Renaldo (59 page)

He was now a true soldier, for he had struck a coup alone and earned his

warrior’s feather. Three words told the whole story. Three words that affirmed

that he would be a fugitive until the end of his days. Three words . . . Miguel

Tobias Panizo.

It was Señor Panizo’s unfortunate fate to be the under secretary for

economic coordination and a labor specialist at the beginning of April, 1978.

It was also his unfortunate fate to be targeted for assassination by a dissident

cadre of the Montonero movement. The evolution of this terrorist splinter group

threatened to disrupt the plans of the junta for a peaceful and bloodless World

Cup Tournament. The same evolution also disrupted the plans of Lonnie De

Seta.

The splinter group was formed the instant that the three grenades exploded

outside the Banco Nacional in February. That six people would die had been

unexpected, but the public outrage and condemnation of the ‘barbarous act’

had exceeded anything seen in modern Argentina.

An official day of mourning was proclaimed by the junta, and all the

dead were given full military honors. The press uniformly called for stepped-

up antisubversive action on the part of the military, and Lonnie knew that he

had been lucky to escape the sweeping police dragnet. That was not the worst

of it, however.

JAMES McCREATH

The most shocking after effect of the Banco Nacional job was the complete

denial and disassociation of the Montonero leaders from any knowledge of, or

responsibility for the ‘tragedy.’ The very men to whom Serge and Jean Pierre

had dropped off the bank’s bounty had called a local radio station that same

night to disavow any relationship to those responsible. The man that made

that call, Adolfo Bertoni, had reaffirmed his earlier pledge of abstention from

violent acts in preparation for, as well as during, the World Cup tournament.

The problem was that Adolfo Bertoni was a two-faced liar.

The Banco Nacional heist had been his brain child. He was a born and

raised Porteño, and he knew the workings of the city like the back of his

hand, especially the military workings. He had been a radical student leader

at the university before graduating into the Montonero’s finishing school. He

had worked his way up from foot-soldier, to cadre leader, to self-proclaimed

spokesman for the entire movement.

It was evident to Lonnie that Serge Lavalle held Bertoni in great regard.

They had worked on many of the same assignments together. Now, here was

this very man proclaiming that there were hundreds of small-time terrorists

who aspired to be like the Montoneros, but who were pathetically foolish and

bloodthirsty in their attempts. He called the Banco Nacional job ‘amateurish’

and swore to find out who those responsible were, through his own sources.

Bertoni had his own very personal reason for wanting the Banco Nacional

job to go down, in spite of his public pronouncements to the contrary. He had

become heavily involved in the capital’s flourishing cocaine trade as a sideline

and was expecting a large shipment to arrive by mid-February. Payment for

the drugs would be courtesy of the good depositors of the Banco Nacional.

There was no humanitarian rationale that could justify the death of the six

men on the bank’s steps. No aid or welfare group would see a single peso. Not

one destitute worker would get the slightest benefit from the actions of Serge

Lavalle and his cohorts on that February afternoon. The only beneficiary of that

afternoon’s activities was Adolfo Bertoni, who had lined his pockets with gold,

just as he would soon be lining his nostrils with the purest cocaine.

The transfer of funds between Lavalle and Bertoni was cordial, but swift.

News of the robbery and subsequent murders had not been broadcast by the

time the two men parted ways. Serge and Jean Pierre were able to board the bus

to Mar del Plata without interference and departed the outskirts of the capital

only minutes before all the major arteries in and out of the city were shut down

by road blocks. They arrived at the safe house in Mar del Plata unmolested, and

undisturbed. The brothers were ready to enjoy a month or so of anonymity in

the sea and sun, but the newspaper that Serge picked up on his first morning

stroll set the alarm bells ringing in his head.

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RENALDO

“Six Die In Terrorist Bank Attack. Montoneros Deny Responsibility!”

Six dead? How can that be? Those fucking heroes, they must have tried to follow

us. To stop us,
were the thoughts that raced through his mind as the headline

screamed at him. He hurried back to the house and roused Jean Pierre.

“Look at this. This is blasphemy! That bastard Bertoni swore to me that

there would be a statement of affirmation released to the press immediately

after the job was concluded about how this money was going to help the

starving and homeless. How the Montoneros were willing to do anything in

their power to help the needy of Argentina. There is none of it here. Only

denials. He calls us ‘amateurs.’ The bastard says that he is going to find out

who is responsible and deal with them himself. What bullshit! He says ‘The

Montoneros are dedicated to peaceful attainment of civil liberties and the rights

of the underprivileged. As well, no disruption will take place prior to or during

the World Cup Tournament. I give the nation my word on this, and I will see

to it personally that such barbarism will not occur again.’ I don’t believe it!”

Jean Pierre then asked the pressing question to his brother using sign

language. Serge replied hesitantly

“Yes, I think that we are safe here for the time being, but I must speak to

Bertoni. I will be able to tell by his voice if he is lying to me. I have heard him

lie before. His voice changes slightly. I will be able to tell if he has sent someone

to take care of us or not. He likes the blood-sport. He might just do it to make

himself look like a hero. I don’t know. Keep the door locked and your weapon

ready. I will return when I have spoken to our two-faced friend.”

Two hours later, Serge Lavalle returned to the safe house.

“Grab your things. We are leaving right away.”

Jean Pierre gestured with both hands in his confusion. “I think that

Bertoni has turned on us. He says that the pressure from the military is

devastating. Thousands of people have been pulled in for interrogation, and

very few have been released. The backlash against the Montoneros because of

this is enormous. The press and the people are calling for our heads. They are

worried about losing their precious football tournament!”

Serge threw up his hands in exasperation. He paced the room for several

seconds before continuing.

“Bertoni told me that we should stay where we are. Not move around and

change locations. He said that the army has vowed to revenge the deaths of their

brothers-in-arms. The six deaths changed everything, according to Bertoni. I

think the lying bastard is out to get us. Once we are turned in or eradicated,

the junta will call off the dogs, as long as there is no further trouble. Bertoni

blames the negative reaction against the Banco Nacional job on the World Cup

Tournament. This damn football is interfering with the politics of the country!

25

JAMES McCREATH

It’s totally emotional. There is no rationale for this kind of reactionary behavior.

Everyone is freaking out because of this stupid football!”

The academic philosopher from his university days temporarily resurfaced

in Serge Lavalle. He had always been the most cerebral of his terrorist ilk, and

the thought of football interfering with the people’s movement for civil liberties

was unthinkable. The masses were thinking football, not politics. Fools!

Serge gave a running dialogue to his brother as they gathered up any

evidence that would show that they had been there. “We have to warn Celeste

and Lonnie. We are going to Tigre. There are excursion boats that run up the

coast to Buenos Aires, then on to Tigre. I have booked us a private compartment.

It wasn’t hard. The tourists are still arriving and no one is going home yet. We

don’t have to get off the boat when it docks in the capital, and hopefully, the

authorities will not have the boat searched. If we can make our way to Lonnie’s

camp, I think that we will be safe for a while. Bertoni thought that all four of

us would come to Mar del Plata and stay in the safe house. I never did tell him

of Lonnie and Celeste’s change of plans. If someone is sent here to kill us, they

will waste a lot of time looking for three men and a woman. It will give us a bit

of a head start. That’s it, grab your bag. We’re gone!”

That they made it safely to Tigre was nothing short of a miracle. There

were military guards aboard the vessel as part of the stepped up security

program. The guards had the authority to detain anyone who looked mildly

‘interesting,’ and the Lavalle brothers subsequently spent the entire voyage

locked in their stateroom. More military personnel greeted the boat’s arrival

in Buenos Aires, and from their porthole window, Serge was able to witness

firsthand the detention of several of the disembarking passengers.

Luckily, Tigre was free of inspecting officers, with the exception of several

jeep loads of national guardsmen who passively watched the tourists funnel off

the pier. Serge made his brother strap a camera over his neck just as he had done,

to enhance the ‘enthusiastic visitor’ appearance. There were no problems, and

the brothers arrived at camp No Se Preocupe by taxi less than thirty minutes

after the boat had landed.

Jean Pierre remained in the cab out of sight while his older brother set out

to find Lonnie. He was successful at his first stop, the camp office.

The blank stare that greeted Serge’s muted greeting told the visitor that

Lonnie could have been blown over by a strong gust of wind, so amazed was he

at the sight of the figure standing before him.

“Could I speak with you about the camp in private, Señor?” was Serge’s

opening remark to the good looking man sorting papers at the front desk.

“Why, yes . . . of course. Would you like to see the facilities while we

talk?”

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RENALDO

The two camp secretaries hardly glanced up from their toils as Lonnie led

the visitor out the office door, shouting over his shoulder that he was going on

a tour and would be back shortly.

“My God, Serge, what are you doing here? What has happened? You

were supposed to be in Mar del Plata!” Serge gave his compatriot a very quick

rundown on the events of the last two days, while emphasizing the safety of

Tigre to his very nervous friend.

“Jean Pierre and I need accommodation right away. Some place out of the

way. Anything, a cabin, a third-rate hotel. Anything where we won’t be seen, or

at least noticed. How is Celeste? Is she here?”

“Yes, yes, she is down at the beach with some of the children. She is

marvelous with them, you know. Is that your cab? Stay in the cab and I will

make some fast phone calls. I’ll be right back.” With that he disappeared into

the camp office, emerging less than five minutes later with a slight grin on his

face.

“I have just the spot for sports fishermen to stay a few nights. Cabbie,

take these gentlemen to the Arrayan Cabins on Paso Alto. They have guides,

tackle, and boats for rent. I have known the owner all my life. Just ask for Jorge

Gonzales. Good luck with the fish. Call me at this number if I can be of any

further assistance.”

He handed Serge a piece of paper with the words, ‘eight p.m., your cabin,’

printed on it. Lonnie then headed for the beach as the cab sped through the

front gates of the camp.

To say that Celeste was shocked at the news Lonnie brought her that

afternoon would be an understatement. Nevertheless, eight p.m. found the four

co-conspirators seated around the circular dining table in the spacious fishing

cabin that Lonnie had arranged.

“So, that is the story as I see it. I am certain that we have been double-

crossed by Bertoni, but there is no way of proving it, unless we expose ourselves

to him. That could be a deadly mistake. I suggest that we continue our fight

for the cause of the people on our own, from a new headquarters, maybe even

here at this fishing camp. Buenos Aires is all gaga about that silly football

tournament. Everyone wants the Montoneros to go away until it is over so that

they can have their soccer fix. Well, I say it is a perfect time to draw attention to

our movement, to the people’s plight! Lonnie, can you get your hands on some

money, say ten thousand U.S. dollars?”

Serge’s question jolted Lonnie. “Well, yes, that shouldn’t be a problem.

What do we need that kind of money for, Serge?”

“Material . . . plastic explosives, weapons, ammunition, a car. The usual

items. Is it a problem?”

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