Renaldo (29 page)

was gone in an instant, before he could say a word. He was still sitting where

she had left him when she reentered the room.

“You have balls, Señor De Seta, that is for sure! Unfortunately for both of

us, I will not be playing with them during the course of your indoctrination.

You must be singular in your purpose and actions. There will be no distractions

whatsoever. Don’t think of trying any funny stuff. You will use your brain over

the next two weeks. The rest of your anatomy can wait until you have proven

yourself to be worthy. You can stand up and stretch now, use the facilities if you

need to. I will get us a cold drink, then we will get to it.”

The remainder of the afternoon and into the early evening resembled

one of Celeste’s tutorials. They sat at her desk together, studying transcripts,

documents, and texts on the Montonero movement in Argentina. Any passage

that was anti-Montonero in stance was boldly highlighted in marker pen,

and Celeste would offer a firm rebuttal to the ‘lies’ that the junta forced into

publication.

Lonnie was an attentive student, although Celeste’s proximity to him

proved distracting at times. He had the urge to take her in his arms, throw

her on the bed, and ravish her several times. She, however, was nothing but

business. When Celeste realized that his concentration was waning, she told

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RENALDO

him to go home and get a good night’s sleep. He asked her if he could take

some of the documents home with him, to refresh his memory as to certain

particular facts. Her answer shocked him.

“Lonnie, you could be imprisoned or worse just for having these transcripts

in your possession. If someone in your household found them, a maid, your

mother, whoever, you would have far too much explaining to do. If you were

to be stopped by the police on your way home and they found any subversive

literature on you, there would be hell to pay. You are not properly versed on our

methods of denial yet. What to say if and when you are stopped, and believe

me, you
will
be stopped. One of your first visits will be to a dentist who is

friendly to our cause. He will perform certain dental surgery on you that will

provide you with an escape mechanism should you be caught and tortured. A

hidden cyanide pill under one of your molars. All of us have them. Believe me,

it is better than living through the hell that they inflict upon their prisoners.

Both my brothers that were here today have been tortured. Did you wonder

why Jean Pierre did not speak to you? It is because a local police captain in

Tucumán thought it would be funny to cut off his tongue when he still refused

to talk, after two days of beatings and torture. I took care of that bastard

personally. He never lived long enough to torture anyone else. My other two

brothers, whom Serge referred to, were lucky. They were blown to bits instantly

when a government tank sent a shell through the front door of my parents’

home without warning one night a few years ago. We must always be on guard.

One never knows who one’s friends are, or who the informants are.

Tomorrow we will talk of our immediate plans. I will tell you this much

now, though. You will need a fair bit of money at your disposal. You will get

your own flat, nondescript, in one of the working-class barrios. You will also

need a car, something used that will fit into your new surroundings. And your

clothes…no more designer fashions for you, my preppy clotheshorse. You are a

man of the revolution now, and you will dress the part. Go home, get some rest.

I want you here at twelve noon tomorrow. We have a lot to do. Oh, by the way,

the other new thing that you will need is a new name. Think about that. See if

you can come up with a good alias for yourself. Nothing too cute, though. Now

get out of here. I’m tired!”

Celeste left him standing at the entrance to her flat without so much as

a handshake. She disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door forcefully

behind her.

133

Señor Gordero will see you now, gentlemen.” An immaculately tailored

business executive stood before the two visitors that waited anxiously in

the posh reception hall of A.R. Gordero and Sons, SA.
The man’s warm

smile is meant to relax us,
Renaldo thought to himself. But by this time, the

whole atmosphere surrounding the anticipated, yet unexpected, audience with

Astor Gordero had frayed the boy’s nerves to the point of physical illness.

Even as Renaldo and Estes Santos entered the Gordero Building, a

beautiful Parisian-style edifice on the corner of Santa Fe Avenue and Avenida

Nueve de Julio in the heart of the capital’s financial district, they still could not

believe that this meeting was actually taking place. Renaldo had awaited the

news informing him of its cancellation with every ring of the telephone over the

past fortnight. But such tidings were not forthcoming. So now he and Estes had

donned their best business suits and proceeded to walk over fate’s threshold.

What awaited them there was something that neither man had foreseen.

The beautiful receptionist and her stunning assistant who served them

coffee during their forty-five-minute wait for some word from the inner sanctum

only added to the overwhelming atmosphere of monied savoir faire. Had these

women been in any other situation, Estes would have been all over them, trying

his macho charm on for size. Not here, though. He sat staring at the same page

of the morning newspaper for the entire interlude, perspiration dotting his

brow. The appearance of the nattily dressed executive had ended their tedium,

but at the same time had increased their terror.

“I apologize for the delay, gentlemen. Please come this way. Señor Gordero

had some last-minute details to attend to. I am Herr Wolfgang Stoltz, Señor

Gordero’s executive assistant. I trust the ladies were attentive to your needs

while you were waiting?”

Stoltz led the two men through a single doorway leaving the reception area

behind, then down a long mahogany paneled hallway covered with priceless

artwork. Not a single window or door interrupted the continuous flow of fine

art on polished wood as they proceeded toward an ornate double portal at

the end of the corridor. It was just outside this entranceway that Herr Stoltz

stopped and addressed the two visitors.

“Let me say personally, gentlemen, how grateful I am for your actions that

day in Cordoba. To risk your own lives to save Señor Gordero was an act of true

JAMES McCREATH

heroism. I assure you that neither Señor Gordero nor I will ever forget that.

Normally, I would have been there, at his side. I handle all Señor Gordero’s

affairs, both corporate and private. I am also a great fan of the game of football.

We never miss a Prefect match together. Unfortunately, I had come down with

a severe case of influenza only the day before the championship final and was,

therefore, indisposed. Luckily, you gentlemen performed my usual task, which

often involves getting my employer out of uncomfortable situations. For that,

once again, I am truly grateful!”

Renaldo stood silently in the hallway accepting this stranger’s words of

thanks. The man spoke in precise, clipped sentences, flavored with a heavy

German accent. Herr Stoltz was, perhaps, in his mid-fifties, around six feet in

height, his thinning blond hair cropped short and styled to perfection. He wore

an expensive, double-breasted grey suit, rimless metal-framed glasses, and had

nurtured a blond, pencil-thin mustache, again trimmed just so.
A handsome,

efficient man
, Renaldo concluded
, with a touch of Teutonic arrogance thrown in for

good measure
. His words of gratitude having been extended, Herr Stoltz turned

and led the two nervous saviors through those portals of destiny.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, come in, please. It is so good to see you again.”

With that, Astor Gordero broke into a verse of the Prefect fight song

that had caused them all so much trouble in Cordoba. He stopped singing

as he embraced each man in turn, and again welcomed them to his “humble

establishment.” Neither Renaldo nor Estes had noticed the person sitting in the

high-backed chair in front of Gordero’s desk.

“And now, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Miss Simone Yvonne

Montana Carta-Aqua. You, perhaps, know of her more prominently by her

stage name, Symca. My dear, please meet Señor Renaldo De Seta and Señor

Estes Santos.”

The lady extended her hand toward the younger of two men in the

traditional Latin greeting, but the boy did not attempt to grasp it. He simply

stood there awestruck, unable to move or speak.

“Allow me, Señorita.” Estes Santos quickly reached for the lady’s gloved

hand, raised it to his lips, and caressed it ever so gently. “I am afraid my young

friend is afflicted with a severe case of idol worship, Señorita. It is a malady that

has consumed the vast majority of his peers as well. And if the truth be known,

even a man of my age is aware of the fact that you, Señorita, are the number one

recording star in all of Argentina. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Estes continued to hold her hand as the charming rhetoric flowed from his

lips.

“Thank you, Señor, you are most kind. I hope that the young man will

be alright, though. Señor Gordero has promised to take us all to lunch once

your business is concluded, and I would hate for him to miss a meal the likes of

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RENALDO

which the Jockey Club will provide for us. Perhaps you could bring him some

water, Wolfgang! Astor, I will now make those phone calls you requested from

your other office. Don’t be too long, gentlemen, for I am famished, and it is not

polite to keep a lady waiting.”

Only Renaldo’s eyes followed the lady’s sultry walk as she left the room,

for he continued to be unable to move. It was The Fat Man’s insistent prompting

that brought him back to his senses.

“Please, gentlemen, please be seated. I have some interesting news for you

both.”

Astor Gordero gestured to the chair that his female visitor had just vacated

and its matching adjacent clone. He nestled his large body into an oversized

swivel chair that sat behind his mammoth antique desk. Wolfgang Stoltz made

himself comfortable on a small couch to the visitors’ right, notebook and pen

in hand.

“I am sorry that this meeting could not have been held sooner, but that

in no way diminishes the gratitude that I extend to you both for saving my life

in Cordoba. It is only due to your swift and unselfish actions that I am sitting

here today at all. I wanted to make sure that I could show you my appreciation

to the fullest extent possible. It was only yesterday that I became certain that I

could give you both what you so richly deserve.

“Gentlemen, this is a great day for Argentina. It will be announced later

this afternoon that FIFA’s World Cup Organizing Committee has agreed to

fully sanction the World Cup Tournament here in Argentina, commencing

in June. As you are no doubt aware, there has been much criticism of our

National Organizing Committee’s accomplishments and progress to date,

both from the international press and from the competing foreign football

associations as well. Those Brazilian bastards have done everything that they

can to steal the tournament away from us. And those European crybabies, the

Dutch and the English, they say that their insurance companies won’t take the

risk of insuring their players if they come to Argentina because of the rampant

political terrorism here. What bullshit! When is the last time you saw anyone

gunned down on the streets of Buenos Aires? Anyone that didn’t deserve it, I

should say.”

He paused to catch his breath and also to laugh at his morbid little joke.

“Well, all this subterfuge didn’t work. FIFA president João Havelange, the

only decent Brazilian on the face of this earth, is staking his career on our

promise that we will be ready on time, and we will! I am on our organizing

committee, and I know the daunting tasks before us. But the junta has declared

the tournament to be of national importance. Economically, more than eighty

thousand well-heeled visitors will arrive here to spend their hard-earned cash.

Nothing will stop us from taking it from them, nothing! We will be ready!”

13

JAMES McCREATH

Again, Gordero paused to catch his breath. This time he studied

the reactions of the two men in front of him before proceeding. When he

was certain that his words were making the proper impact, he continued.

“Unfortunately, while I am one hundred percent certain that our stadiums,

hotels, and communications facilities will be in peak working form next June,

I am much less certain about the readiness of our national football squad. The