Chapter Thirteen – Father McConahay

The voice coming out of the darkness took me by surprise, and I can only imagine it also took Elly and Bruce by surprise. You simply just don’t expect to hear an Irishman in a trading post in the wilds of Venezuela. What was an Irishman doing out here? Elly was the first to recover his wits and spoke into the darkness, which seemed as deep as ever.

“It’s not the welcome we were expecting,” he said drily. “What’s going on, and who is it I’m speaking to?”

“Father Patrick McConahay at your service, and I suppose you could say I’m in charge around here.”

“Father?” I said. “You’re a priest?”

“I do have that honour, having turned from my wicked ways many years ago.” Elly cut in again before I could find out any more. My eyes were slowly adjusting and I could make out a number of dim shapes, none of them very reassuring.

“We would like to hear your story, Father, but I think our current predicament is more urgent. Who are these men outside?”

“Senor Cordovosa’s bandits,” The priest replied, confirming what we’d thought on the jetty.

“And to think he was supposed to be helping us,” said Bruce. “It just goes to show you can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Ah, an American with an American’s sense of humour. And your name is…?”

“Bruce Olssen, Father.”

“A not very American name, I notice. Well, Mr Olssen, things can change very quickly out here. A message had certainly been sent telling us to expect you and give you all the help we could.”

“A message?” I asked. “How could a message possibly have got here before we did?”

“An Indian canoe would be much faster than your steam launch,” the priest said. “Something must have changed even before you started your journey.”

“Such as?” Elly asked. “Stephen Elliott’s the name, by the way, and this is Martin Nicholson.” If it hadn’t been so gloomy I’d have held out my hand in greeting, but there was no guarantee the priest would even see it.

“In Senor Cordovosa’s world, as in most other places, Mr Elliott, everything revolves around power and money. Whatever deal you may have made with him could well have been replaced with a more profitable offer.”

“I thought he’d wait until we were back before pulling a trick like this. I don’t understand it,” Bruce said, then paused. “So how do we get out of this, Father? I don’t think it’s going to be healthy for us to wait around to see what happens next.”

“With faith and patience,” was the reply, and I had the feeling that not only was the priest smiling broadly, but he also might know something that we didn’t. “Get some rest, and I’m sure God will see his way to freeing us in the morning.” From his tone I had the feeling that God might have very little to do with it and I distinctly heard Elly snort and Bruce sigh deeply, both apparently unconvinced. As for me, I’m always ready to close my eyes and get some sleep and the priest’s conviction that all would be well was good enough for me. Given his presence I even guiltily mumbled my way through a half-remembered  bed-time prayer. Given the situation we were in, I thought it was better to be safe rather than sorry.

With the morning light, the doors of the storehouse were flung open and the brightness of the sun blinded us all for a few moments. Then, as our eyes adjusted and led by the reassuring voice of the priest, we filed out into the dusty courtyard. I don’t know about the others, but I was fearing the worst and my overriding thought was that this was the end of our expedition and probably us as well. Once out of the building, we stopped, and I had a chance to look at who I’d spent the night with. Huddled around the priest was a group of about twenty Indians, men, women and children, all dressed in a ragged variety of clothing, none of which fitted any of them properly. Their trust and belief in Father McConahay was plain to see.

There was no sign of any armed bandits, but I shrank back when I noticed a band of armed Indians watching us closely, the most alarming grins on their faces. These men, carrying a mixture of bows and blowpipes, were dressed only in skimpy dirty loincloths. Holding out his hands in welcome, Father McConahay walked towards them. Words began to be exchanged rather excitedly and presumably in their native tongue. Naturally, I didn’t understand a word, but it was the priest himself who surprised me and not just the fact he could speak to the Indians. For some reason, possibly the world-weariness in his voice, I was expecting a much older man. As it was, he couldn’t have been much more than ten years older than Elly and myself, more on a par with Bruce.

“It seems that with the help of our Lord, our problems have been dealt with,” the priest said, turning back to us. There was a slight grin on his face definitely not quite becoming to a priest.

“Dealt with, Father?” Elly asked, an inquisitive but somehow knowing look on his face. The priest looked serious.

“Yes, Mr Elliott, I think the phrase I want is ‘dealt with,’ by my friends here.” He gestured at the motley looking group of Indians who were now beginning to mingle with those from the trading post. “Our captors will not be bothering either us or you again.” He gestured beyond the trading post, where a column of thick black smoke was beginning to wind its way up into the sky. “The boat, as you can see, has also been dealt with.” He grinned again.

“What about Cordovosa?” asked Elly. “He’s likely to be annoyed at having his men, er…” He paused and grinned himself. “Dealt with,” he concluded.

“Most definitely, Mr Elliott, but he won’t know for a few days, and will hopefully put it down to Indian troubles, which unfortunately happen all the time the further along the river you go.”

“That might mean he’ll lose interest in us as well,” Bruce said, trying to sound hopeful.

“Why?” I asked.

“If El Senor thinks there’s been Indian trouble, then he’ll think we were caught up in it as well, and hopefully forget us,” Bruce explained. Elly, listening closely, was shaking his head. However, he said nothing. Not for the first time, I wondered what he was thinking.

“Possibly,” said Father McConahay. “He has his ways of finding out information. It won’t be long before he’s aware of what actually happened here and decides to do something about it. But it does give us time, if only a little.”

“What will he do then?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea.

“I imagine he’ll do what he always does: take revenge. El Senor’s religious fervour and Biblical knowledge goes no further than ‘an eye for an eye’.” He smiled at his own joke.

“And where does that leave you and your … flock, Father?” Bruce asked, gesturing around at the Indians.

“Me, oh, I’m coming with you.”

The Golden Man Chapter Twelve – The Trading Post

The journey upriver was uneventful to the point of boredom, slowly steaming further and further towards the interior of Venezuela. We camped each night on the river bank, spots that from the marks of disused fires had frequently been used for such purposes. At first we passed cultivated fields, peasants pausing in their work to watch as the boat steamed by, sometimes close enough to them to see the blank looks on their faces, seemingly devoid of hope and interest. Bruce pointed out that they almost certainly knew who the vessel belonged to. He explained that all of the land we were passing through had been reclaimed from the forests using ancient techniques of slash and burn, tearing down the trees and using the ash from burning them to fertilise the crops. Even with that, there was quite often only enough left from the harvest for survival after the estate owners had taken their share.

“It’s the way the Indians have always done it,” Bruce said, “and they see no reason to change.” He shook his head sadly. “But change will come. It always does.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” I said.

“My mother’s family have an estate no different to this in the south of the country,” he replied. I remembered Elly mentioning Bruce’s mother.

“Did you spend much time there?” I asked.

“Not as much as my mother would have liked,” he replied, and then lapsed into silence. We camped that night on the edge of one of these fields, with the forests ahead of us, standing silent like a barrier we had to break through the next morning.

Of course, it was nothing like a barrier for us on the river. The only change was that instead of open land, we were now steaming through country where the trees and undergrowth came right down to the river banks. There were numerous jetties out into the water, all of which were in some state of disrepair, but the thick greenery gave no sign of any habitation or any reason for them being there. The loneliness of the place was oppressive and I didn’t enjoy either of the nights we spent perched on the edge of the river.

The behaviour of the captain and crew didn’t help either and I’m sure I wasn’t alone in sleeping with one hand on the butt of my revolver. They were a strange bunch, uniforms or not, much more pirates and bandits than sailors. Still, that shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise considering they worked for Senor Cordovosa. They kept themselves to themselves in a group when we stopped each night, and had very little to say to us during the course of each day.

Elly spent the trip either asleep or poring over maps, making it perfectly clear, every time anyone, and it was usually me, tried to speak to him, that he wanted to be left alone. Bruce and I passed the time checking and re-checking our stores, weapons and ammunition, chatting, or playing chess, a game he proved remarkably adept at, beating me at every single game. Elly’s reclusive attitude changed as we rounded a final bend in the river approaching the trading post which was our initial destination and he joined Bruce and myself in the boat’s bow.

I don’t know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t what I saw. I had thought perhaps some run-down ramshackle hut in a clearing rapidly being overrun by an encroaching forest eager to reclaim ground, but it was far from that. It appeared to be a highly organised compound of buildings, cut off from the surrounding terrain by a high wooden fence, with a very well maintained jetty jutting out into the river, which seemed to be the only access. I was relieved. This seemed to be a jetty where you could trust your footing, unlike the many we had passed. We found out later that there was a large double gate at the back of the compound out of sight of the river, which allowed the Indians access, but for now we were just happy to get off the boat.

The buildings themselves were also a surprise, well-built board walls, large glassless windows and reed roofs. Nothing ramshackle there, they looked solid and more luxurious than many of the shacks we’d seen in San Juan de Los Cayos. Apart from a group of Indian children squatting near the jetty, watching us disembark with unveiled curiosity, there was no one around, and no one appeared from the buildings to welcome us.

“No welcoming committee,” said Bruce. “I’m disappointed.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” said Elly. Noticing him unclip the cover on his holster, I did the same and Bruce followed suit. All three of us had taken to wearing our weapons on the journey upriver, in case of trouble. And it was now that trouble came.

Two men emerged from the main building, both pointing rifles at us. They were quickly joined by others appearing around the corners of the building and when we turned back towards the boat, members of the crew had us covered, levelling more rifles at us. Our pleasure cruise had turned a little nasty. A motion with his rifle by a man on the porch of the building was easily understood and we raised our hands in the air, helpless.

“It seems to me that our new friend Cordovosa has had a change of heart,” said Bruce quietly. With a number of rifles pointed in our direction, he had a point.

“It might just be that this is what he was intending all along if Martin was right about Kleinmann being with him,” Elly replied.

“Oh, he was there, Elly,” I said. Then, with much pointing and gesturing with the guns aimed at us, we were disarmed and ushered towards one of the out-buildings at the back of the compound. It was then that we saw the double gates, offering us a way out that we were unable to take advantage of. The building we were marched to was obviously a store of some sort, solidly built, without windows, and doors to the front, held closed by a large and heavy looking piece of wood. This was pulled to one side and we were pushed inside. Disconcertingly, not one of our ambushers had spoken a single word. Our abduction and capture had been done in total silence.

As the doors slammed shut behind us and the wooden bar dropped loudly into place, the darkness seemed almost solid, a complete blocking out of the bright sunlight outside. Our eyes found it very difficult to adjust. I think it was within seconds of each other that we became aware we weren’t alone in the building. A murmur of voices grew slowly out of the silence.

“Ah, our visitors,” said a soft Irish brogue. “This is not the welcome you would normally receive in my house, gentlemen. We are usually much more friendly.”

The Golden Man Chapter Eleven – Starting Upriver

I’d forgotten how much riding disagreed with me. It was the company that made the excursion a pleasure. Maria Sanchez, riding a horse and out in the countryside beyond the town, was a different person from the one who’d sat unspeaking while Bruce talked about the Golden Man. How had I described her to Elly? A South American ice queen? Not when I was alone with her, and certainly not out on a horse. She was lively and animated, opening up about herself and getting me to open up about my background, which fascinated her as much as her background interested me, probably because of the differences in culture.

We’d both had what you could call privileged upbringings, with Maria coming from one of the richer families in Caracas. Their wealth put them in the position where being part of the government came with the territory. Venezuela was far from being a democracy, being ruled by the important families, and for important, read rich, much as England had been in the eighteenth century. It was Maria that pointed this out, as if justifying the situation. I think it made her feel a little more comfortable with me knowing I had an aristocratic background, even if it was minor aristocracy.

We were out until mid-afternoon, and decency prevents me going into any more detail, but by the time we returned to the hotel, the meeting between Elly, Bruce and Senor Cordovosa’s secretary was over. Details had been resolved and I was given the bombshell that we were leaving that afternoon. Maria gripped my hand tightly when Elly told me.

“We’ve an hour to prepare ourselves and get to the river quay,” he said.

“An hour?” I said. It passed quickly in Maria’s company and her concern for me, someone she’d just met, was all too apparent. I’d never had anyone feel for me in this way. Perhaps quick partings are for the best.

To say the least, I was surprised when we arrived at the jetty. I’d been expecting canoes and here we were, about to embark on our jungle expedition in a steam launch with a captain and crew more smartly dressed than the crew of the steamer on which I’d arrived. Somehow it didn’t seem right, but when I looked at the river, it seemed the best option. Bruce slapped me on the shoulder, a big smile on his face.

“Courtesy of Senor Cordovosa, buddy. We get to travel in style for a few days,” he said.

“What about our bags,” I asked. And I meant bags. Elly had ruthlessly attacked my luggage trunks, reducing the piles to the bare minimum. What I was really concerned about, however, was my revolver. It hadn’t seemed right to take it with me on my excursion with Maria. I’d hidden it under some clothes in my case.

“All on board. They were brought down while you were lovemaking with the gorgeous senorita.” He laughed good-naturedly.

We were soon also on board. Preparations for our departure had obviously begun in anticipation of our arrival at the jetty and as soon as we set foot on deck, mooring ropes were cast off and the launch was directed out into mid-river. The noise level of the engine began to increase as it started to work harder against the heavy current and the vessel bucked a little. It struck that it was going to be a noisy and uncomfortable trip and I said so. There was no sign of any cabins, just an engine house and a wheel house, so it looked like we were sleeping on deck under the stars with our baggage and equipment.

“This is going to be first class luxury compared to what we’ll be facing later on,” Elly said, a worryingly mischievous smile on his face. “I’d settle down and enjoy the trip, if I were you.” That was slightly easier said than done, as were most of Elly’s suggestions, I thought sourly, but the launch finally settled into a steady rhythm which it was to keep up hour after hour as we proceeded upriver. The engine noise would also become less intrusive and more part of the background.

As we passed the outskirts of the town, close to Senor Cordovosa’s villa and town estate, I caught sight of a small group of men, perhaps eight or nine, all watching our progress. In the forefront was Herr Wittstein. He waved as he noticed me and I waved back and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“How do you know that man?” Elly asked. I turned in surprise. “Do you actually know who he is or are you just waving?” I must have looked confused.

“His name is Herr Wittstein. He’s a German banker and a director of the Hamburg American Steamship line that you booked me tickets with.” I explained how we’d met at Liverpool docks and then socialised on the ship while we crossed the Atlantic.

“Did he ask you where you were going, or why?” Elly persisted. His voice had taken on quite a serious tone.

“Where I was going came up in conversation,” I said, “but it would, wouldn’t it, between fellow travellers? But as to why, if you remember, I didn’t know.” I was beginning to feel he was cross-examining me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t work out why. What was so important?

“Did he ask you if you were meeting anyone?” I nodded.

“Yes, he did, just in conversation, as people do, Elly.” Where was this going? “Look,” I said, a little more testily than it possibly deserved, “We were simply fellow passengers on a boring journey. I found him charming company.”

“Did you mention any names?” Elly asked. I just glared at him, my irritation becoming more and more difficult to conceal. What was he going on about? As for Bruce, he’d settled himself back against the luggage, pulled his hat down over his eyes and showed every sign of going to sleep. “Well, did you, Martin?”

“Yes. I told him I was going to meet an old school friend, name of Stephen Elliott.” Why did I feel so damned guilty as I told him? Elly was silent for a while, which worried me.

“Did he show any sign of recognising the name?” he asked quite sharply.

“Well if he did, he didn’t show it,” I said. “Why should he?”

“We’ve come across each other before, Herr Wittstein and I,” he said, a little enigmatically. “Only his name isn’t Wittstein,” he added.

“What?” I couldn’t help myself.

“No,” Elly said. “It’s actually Otto Kleinmann and he’s some sort of German aristocrat, “a count or something.” I nearly laughed and probably would have done if Elly hadn’t looked so damned serious.

“And you’ve met him?” I asked instead.

“Yes,” was all Elly would say. There was definitely some sort of story behind this. Then he expanded a little, but not enough. “He works for the German government.”

“Elly, what’s behind this?” I asked. He shook his head, glancing across at some nearby crewmen.

“Not now,” he said quietly. “It’s not the right time or the right place.”

“But…” I began.

“But nothing, Martin. Trust me.”

“But, Elly, he was at Senor Cordovosa’s last night. I saw him there as we left. He heard everything that was said.”

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“It didn’t seem important. I didn’t think for one moment you might know who he was.” I paused. “It just seemed like a coincidence.”

“No, Martin. It wasn’t a coincidence, and it could be very important,” said Elly with an edge to his voice. From his relaxed position against the baggage, Bruce began to snore.

The Golden Man Chapter Ten – Another Surprise

Apart from wondering what the German was doing in San Juan de Los Cayos, it didn’t seem important. Elly and Bruce were deep in conversation as we walked back to the hotel, just the three of us. Senor Cordovosa had obviously decided to dispense with any escort, so we’d been given our weapons back and literally shown the door, so the walk seemed more relaxed. Letting them get on with whatever it was that was interesting, the only feeling I did pick up on was that they’d both expected this meeting with El Senor. Possibly not at this time of the night, but they’d expected it anyway. It would have been nice if they’d told me.

At the hotel, we roused a very reluctant and unwilling barman to provide us with coffee. It was noticeable how much his attitude changed when he was offered money. We had stiff drinks to accompany the coffee and then a silence descended on the table. Almost inevitably, I was the first to break it. Being the strong silent type has never been one of my attributes.

“What do we do now? I presume we’re not leaving tonight as we planned,” I said. Elly shook his head.

“No. I had hoped to leave before anybody got wind of what we were doing, particularly Cordovosa, but it’s a bit late for that now. We’ve got to go along with what he wants, and talk to his secretary.”

“So basically, we leave when he says we can,” I said.

“Yes,” said Bruce, a bit glumly, I thought. “If Cordovosa’s protection is as good as he believes it is, I vote for us leaving in broad daylight and making as big a show of it as we can. That’ll let anyone who’s interested see that we have a powerful guardian angel.”

“Guardian angel’s a bit strong,” I said, laughing. It brought a smile to Bruce’s serious face as well.

“I agree with you, Bruce, but it’s still going to have to be when he says so,” said Elly. As for me, I was fully prepared to agree with anything that meant I could go back to bed and get some sleep, but I was a little worried about other people being interested in our expedition. Maria Sanchez’s words of warning kept coming back to me about not trusting anyone. When I mentioned my concerns, however, both Elly and Bruce told me there was nothing for me to worry about in a casual manner that worried me more. Apparently, it was only the local bandits who might have given us any trouble and El Senor’s word protected us against that.

I suggested bed and some sleep might benefit all of us, but Elly and Bruce seemed to fancy the idea of more drink. As I retired to my room, they roused the bartender from the doze he’d fallen into at the bar. I left them to it and headed for bed.

It was late morning when I finally woke, with an uncomfortable headache and a nagging feeling that I should have been awake much earlier. It took only a few steps for me to reach my window and I staggered back almost that far when I opened the shutters to let unforgiving sunshine flood into the room. It almost blinded me and the intense heat from the street was oppressive; coffee was definitely needed. Something had to get me through to lunchtime; I was much too late for breakfast.

Noise from the street below dragged me back to the window, curious. It turned out to be a heated argument, as if it could be anything else in this temperature, between two drivers whose mule carts had become locked at the wheels. Both were piled high with what seemed to be either straw or hay and both were on the verge of tipping over. The two drivers, shouting at each other in what I took to be a native dialect, had been joined by quite a crowd of interested onlookers, urging them on. For a few minutes, the scene took my mind off my need for coffee, and as I watched, the words turned to blows, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. In a quiet moment, I heard my name being called through the door. I recognised the voice: Maria Sanchez.

“Martin! Can I come in, please?” Turning away from the scene in the street just as one of the carts finally toppled over, I opened the door. She was dressed in a riding outfit of black boots, jodhpurs and a masculine-looking riding jacket; I’d never seen a young woman dressed like this before, but I didn’t have much of a chance to absorb the image before she threw herself into my arms. After a warm, passionate kiss, she pulled away slightly, looking earnestly into my face. “Martin, I am concerned for you,” she said. I was tempted to laugh it off as female worry, but she seemed deadly serious.

“Concerned?” I asked. “Why should you be concerned?”

“Senor Cordovosa. You should have nothing to do with this man. He is not a good man, Martin.” The way she phrased it made me smile and she scowled. “You do not take me seriously,” she said. “Martin, I mean this. He is wicked and cruel.” Elly had said very much the same thing the previous night. I needed to know why this man was so dangerous and I thought she might be the one who could tell me. We sat on the edge of the bed and I asked her to explain.

“Tell me first what he had to say to you and your friends last night?” she asked. How did she know? Had Bruce or Elly talked to her while I slept? It’s what I assumed, so I told her my version of what had happened. She took it all in, shaking her head all of the time I spoke. “This is not good,” she kept saying.

“What did Elly and Bruce have to say about it?” I asked.

“Nothing. I haven’t asked them.” My heart sank. Should I have told her anything? It was too late now.

“Then how…?”

“A member of the hotel staff told me,” she said. “But believe me, Martin, this is not good.”

“Why? What’s the problem? Is he nothing more than an inflated bandit leader?” She laughed.

“Oh, he is much more than that. Senor Cordovosa is a big threat to the government.” I must have looked puzzled. There was much more to this than met the eye. “Martin, Senor Cordovosa wants nothing less than the country itself. He wishes to be President.”