“No, Senor Nicholson, I’m afraid Senorita Sanchez is not here.” I’d had to ask the question, even though I was torn over whether I wanted to see her or not. The sour-faced middle-aged man who’d met us in San Juan de los Cayos was, compared to her, a disappointment, looking as he did, like government officials everywhere. “I’m also sorry to have to tell you, given your obvious interest in her, that she is no longer even in the country.”
“What?” asked Elly pre-empting me before I could say anything. “But she was the one who liaised with us over our little expedition.”
“Yes, we’ll talk about that expedition in a few moments, but you should know that her involvement was not for the good of Venezuela, gentlemen,” said the man, who’d not even had the courtesy of telling us his name, despite ominously knowing ours. He’d met us on the quayside as we disembarked from the steamship the Venezuelan navy had sent for us. We’d felt it was strange that he was accompanied by a squad of soldiers, and we’d had no choice about being escorted to a non-descript office in a run-down storehouse. Elly took the opportunity to quietly remind Bruce and myself that the matter of the German steamboat was now behind us and shouldn’t be mentioned under any circumstances. Now, as we were speaking, two of those soldiers were standing outside the door and I wasn’t at all sure if they were there to keep us in or to prevent others from coming in.
“I think you might need to explain that,” Elly said. The Venezuelan official didn’t look like he wanted to explain anything to us. “We’re here at the invitation of your government, an invitation extended to both the British and American governments through the offices of Senorita Sanchez. We’ll naturally be reporting back to our governments, so I think an explanation is hardly unreasonable, Senor…” continued Elly. The man didn’t take the bait of giving us his name, instead looking at each of us in turn. He seemed to be making a decision of some sort, presumably weighing up the consequences of telling Elly what he wanted to know against the possibility of us not answering any of the questions he obviously had for us.
“Senor Elliott, I must begin by telling you that you and Senor Nicholson here have been declared unwelcome in Venezuela and are to leave as soon as possible,” the man began.
“Why on earth…” I said, but the official stopped me with a wave of his hand.
“Your association with known anti-government traitors guilty of plotting insurrection is at the root of this, Senor Elliott.” There was a stunned silence.
“Who are we talking about?” Bruce asked.
“Senorita Sanchez and Senor Cordovosa, who also happens to be her godfather,” the official said. Her godfather? Was that why he’d only originally come for me in the night? Had she told him I might be the weak link? My thoughts were tumbling over each other.
“But Maria Sanchez was our point of contact in your government,” Elly persisted.
“Working with Cordovosa, Senor Elliott. A complete betrayal of trust, both our and yours. It’s a source of regret for our judiciary that she has managed to flee the country.” He paused, but having started had obviously decided to tell us what we wanted to know. Whether or not he told us everything none of us could tell, but what we were told was enough.
“I’m not happy about being declared an undesirable,” Elly said. “We came here at the request of your government to carry out a mission agreed on by all three of our governments.”
“We’ll come back to your mission, as you put it, shortly,” the Venezuelan said. “I am prepared to tell you what you want to know, but please do not push me too far. I could quite easily have both you and Senor Nicholson arrested for your association with Sanchez and Cordovosa…”
“And you think the British government would stand for that?” Elly said placidly.
“Of course not,” the official said smiling, “but you would both spend some unpleasant months in jail while efforts were being made to release you. And please be assured our prisons are not nice places.” He paused yet again. “I have no desire to arrest either of you. You have performed a service for our country and by declaring you unwelcome, you have a chance to leave.” He again looked at each of us in turn, as if expecting further argument.
“And where does that leave me?” Bruce asked and I suddenly remembered his dual American – Venezuelan nationality. It was a good question. How much trouble was he in?
“Senor Olssen, I have to admit you are a problem, but I will be quite frank. You are a member of one of the oldest families in the country, and there is no question of your family’s loyalty to the Venezuelan government. My advice to you is to return to your home in New York at the same time as Senors Elliott and Nicholson leave.”
“You’re deporting me for my own sake?” Bruce sounded incredulous and his anger was all too apparent.
“Yes, Senor Olssen. The political situation is difficult. It would be for the best.”
“But my mother’s family are safe?”
“Of course,” the official said. “Now, let us speak about your mission, as you called it. Was it successful?”
“It depends on what you call successful,” Elly said evasively.
“You found the mine?” the Venezuelan asked.
“Yes,” said Elly. The official’s eyes lit up. No one was able to resist the lure of a gold mine, not even this reticent, seemingly cold man.
“And the gold?”
“Still there. We had no means of bringing it out.” This time it was Bruce who answered. The way questions were going, things were about to start getting difficult.
“But you found the mine, so that means you know where it is.”
“We closed the mine entrances,” said Elly, “and the explosion caused the mountain to collapse. There is no way that the mine could possibly be worked again and it’s unlikely that we could ever find our way back there. We certainly couldn’t give anyone directions.” There was no response from the official for what seemed like a very long time.
“That’s possibly for the best,” he said finally. “There are people who think our country isn’t yet ready for great riches.” He looked at Elly. “You are sure the mine can’t be stumbled upon accidentally?” he asked.
“Absolutely certain,” said Elly, without adding ‘that’s actually what I came here to do.’ It would only have inflamed the situation. He seemed to have made a decision not to pry any further into the political situation, but I still had a question.
“What about El Senor?”
“Senor Cordovosa unfortunately met with an accident while we were trying to arrest him,” the official said. Even though we were soon to be leaving the country, I felt a jolt of relief. The man hadn’t seemed a good person to have made an enemy of. Elly laughed.
“Let me guess. Shot while trying to resist arrest?” The official said nothing. “Well, it saves the trouble of bringing him to trial and the chance that he might just get away with it, doesn’t it?” Still no response, at least not straight away.
“Senor Cordovosa made no secret of wanting to be President of our country, gentleman. Even with his background of crime, he might well have succeeded one day. Stranger things have happened. But he was not a patient man and began plotting revolution. He certainly had the money and a small army loyal to him as long as he paid them. But he was prepared to pawn our country’s sovereignty to one of the European Powers and that couldn’t be allowed to happen.”
“And Senorita Sanchez?” Elly asked.
“She simply made the mistake of totally adoring him,” the official said. “Now, gentlemen, there is nothing more that you or your governments need to know, so I feel our interview is at an end, as is your stay in Venezuela.” He called out for the guards and we were escorted back to the quayside where a Royal Navy launch was waiting for us to board. I looked at Elly for an explanation.
“HMS Falmouth has been on patrol in the Caribbean waiting to collect us. The Venezuelans must have contacted her,” was all he said, as if the Royal Navy waiting for us was an everyday occurrence.
Simply climbing aboard a British ship made me feel reassuringly relieved, although I must point out that Falmouth wasn’t simply a ship. She was a light cruiser, a fact that her crew were rather proud of, and was only just two years old. As Elly had pointed out once we were aboard the launch, we were now as safe as if we’d been standing in the middle of Hyde Park, if not safer. It was as good as being on British soil. And that was something to which I was truly looking forward. A ladder was thrown down to the launch from the ship and we climbed up her side without a backwards look at San Juan de los Cayos, Elly in the lead, myself second and Bruce, who was cadging a lift from the Navy to Jamaica, coming up last. When we were all three standing on deck a young smartly dressed naval officer came up to us and saluted.
“Glad to have you aboard, Captain Elliott, gentlemen,” he said. I glared at Elly and he just smiled. A captain?
“Army, Martin,” was all he said, smiling. Just what else didn’t I know about him?
Gary Cann 