Don Pendleton - Twisted Path

"What motive would I have to kill a man I had never met?"

"Money, or so the authorities say. Twenty thousand dollars was found in your room, money that you did not bring into the country. More than enough to persuade a hired gun to perform a political assassination. General Palma tells me that Carrillo was well-known in government circles as a fierce opponent of the Shining Path, and that an attempt on his life had been made once before."

Bolan contemplated the news in silence. It didn't ring true to identify Carrillo with the anti-Communists. Knowing the arms dealer's business connections, he found it hard to accept that Carrillo would pass himself off as a strident friend of the government. A low profile would have suited the merchant far better.

"So what happens now? A hearing, a trial?" Bolan was not very optimistic about the outcome of a trial. He knew a stacked deck when he saw one.

Creighton looked pained as he stared over the big man's shoulder at a barred window. "I'm afraid that there won't be a trial. Because you have been connected to a terrorist organisation, a joint police and military commission has reviewed your case. Based on the facts as they have been presented, you have been sentenced by an administrative order in council. The sentence is life imprisonment."

For a moment Bolan was stunned to silence. He had had a pretty low expectation of the treatment he might get from the local judiciary. But this was beyond his worst nightmare. The only question now was when and how to make his break.

For the sake of appearances, he made the required protests, feeling as though he were playacting with a part of his mind, while the bulk of it evaluated possible escape scenarios. "You've got to be kidding. No one could think that I'd be stupid enough to murder Carrillo in his office in front of witnesses?"

"Yes, I thought of that. It doesn't make any sense. However, General Palma thinks that you would have killed Senorita de Vincenzo as well to prevent identification. It was plausible enough to convince the other council members."

"Palma was a witness against me?"

"No, he's a member of the administrative council. He is well-known as a hard-liner against the terrorists. If there is ever another military coup in Peru, a lot of people expect that Palma may be installed as president to wage war."

A knock on the door announced that the interview was being terminated.

"That's all the time we have right now. I'll visit you later at the prison to see how you are doing."

"Prison?"

"The Lurigancho. I'm afraid that it doesn't have a very good reputation."

Bolan turned to the door. The police certainly weren't wasting any time getting him out of the way. He noticed that Creighton hadn't said anything about diplomatic channels, protests or appeals. From the uncomfortable look on the young lawyer's face, he suspected that specific instructions had been given to dissociate the United States from Bolan to every extent possible.

Creighton's voice called him back. "Mr. Blanski, good luck." The lawyer extended his hand. Bolan reached for it, feeling a wad of paper slip into his palm. "Take this," he whispered. "It will make life a little easier inside."

"Thanks, Creighton." Bolan slipped his hand into his pocket as the guards led him away.

Palma lounged by the rear door of a paddy wagon. "Ah, Mr. Blanski. I'm sorry that we will not have an opportunity to become better acquainted." He tapped his crop against the spot where he had previously cut Bolan. "However, it was decided that the evidence was so overwhelming that we really did not need a confession. A pity. I would have enjoyed breaking you."

"Do you really think you could have?" Bolan's voice was low and menacing.

"You are too proud, Mr. Blanski. There are no heroes in the interrogation room, only broken men and corpses. You would have been one or the other. But I reluctantly bid you goodbye." Palma signed with his crop, and the soldiers shoved Bolan inside. Examining the slip of paper Creighton had passed him, Bolan discovered that it was a carefully folded fifty-dollar bill. The warrior often found that at the most unexpected times and in the tightest corners some simple act of human kindness surprised and impressed him. People like Creighton were the reason that Bolan kept up the long, usually thankless and unknown struggle when other men would have built themselves a fortress and resigned from a brutal world, sparing themselves the pain of the fight.

General Palma retreated to his private office, indicating to his secretary that he did not wish to be disturbed. He dialed a number from memory.

"Hello," a soft contralto said.

"I wish to congratulate you on your good work. Blanski will not trouble us again." Palma paused for a reply, and obtaining none, continued. "I have my men looking hard for the shipment. When it is found, I will contact you. In the meantime, stay where I can reach you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

Palma found himself holding a buzzing phone. As he replaced the receiver, the general reflected on the curious chain of events that had led to this point.

Two years ago he had arrested Antonia de Vincenzo on suspicion of terrorist acts. He had soon discovered that she was guilty all right, but her fanatical ruthlessness combined with her beauty and intelligence had made him realize that the cinnamon-colored terrorist represented a special opportunity.

His goal was absolute power within the country, and Antonia and the Shining Path were a means to that end. The more violence they engendered, the more support there would be for a military coup to restore order.

With General Arturo Palma as the savior.

Striking a suspicion-filled and fragile truce between Antonia and himself, he had installed her as secretary to Carrillo, a man known to operate on the fringes of every shady deal that originated in Lima. Shortly afterward, Palma had approached Carrillo with the promise of a hands-off opportunity to make some money smuggling arms to the Shining Path.

More powerful weapons in their hands meant an increasingly bloody and savage conflict, with severe casualties and stern repression.

All of which only increased Palma's power.

Carrillo had been shocked, of course, but had agreed for the right price. Antonia had served the role of intermediary between the arms dealer and the Path, since they refused to deal directly for security reasons. Unknown to Carrillo, she also served as a watchdog for Palma.

Unfortunately Carrillo had not been very wise in his choice of suppliers. When the weapons merchant had phoned Palma to inform him that the supply line had been blown, it had been necessary to arrange for Antonia to murder him.

All they needed was a fall guy, a role Blanski had conveniently filled. A neat solution that eliminated two of the potential dangers of exposing the general, Carrillo and Blanski.

He wondered if he should have Antonia killed, as well.

Bolan was jostled in the featureless box for nearly an hour before it screeched to a halt. As the paddy wagon started up again, he could see through the narrow rear window that it had cleared a checkpoint at the head of a one-lane road.

Two minutes later the police wagon passed under the overhang of the main wall of Lurigancho prison.

Once inside, Bolan was given a lecture by the prison warden on the need to obey the rules exactly, then was led through the decaying halls of the prison. Although he saw armed soldiers here and there, there was more of a sense of communal living than of the strict prison regimentation Bolan had experienced from time to time in the United States.

As opposed to the small cells with barred doors that he had anticipated, there were fairly open areas that housed two to four men in relative comfort. None of the cells was the same, and each had been improved with blankets, furniture, small cook stoves, books and pornographic magazines according to the occupants' taste. The tall man attracted fixed, unfathomable stares from the other residents as he was guided deeper into the maze that formed the residential barracks. None of the quarters had doors, although each could be made private by a thick curtain drawn across the front. Some were closed even now.