Steve’s shorts: Fascist Tango, Part Five…
Fascist Tango
Copyright 2019, Steven M. Moore
Chapter Thirteen
At Rodrigo’s Club
Before Rodrigo returned to the club to take me to his mansion, I inspected the safe in his club office. All the material in there had to do with club business, so that sleuthing campaign was a bust. Lots of guaranis and other South American cash too, as well as other currency from everywhere else. I resisted the temptation to “borrow” some of that just to stick it to Rodrigo—I didn’t need the money, of course.
In the WC, I called Juan Carlos and told him about my plans for later on at the mansion.
“Be careful, Jasmine. You’re walking into the Devil’s lair.”
“I’m sure there’s a tango about that.”
“Piazzolla’s ‘Libertango’ is often called the ‘Devil’s Tango.’ And the latter often means humping it in bed, so that’s appropriate when it comes to Rodrigo. If you can, take a weapon.”
I tingled a bit in my lady parts when he spoke of humping it, thinking about Juan Carlos, not Rodrigo. OK, Jasmine, you’re no longer a teen. Still it was nice to know those parts still functioned. I ignored my colleague’s advice. I was sure I’d be roughly frisked by Rodrigo’s security staff.
“There was nothing of interest in the safe here, so it must be at the mansion. It’s the only logical place where he could have easy access.”
“Get anywhere near that vault, and he might kill you. Slowly, because he’s a sadist.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of yourself.”
“I know about some of your skills. They might not be enough. Plug into the group’s AI network so I can provide backup.”
“From outside the mansion? Don’t be naïve. But connecting is a good idea. I can scan everything I find and upload it to the network. No matter what happens to me, the group will get something. I hope it’s good enough to bring Rodrigo down.”
***
Asuncion isn’t a big city—about three-quarters of a million now, smaller than Montevideo and Buenos Aires, also fascist capitals. Rodrigo’s limo driver soon took us out of the city proper to the mansion. Surrounding it was a wall with metal slats and barbed wire on top, all set in a rock/concrete base. Looked like the FSA’s southern border wall—I had to scale that once—but this one was a lot newer. Videocams were everywhere. The main gate opened with a squeal of hinges.
“The place is old,” said Rodrigo. “People tell me it was Stroessner’s son Freddy’s modest country estate. Just rumors, I suppose. There are plenty of old-timers here from Paraguay’s golden era who gossip about the good old days.”
Golden era? Papa Stroessner’s cohorts took advantage of the power the dictator wielded. Fascismo uber alles! That was their credo.
Colombian citizens were also Paraguayan citizens, but the two countries were linked in other ways. Rojas Pinilla came to power in Colombia in 1953; Stroessner came to power in Paraguay in 1954. They were both generals who became despots long before the generals of the Dirty War in Argentina and Pinochet in Chile. The latter were helped by the CIA; the former were self-made autocrats. Hard to choose between them all, not that I’d want to do so.
“You’ve landscaped it nicely,” I said, just to say something, as we drove up the long driveway.
“Maintaining this place is always a challenge. We made a lot of improvements after I purchased the property.” He put his hands on my thigh. “Like special bedrooms.”
And a vault in your study! I smiled at him—a smile as seductive as I could make it. I must lead you on, you old bastard!
“First I want a tour. I’ve never been inside a mansion.”
“It’s just my home outside the city. But of course, you shall have your tour.”
After a burly security guard frisked me and gave me a lecherous wink—how many women had he turned over to his boss?—we entered through the double front doors. I saw the double stairway to the second level, a sitting room to the right side of the stairway, and what looked like an old English library to the left.
“Is that your study now?”
“The walls are lined with first editions, so technically it’s still a library. Sometime I must read some of those books. There’s also a grand piano where I occasionally host soirees. But yes, I often work at the large desk that’s tucked into a corner. I need quiet when I think about plans and strategies.”
“For your businesses? I’m impressed.”
“Let’s visit the sitting room first.”
***
We entered the sitting room, and I immediately admired the artwork. There were a few family portraits, but most were paintings from the Renaissance forward to the early twentieth century. I wondered if some of them were paintings stolen by the Nazis in World War Two. Paraguay and other countries in the Southern Cone had been havens for Nazis fleeing the allies’ justice.
I sent several images of paintings to our AI network while I pretended to study them.
“Are you a connoisseur of artwork?” said Rodrigo.
“I like it. The modern stuff too, like Botero and Obregon.”
“Famous Colombian artists. Of course. As you can see, I don’t have much room left here for paintings, and my tastes end at the impressionist movement.”
“Shouldn’t some of these be in a climate-controlled environment?”
“Those you think should be are copies. The originals are in a vault where only I can view them. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Guess I’m too dumb to know the difference.”
He made no comment. Maybe he thought I was dumb to even be at his mansion?
“Next we tour my study.”
There I took note of some first editions. Or were they just copies too? But I saw an old edition of Cervantes’ Don Quixote, for example—not a first edition, but in good condition. I didn’t dare touch them.
I also saw a fake book in a bookcase where the cracks around it were a bit too wide compared to the other cases lining the walls, easy to confirm with my sensors. I knew it had to be the entrance to Rodrigo’s vault. I was lucky that Lulu had told me about it so I could look for it. Again I sent the image to the AI network. At least Juan Carlos or others would know the exact location of the vault.
Chapter Fourteen
The Mansion’s Second Level
Instead of the debutante coming down one of the stairways, Rodrigo chaperoned me up the stairs, even offering his arm to help because the risers were high.
More paintings adorned the walls of the halls off the landing. There were busts and statues too. The artworks were now all erotic. To set the mood?
We stopped in front of a closed bedroom door. He eyed me.
“I think I have a negligee that will fit you perfectly.”
“Good. I think it’s time to get comfortable, don’t you think?”
He opened the door to a bedroom that looked like one from an exclusive bordello. The large four-poster bed had pink lace curtains and many fat pillows. I could see a large attached bathroom from where we were standing.
“Show me the negligee. I need to freshen up, Rodrigo.”
“Of course. I will also dress more comfortably in my own bedroom. I will return.” He winked at me. Never doubted it, I thought. After he left, I took the negligee and visited the bathroom. I had to pee, so the visit was a practical one. But I was also looking for a weapon. I didn’t find anything suitable, not even a toothbrush. My augmented body would be my only weapon. I counted on Rodrigo being in a bathrobe with nothing on underneath. That meant he wouldn’t have any weapons either.
I would kill him fast and then bolt downstairs to visit the vault. Wondered how much time I would have.
***
I’d guessed correctly. He even flashed me as he entered the bedroom.
“Do you like what you see?” said the old man.
He was repugnant, so I just smiled. I was already lying on the oversize bed. Unfortunately his satin robe had deep pockets. He pulled out a whip.
“This will get me in the mood, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, but I do.”
I didn’t even wait for him to get near me. I jumped out of the bed. Before he could even raise the whip, I broke his neck. I tore off his right index finger.
“Running downstairs now,” I said to whomever might be listening on the AI network.
The fake book tripped a switch when pulled that caused the bookshelf to come forward and then slide to the side, revealing the vault. I heard doors slamming in the back of the house. Probably the carriage house. Security! There must be videocams hidden in the study. I had to act fast.
To hell with it! I put my fist through the digital combination lock and retina scanner. I then put his finger against the pad. There was a click, and the vault’s door swung open. It took me a few minutes or so to rifle through everything, sending images of paper records and datasets from three portable hard disks to the AI network using leads I plugged into my dongle.
I was still connected when I heard them behind me.
I turned. A barrage of bullets ripped through my body. Too many hit internal organs and my head. I went down, and everything started turning black. But something else was happening at the same time. My mind was expanding into the darkness. What’s going on? But the darkness soon swallowed me.
Chapter Fifteen
Buenos Aires
“She was a good agent,” said Blair Cranston.
Juan Carlos nodded. “And stubborn. I warned her.”
“I don’t see that she could have done anything else and still complete her mission. We’ll miss Jasmine and Karl. But we’ll be dealing a mortal blow to fascist groups around the world who bought into Rodrigo’s plan. At this very moment, other agents are using her information to attack them.”
“Won’t others just take their place?”
Blair shrugged. “Perhaps. But with difficulty.”
An aide peeked into the conference room of the safe house. “Telephone from Paris, sir.”
“I’ll take it in my office. Make yourself comfortable, Juan Carlos.”
Comfortable? I’m more depressed than any other time in my life! He slammed a fist into his palm. Jasmine, you didn’t have to do what you did!
He went to the bar and poured himself a half glass of Irish whiskey. I’m going to need a lot of liquor now! He returned to his seat, saw the remote for the tele, and switched it on to a report from Buenos Aires.
“Capitals across the world are reeling from the many assassinations of prominent leaders,” said the news announcer. “Authorities are blaming anarchists who have launched attacks on our institutions everywhere. Here in this beautiful port city, three junta generals are now dead.”
The reports went on and on as reporters in other capitals made them. Jasmine’s undercover work had made it all possible. He raised the glass to the tele. At least there’s that!
The screen flickered for a moment, so he reached for the remote.
“Don’t you dare turn me off!” Jasmine’s contralto voice was loud and clear.
***
“Is this a recording?” Juan Carlos said to the screen. “Did you pre-record this message, Jasmine, knowing you were going to die?”
He didn’t expect an answer, but there was one.
“No, I’m in the AI network. I don’t know how, but I am. I was trying to figure out how to communicate with the group, but you solved my problem.”
“Is it really you? Or is this some hoax?”
“Test me.”
Juan Carlos thought a moment. “What tango was I singing on stage the night we met?”
“That’s easy. It was ‘Por Una Cabeza’.”
“I can’t believe it. When I saw your bullet-riddled but still beautiful body, I vomited and cried. It looked like a horror version of a Christmas story with all your red blood mixed with the green lubricant from your machine parts.”
“Too descriptive. And your red-and-green description reminds me of that W. B, Yeats poem.”
“‘The Second Coming’? But you slayed the beast, Jasmine.”
“I did, didn’t I? Are you going to tell Blair about my resurrection?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“I’d prefer to keep it quiet. Log on when you can so I can visit with you.”
“I’m heading to Budapest to help clean up things a bit more there. But my real home is South America. We can work together, you know.”
“I’d like that.”
***
There you have it–Jasmine’s story set in a dystopian future. But here’s a question for readers: Should I turn this into a novel?
Comments are always welcome.
The Last Humans. Ex-USN and LA Sheriff’s Department diver Penny Castro goes on a forensic dive and surfaces to find a dying world as far as human civilization is concerned. She struggles to survive. Her adventures—and there are many—aren’t for the faint of heart. This post-apocalyptic thriller published by Black Opal Books in both ebook and print versions is available at the publisher’s website, online retailers like Amazon and Smashwords and the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc.), and bookstores (if they don’t have it, ask for it!).
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
