The Copper LINE

By James Butler

In the blistering heat of a remote region of Paraguay, ex-soldier Joseph Allen is watching undercover, waiting to gather information on the activities of a government department attempting to mine land set aside for the Indians. The appearance of Amanda Perry in this wilderness sets off a chain of events that leaves them both vulnerable and expo

• Language: English
• Publisher: CMD
• Release date: Feb 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952046179

James Butler

Jim Butler has served as a licensed, registered counsellor in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada for over 19 years. His emphasis is on individual, couple, and family counselling. In those 19 years, Jim has become a trusted authority on personal growth/transformation, verbal and emotional abuse counselling and prevention, as well as proactive relationship coaching.

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Copyright ©2020 James Butler

All right reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodies in critical article and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The reviews expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

PART TWO

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

PART THREE

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART FOUR

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

PART ONE

Chapter 1

He gazed awkwardly at the surrounding scrub and, for a brief moment, wondered where he was. Sitting up, he put his head in his hands and waited until his mind had cleared from the last vestiges of sleep. Still a little drowsy, he squinted while his eyes adjusted to the morning light, untangled himself from his sleeping bag and took a more focused view of the world around him.

He was surrounded by endless groves of palm trees and thick clusters of pampas grass that grew copiously amongst them. Scattered around were bushes adorned with bright flowers which brought colour to the landscape, and the air was full of the sounds of birds and insects. A slight breeze could be felt which ruffled the grass and was just strong enough to raise dust from the rich terracotta soil. As he looked out across the arid wilderness, he could see that there was a desperate need for rain, but he knew that the weather would soon change and the place would be transformed to flood and wetland. The sky was like butter, thick and yellow, with the early morning sun still concealed by the dawn mist and haze. Hidden though it was, its heat could already be felt, and he knew that the day was going to be, yet again, torturously hot and humid.

He got himself moving, putting away his bivouac, folding his sleeping bag, and placing them neatly into his rucksack. Taking a careful look over his camera, he made sure that the batteries were fully charged and that all the settings were correct. Finally, he checked that his weapon was ready for use. It was an old Browning sub-machine gun, easy to handle and light to carry, ideal for this part of the world.

He noted the time on his watch, yawned, stretched, and set about getting breakfast. Putting a battered saucepan full of water on a gas ring, he rummaged through his rucksack until he found a packet of dehydrated cereal. When the liquid had boiled, he made himself a cup of coffee in an enamel mug and then mixed the cereal with what was left of the water. He sat down on the dusty soil, leant against his rucksack, and started to eat and drink.

Elsa crept into his thoughts, and although he tried to dismiss them, they persisted. He no longer missed her with that aching desperation and longing that he had felt so keenly before, but simply at that moment, he didn’t want his mind to linger on her when he should be focusing on more practical things. Wiping his mouth with a grubby hand, a thoughtful expression crossed his face as he briefly recalled the series of events that had led him to this parched wilderness they called the green hell.

With breakfast finished, he started to clear up. His thoughts moved away from Elsa, and he began to think about the meeting he had attended some two days earlier. It had taken place in the bar of a very smart hotel in Asuncion, the capital city of the South American Republic of Paraguay. The elegant, modern building stood out in sharp contrast to the rather shoddy, run-down sprawl that surrounded it, and the inside reflected the same tasteful design as the exterior of the hotel, being luxuriously decorated and furnished. She had introduced herself as Amanda Perry, and he hated to admit it, but he had found her attractive. Tall, with medium-length natural fair hair, she had a slender figure and beautifully shaped legs that emerged appealingly from beneath her short summer frock, judged possibly as a little too revealing for such an occasion. Her eyes were light blue, striking, and engaging and were set in a face that had been put together well. Oozing with self-confidence, she was obviously a woman who, with her good looks and an easy smile, was used to getting her own way. She talked in a slightly patronising and condescending manner that he always associated with people who were anxious to appear more important than what they actually were, and he felt that she was trying a little bit too hard to portray herself as a hard-nosed businesswoman, which he didn’t find entirely convincing. Although she was flirtatious and bubbly, he had detected a petulant, stubborn streak in her and thought that if the mood took her, she might not always be that easy to get on with. As they chatted, she continuously tossed her hair and fluttered her eyelids and was definitely better at talking than she was at listening.

She said she was representing a group of investors who were doing business in the country and was delighted to tell him that she was a guest of the minister for industry and commerce. He was intently interested in what she had to say but assumed an air of idle curiosity because he did not want to arouse any suspicion in her by appearing too eager. He had asked her casually what the purpose of her visit was, and she explained that it was to assess progress on plans to extend an existing copper mine in the Chaco region of the country. A substantial amount of money had been invested, and the company she represented was keen to see movement on the project. She was to liaise with the minister, travel to the mine where she was going to stay for a few days, identify the problems, and produce workable solutions. With the same casual tone, he asked what her profession was, assuming that she must be an accountant or a lawyer, but she had ignored the question as if she didn’t want to give anything away. The truth, he supposed, was that she didn’t want to expose her own lack of credentials.

He felt her reasons for being in the country didn’t entirely add up. She came across as someone completely underprepared for the task she was to carry out. Her hands were beautiful, with the nails on her long, slender fingers perfectly painted and manicured. She dressed with style, and the make-up on her attractive face was subtle and exquisite. Without doubt, she was a girl about town, well used to her creature comforts, and quite how she was going to endure any length of time in that remote, wild, and unforgiving place was beyond him.

He had received a phone call from his sister in England the day before, and she had explained that Amanda Perry was the daughter of an acquaintance of hers. As she was alone in Paraguay, his sister had suggested that perhaps he could arrange to meet with her and to offer any help that she might need as they both knew how alien and sometimes dangerous Asuncion could be. So he had gone to her luxury hotel and, over drinks, had offered to act as her guide and generally assist her in any way he could. She told him that as the guest of the minister, she was sure that she would be more than adequately taken care of.

Before he departed, he gave her his mobile phone number and bid her the best of luck. In reply, she tossed her pretty head and gave him a long condescending smile. He mused to himself that she was probably the sort of ambitious person who thought she was much more able and clever than she actually was, and the attraction he felt towards her was all the more irritating because that was usually the sort of person he really despised.

Taking a long drink of water from his military-style bottle, he took another careful look at his surroundings. He had chosen his campsite well, having found a small secluded clearing in the middle of a grove of palm trees, well hidden from the outside world and with only a barely visible gap as a means to move in and out—a perfect place to rest and not be seen.

His name was Joseph Allen, and he was a tall man with broad shoulders and a lean muscular physique. He had an angular face with high cheekbones and dark deep-set eyes that when seen in the light, were the colour of midnight, a rich cobalt blue. His mop of unruly dark hair was caked with sweat and dust, and his large nose had been broken one too many times. His lips, on his generous well-shaped mouth, had also thickened in places due to scar tissue received from the same brutal encounters that had broken his nose. He would be considered handsome by most, and this was complemented by an open, friendly, and easy-going disposition. However, when focused or under pressure, he could develop a hard edge and be extremely tough and uncompromising—attributes that, along with a strong will and a solid determination, had got him through some difficult times in his relatively young life.

He moved deliberately to the edge of the clearing and, with the heel of his boot, started to make a shallow crater in the hard, dusty soil at the foot of a palm tree. The time had come for him to go to the toilet, a function he was glad to get out of the way as he didn’t want to be disturbed by the call of nature later on in the day when it would be inconvenient. When he had been in the military and had done close observation work, it had been a requirement to remove all bodily contents in a plastic bag in order to eradicate all evidence of anyone having been at that location. He didn’t, at this particular time, deem such stringent measures necessary, so on completion of the task, he simply refilled the crater with the dust that he had dug up.

Sitting back down, he got out a tube of camouflage paint from his rucksack and carefully marked his face and hands in streaks with the dark paint. When he had finished, he got up and made sure all his equipment was put neatly away. He fastened his rucksack and, with a grunt, lifted it on to his back. It was heavy, the main weight being from the quantity of water he had to carry. To survive in this heat and humidity, he had to drink constantly, and fresh water was hard to come by, especially at this time of year. The remainder of the load was made up of packets of dehydrated food and cereal bars, a small gas ring for cooking, his camera, spare batteries and tripod, mobile phone (which due to the remoteness of the location never worked), several spare magazines for his weapon, a sleeping bag, compass and map, a small but comprehensive first-aid kit, bivouac, a small bag of incidentals that he might need like safety pins and elastic bands, and a change of clothes.

With the rucksack comfortably on his back, he placed a kind of cape around his shoulders and fastened it to the rucksack chest strap with Velcro. The cape was in fact long strips of hessian sacking that reached down to his knees. These strips had been sprayed with green, black, and brown paint and acted as camouflage, breaking up his profile and helping to stop him from being spotted. Finally, he placed a green bush hat on his head that also had strips of painted hessian attached to the brim, with a small aperture left for his face. These strips could also act as a fly wisp as there was no end to the countless insects and their constant invasive presence.

Before he moved off, he put the strap of his weapon round his neck and gathered his thoughts. He was no longer a soldier in the British Army but a civilian volunteer who had moved on from the military and was now serving a new master. His foe was no longer the army of an enemy country but greedy and unscrupulous politicians and businessmen who wanted to scar this land and exploit its people. He still wore a military-style uniform, a light khaki-coloured cotton shirt and trousers, but with no badges of rank or emblems of affiliation. Strange in a way, with this sort of work, that it was the church he was now serving, but it made no difference to him; as far as he was concerned, he was a professional and would serve them well.

Chapter 2

Joseph Allen made his way through the narrow gap, away from the clearing, and cursed under his breath as his hessian cape snagged on a bush. Once free, he took careful, deliberate strides, using the natural cover of the trees and grass in order to keep as inconspicuous as possible. Although he walked with a pronounced limp, his disability didn’t hinder him in any way.

He made steady progress, stopping occasionally to look around and check his surroundings. Had any unsuspecting person chanced upon him, he would have made a strange spectacle, but he was confident that the workers at the mine would be engaged in their usual routines and were unlikely to stray beyond the perimeter, leaving him to make his way unobserved. Having earlier completed a thorough recognisance of the area, he knew every path that led to his final destination.

After walking a couple of hundred yards, he saw, through the trees, the perimeter fence of the mine. He slowed right down so that each step barely made a sound. Finally, he came to a tall stretch of pampas grass that bordered the fence and approached it on his hands and knees. This was to be his observation post.

The fence was in a state of disrepair. There were large sections in which the thick wire netting had gaping holes. This surprised him as he would have thought the fence would have been renewed or repaired since it was surrounding such a sensitive area. Perhaps because of the remote location, they didn’t deem such a task necessary, or more likely, as with so many things in these parts, it just never got done.

These large holes in the fence, in fact, suited his purpose as he was able to get an excellent view of the small cluster of wooden huts some thirty yards away. These were used as offices and to billet the mines security unit, and this was where he was going to focus his attention.

He slowly and carefully began to unpack his rucksack so that everything he needed was where it should be. His first task was to set up the camera, which he did by placing it on the tripod. This was then set to its lowest height so he could film comfortably from the prone position. Both camera and tripod were wrapped in hessian so that any shine emitted from them would be eliminated as much as possible. He switched the camera on and carefully watched the monitor as he adjusted the position, making sure it was set correctly in order to best capture all the comings and goings from the huts. When he was satisfied, he switched the camera off to preserve the battery, made sure his weapon was right by his side, arranged the hessian camouflage over himself for better concealment, and watched and waited.

He had been living in England, recovering from the devastating effects of a personal tragedy. There had been moments of complete despair, but his friends and family had gradually helped him to pull his life around, and when given the chance to return to Paraguay, he had grabbed it with both hands. For many people, lying here in the heat and dust, barely moving and with only flies for company, would be some sort of hell, but for Joseph Allen it was salvation.

The Spanish first brought Christianity to South America many centuries ago, and ever since then, the continent has been almost entirely Roman Catholic. Over the last century, as part of their global ministry, the Anglican Church had started to send missionaries out there, not to compete with the Catholics but rather to work alongside them. The Anglican mission was to put the Word of Jesus Christ into action by empowering the poor, both practically and spiritually. They built churches and schools and provided an education for those who otherwise wouldn’t have been able to consider one and established schemes to help encourage small businesses, providing ways to improve the quality of life for those who participated. For people who lived in extreme poverty, they aimed to bring hope, self-belief and confidence and to provide a way for them to escape the desperate situation that they were in.

They also set up projects that involved the children of the rich and powerful. These young people were the future politicians, bankers, and industrialists of the nation, and the church wanted to awaken them spiritually and give them a Christian conscience so that they could attempt to stem the corrosive tide of corruption that so infected the continent.

The church was also acutely aware of the plight of the indigenous people who inhabited many parts of South America. These people lived mainly a traditional lifestyle of hunting and gathering, but due to deforestation and the aggressive development of huge agricultural projects, their lands began rapidly diminishing. Hunting and gathering became unsustainable because of the sudden lack of plant life and wildlife, forcing many Indians to go and live in towns and cities and often having to resort to begging or stealing in order to survive. The limited infrastructure on the already overcrowded barrios could barely cope with this influx of humanity, and life for many of these people was nothing short of desperate.

The Anglican Church in Paraguay that oversaw the Chaco region of central South America decided to buy a vast tract of land in the area so that the Indians could continue to live as they always had without the constant threat of being driven away. This enabled them to maintain a sustainable way of life and, as a consequence, prevented the need for them to have to go and resettle in the cities. The Anglicans built a church and a school for the Indians and provided pastors and teachers to work in them. They also encouraged the development of cottage industries, which included the making of simple jewellery, artwork, pottery, and other products that could be sold to tourists and help provide an income.

The Indians seemed content with this greater degree of independence, and the church was pleased with the success of the project. All seemed well until, on the boundary of this land, copper was discovered.

Students from a university in Asuncion were doing a field trip in the area when the high-grade ore was unearthed. Government and private investment led to the start of opencast mining, and with further mapping and surveying, it became clear that this rich vein of copper ore stretched right into the land where the Indians were living.

The Reverend Stephen Allen was the head administrator for the Anglican Church in Paraguay, and part of his duties included the management of church lands within the diocese. He was a tall, good-looking man with piercing green eyes and thinning sandy hair and possessed a sharp intelligence which enabled him to think quickly and clearly in difficult situations. Confident and articulate, he also had an uncanny sense of anticipation that would prove to be invaluable for the church in the ensuing battles ahead.

As soon as he heard about the discovery of copper, he foresaw what would happen and quickly set about heralding the possible plight of the Indians to the international community and to the worldwide Anglican Communion. He needed to highlight what would happen to these people should they be forced off their land and the human misery that would follow as a result. In some ways, he was fortunate because at that time the world had never been more aware of the exploitation of indigenous people globally. Many celebrities and prominent people were championing their cause, and governments and big businesses were, at least publicly, backing down from big deals on land populated by indigenous people.

The Reverend Stephen Allen’s nemesis was Alfredo Menendez, the minister for industry and commerce. He was a small man with a dark round face and deep-set eyes. His hair was black and straight and appeared, like many Paraguayans, to be a mixture between the indigenous people and the European settler. Menendez, however, firmly believed that the Indian way of life had no place in a developing country. If their land could be used to bring wealth to the nation, then it should be taken, and the Indians relocated to what he would consider a more suitable habitat.

Menendez was a product of the barrios and had been born in abject poverty. However, he was both resourceful and intelligent and had turned up at the Anglican school in Asuncion, demanding an education. The principal, impressed by his tenacity, had given him a scholarship, and Menendez had thrived. This bullish determination was one of his strongest attributes, and he used it liberally in all his dealings, whether by fair means or foul, and almost always got what he wanted. The Anglican school educated the children of the countries rich and powerful, so Menendez was in good company. He used his school and university connections to his advantage and managed to get to the top, firstly in business, both legitimate and otherwise, and secondly in politics, where his coup de grâce was marrying the future president’s sister, opening the door to the highest corridors of power.

Nepotism played an important role in the shady politics of the nation. Politicians tended to appoint friends and relatives to important posts in order to protect their interests and to ensure that they remained in power. Trust is a precarious thing, and it’s sometimes difficult to know who your enemies are, so surrounding yourself with those you’re closest to was always the most prudent option.

When Horacio Aledro was voted in as president and was asked to form a government, he was more than happy to invite his brother-in-law to be the minister for industry and commerce. Menendez was a successful businessman, tough and resourceful, a good man to have at your side.

Menendez looked over the land with greed. Underneath the rich terracotta soil was a treasure trove of copper ore, and he knew that with careful planning and investment, this precious resource could bring him incredible wealth.

Time, however, was moving on, and he was getting frustrated. His efforts to resettle the Indians had so far come to nothing, and he felt he was not getting the support he needed from the president. The Chaco was vast, and there were plenty of other places where the Indians could go. Aledro seemed to be too worried about foreign opinion and the fuss the Anglican Church was making.

Menendez made up his mind and decided to take matters into his own hands. The project came under his departmental control, and he would, therefore, take complete responsibility. A foreign investor had already approached him with a financial proposal that was now in the final stages of negotiation. He would give the go-ahead and let the works begin.

Joseph Allen had waited for about half an hour, never taking his eyes away from the huts. He was hot and sticky and was constantly plagued by insects but remained totally focused despite his increasing discomfort. From far away he began to hear the faint and distinctive whoop of a helicopter. Straight away he switched on the camera and scanned the skies. He felt a twinge of anticipation and of excitement as he loosened the fixing on the tripod so that he could manoeuvre the camera. Before long the helicopter came into sight, a distant speck, just above the trees on the far side of the mine.

As it quickly approached, he tried to work out where it would land. Between the huts and the fence was stony waste ground, and just beyond that was the service road. This led from the mine through the complex and then onwards for about twenty kilometres until it met the highway.

He hoped that the helicopter wouldn’t come down on the waste ground because the dust and gravel that the rotors would throw up while descending would severely disturb his filming, and once landed, it would also block his view to the huts, forcing him to relocate. However, after circling, it came down neatly on the service road but still managed to create a dust cloud that seemed to take an age to settle.

As soon as the helicopter had touched down, the pilot cut the engines. With the turbines whining to a halt and the rotors still spinning, Menendez jumped out into the dust cloud and, bending double, ran into one of the huts. After a short while, with the dust settled and silence restored, Menendez appeared with his aide at his side.

Both men were immaculately dressed in practically identical beige tropical suits. The aide was a good foot taller than Menendez and stocky in stature. He had refined European features and, unusual in these parts, light- ginger hair. They moved briskly to the