The QE2 Is Missing

“You are being tiresome, Admiral. These new operations will be created in parallel with your normal departments and paid for out of separate funds. This has all been mentioned in the agreement we drew up.”

“Bring me a drink. Wine.” Admiral Marquez ordered de Laiglesia. He knew all of these things already. What was sticking in his craw was turning over more of the administration of his country to these Nazis. It kept him in power — but it was hard to take. He drank deeply as though trying to wash a bad taste from his mouth.

None of this bothered General Stroessner. Of German origin himself, he welcomed blood brothers. They would assure that his rule continued in the future as it had in the past. Half of the total annual budget of Paraguay already went to the military who controlled every aspect of government. His prisons were full, the rebels dead or outside the country, trade unions abolished, the press controlled absolutely. He had no threats — as long as the military was well armed and well paid. This present arrangement would take care of that. His euphoric mood was interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship, a shuddering motion that passed through him leaving a marked queasy sensation in its wake.

“Did you feel that?” he said. “There are supposed to be things on this ship to stop that. I thought we couldn’t feel the waves.”

“Stabilizers,” Colonel Hartig said. “Fins that extend just below the sea. Effective only in moderate seas. The weather report was for severe tropical storms.”

“More comments?” Wielgus asked.

There was really nothing more to talk about. All the details of the agreement had been hammered out during the past months and the parties concerned were in complete agreement about all of the basic principles. Stroessner shrugged while Marquez drank his wine and said nothing.

“Then, if we are in agreement, the time has come to sign. Colonel Hartig, if you please.”

Hartig took up the thin briefcase that was beneath his chair and unlocked it. He produced three manila folders. “These three agreements are identical,” he said. “Therefore, I shall give you one, General Stroessner, and you one as well, Admiral. If you will be so kind as to open them to the first page I will read mine aloud so as we can be absolutely sure that there is no disagreement on any point. I begin…. “

They nodded their heads over the documents as point after point was checked off. This did not take long. Hartig looked up when he had finished, but there were no dissenting voices.

“I take it we agree then, gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to bring your copies to the desk, we can sign. As you can see, I have taken the liberty of entering today’s date in every document. Doctor Wielgus — would you do us the favor of signing first?”

“Of course.”

His pen scratched once, twice, thrice, and he stepped back. Then the others signed and were each handed a copy of the document. Stroessner shook his head and chuckled aloud.

“Capital! Capital!” he said. “Now all that remains is the transaction with the diamonds and the turning over of the ship.”

“Yes. But tomorrow,” Wielgus said. “It is after midnight and communication with shore stations will be hard to do by radio. We will begin again in the morning. I will have the Czech informed that we meet here at ten a.m. to finish the operation.” He picked up the phone and called a cabin number, issued a quick command and hung up. Within a minute there was a knocking on the door. “My men are here. I bid you all a goodnight.”

He picked up the bag of diamonds, opened the door and left.

The slam of the closing door in the suite next door was the only sound that penetrated the hushed silence of the room. All four of the men there had been leaning close to the loudspeaker, turned low so there could be no possibility of audible feedback, listening with intense concentration to every word spoken. Now the sound of the door acted as a release of tension, an end to the meeting, a stopping point. The Israeli, Uzi Drezner, shook himself as though he had just stepped out from under a cold shower. Hank Greenstein leaned forward and turned off the speaker but left the recording tape running.

“The dirty, dirty bastards,” he said in a low voice, scarcely aware that he had spoken aloud.

“Amen to that,” Leandro Diaz said, wearily, rubbing his hand over the fresh bristles on his face. “Like that. Just like that — they give away my country to those swine. If I had not heard it with my own ears, if I had been told about this, I would not have believed it.”

Only the Tupamaro leader, Josep, seemed unmoved by what they had heard. His expression and his manner did not change as he took out a cigarette and lit it. Yet his actions were just as much a statement as theirs. His life was already dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt regime in his country by any means. This disclosure added nothing new to that resolve. You cannot paint the devil blacker than he already is; you can only obliterate him.