get anywhere near the centre of town in Dick’s Beetle, so they had abandoned the car and continued on foot. The vase in Dick’s holdall was banging awkwardly against his hip as he ran. Other people were heading in the same direction. A few children pointed at the journalist and laughed. He had chosen the wrong day to wear knee–length lime–green Bermuda shorts. At least he was wearing sandals on his feet. Charlotte, in her six–inch stiletto heels, was having difficulty keeping up.
Ahead of them, the crowds were thickening. A carnival atmosphere was beginning to develop. Dick cut down a side street – he knew a short cut that would bring them out right behind the Ayuntamiento – but it took the two of them a further five minutes to get within sight of City Hall. There were still lots of people milling about. Dick was not the only one who knew about the short cut. Within a hundred yards of the back of the building, he stumbled across five badly parked mopeds. Up ahead, he could see a small clump of men running down the footpath alongside the edge of City Hall. The men were short and wearing baseball caps, but they were not brandishing machetes.
Dick was too late. Whatever General Malvado was planning, he had already made his move.
Daniel Parr, the Daily Herald correspondent, was standing with several other journalists outside the Ayuntamiento. He was just about to make his way forward, up the steps and into the chamber, when Malvado’s elite squad sprinted around the corner and opened fire. The men were dressed as Azulitos but they were nothing of the sort. They were not even Escoria, though they had been selected for their diminutive stature and wore masks to disguise their appearance. The general had been determined to let the Azulitos take the blame for the upcoming atrocity. Nothing but the closest inspection would have given the game away.
Automatic rifles spat bullets into the crowd. A cluster of journalists was to the fore. People screamed and began to run. Daniel Parr, propped up precariously on a pair of plastic crutches, was knocked down by panicking voters and trampled underfoot. It was an ignoble return to the field for a much–respected journalist.
The mock Azulitos were not the only people with guns. The regular soldiers at the entrance to City Hall immediately returned fire, despite the many civilians between them and the attackers. Their weaponry was the equal of Malvado’s squad, but none of their bullets seemed to strike home. In fact, the soldiers had been issued with dummy rounds, under direct order from General Malvado. The soldiers had not been informed of this, however, and were now unable to defend themselves.
It was not a pitched battle. It was a massacre.
The police, on the outskirts of the plaza, had revolvers with live ammunition. Shots were fired, but the men in green were slow to react. Most of the officers on duty were Azulito sympathisers. Viscoso had selected as many of them as he dared in order to assist his own plans. The sudden “Azulito” attack had taken them by surprise and the policemen were reluctant to open fire.
In less than ninety seconds, all of the regular soldiers had been killed and Malvado’s men were taking up position on the outer steps of the Ayuntamiento. Two of them stood at the door and fired out once more into the panic–struck crowd. The others went into the lobby, let off a round of ammunition into the main hall and then began to shut the large metal interior doors. Everyone in the vicinity was forced inside the building. The doors were closed behind them and solidly locked. A huge metal bar was brought down to keep the doors in place. Any stragglers left in the lobby were then ruthlessly cut down.
The squad returned to the front steps of City Hall and fired outwards again, to discourage any further resistance. Their order
s were simple: hold position for fifteen minutes and then withdraw. Each of the soldiers was carrying false Azulito identity papers. Whether or not Malvado expected them to escape was a moot point. The senior man radioed through to his colleagues on the other side of the Ayuntamiento.
A white van was parked a little way down the back alley. The vehicle was similar to the one that had been stationed outside the offices of the Freedom Party. This van, however, was not packed with explosives. Two live operatives were seated in the front cabin. One carried a small radio transmitter, which he clutched tightly to his chest. All he needed to do was enter a six–digit code. And now there was no reason to delay.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I had heard the gun battle on the front steps of City Hall and seen the scuffling at the far end; but as with the rest of the people inside the building, I had not the slightest idea what was going on. Then the heavy metals doors closed shut and we were entombed.
Alberto Viscoso seemed as surprised as anyone. He hadn’t been expecting gunfire. There were policemen standing by to kill me if necessary, but nobody else was meant to start shooting.
‘What’s going on?’ Emilio Títere demanded.
‘I wish I knew,’ Viscoso admitted, his expression grave. This, more than anything else, disturbed me profoundly. Alberto Viscoso had always been one step ahead of everyone. If he didn’t know what was going on then we were in real trouble.
Several people had tried to force open the internal doors, to no effect. Now a small group of policemen and soldiers, who were trapped with the rest of us, decided to go and check on the fire door at the rear of the building. This was the only other way out.
‘Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me for one moment.’ Viscoso hurried off with the men in uniform.
I was left alone with Emilio and Antonio Fracaso. My mind was reeling. Was somebody trying to kill us? If so, why lock us inside? The only plausible explanation I could think of was another Azulito attack.
Emilio had caught a glimpse of the men at the front entrance. He had seen the t–shirts and the baseball caps. ‘They want to wreck the whole election.’