Somewhere in Latin America...in a stately, guarded mansion at a bustling city's edge...
This represents a new installment of my AU "modernized" Scarlet Pimpernel tale.
This story is rated T, although I wish to advance the warning, once again, of oblique references to "political" violence. Readers who are troubled by such subjects may wish to forego reading this piece.
I also wish to reaffirm that these fragments originate only from my own imagination. Any resemblance to real personages, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, I wish to advance the disclaimer that I do not own Baroness Orczy's wonderful original story, nor its sequels.
And yet, as one talented contributor to this list, BaronessOrc, pointed out in her review for the first entry in this series, such modernizations are not without "canonical" precedent. Baroness Emmuska Orczy herself composed an updated sequel to her popular classic, Pimpernel and Rosemary, in 1924. Two years before he was killed, Leslie Howard directed and starred in Pimpernel Smith (1941), a movie alleged to have inspired Raoul Wallenberg, a real-life Scarlet Pimpernel who rescued Jews from Baroness Emma's native Hungary during World War II by offering them safe passage to Sweden.
I therefore wish to extend an invitation to all who read this piece, to share, not only any comments you may have (criticism and praise are equally welcome!) concerning what I offer below, but any ideas that might have occurred to you for a "modern" Scarlet Pimpernel.
Is there a time outside the French Revolution that you would choose?
Would you devise another story line for the characters I've introduced?
To any who might wish to try their hand in this regard, I offer my solemn promise to read and review.
Colonel Luis de Contreras picked an infinitesimal speck of lint off the sleeve of his dark blue suit and flicked his wrist so that the gold of his cuff links would glint ostentatiously in the low light of the General's study.
The Colonel's motions were, as always, efficient, precise, and purposeful.
In this case, they were meant to disguise the rising anxiety the capital city's chief of police experienced as he sat before the General's desk, listening to his commander's flat monotone of a voice enumerate incidents from the typescript list he held in his beefy hands.
"On August 27 of the last year, two students under surveillance as enemies of the republic disappeared one half hour before their scheduled arrest. Both, according to our sources, are now completing college degrees in the United States."
The General paused and adjusted the frame of his horn-rimmed glasses.
"On August 31," the General continued, "a helicopter of unknown provenance intercepted Pablo Delgado and his wife, Julieta, a couple convicted of subversion, as they were being released from an airplane over the Pacific Ocean. Both have been seen, safe, and alive, in Miami, Florida."
The General paused. Some measure of annoyance began to creep into the commander's tone. "Their infant daughter, who had been given to my colleague"-and here the General named a third party, a man Contreras had met at various professional functions-"also inexplicably disappeared four days later, as she slept in her crib. A child, answering her description, has been seen with the parents."
The General paused a moment, apparently drawing a breath to contain his irritation, and then resumed:
"In September, the writer, Cecila Roderas, was taken from her holding place outside the city. She has since been seen in Paris."
And so it went on. And on. Twenty individuals one month; fifteen the next; eighteen in December; twenty-three more in January, as the weather began to warm; thirty in February...
The list of names of individuals under investigation and gone missing from holding cells, prisons, police stations, and basements throughout the city and its outlying regions included approximately fifty student activists; thirty trade unionists; the heart surgeon Simon Pradel, who had publically challenged the government's activities at a fund-raising dinner for the city's most important hospital; the university professor of literature, Agata Ledesma, whose poem, "Fear," had stirred wide controversy when it was published in a national magazine; and the television comedy team, Maurizio Ramirez and his wife, Joseta Gutierrez, who had dared to mock the General himself.
A small bead of sweat appeared on the Colonel's forehead.
Usually, Contreras would become impatient with the dim lighting in the General's office, which obliged him to squint when he endeavored to read any papers presented to him while within its confines.
In this moment, however, Contreras was grateful that the light did not illuminate his perspiring pate.
It would never do for the General to imagine him to be afraid.
Men such as the General-no less, indeed, than Contreras himself-smelled fear and stalked it with the single-minded persistence of a predatory animal.
When they discovered it, they fed upon it, like hungry sharks.
It had taken the General a full twenty minutes to read his list aloud, as he detailed a roster of 96 individuals whose execution or arrest had been obstructed by their unexpected disappearance.
At last, the General looked up from the typescript inventory he had been reading aloud and placed it, deliberately, upon the desk in front of him.
And now, the dull light of the shaded lamp placed to one side of the desk before him seemed to give the General's eyes an odd, and vaguely terrifying glow.
"Our government," the General began, "undertook to cause these persons to disappear because they were-and remain-enemies to our nation. We have sought to do this quietly, so as to avoid exciting undue concern among the vast majority of our law-abiding population. We do not wish," and here, the General leaned forward to emphasize his words, "any inappropriate attention bestowed upon those actions we initiate for the public good."
"And so," the General continued, "we must find the individual-or individuals- for surely we must conclude that these incidents may be attributed to the agency of more than one man-who are interfering with our campaign for public safety."
The General clenched his teeth. "We must bring their activities to a permanent conclusion."
The General fixed his gaze sternly upon Contreras.
"What are your leads, Colonel?"
Contreras swallowed hard.
"Minimal, Generalissimo. These men leave no trace, other than the penciled, red, insignia that my men have described to you."
The General drummed his fingers along the desk and tried to disguise his impatience. "Have you had least discovered the meaning of the symbol?"
Contreras wished, fervently, for a drink.
"No, Generalissimo," he replied. "We have not."
The General pounded his fist on the table, and Contreras fought to control his involuntary wince.
"This is outrageous!"
The General brought himself to his feet and leaned over his desk to glower, threateningly, at Contreras.
"You were once one of our best men." The General's voice overflowed with menace and contempt. "Do you really mean to say you have not the faintest idea who is responsible for this..." the General sputtered as his voice began to gain volume, "obstruction of our honorable attempts to protect our country from these fifth-columnist traitors?
Contreras looked at his commander and debated.
He did have a few ideas, but was uncertain whether a mere hunch could yet be defined as evidence.
Was he safest in professing no ideas concerning the identity of the perpetrators, and thus raising no expectations?
Or should he dangle a possibility before his commander to buy time, and his own safety?
Both were courses of risk, but Contreras had risked before.
And, after all, hadn't his "hunches" frequently proved correct?
Particularly, Contreras thought to himself, when one could use force to extract corroboration from an accused party...
Burying the apprehension he continued to harbor concerning the General, Contreras spoke.
"We do have one suspicion, Generalissimo..although I should warn," Contreras added, holding up his index finger in a cautionary gesture, "that it is a suspicion, only..."
The General's beady eyes bored into those of the Colonel, and Contreras marveled, inwardly, at his own calm.
"Well, then?" the General prompted eagerly, retaking his seat, as Contreras let the promise of a suspicion hang in the air between them.
Contreras spoke quietly. "The Americans who were hired to build the dam across the river 100 kilometers from our capital city-the company calling itself Blake Enterprises..."
"What could the Americans possibly have to do with it?" The General broke in, impatiently.
It was the General, after all, who had approved the engagement of Blake Enterprises, over the misgivings of a colleague who had hoped to bring in another, European, company, owned by the son of a friend.
For the first time, it was the General who felt the cold tap of apprehension.
Seeing this-for Contreras missed nothing-the Colonel steepled his hands together, and spoke with greater confidence.
"Two men connected with Blake Enterprises, Anthony Hurst and Edward Hastings, have considerable experience, not only as engineers, but as pilots. Hurst," Contreras settled in his chair, "comes from old Texas oil money. Before being educated in California-where my spies tell me he met Blake at university-he grew up on a spacious Texas hacienda where he, together with his father, collected airplanes. Hurst has been flying since he was about sixteen."
The General narrowed his eyes. "So? It stands to reason that an engineer might cultivate such skills."
"Certainly, Generalissimo," Contreras agreed. "But skill in this arena would also enable a man to take individuals out of our country undetected." Contreras now eyed his commander directly for the first time during their interview. "We do not believe the men we are seeking are relying solely on automobiles."
The General was silent at this.
"On at least two occasions," Contreras continued, "as you yourself have remarked, Generalissimo, targeted individuals were rescued from the Pacific by helicopter. Edward Hastings, a second engineer with Blake Enterprises, is a veteran of the United States armed forces, with helicopter pilot experience. Señor Hastings-who, my sources inform me, was raised in the city of Chicago, Illinois, entered the American army at the age of seventeen, and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant while serving a tour of duty during the recent American operations in Vietnam- completed his education in California upon discharge, and also joined Blake Industries."
"What about the owner, Percy Blake?" the General snapped, more out of irritation than anything else. It had not occurred to him that there might be trouble with these men, but Contreras was making it sound plausible.
Contreras shook his head. "Blake appears to be a pampered son of American privilege, a harmless drunk with an inexplicable gift for technical design. We believe these men may be operating under his nose."
"Finally," Contreras continued with greater confidence, "we note a coincidence in the beginning of these incidents, and the arrival of Blake Industries in our country. Only a few undertook to escape, usually without success, before their arrival last year. Each of the circumstances you have enumerated, Generalissimo," and now, Contreras's voice was firm with assertion, "transpired after Blake Industries began their construction project here."
"But of course, we have no proof," Contreras finished. "And so, at the moment, all we can do is watch our quarry, and wait for them to make a mistake."
Contreras smiled now, his teeth white and sharp, no less predatory than the commander he feared.
"Sooner or later, they inevitably do."
"And then what?" The General asked. "They are foreign nationals. We can't afford any trouble with the Americans."
Contreras's lips continued to be curved in a smile that was more of a sneer. "We doubt the Americans would give us too much trouble if such men were to be disposed of in a manner that could be suggested to have been...accidental."
The General frowned. Contreras might, of course, be correct, that such difficulties could be disposed of, but it did not solve the problem entirely.
And so the General asked the other question, perhaps the more intractable one.
"Even if we establish that these men are responsible," the General asked, "Who is giving them the information they need to proceed?"
The fear Contreras thought he'd banished returned to twist his stomach.
For here, certainly, was a matter where he, himself, might be held to account.
"I don't know, Generalissimo," the Colonel confessed quietly. "I can only assure you that the list of those we seek to investigate comes to me through the most secure hands..."
The General leaned forward, urgently. "Are you saying there is no one else who sees it, after it leaves our offices?"
Contreras furrowed his brow and considered. "The courier, of course...my men, who are dispatched to undertake the arrests..." The Colonel's voice trailed off.
"No one else?"
Contreras opened his hands, in a rare gesture of bemusement and shook his head. "No."
"Who else works in your office?" The General's question was sharp.
"Why, no one, Generalissimo...unless you count the woman who brings our coffee and cleans the office. But Aurora Villalba is just a domestic. She does not see important documents."
The General looked above Contreras for a moment, then down at the typescript list from which he'd read for the previous half hour.
"One of your men is a traitor to our republic, Colonel. You must find him."
Contreras nodded now, relieved.
Such orders might prove difficult to execute.
But such a task was undoubtedly preferable to the punishment that would almost certainly await him should the General believe him guilty of failure.
Borrowed time, Contreras thought to himself, was infinitely to be preferred over no time at all.
"We will find them," he assured his commander.
"And when we do, the punishment, I assure you, will be appropriate to the crime."
And now, Contreras smiled in earnest, as he contemplated the remedies he would apply to the problem.
It was a smile to freeze the blood.