Globusz^® Publishing 

fter being woken early, before dawn on the following day, Peter and Helen were given coarse bread and water for breakfast, before being led out side to the courtyard which fronted onto the main street. The day dawned with a bright clear sky again as a fresh sun cleared the mountain peaks in the East. They walked over to where an ex-army truck waited in the courtyard. A handcuff encircled Peter’s right wrist, connected to its pair around Helens right wrist, making it difficult to climb onto the high flat bed of the truck. ‘They seem to know what they’re doing,’ he thought. It makes it much more difficult to manage than being handcuffed left and right hands, but at least we are together and can talk.’ After climbing in the back Peter urged Helen towards the front of the flat bed. Sitting down on their packs with Helen on his right, their backs to the cab he pushed out his feet, leant back and tried to relax.

The next prisoners to come out were the three men he had seen in the exercise yard. The smaller two were handcuffed in a similar fashion to Helen and Peter, but the third guy had leg chains which were also handcuffed to his right hand, he clambered on board the truck with difficulty then shuffled and crawled to the front to sit beside Helen. The other two men sat on one side as two women prisoners already handcuffed right hand to right hand climbed on board and sat opposite the two men.

Helen moved uncomfortably and sidled closer to Peter. The big guy followed... a smile on his face. Peter climbed lazily to his feet and indicated to Helen to move over then he sat down between her and the big guy who was still grinning showing several missing teeth. Peter turned towards him only to find the big guy’s face inches from his own. Without flinching he spoke quietly to him in English. “What are you here for?”

“Fighting... I beat up a soldier... They tell me he’s real sick.” He said with the grin still on his face.

Peter acted surprised. “Really! ... You speak such good English. Do you know! The last time I had a fight, her husband was murdered. That’s why we’re here.” He then turned away, leant back and closed his eyes, a smile on his face as the big man sullenly retreated.

Helen listened to the interchange and despite being reminded of David, smiled at the subtle correctness of the deception in Peters comment. She put her head back and tried to relax and think. ‘This Peter was a very handy guy to have around.’ She opened her right eye and looked him over. Hard and lean, his right leg stretched out and left leg folded under. His left boot flat on the truck bed held him in place. Broad across the shoulders, long arms and with hair on the back of his sensitive hands. ‘He’s tough, kind, and also intelligent. I’m glad he’s on my side. If they give us half a chance, that’s all we need and then they will surly regret it.’ This analysis cheered her up slightly and enabled her to relax a little. She began to trace a finger through the hairs on the back of the hand that was handcuffed to hers.

Next some heavy wooden boxes were loaded, followed by a steel framed chair then an old canvas was tossed in the back. Two very sullen looking guards then climbed in, one armed with a rifle, the other carrying an old battered sports bag. The tailgate was raised and pegged as the armed guard flicked the chair onto its legs and sat down, one arm resting on one of the boxes. He thumped the butt of the rifle on the flat bed to get everyone's attention then after pointing over the side of the truck and shaking his head he patted the rifle stock.

This was a man of few words but his intentions were abundantly clear.

The second guard leered at each one of his charges in turn. He picked up the canvas and gestured to Peter and Helen to put it over their heads. They protested. It was warm enough; it wasn’t raining, but all to no avail. As the guard tried to explain, he didn’t know why but they mustn’t be seen in the back of the truck. Apparently it didn’t matter about the others but their white faces must not be seen whilst they were in the city. It was no use arguing. They were however allowed to make a sort of tent from their cover so they could lookout of the back, just so long as their faces were in deep shadow. A third guard who appeared to be in charge, swaggered over, the pistol holster at his waist depicting his status. After first looking over the tailgate, checking that all was satisfactory, he climbed into the cab by the driver.

They drove out of the courtyard onto the main street and were soon passing along an uneven tarmac road with some potholes heading inland through the city. The tyres on the rear of the truck must have been well inflated because even at 30 mph, every bump they went over shook them up and caused the truck to bounce and rattle. The occasional glimpses of the sea disappeared as they drove further inland and after half an hour the city outskirts were left behind. They were running past farms and small-holdings, spread out across the flood plane; it was stuffy and difficult to breath under the canvas. Helen was unable to relax and as the sun climbed higher, it soon became unbearable. Together they threw back the canvas and much to their surprise were allowed to leave it off. Able now to take in their surroundings, riding with their backs to the cab of the truck on the high flat bed afforded an excellent view of the city as the road climbed slowly up from the coast. Away to their left they could just make out the airport buildings before the ground rose gently into rounded hills spotted with more homesteads and the occasional hacienda. On their right, in sharp contrast, the ground rose much more steeply into the lower foothills of the Cordillera range of mountains.

“Peter, this is the road that we travelled before. A few days ago, it feels like a life time.”

“Yes it’s the same road, I hope they don’t take that short cut along the old dirt track, this is bumpy enough on the tarmac.”

It was still early; fortunately there was little traffic and very few pedestrians on the road. Apparently there was no market today. The sun rose higher clearing away what little of the mist remained and removing the last of night’s chill. The steep mountain-side on their right crowded in ever closer to the road after they'd bridged the river. Perched higher on the back of the truck afforded a better view than from the Land Rover and between the road and the mountain-side they saw the single track railway line, the tops of the rail rusty from lack of use. Sometimes it ran alongside them though mostly just above the road. Once again they took the right turn back over the Rio Milagro and out onto the plain. Passing the dirt track taken by the Land Rover it was only a short distance before the truck turned left up the Milagro valley. The new road twisted and turned along the valley floor which continued to be steep sided to the North with rounded hills to the South. All the way they climbed ever deeper into the interior, occasionally catching glimpses of the rail track, the river and the electricity pylons which following a similar route up the valley.

Peter realised they were getting closer to the flat area where the fight had occurred and David had been murdered. There was nothing he could do about it even if he tried he couldn’t distract Helen that much and turned to watch her. Helen new precisely where they were and her bottom lip began to tremble, her hand squeezed his and gradually the grip tightened. Next moment the clearing came into view and as they swept past it, without stopping, Helen began to relax again.

Gradually the road surface became worse with more numerous potholes and though the driver appeared to have little concern for his passengers the pace slowed. Once again they switched back and forth across the river as the journey continued without a break. After several hours everyone in the back was thoroughly fed up, with the continual jolting and bouncing. Helen had bruises in more places than she could imagine, even though sitting on her back pack and leaning against Peter had saved her from the worst. The armed guard, the one with the rifle, had long since given up on the chair and was sitting with his back to one of the boxes, the rifle lying across his lap. At the very rear of the truck near the tailgate they were getting thrown about much more than those in the middle, even so the guard had been dozing a little. Peter considered the possibility of getting hold of the rifle, then taking over the truck. But even if that wear viable. What then! He couldn’t shoot everyone and he couldn’t take them with him. If he left the others behind the hunt would be after them very quickly, and they wouldn’t be able to travel fast in this truck. Not much chance of jumping a train either as none had passed them in either direction. Besides he had experimented a little by swapping over the position of his legs. As soon as he or the man next to him moved both guards came awake instantly. He tried a little harder and spoke to the guard. “Can I stand, permit estar de pie?” He had received a very emphatic. “No! sientate.” (Sit) They appeared to be taking no chances with their charges.

After travelling in this fashion for some time, they must have covered about forty or fifty miles, one of the men lolling against the side of the truck raised his arm and pointed ahead of them. “La presa... la presa Milagro.” Peter turned to Helen. “The dam Milagro, he can see it. I thought we may be getting near. Now we will see what all the fuss is about and what caused us to be here in the first place... You haven’t seen it yet have you? You haven't been here before?”

“David’s dam. No! I haven't actually seen it with my own eyes.” Helen muttered, then without a thought for her own safety she climbed to her feet to look over the top of the cab.

The guard scrambled to his knees bringing the rifle up at the same time shouting. “Sientate! Sientate! Sit!”

Peter pulled at her arm to get her to sit down at the same time raising his other hand to the guard. “Un momento! Momento, por favor, la presa Milagro... la descripcion... la mujer el marido.” (A moment please her husband did the description of the dam Milagro). He was very worried in case the guard hit her with the rifle, so grabbing her leg he pulled her down then wrapped his arms around her to stop her from getting up again. ”Helen stop, stay sat down... We will see it shortly when we get closer or the guard is going to hit you with that rifle if you get up again.”

The guard stood over them, the rifle raised as if to strike Helen. Peter raised a protective arm as the guard said again. “Sientate! La mujer sientate.”

Helen was shaking as she disentangled her self from Peter’s arms. “It’s okay. I’m not going to get up again, but I just wanted to see it. It’s David’s dam you know, that’s what we called it. He spent several years putting everything he had into that dam. And do you know what? They don’t deserve it. This lousy country, they really don’t deserve it.” With that she put her head in her hands and forced the palms of her hands into her eyes to stop the tears.

Peter turned away and tried to explain to everyone in the truck, partly in English and partly in Spanish he told them that her husband had just been killed and that it was he that had designed the dam, the Presa Milagro.

Helen removed her hands from her face, shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. Peter’s right hand, having to move with her hand, stroked her head. Her eyes looked puffy but otherwise she was okay. “I’m sorry about that Peter, I swore, I promised myself I wouldn’t ever cry again until I saw David’s murderer brought to justice. And then all I needed was to see that dam and I broke down.”

“Hey! Don’t let it bother you, everyone understands, look if you lean forward you can just see the dam now.” It was slowly coming into view as the truck wound its way up the road. Abruptly they turned right and left behind the better road which connected to the railhead and continued further, snaking its way up towards the base of the dam.

They all turned gazing in awe at the sight. The dam, now presented in all its glory, with the sun shining down on to its face looked very impressive from this angle. A big white ‘V’ of concrete sandwiched between natural granite buttresses and topped by a curved rim which towered nearly seven hundred metres above them. The face of these buttresses had been stripped of vegetation for a hundred yards either side the dam, thus showing the bare granite which appeared in stark contrast to the white concrete and lush green vegetation of the rain forest. The base of the dam was more than four hundred metres above the road. Whilst between the base and the railhead, but further to the left they could just make out some buildings which were obviously the power generating plant. Electricity power lines snaked out from them along the shoulder of the mountain-side, thence down the valley towards Sao Agusta and the coast. Above and to the right of the electricity power station they could make out the entrance or rather exit of a tunnel. This tunnel, about six metres in diameter, had a trickle of water flowing out of it which ran down a chute some ten metres long then fell a further thirty metres before hitting the rocks below.

Just beyond the railhead perched on some high ground was a massive block of bare concrete about three stories high. From this, a pair of cables ran straight up the mountain-side in an enormous loop to the granite shoulder on the left of the dam. They were obviously cables for the cable car used in the construction. It didn’t appear to be in operation at the moment as no cable cars could be seen.

“Wow!” said Peter. “Now that is impressive, doesn’t it look fantastic; I’ll bet you get a wonderful view from that cable car.”

“You do! Yes it is very impressive, even as a photograph. David has...” Then Helen paused and corrected her self. “I have a picture at home. It must have been taken from about halfway up the cable car. David took it with a wide angle lens during the construction and we had it enlarged. Now it’s hanging in the lounge. David’s Dam... that’s what we call the picture... It shouldn’t really be called the Presa Milagro, or the Milagro Dam. The Milagro is that river down there below us. I forget the name of this river; it’s not very impressive and is just a tributary of the Milagro. But the bay at Sao Agusta is called Bahia de Milagro and so is this valley, they decided to name the dam the same. It was more notable they said.”

The big guy sprawled next to Peter raised an arm and pointed at the exit tunnel of the over flow.

“La fuente El Presidante, el arroyo la sequia.” (The President’s fountain, a stream in drought). This brought forth a great deal of laughter until the armed guard thumped the butt of his rifle on the truck flat bed and glared at the man. “Corredo su la boca.” (Shut your mouth). Immediately the laughter stopped and they all looked away, trying to disassociate themselves from the comment.

Peter leaned over to the man. “Why do you call it the President’s Fountain?” He asked.

“Ah! That is because whenever our President is at his country retreat, the hacienda over there,” he gestured to the other side of the valley, “they turn on the water. It squirts out of there in a big fountain to smash on those rocks below. It is said the President likes to watch it from his house, he thinks of it as a flag for when he is in residence perhaps.”

Peter turned to look across the valley; the Rio Milagro could be seen sparkling in the sunshine, some hundred metres below them. On a rounded shoulder of ground on the far bank of the river was a fine hacienda surrounded by green lawns running down to the waters edge. Trees and a high wall protected the other three sides of the hacienda. The road they were on was about a hundred metres higher than the house and so they could easily see over the walls. In a corner of the enclosure separate from the main house was another more functional building, probably to house the hired help. In a field outside the wall, five or six horses were grazing. He could just make out the track of a road from a gate in the wall meandering down the valley through the trees. This would probably join the road they were on further back towards Sao Agusta.

He leant over to Helen, who had hardly taken her eyes of the dam since it first came into view. “That's the President’s country retreat.” He said pointing it out, before telling her about the overflow from the dam. Then he looked up at the dam, back to the hacienda and again looked at the dam. ‘That’s a hell of a thing to have in your front garden.’ He thought. ‘If that dam was to give way there wouldn’t be much left of that place. I should think the tidal wave would be felt all the way back to Sao Agusta and the sea... Still, best not to think about that whilst we are on this road directly below it.’

Helen kept her eyes on the dam as they drove past; barely hearing what Peter was telling her. The memories came flooding back of how David had described it to her, when they had first met several years ago and before the first concrete had been poured. He had been so enthusiastic about it, even sketching it on the back of a napkin when they were out to dinner one evening. ‘David’s dam!’ She kept on repeating it to her self. ‘David’s dam and it was just as beautiful as I had imagined it would be. I don’t care what anyone else calls it, to me it‘s David’s dam and it will always remain so.’

Peter looked down again, at the hacienda, on the approach road he could just make out three cars making their way up the road, through the trees towards the gate of the compound. Just then, from somewhere high on the dam, a horn sounded off, rather like a ships foghorn, reverberating around the mountains. Every one looked up at the dam with alarm, until a moment later a great wall of water gushed out of the overflow tunnel. The water raced down the chute to spray out in an arc before crashing onto the rocks below. Immediately a rainbow formed in the spray adding to the beauty of the scene.

Helen was spellbound, tears coming into her eyes as she slowly realised that this was what David had so wanted to show her. Peter leaned over towards her and ignoring her tears said. “No wonder El Presidante likes to see the water flowing. It’s beautiful; I think maybe that’s him arriving in one of those vehicles below us.”

A moment later the truck started to descend and after a few minutes they came to a wide ford of a dried up stream with just a trickle of water running down the middle of the bed. It was obviously the outfall from the valley that had been dammed. The tarmac of the road was dry as some pipes had been laid under the road surface for the trickle of water to run through. As they approached it a wave of water, maybe a foot high, was making its way down the dry streambed. The front of the wave carrying all sorts of detritus from the forest up stream, it hit the road and flowed over the surface. This was obviously now the dam’s overflow route to the Rio Milagro. The road across the ford would probably be under about six inches of water when the overflow was fully open but at the moment only the first wave of water had arrived. The truck crossed over the ford and they were soon travelling along a forest lined road. With the dam, now no longer in view, there was little to draw their attention but the overhanging vegetation as the road once again climbed along the side of the valley.

* * *

Fidel had almost forgotten his interrogation technique. It was such a long time ago in KGB school at Moscow. But several things he did remember, and one was patience, the other was to give the prisoner time to worry. Well he had time and patience, lots of time. He would give some of this to his ‘victim’ for that’s how he thought of him. Anticipating resistance at first he timed his first visit for midday and sat in the jail commandant’s chair in the office he had commandeered before calling for the prisoner to be brought in. A file lay closed before him on the otherwise clear desk. The file, which contained only blank papers, was clearly labelled ‘Shaun Maile al Brian Daily’ in letters that could easily be read upside down.

They brought in the prisoner and ordered him to sit. Fidel waved the guards out and the door closed gently behind them before the door latch dropped with a loud ‘click’, so loud as to make the man in front of him visibly jump with nervousness. Fidel wasn’t into speaking the Irish brogue, so he stuck to his best English. “Top of the morning to you Shaun, and how are you enjoying the hospitality of my country.”

“Pardon?”

“I said good morning to you Shaun, are you comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable, though I have had better accommodation, but why are you addressing me as Shaun? My name is Brian... Brian Daily.”

“No! You are Shaun Maile ex IRA and wanted in Spain for murder and train wrecking. Are you not?”

“No Seņor, I assure you I am not this man.”

“Really! ... Well let me know when you change your mind. Just tell one of the guards that you wish to speak to Seņor Gamboa.” With that Fidel stood up, picked up the file with the heading clearly visible and left the office, leaving Shaun with very little time for further comment. In the corridor he reversed the file before telling the guard to take Seņor Daily back to his cell. The whole meeting had taken less than two minutes.

Ten minutes later Fidel was sitting at a window table in a decent restaurant down the road, starting his lunch whilst sipping an excellent glass of chardonnay and debating how long it would be before the commandant got the message that Shaun wished to talk. ‘He has now been in jail for, let me see... over a week without anyone talking to him. Then I come in and say a few words of truth before leaving... He must be getting worried that he will spend another week or more in isolation.’

‘Hmm... two hours... he has his lunch, he thinks some more... maybe three hours. Certainly this afternoon.’

It was a pleasant day, he had a lazy lunch and was feeling contented, sitting there sipping his coffee and admiring the passing ladies when his phone rang. It was the jail commandant. “Seņor Daily asked me to pass this message to you. ‘He would be grateful if you could arrange to continue the discussion that you started this morning, as soon as it would be convenient for you.’ Do you wish me to tell him anything in reply?”

Fidel’s immediate reaction was No! Don’t tell him anything... But then he realised the wording of the message was extremely polite... The man was broken, why make an issue of it.

“Seņor Gamboa! Do you wish me to speak to him?”

“Si! Tell him this, ‘Seņor Gamboa will continue the meeting in one hour’s time.’ Use those very words if you please.”

Fidel ended the call and leant back in his chair, a broad smile slowly spreading across his face. ‘This excessive politeness was catching, I even said please to the commandant of the jail. ‘If I carry on like this he will begin to wonder if I am going soft,’ he thought. ‘Now an hour to kill, better make that an hour and a half. I can’t let Seņor Maile think I am over eager.’

It was however two hours later before he sat at the desk as Shaun was ushered into the office. A gesture to the guard dismissed him and a second gesture towards the chair invited Shaun to sit.

“Good afternoon. I take it you have now changed your mind? What is your name?”

“Shaun, my name is Shaun Maile. But you know that.”

“Yes indeed I do. And that you were a bomber for the IRA, and that you freelanced and worked for the Basque separatists in Spain.” Fidel wishing to show how knowledgeable he was continued in a conciliatory tone. “Odd, is it not that you should end up here in Cordilla, a country that has taken its name from the mountain range of Cordillera. In the Basque region of Spain there is also a Cordillera mountain range. Isn’t that where you caused the train wreck and where a man died?”

“No! That happened in the foot hills of the Cantabrica Mountains.”

“Ah! No matter, close by... Now you have a choice, you can join me, work for me, I have a job that requires your skills. Or you can take your chance with the Spanish authorities.”

“And afterwards, what happens to me after the job is completed? ... If I decide to join you.”

Fidel immediately picked up on the form of his question and the later ‘If I decide to join you’. This man gave him self away so easily. He smiled inwardly ‘got him’. Then thought some more about how best to word his reply. “You will be allowed to stay and continue working for me, or you will be allowed to leave. Your choice! The job I have in mind will take three or four months. You would be paid, not a great deal, but enough to live comfortably for... say... six months.”

Shaun thought rapidly, four months minimum, maybe six. After that time the hue and cry will have died down somewhat. It certainly sounded the better option. “What is this job you want doing?”

Fidel smiled in return, “we can discuss that if you accept my offer.”

“Okay! Count me in. I have no wish to talk to the Spanish authorities.”

“Right Brian. It will be best if you keep that name, at least for now. I will keep both your passports... Yes we found your real one hidden in that book. You will be let out of jail...” He looked at his watch... “Tomorrow morning. Everything else will be returned to you. Find yourself an apartment and in two days time ring me on my mobile number.” He then gave him his number and had him write it down.

* * *

From their perch facing backwards on the bed of the truck, Peter and Helen were able to catch an occasional glimpse of the dam for some time as they continued up the valley. It was while they were looking at it for what may have been the last time that the road came to a flat area and widened out. The truck pulled off the road and stopped before the armed guard jumped down and walked a little way back down the road. The other guard opened one of the boxes and brought out a long length of chain. “Out! Out! Come on get down.”

As they climbed down off the truck he threaded them all onto the long length of chain before shackling it to the back of the truck whilst the third guard with the pistol looked on. The chain was long enough for them to walk about a little and stretch their legs but that was all. They opened another of the boxes, rummaged around inside and brought out bread, two water bottles and some cold sausage. The driver climbed down onto the road stretching and stamping his feet.

“Oh! Goody, a picnic,” exclaimed Helen with a smile on her face. “I was beginning to wonder whether we were going to get fed.” The ‘picnic’ though wasn’t very appetising, just cold sausage and bread and water but no one seemed to be complaining and it soon disappeared. The elder of the two women prisoners and one of the men appeared to be husband and wife. Somehow they had ended up next to each other on the length of chain. She was agitated, as they were speaking together, gesturing to him to ask one of the guards. He slowly walked over towards them, “Los servicios por favor.” he asked, cringing, half expecting to be hit with the rifle. “Vale espera.

When the man was waved away Helen turned to Peter. “I hope he doesn’t make us wait too long for the toilet, I’m dying for a pee, but I don’t fancy having an audience whilst I do it.”

Peter smiled, at least all he had to do was turn his back, but what were they going to do about the three women? The guards soon finished their lunch which was somewhat better than the prisoners and started undoing the chains. Peters handcuff was undone and Helen was handcuffed to the other woman. The armed guard came over and gestured at the woman. He was still a man of few words, pointing first at Helen and then aimed the rifle at Peter. Pointing at the elder woman he aimed at her husband. He then pointed at the last woman and aimed at the third man before gesturing for them to go into the bushes. It was very demonstrative and made abundantly clear what would happen if they tried to escape. The women all handcuffed together moved off the road. Peter now, was left free, not handcuffed to anyone else. He slowly walked down the side of the truck, just pushing the envelope of his freedom. He could feel the eyes on him whilst the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up as he kicked the tyre of the front wheel before ambling around the front of the truck, out of sight of the guards and back down the other side to the rear. The armed guard was watching him... a grin playing on his face. Peter, looking up, caught his eye and smiled back as he nonchalantly leant against the back of the truck. Both realised the invisible mental chain was much stronger than the physical.

After a few moments the women returned. Helen’s handcuff was removed and Peter was handcuffed to the two men. The rifle came up and was aimed at the three women in turn before the men were sent off into the bushes. Meanwhile the big guy received special treatment, still hobbled at his ankles he was escorted by another guard towards the side of the road.

Soon they were on their way again, the road hadn’t got any better but fortunately it hadn’t got much worse as it snaked further and further into the mountains. It was tiring this achingly slow progress; no one could sleep as they had to tense muscles for each bump and bounce. Neither was there enough room to lie down fully because of the boxes. Even though she had a back pack to sit on Helen found it hard. Her spine was beginning to get sore from the constant rubbing on the front of the truck bed. How the others managed, apart from Peter who had his own back pack to sit on, she couldn’t imagine. Despite the ignominy of the toilet she was wishing for another stop so they could have a further drink of water. She was thirsty, hunger she could manage, but thirst and a dry mouth when she could hear running water. That was a different thing as she also knew there was clean drinking water in one of the boxes. Even the afternoon rains passed them bye as the clouds went over and dropped their water further up in the mountains.

All afternoon they had been following the river, never more than a few hundred meters from it and now the sun, which had long passed its zenith, was stretching the shadows as they arrived at a village. Without stopping the truck bumped and ground its way down through the village that squatted at the junction of three valleys. Then just as they came to the last of the houses they turned left, over a small bridge and after a further five hundred metres the truck turned into a yard formed by a house, stables and a barn. Apparently they had arrived at their overnight stop where they were to be fed, watered and could sleep. There were no cells so it was a case of being chained together, this time in a circle around one of the main support posts in the stables. The women were gathered together which allowed them to use one stable whilst the men used the adjacent one. A bucket in each stable appeared to be the only toilet. And so the night passed with whispered conversation between men and women through the partition between the two stables.