Renaldo (45 page)

bank, stay in the car, motor running, open front and back passenger doors

slightly. Yes, I’ve got it so far.”

“Good, now do it. Pull across the street and stop for just a second in front

of the bank. I will tell you when to stop.” Lonnie put the car in gear and waited

for a break in the traffic.

“Good, right here. This is where you will wait. Between the third and

forth column. Now drive on east and check your map. We turn right off the

main thoroughfare at the first intersection, cross the railway tracks, and then

left. Drive past Pirovano Hospital and onto the entrance ramp to Avenida del

Tejar. Then it’s back to Avenida General Paz and on to your rented garage in

Versailles. Now here is the first turn, take a right.”

They drove the whole escape route to the point where they were to enter

del Tejar again. Serge told Lonnie that speed was only important in making the

very first turn. Once they were out of the sight-lines of the curious onlookers,

not to mention any guns that were pointed at them, Lonnie should drive at

the speed limit so as to not attract attention. Unless they were being pursued,

that is.

They were now back in the parking lot, in front of the bank. It was eight

minutes to three. Serge and Jean Pierre clicked open their briefcases and slapped

ammunition clips into their Uzzi submachine guns. They cocked the breech

levers, sending the first bullet into the chamber. Celeste, who was wearing a

pretty pink sundress, pulled a Heckler and Koch .45 caliber pistol equipped

with a silencer from her native Indian handbag. She, likewise, loaded and

cocked her weapon, then returned it to its original location. Serge then handed

her two grenades, which she quickly placed with the pistol.

“You had better do the same, Lonnie. Where is your shotgun? If anyone

tries to move you from in front of the bank, stall for time until you see us

coming, then waste the bastard. Use your pistol first, if your assailant is only one

person. But if more than one, use the shotgun. Are you loaded up and ready?”

Lonnie was ready, having loaded both his weapons before leaving Versailles.

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“Yes, I’m all set. The shotgun is under my seat, ready for action. The nine

millimeter is in my shoulder holster right here. I’m ready. Good luck!”

Celeste bent forward and kissed him tenderly. “Good luck, my terrorist

cowboy. Promise you’ll wait for me. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll wait, you can bet your life on it.” He returned her kiss, then she

opened the car door and stepped out. Serge again leaned forward from the rear

seat and held out his hand for Lonnie to take.

It was the first time that the driver had a chance to study the man’s features.

His eyes were hidden by reflective sunglasses, but the rookie terrorist thought

that he saw a flash of something, compassion, sorrow, empathy, something,

through those dark lenses. Serge’s bearded face was foreboding, traces of scars

evident beneath the growth. His teeth were somewhat crooked and yellow, and

the overall impression of this man was of someone not to mess with.

The voice seemed strangely out of context with the person. So practical,

reassuring, and full of knowledge . . . like a schoolteacher or priest. But it was

totally at odds with his rugged, almost terrifying physical appearance.

Lonnie grasped the man’s hand, then the three Lavalles were standing

together in the parking lot. Jean Pierre was the surprise. He had simply tapped

Lonnie on the shoulder twice as he exited the Corvair. A mute sign of approval,

Lonnie figured.

He was young, tall, and handsome in appearance, with none of the outward

signs of torture that his brother exhibited. He could have been a fashion model,

dressed in his navy blue Italian suit, his brown hair parted in the middle and

swept long to either side. Boyish good looks that concealed the heart of a

terrorist, ready to die for the cause. Celeste suddenly broke ranks and stuck her

head in through the front passenger window.

“Here, take one of these. It might come in handy if things get sticky.”

She tossed a pineapple-shaped grenade onto the front seat beside Lonnie’s right

thigh, smiled, blew him a kiss, and joined her brothers, who were starting their

walk to the curb.

“I’ll add it to my collection!” he called out after her. There was no

acknowledgment of his last remark.

Here we go!
thought Lonnie. He reached under his seat and adjusted the

Merkel shotgun for easy access. The driver observed his comrades cross the

street, stride up the two tiers of steps, and disappear into the bank. He looked

down at his watch. “Three minutes to Hell,” he said out loud.

The three Lavalles entered the bank and immediately went to their

assigned locations. Celeste ignored the long line and went directly to the teller

nearest the door. Serge went to the narrow desk used to fill out withdrawal or

deposit slips, opened his briefcase and waited for his cue. Jean Pierre strode up

to the armed security guard standing just inside the entrance and handed the

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man a note. The customer’s clean-cut appearance, along with the contents of the

note, set the guard at ease temporarily.

The small piece of paper contained the following message: ‘Good day,

Señor. I am unable to talk, having recently had my tonsils operated on.

Could you kindly direct me to the manager’s office, for I have a three o’clock

appointment.’ As the guard raised his arm to point in the direction that this

young businessman should proceed in, Jean Pierre slid his right hand into his

suit jacket pocket. He grasped a set of brass knuckles firmly, then smashed his

armored fist into the unsuspecting security officer’s nose.

The guard dropped like a stone, blood spurting profusely from the cavity

that used to be his nasal passage. Jean Pierre relieved him of his military issue

revolver, pulled a set of handcuffs from his other jacket pocket, rolled the guard

over on to his stomach, and cuffed his hands behind his back.

As Celeste pushed her way to the front of the queue, several of the people

she had passed objected vigorously. One military colonel in particular asked,

“What gives you the right to have your affairs dealt with before the people that

have waited patiently for their turn at the teller’s window?”

She smiled sweetly at the officer, then slowly withdrew the handgun from

her satchel.

“This, Señor Colonel, gives me the right, and the authority, to do anything

I want to do. Now, hand me your wallet for starters, and the rest of you people,

down on the floor.”

Serge’s cue was the felling of the guard. The instant he saw Jean Pierre

drop the unfortunate man, he pulled his cocked Uzzi from the briefcase and

blasted several rounds into the bank’s ornate cathedral ceiling. Screams of panic

filled the banking hall, followed by a strange silence. Once again, it was Serge

that did the talking.

“Everyone lie down on the floor right now and you will not get hurt.

This bank is being liberated by the people’s movement of Argentina. We are

Montoneros, and we have come to remind all of you that the revolution lives.

It will never die until justice and equality for the working man is realized.

The junta uses the money in this bank to buy weapons to oppress the common

people. We will use this money to buy food and shelter for the common people.

We are asking every one of you to make a donation. Take out your wallets and

pocketbooks and lay them on the floor beside you. Each of the donors will

receive a letter of gratitude in the mail. The people of Argentina thank you.”

Since dispatching the security guard, Jean Pierre had leapt behind the

teller’s counter and was systematically emptying the cash drawers of their

coveted pesos. Celeste was filling her handbag with the personal property of the

bank’s unlucky patrons, while Serge continued his oration on the evils of the

military government and the hope of equality for the working class through

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violent revolution. Their work completed, Jean Pierre and Celeste joined their

elder brother a few feet inside the entrance way.

“Savor this moment, my brother and sister. See the scourge of this nation

groveling at your feet, begging for mercy. It makes my heart soar with pride.”

He took a longing glance around the austere room, then turned his attention to

address the prostrate throng.

“Now, do not move or try to follow us. We have planted explosives at the

door to the bank. They will be detonated if anyone leaves this building. Stay

where you are if you want to see another sunrise. Viva la revolution!”

Those words had barely passed Serge’s lips when the three ‘liberators’

turned and flew through the entrance doors and down the first tier of steps. On

the landing between the two flights they halted as one, Celeste delving into her

handbag and retrieving a can of fluorescent red spray paint. Since she was the

artistic member of the family, she proceeded to spray the word ‘Montoneros’ on

the lower five steps of the top tier. It all took a matter of seconds, and when the

pretty terrorist had completed her artistry, she reached into her satchel for one

last important object.

Tucked safely in a side pocket so as not to become lost in the jumble of

wallets and other paraphernalia, the rippled metal of the hand grenade felt cool

in her palm. Her brothers were waiting for her, and as she stood erect clutching

the deadly sphere, the three, in unison, pulled the safety pins and hurled

the lethal pineapples toward the entrance doors. Without waiting for their

devastating effect to occur, the Montoneros turned and fled in the direction of

the idling, rust-colored Chevy Corvair.

Lonnie had done his job to perfection. No one had interfered with the

unseemly little car as it sat in front of the majestic establishment. He had been

parked less than a minute when the Lavalles came running down the steps past

the columns.

The driver was shocked to see them halt, however, and it was only upon

witnessing Celeste’s artistic talents that he began to comprehend what they

were doing. The baseball-like throw to home plate startled him once again, but

his compatriots were safely inside the vehicle and half a block from the Banco

before the first explosion and repercussion shattered the mid-afternoon calm.

They had turned the first corner of the escape route and eased up on their

speed before anyone spoke.

“Good job, Lonnie. I knew we could count on you. Is everyone alright?”

Big brother Serge was still in control, always the leader, always the protector.

Celeste leaned over and kissed Lonnie’s cheek.

“A piece of cake, wasn’t it boys?” she laughed. “I think that there will be

a lot of soiled trousers inside the Banco Nacional this afternoon. I wish that

I owned a dry cleaning establishment in the area.” Lonnie and Serge laughed

heartily.

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“Did you like my message, darling?” Celeste squeezed Lonnie’s thigh.

“I can’t believe you had the balls to do that! Oops, wrong choice of words,

I guess.” They all laughed again, except for Jean Pierre, who slapped the back

of the driver’s seat to show his approval.

Serge continued to monitor the road behind them as well as Lonnie’s speed

and direction. There was no pursuit, and the foursome made it unmolested

back to the safe garage in Versailles. There, they laid out the contents of the

day’s take on the hood of the Corvair. When the final tally was done, the take

amounted to over sixteen million pesos, or two hundred thousand U.S. dollars.

The Montoneros celebrated with a bottle of local champagne that Serge had

brought along, then the three Lavalles changed into outfits similar to that of

Lonnie’s. Working class apparel had previously been stored in the garage for

this occasion. They removed the stolen license plates that had been mounted

on the Corvair just for the heist and affixed the original plates registered to

Señor Marco Figueroa. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order, Serge

addressed the group one final time.

“You should all be very proud of what we accomplished today. Not only

did we succeed in showing the whole nation that the people’s movement is still

alive and strong, but we garnered an incredible sum of money right from under

the noses of the military, without the loss of one human life. That is something

to tell your grandchildren.” The leader stopped to take a large swallow of

the champagne in celebration. Wiping a few errant drops from his beard, he

cautioned his followers.

“We must be extremely careful from this moment on. The search for us

will be massive. Lonnie, I would suggest that you and Celeste take a vacation

together. Is there somewhere safe that they know you? Somewhere that no one

will be suspicious when you suddenly show up? I would advise you to re-adopt