Renaldo (85 page)

wedlock, my little sugar bouche!”

Esquela could still remember that lecture. Now the words had come back

to haunt her and panic had set in. She was three months late. The father could

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be any one of a host of men, and she was hardly able to conceal her growing

proportions from Señora Taseo anymore.

She was desperate to keep her job at Buenos Requerdos, and that meant

getting rid of the unwanted bastard she was carrying. The problem was that

she had neither the money nor the knowledge needed to go about the tragic

task. Beside herself with anguish, she decided to ask Pablo, one of the farm

hands with whom she had been intimate.

Pablo drove the pickup truck into Pergamino several times a week, and

confiding her dilemma to the comparatively worldly local hunk might get

results. The stud had a reputation for getting girls into trouble, so surely he

must know how to ‘fix’ things.

Wolfgang Stoltz was still fuming inside from the personal slight that

the old English prune had levelled at him. He could not let such an insult go

without rebuttal. Lydia De Seta controlled the empire that his employer sought

to oversee. The arrogant Englishwoman had now become an obstacle to that

end, and Stoltz was about to provide the means to remove that obstacle.

There had been a young German sailor who had landed in Argentina back

in the forties with Wolfgang Stoltz. Paul Rheinhart had been a good friend,

both in Germany before the war and at sea during it. The two men had kept in

touch over the years, both settling in their adopted country.

Paul Rheinhart chose to continue his studies in the field of medicine and

eventually ended up running the general hospital in Pergamino, of all places.

When asked why he chose such a remote location to set up his practice, he

always used to say that “Five years of bobbing around the Atlantic Ocean in a

tin can had given him an overwhelming appreciation for the wide open spaces

of the Pampas.” Pergamino was where he settled and prospered.

Both these ex-Nazis still wistfully longed for the old days in Germany,

and whenever they could, they reminisced about the past glories of the Reich.

They held a mutual contempt for things and people not of German origin,

especially things American or English.

Paul Rheinhart had felt the sting of Lydia De Seta’s bigotry himself. She

had refused to let him attend to her on several occasions during visits to his

hospital, preferring instead a less experienced physician of Argentine origin.

Dr. Rheinhart subsequently refrained from offering his services to the English

bitch and had remained bitter about the affront ever since.

“Your call is very timely, Wolfie. I cannot believe the coincidence. That

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swine Englander frau has gone too far this time! Insulting a man of your

stature, and in front of her daughter-in-law! I have exactly the substance and

method you require. The poison is a mild arsenic extract that is tasteless,

odorless, colorless, and if applied over an extended period of time in small

doses, undetectable even by autopsy. It is perfect, but here is the best part. One

of the local pimps works on the De Seta estancia. He sets me up with women

for parties and stags when I have male guests come to visit. Remember the last

time we were together here, Wolfie?”

“Very well, Herr Doctor, a marvelous time indeed, but do please continue,”

Stoltz urged.

“Well, this local worker named Pablo uses me for fast, no question

abortions should one of his putas ‘screw up,’ so to speak. He came to me just

yesterday saying that the kitchen maid at De Seta’s estancia was knocked up,

but didn’t have the money to pay. As soon as I heard she worked for the English

I told him that I would not help. No fucking way! But, on second thought, the

kitchen maid would have access to the Señora’s food and beverage. A few drops

of my substance in the old fart’s tea, and after a few days, the lady of the house

would start to feel out of sorts. A few weeks and she will be gone forever. It’s

perfect. I’ll do the abortion for the little tart, but in return, I will have Pablo

instruct her what to do. There will be money needed to pay them both off,

however. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all, but what about any implication or connection to her death on

your part?” Stoltz queried.

“There won’t be. The farmhand will handle everything. He has loyalty

only to the almighty peso. I will pay him enough to keep him quiet, and

believe me, Pablo is very appreciative. The girl we will pay off and send away,

maybe to some Holy place from whence she will never return. Why leave any

witnesses around, eh, Wolfie? As for covering our tracks with Señora De Seta,

you are talking to the coroner of Pergamino District. I will conduct the autopsy

on the deceased old witch myself. If, that is, the distraught family even desires

to have one. So relax, it’s perfect. My personal hatred for the woman overrides

all sense of conscience, and besides, it is a great pleasure to be of service to my

dear old friend!”

“You always were a genius, Pauli. I will bring you the money tomorrow,

including a healthy honorarium for this medical consultation. I will be in

Rosario while the tournament is here. Expedite the arrangements as soon as

possible. I want Señora De Seta to begin her treatments immediately. The

sooner the world is relieved of that snooty English whore, the better!”

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“I’ve located Lonnie De Seta, Señor Gordero. I just wanted to confirm that

you require the subject terminated. Are those still your instructions, sir?”

Rojo Geary stood outside the same Tigre groceteria of which Lonnie had

become a patron. An operative in Tigre had been told to keep surveillance on

camp No Se Preocupe and the nearest dry goods retailer. Geary’s hunch had

been right.

A suspicious stranger had shown up on the morning of the eleventh and

returned four days later. He stood out to the groceteria owner as someone

vaguely familiar, but the man never spoke a word or offered any information

about his needs. The provisions that he had bought seemed to suggest that he

was a camper, but the local campgrounds were closed for the winter. And there

were no tourists in the area, especially during the World Cup Tournament.

The stranger’s second visit was a carbon copy of his first. An issue of every

newspaper in the store was picked up as his first order of business, followed

quite literally by the purchase of everything from soup to nuts. Dark glasses

and an old slouch hat obscured the visitor’s true features, and the only dialogue

was a grunt of thanks upon completion of the transaction.

That army intelligence agent must be notified at once!
the excited retailer

thought as he made his away to a private phone kept in the back office.
Where

did I put his number? I hope he is still paying the reward for information that he

promised!

Geary’s agent, posing as an antiterrorist intelligence officer, had arrived at

the groceteria within minutes. The owner described the suspect’s appearance and

clothing, then pointed out the direction in which his customer had departed.

At nine in the morning there was next to no traffic on the road down

to the river and camp No Se Preocupe. The agent drove his car cautiously

along the gravel thoroughfare, stopping periodically to scan the woods with

binoculars. As he slowly rounded one particular curve almost at the entrance

to the camp, he saw the figure of a man sprint into the brush from the side of

the road. It was his man, for there was no mistaking that hat! The subject was

obviously using the camp as a hideout. The agent put his car into reverse and

headed for the pay phone at the groceteria.

Geary’s man relayed the double sighting to his superior, who, in turn,

set out for Tigre immediately to confirm the report. The groceteria owner

identified one of the original clean-shaven artist’s sketches of Lonnie’s likeness

as being similar to the man that had entered his store twice. The slouch hat and

sunglasses were added by means of overlays, and there he was. It was the same

man, there was absolutely no question. The ‘Attractive Assassin’ was in Tigre,

and Rojo Geary felt that familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepared for action.

Polite inquiries at camp No Se Preocupe from an ‘old friend’ of Lonnie

De Seta’s yielded nothing. A sweep of the camp was ordered for the following

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night. The commander summoned the rest of his platoon to Tigre, then called

Astor Gordero in Rosario.

The hired gun had his team in position just after dusk on the night of the

sixteenth. They would wait for total darkness to begin a search of the camp’s

buildings and grounds. Geary anticipated that it would be the faint glow of a

propane lantern shimmering in the eerie blackness that would reveal his prey.

Then, sadly for all concerned, the end would come quickly.

Sadly for the two fugitives because their young lives were prematurely

ending. Sadly for Rojo Geary because he loved the game almost as much as

the kill, and it was a ‘kill’ that Astor Gordero had confirmed in their phone

conversation the previous day. De Seta had been a fairly challenging adversary.

The soldier admired and respected that fact. He had seen many a fugitive go

berserk from the constant strain of being on the run, and this always led to

carelessness.

Lonnie had been smart until he showed up at that Tigre groceteria. Geary

knew that the hunted man must have exhausted all his resources if he had to

hide-out at his family’s camp. The game was drawing to a close.

A faint beam of light from the Coleman lantern was barely visible behind

the blanket that covered the unboarded window. ‘Barely’ was all Rojo Geary

and his men needed. Once the old dormitory cabin was surrounded, the

commander gave the signal. A single blow of a sledge hammer brought the

padlocked front door crashing inward off its hinges. Rojo Geary was through

the opening before it hit the floor.

Lonnie De Seta had become disenchanted with the musty world inside the

dormitory. He frequently went for clandestine excursions around the property.

His favorite place to think was down by the canoe shed on the dock. The squat,

dark wood building afforded a perfect shield from unwelcome eyes, and the

lapping of the water around the dock cribs soothed Lonnie’s wound-up nerves.

It was to this very spot that Lonnie had ventured to just before Rojo Geary and

his men arrived to finish their cold-blooded assignment.

Celeste was threatening to leave him altogether if they didn’t depart from

their safe house and find her brother. Another heated argument sent Lonnie

down to the dock to cool off. He had been there staring at the tide for several

hours when the wrenching, crashing sound jarred him to his senses.

Lonnie sat some forty yards from the dormitory, but his vantage point

afforded him a clear view of the padlocked doorway entrance and side window