Lieutenant Colonel Diego Maldonado was not an evil man. He was an officer and a gentleman, devoted to his One True Faith and dedicated to the service of his country, which just happened to be a rather vicious dictatorship at the moment.
The current government of Colombia was not for Maldonado to question. His oath of loyalty was to the land he loved, not the oligarchy running it. He was sworn to protect his country from all enemies, foreign and domestic, and a good soldier let the politicians decide who these might be. And so this rather nice man in charge of Colombian Military Intelligence was one of the most dangerous soldier-bureaucrats in Latin America.
Unlike many of his peers and/or superiors, Maldonado kept his emotional and professional lives separate. He never took it out on a junior officer or even a prisoner when his wife had given him a hard time at the breakfast table. He never gave a possible victim a break because he was in a mellow mood. He ran his section the way a chess master plays a championship game: coldly and logically, regarding every pawn on the board as a thing to be used, saved, or sacrificed as the next move called for. He was dimly aware that his underlings called him El Arano –“the spider.” He felt neither flattered nor insulted by the nickname. Maldonado enjoyed playing with his children; he was a considerate lover to his wife; he could be amusing as well as charming at the officer’s club. At his desk, he didn’t kid around.
So his adjutant wasn’t surprised this morning to see the boss sticking pins in a large wall map as he consulted a sheaf of cablegrams in his free hand. Maldonado nodded and said, “Good morning, Major,” and the adjutant shot a worried glance at the wall clock.
“I am sorry if I seem late, Colonel.”
Maldonado smiled thinly and said, “You are not late. I am early. The wires were busy last night.”
“Trouble, sir?”
“It’s too early to tell. Do you remember that American soldier of fortune they call Captain Gringo?”
“The one who gave you so much trouble down in the Panama sector, sir?”
“Correction, Major. Captain Gringo did not give me trouble. It was my late superior he made a fool of. That is why I now hold his rank as well as position. You see, they didn’t listen to me when I explained my own plans regarding Captain Gringo and his ragtag guerrillas. The results were all too predictable. But we are speaking of ancient history. The railroads have been repaired, the dead have been buried, and, in the end, the rebels he led for a short have frittered away their momentary advantage, as they always do.”
The adjutant tried to make some sense out of the colonel’s map as he asked, “What is this Captain Gringo up to, now, my colonel?”
Maldonado shrugged and said, “I don’t know yet. An agent in Limón spotted him coming from the U.S. Consulate. It has to be something big.”
“May one ask why, my colonel? Since the man is an American, is it not possible he was just seeing someone about his passport?”
Maldonado’s voice was bleak as he said, “I see you have not memorized the dossiers of known enemies of the state. Captain Gringo is wanted for murder and desertion by the U.S. Government.”
“But if one of our spies saw him leaving the American consulate...”
“Exactly. Los Yanquis are rather stuffy and unsophisticated about their laws, and there is a marine detachment at the consulate. Ergo, the story about Captain Gringo being a wanted renegade from the U.S. is a cover story, or else Uncle Sam has something more important in mind than the usual legalities.”
“Another try for the Canal Zone, Colonel?”
‘That would seem logical. Perhaps too logical. We know Washington has already funded would-be Panamanian Nationalists. Why send in another itinerant machine gunner? The jungle down there is crawling with soldiers of fortune. Washington must know, by now, that they’ll never seize the isthmus from us by proxy.”
The major smiled and said, “In that case, they’ll never take it at all. Right, sir?”
Maldonado didn’t answer. He’d long ago worked it out to the last decimal point. But when he’d tried to tell the junta it would be more logical to agree to Washington’s generous terms, since they were bound to take the place in any case, he’d been told not to concern himself with political decisions. Yet, as a soldier, he knew only too well that Colombia didn’t have enough forces in the lowlands to stand up to a couple of gunboats and a detachment of marines. The Americans had to know this, too. So what was the point in sending in the notorious Captain Gringo again? One man couldn’t take Panama without a serious intervention by the U.S. Military. One man was redundant if and when the Americans took off the gloves. It had to be something else.
A sergeant came in with another cablegram from Costa Rica. It was in code, of course, but Maldonado read it without consulting the code books and told the major, “Captain Gringo’s schooner just left Limón, manned by Cuban rebels. Neither the American nor his French comrade seem to be aboard.”
“Shall I notify the Spanish Embassy, my colonel?”
Maldonado considered before he replied. Like many a pure professional, the cold-blooded colonel viewed the activities of Butcher Weyler with distaste. The notorious head of the Spanish Occupation was a man who obviously enjoyed his work; Maldonado, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of butchering unruly peones, but he didn’t take pleasure in it, or order it when he didn’t feel it necessary.
So he said, “I hardly feel we owe anything to His Most Catholic Majesty. Those Cubans are not rebelling against Colombia. More important, Uncle Sam and the Hearst newspapers find the Cuban Liberation Movement most interesting. Perhaps more interesting than remote squabbles over canal rights, eh?”
Maldonado put another pin in the map, accounting for the schooner. The adjutant pursed his lips and said, “Perhaps this mission the Americans have sent their Captain Gringo on has nothing at all to do with us. Just because he is not aboard his boat does not mean he’s given up all interest in the Cuban problem, eh?”
Maldonado said, “I hope you’re right. For the moment, we’ve lost contact with the adventurer. It seems impossible for such an unusual person to have slipped out of a small seaport unseen, but we know the big blond Yanqui is slippery as an eel. Stay here and take any other messages as they come in. I have to fill the colonel in on the little we have.”
Maldonado left his office and walked across a patio to another wing, checking the time. He knew it was too early, but the colonel had ordered him to keep him posted, and one did what a colonel ordered, even when the colonel was, well, somebody’s brother-in-law.
He found two sentries posted at the colonel’s door. They had their orders, too. So they simply presented arms as Maldonado breezed by them.
He found the office deserted at this hour, of course, but he’d been told to come to the older man’s private chambers. He did so, knocking discreetly on the heavy oaken door.
A bleary voice called out, “¡Entrar!” so Maldonado did. He found the colonel in bed with an effeminate fat boy, about sixteen. The colonel too was fat although much older than his current love toy. Maldonado kept a straight face as he said soberly, “You told me you wished to remain informed about Ricardo Walker, sir.”
The colonel displayed no embarrassment as he went on fondling the naked youth at his side, but he seemed confused as he repeated, “Ricardo who?”
“Captain Gringo, sir. He seems to be definitely up to something, and our agents in Costa Rica have lost contact with him.”
The colonel nodded brightly. “Oh, yes. I remember the trouble we had with that one. A most distressing young man.”
He did something to his plump partner, under the sheet, and as Maldonado stood at attention, trying not to notice, the youth slid coyly out of sight beneath the bed covers. Maldonado’s lips felt frozen as he stared straight ahead and said, “I don’t have any evidence connecting Captain Gringo to that other matter I spoke to you about, sir. But frankly, I’m worried. It’s the sort of thing he specializes in.”
The colonel gasped quietly as the bulge that had to be the invisible boy moved into position above his covered lap. As the bulge started moving up and down, Maldonado said stiffly, “Perhaps I should come back later, sir.”
But the colonel yawned and said, “No, business before pleasure. Or perhaps at the same time, eh? Refresh my memory. What is this other matter you seem so concerned about?”
“The, ah, nationalization of those foreign properties, sir.”
“Ooh, Jesus, watch those teeth! I assure you I’ve been told those expropriations were in the best interest of our country, Diego.”
“No doubt, sir. But the former owners may feel a certain sense of injury.”
“Bah, what former owners? No damned stranger owns anything in this country. It’s all ours. It says so in our constitution. Have you forgotten?”
Maldonado felt his neck redden as the youth under the sheet began to suck noisily and the colonel grinned up at him, breathing heavily. The intelligence officer nodded and said, “It occurred to me that certain interests may have hired Captain Gringo for revenge. Some of the foreign consulates protested rather strongly when the, ah, government … rather informally announced its new nationalization policy.”
The colonel closed his eyes, lay back with a sigh, and murmured, “Fuck them. What can they do? Oh, yes, that’s lovely, nino!”
Maldonado saluted stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked out, slamming the door behind him. There was nobody in the corridor, so nobody saw when El Arafio, the man of steel, suddenly swore and smashed his fist into the stucco wall.
It hurt like hell and did more damage to the officer’s fist than it did the wall. He walked on, sucking his split knuckle as he brought his nerves under control with a deliberate effort of will.
By the time he passed the sentries again, Maldonado was himself once more. He knew he had to maintain control. Somebody had to maintain control around here. Otherwise, the flabby fools and perverts in nominal charge of the government were going to pull the whole country down with them when they fell. So, like it or not, he couldn’t let them fall.