The QE2 Is Missing

They all nodded seriously as though no one knew that the ancient lawyer Mendez was only a figurehead for the ruling junta of admirals and generals. After a recent power struggle in Uruguay, Marquez had emerged on top, just as much a ruler in that country as Stroessner was in this one.

This display of absolute power appeared to make very little impression on Libor Chvosta, as though he spent every day of the week in the company of the rulers of two sovereign countries. He mopped at his wet forehead and neck with his large bandanna kerchief, then spoke.

“If we’re all here now we can get down to business,” he said, with all the grace and charm of a butcher in an abattoir. “If the cases have been opened I’ll show you what you are going to get.”

“They are ready in the other room,” Major de Laiglesia said to him, leaning forward and speaking in a low voice as Aurelia translated for the others what Chvosta had said.

“Take us there,” Chvosta ordered.

Major de Laiglesia whispered a few words in the Air Force Colonel’s ear and the Colonel nodded. There were some quick discussions of protocol among the uniformed aides, eventually resolved when Stroessner and Admiral Marquez, bowing politely to each other, decided to lead the way from the room together. The guards at the end of the hall opened the large double doors and stepped back.

The spacious chamber beyond had been specially prepared for the occasion. All of the floor-to-ceiling windows had been sealed with steel plates, concealed now behind floor-length drapes. A long, marble-topped table, supported on ornate gold legs, ran the length of the room. Two armchairs were placed together facing the center of the table. On the other side, away from the chairs, were the crates that had been brought from the jet. All of the metal bands that had sealed them had been cut and their tops had been levered open. Chvosta went to examine the crates as Stroessner and Marquez sat down on the chairs; their staffs arranging themselves in expecting rows behind them. Aurelia stationed herself at the end of the table and took a spiral-bound notebook from her bag. Her sunglasses had been replaced by reading glasses; she turned the pages of the notebook and pursed her lips with concentration. There was a sense of excitement, of tension in the air as Chvosta rose from his examination and dusted off his hands. He began to speak, slowly and clearly in English, pausing often so Aurelia could translate into Spanish.

“What we have here are representative sample cases taken from the shipment. In some cases we have substituted different brands or slightly different items from those selected by you in your original order. You must remember that we are not off-the-shelf suppliers, but are middlemen. We find the product wanted from those willing to sell. However, circumstances sometimes change between the placing of the original order and the time of shipment. But Global Traders has a deserved reputation for substituting equal or better items for those originally chosen. First item on the list.”

Aurelia put her finger under the entry.

“Anti-personnel concussion grenade. Weight five hundred and eighty-six grams. A three-point-five second fuse. Blast area of maximum concentration is six meters…. “

As she spoke, Chvosta took a black, ridged-metal grenade from the crate at his feet. When he raised it in his hand, the aides stirred, some of them resting their hands on their revolvers. But the arms salesman was interested in profit, not assassination. After holding the grenade up for identification, he placed it on the tabletop for examination by the two military dictators. They found it highly fascinating and leaned forward together to look at it more closely; like two theological students bending over a Bible.

Aurelia Hortiguela’s voice droned on; range of fire, caliber of ammunition, land-mine destruction area, force of impact, auxiliary bayonet fittings; as item after lethal item was placed on the table.

Armalite rifles, CN gas grenades, Russian machine guns, American sub-machine guns, belts of ammunition, anti-personnel mines. One after another they were laid gently onto the cool marble surface, until the table became a blue-black and olive drab display of death and destruction.

Stroessner and the Admiral nodded approvingly at the more interestingly lethal items and behind them the aides buzzed with low-voiced conversation as they went through their matching lists. When the last sample had been brought out, Chvosta wiped the oil and dust from his hands and threw the soiled kerchief into the nearest crate.

“Questions?” he asked.

After a moment’s hesitation one of the aides spoke up.

“The ammunition substitution for the sub-machine guns. It is of different manufacture…. “