STATE DEPARTMENT WASHINGTON, D. C.
0930 HOURS
THE classified report from the Bolivian Federal Police on the massacre in the Gran Chaco was arranged in two neat piles in front of Carl Joplin, PhD. The larger stack was what he was still carefully reading, and the small were the pages he had already perused. A notebook off to the side contained the first draft of the official memo he planned to have properly typed up as a commentary on the document.
The task was interrupted by his desk phone buzzing. He picked up the receiver and was told that Arturo Sanchez, the envoy from Bolivia, had arrived as per Joplin's request.
'Send him in, please,' the undersecretary said. He hung up the phone and waited a few seconds until Sanchez came into the office. 'Sit down, Arturo. I've the official file from the report of the Bolivian police in regards to the killings at Novida.'
'I am familiar with it,' Sanchez remarked in a cold voice.
'The police don't name names of suspects or known murderers,' Joplin said. 'Do you have any views on the subject?'
'I can confidently state who did not do it,' Sanchez said testily. 'And that would be the Falangists. After all, those unfortunate people were being helpful to the fascists. It was a misguided kindness but understandable under the circumstances.'
'I agree with you,' Joplin said. 'What about your Border Police?'
'If they had done it, the Federal Police would have found proof?'
'Perhaps they did find proof but declined to reveal it to anyone,' Joplin suggested.
'That seems a wild theory,' Sanchez said. 'There is no indication that the Border Police were anywhere in the vicinity of the village.'
'I requested the illegals be expelled,' Joplin said. 'You said your Border Police would take care of it. Perhaps when they arrived to arrest the Brazilians, something untoward occurred that set off the mass executions.'
Sanchez shook his head. 'I think there is a good chance that your special operations people did it. After all, they would have been angry to have the Brazilians giving aid and encouragement to the Falangists?'
'Our people are highly disciplined and well led,' Joplin said. 'It is not only preposterous but insulting to think they would commit so horrid a crime.'
'I believe American troops committed such atrocities in Vietnam,' Sanchez replied.
'There are atrocities committed by both sides in any conflict,' Joplin said. 'Certain people, including Americans, have made claims of war crimes by U. S. forces that have never been proven.' Then he added, 'And never will because the allegations are false.'
'You and I are not going to get to the truth of this unfortunate matter this morning,' Sanchez said. 'So far Brazil has kept quiet about the murders, but eventually they will speak out in protest. This could cause Operation Falangist Fury to be compromised. That would be a great misfortune for all of us concerned when the story gets out. It will make it impossible to deal with future problems of that nature.'
'Well, my friend:' Joplin said, 'you had better prepare yourself. This situation is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.'
FUERTE FRANCO
CENTRO DE MANDO
1345 H0URS LOCAL
CAPITAN Diego Tippelskirch went down the steps and through the doorway to where the generalisimo kept his desk. He walked into the earthen room and saluted Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato. 'Mi generalisimo, I have just received yet another momentous report.'
Castillo immediately forgot the ammunition inventory he had been studying. When Tippelskirch seemed happily excited, that meant good news. 'Que pasa, capitan?'
'My source in La Paz tells me that it's been revealed to him that the massacre at Novida was carried out by the Bolivian Border Police.'
'Por San Miguel!' Castillo exclaimed. 'How can this be?'
'Evidently they were dispatched to the area to arrest the villagers for deportation,' Tippelskirch explained. 'The man in charge was Coronel Francisco Martinez, who is called El Garron by his men. He is an avowed racist who hates African people. The informer is one of the coroners men, and he said that everyone--men, women and children--were herded into a group outside the village then mowed down like stalks of corn.'
'Mmm,' Castillo mused. 'He probably figured they would just rot out there on the Gran Chaco without ever being discovered.'
'I think this Martinez is not worried one way or the other,' Tippelskirch said. 'He has friends in high places. A cover-up would be easy to arrange.'
'That is quite an advantage to the gentleman,' Castillo said.
'Not only for him, but for us as well,' Tippelskirch said. 'I could take Suboficial Punzarron to La Paz and meet with that journalist friend of mine. He works for the right-wing newspaper El Conquistador. Since Punzarron speaks Portuguese, he could pose as a survivor. He can name the killers and describe the massacre. Be assured the information would be quickly published.'
Castillo frowned. 'What advantage is that to us?'
'He can tell them the crime was committed by norteamericanos,' Tippelskirch said. 'Men in uniforms speaking English and wearing green berets. American Special Forces.'
Castillo's frown warped into a grin. 'And he could say the people were killed because they supported the Falangists, no? It would be a great propaganda coup in our favor.'
'Por su puesto--of course!' Tippelskirch said.
'Put your plan into action, Capitan Tippelskirch,' Castillo said. 'Wait! I should say Comandante. Tippelskirch. I am promoting you.'
'Gracias, mi generalisimo!'
'And you should add the name of Coronel Martinez to the file of potential Falangists.'
Tippelskirch smiled. 'I already have, mi generalisimo.'
.
1800 HOURS LOCAL
THE two dozen convicts were pleasantly surprised that their workday had been called off so early. There was still almost four hours of light left in the Southern Hemisphere summer day, and they generally were kept at their toil until the sun began to redden for its descent over the western horizon.
The prisoners marched in a column of twos from their latest machine gun emplacement work sites toward the barbed wire-encircled camp they called home. One thing that frustrated them as much as the hard labor was having no idea where in the world they were. One of the diehards said it didn't make much difference. Even if they escaped and became lost in the wilderness, it would be a faster and easier way to die than years of wasting away in prison.
When they got back to the camp they found the impressive and very tough-looking officer they had learned to fear, standing at the gate. They were marched up in front of him and brought to a halt. He waited until the group settled down before speaking to them. He displayed an uncustomary friendly smile.
'I remind you that I am Coronel Jeronimo Busch, the field commander of the Grupo de Batalla stationed here. One of our Argentine officers arranged for you to be taken from your prison cells and flown to this location to build field fortifications for our noble cause. You were chosen because you are all under life sentences, doomed to spend the rest of your days in prison until you are planted in the cemetery outside the walls. Nobody comes to visit you anymore, and you are lost and abandoned not only by society but by your families.'
The convicts listened impassively to the words that simply repeated things they already knew and had accepted. This coronel was correct. They were the hopeless ones simply putting in time in the hell of confinement until their bodies gave up the ghost.
Busch continued, 'But you now have a way out of this miserable existence to which your stupidity and evilness have condemned you. I am sure you have now figured out we are soldiers. In truth, we have a holy purpose for taking up arms. We call ourselves Falangistas and will one day rule all of South America. I am at this very
