fully aware that Interpol had circulated a bulletin with his photo on it, and even though he had three passports in different names issued from dissimilar countries, he was still on guard, regardless that almost a year had gone by since his narrow escape and with each day the likelihood of pursuit diminished.
Antonio, as he was known in Mendoza and in his Ecuadorian passport, powered on his computer to check on the markets. He’d invested most of his twenty million dollars in a basket of commodities, from silver and gold to copper and iron ore, as well as some currencies that showed promise, such as the Chinese Yuan and the Aussie dollar. He was now up seventeen percent in under a year, and he fine-tuned his holdings once a week based on trends he perceived. He’d even made an easy ten percent playing the Mexican Peso, buying a million dollars’ worth when it hit fourteen to the dollar, and selling them when it hit twelve six. He’d shown a knack for all things financial, just as he’d done well at anything to which he’d applied himself, and he found the challenge of prospering by being ahead of international trends to be engaging enough to keep him occupied.
He pulled up the Mexican national news and saw more coverage on the unsuccessful attempt on the new president in Tampico. That had all the earmarks of a cartel operation, judging by the massive overkill and collateral damage. He shook his head. When would these guys learn that careful and surgical yielded superior results every time? A part of him itched to get back into the game, but he didn’t need the money, and he recognized that Mexico would be too hot to go back to for many years. After his last sanction there, he’d have to stay away for the duration. To return would be foolhardy. It was best to watch the carnage from afar.
He checked on the action in the gold and silver markets, and jolted when he heard the front door chime sound. His watch told him that he’d lost almost two hours online, so that meant it was Jania.
“
“Yes, Jania. Good morning. I thought I’d get a jump on the day. How are you?” he called from the back room.
Jania pushed the partially open door ajar and greeted him with a smile. She was twenty, slim, with long, dirty-blond hair and an appealingly fresh face.
“Good morning to you, as well. Is there anything special you need me to do before we open?” Jania continued to beam at him, seemingly unaware of the multiple ways the invitation she was extending could be taken.
He paused, then returned her smile. “No, we can do the inventory tonight after we close. You’ve been keeping track of our sales, right? It’s probably time to reorder some of the top sellers.”
“The corkscrews are moving well and so are the bone-handled steak knife sets. I think we’d be wise to stock more of those.”
“Noted.”
“Oh, and my uncle Gustavo will be by at eleven. He says you promised to let him beat you at chess today,” she announced, then spun perkily to attend to the small showroom.
Gustavo came by every few days, and Antonio allowed him to hang out and kill time at the store. Gustavo presented a welcome diversion and got him out of the shop. They would sit at one of the numerous outdoor coffee shops adjacent to the entry and play chess for hours, shooting the breeze and watching the world go by. Normally anti-social, he’d made a measured effort to appear friendly since moving to Argentina. Socially adept people were not regarded with suspicion, whereas recluses were. And the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention.
“I’ll look forward to his arrival.” He checked the time again. “Might as well open the front door, since we’re both here now,” he called after her.
Gustavo was a character — a retired bureaucrat in his early sixties living on a pension, who always seemed to have plenty of money to throw around. He drove a new BMW and lived in one of the most expensive areas of town, which had struck Antonio as odd. When he’d probed the topic with Jania, she’d simply responded that her uncle was the black sheep of the family and always had his hands in something lucrative. Antonio took that to mean that he was involved in the black market that was ubiquitous in Argentina, and without which the economy couldn’t function. As far as he was concerned, what the old man did to make ends meet was none of his business.
He finished up his online chores and then heard the chime again, followed by Gustavo’s distinctive baritone from the front. He quickly powered down the computer and, after doing a scan of the office, closed the office door and moved into the shop. Gustavo was chatting with Jania, examining the tango music CDs on the countertop display.
“Ah, good morning, my friend. So today is the day where I finally win a game against the
“It’s a time of hope. One never knows what little miracles will be bestowed upon the fortunate,” Antonio replied with a grin.
“Shall we?” Gustavo gestured at the door.
Antonio nodded.
They made their way to the French bakery a few doors down and claimed one of the sidewalk tables. A waitress emerged from the shop and took their order as Gustavo carefully set the pieces on the chessboard.
“How’s business, my friend?” Gustavo asked.
“Oh, you know. Slow. It could be better.” The truth was that business was dismal, not that Antonio cared much.
“It’s the damned government. Did you know that Argentina was the eighteenth richest nation in the world at the start of the twentieth century?” Gustavo commented.
“What happened?” Antonio asked politely, having heard the story before.
“Back at the end of the Eighties, the president, Menem, privatized all the industries in Argentina that were part of the collective national worth. That’s the polite way of saying that he took anything of value and sold it to foreign banks for two cents on the dollar, in return for massive bribes. That’s why everything costs so much here. Argentina produces oil, and yet there are chronic gasoline shortages, and the price is higher than most non- producing countries. Same for power. The electric rates are among the highest in the world. Even the airline got sold, and it was wildly profitable at the time — and yet it went for less than the value of the assets, much less the revenue.”
“Well, the rest of the world is starting to get the same treatment by the same banks. The population gets screwed while the banks and the government get rich,” Antonio observed.
“Is it any wonder that the rule of law is breaking down? Society is a contract, between the people and their government. If the government doesn’t honor the deal, and lets special interests rob them, and inflates the currency till savings are worthless and prices go through the roof, then the population walks away from the deal. That’s how things are in Argentina,” Gustavo concluded.
“I’m not here to judge. I’m here to get beaten at chess. You do what you have to in order to get by.”
“A wise philosophy, my friend,” Gustavo said, nodding. “So how are you getting on with Jania?”
“She’s perfect for the job. I couldn’t ask for a better person,” Antonio replied neutrally.
“I think she’s rather fond of you.”
“As am I. Like I said, she’s the perfect person for the job,” Antonio repeated, preferring not to go down the road Gustavo was trying to steer towards.
“Ah. Just so.” Gustavo moved his opening pawn and eyed Antonio warily. “Your move.”
Gustavo had always perceived that, with Antonio, there was more going on than met the eye. He considered himself a good judge of character, having spent years doing handshake deals as he built his network in the Argentine underworld while he was one of the directors of the secret police. He wisely vacated his position after his role in the mass executions and death squads of the 1970s came into question, and he faded into obscurity before being recruited for the new regime, which was equally brutal, a few years later.
He’d leveraged his power in the newly-created intelligence apparatus to solidify a slavery and drug distribution network in Buenos Aires that survived to the present, albeit with younger men in the active positions. Upon his retirement from the government twelve years earlier, Gustavo had moved first to Patagonia, and then later to Mendoza, to be as far from the scene of his crimes as he could get while still remaining in the country.
He wasn’t sure what Antonio’s situation was, but he did know one thing after spending a few months chatting with the man and playing chess. He claimed to be from Ecuador, but his accent said differently. It was oddly neutral, almost in a practiced way, but Gustavo thought he detected Mexico rather than South America.
