Courage and Dignity

By Claude Pierre-Jerome

"COURAGE and DIGNITY" is a passionate story of human migration engendered by political instability, authocracy and intolerance. In this novel, the author presents a marvelous mixture of fiction and reality where the readers can navigate through the facts and factoids of Life, Love and Liberty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524547844

Claude Pierre-Jerome

Dr. Pierre-Jerome has over 40 years of experience in Radiology and research including diabetes, skeletal muscle and bone marrow. Author of several publications in International Journals. Co-author of five books in Radiology. Reviewer for US and European Journals. Author of two novels. He’s a member of several Medical Associations and fluent in English, French, Spanish and Norwegian.?He was the visiting Associate Professor in University of Rochester, New York and worked as Faculty and Director of International Exchange Program for the Musculoskeletal Division at Emory University School of Medicine, Atlanta GA, USA.?Presently he is working at the Akershus University Hospital in Oslo, Norway.

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COPYRIGHT © 2016 BY CLAUDE PIERRE-JEROME.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER:   2016916630

   ISBN:   HARDCOVER   978-1-5245-4782-0

      SOFTCOVER   978-1-5245-4783-7

      EBOOK   978-1-5245-4784-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/24/2016

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Contents

Summary

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Final note

Aknowledgement

Summary

In the aftermath of the military coup in Chile, in September 1973, an irreconcilable rivalry erupts between two clans of high-ranking officers of the Chilean Armed Forces. The general Benito Renecat, the Cat, one of the instigators of the coup, vowed to eliminate his irreconcilable enemy, the Lieutenant Colonel Alberto Monserrat, the Rat. The latter is forced to flee the country with his family amid deadly threats from the general. While in exile, the lieutenant colonel becomes the prey of a gang of crooks. Will the cat ever catch the rat? And who hired the crooks?

Introduction

Life is an endless struggle.

Struggle against aggression, struggle against inequality, struggle against injustice, struggle against negativism, and oftentimes, even struggle against ourselves when exaggeration, ambition, and obsession possess our inner soul. Unfortunately, very few human beings manage to live a peaceful life in an environment free of envy, jealousy, and hostility. Too often, we lack of logic and reason, which dreadfully cripples our wisdom and natural common sense. And whenever adversity strikes, it takes a tremendous amount of energy, courage, and dignity to remain exempt from vengeful ideas and desires of retaliation.

Wisdom and common sense did not reach General Benito Renecat, the Cat when he chose oppression of his opponents over tolerance. He opted for vendetta instead of forgiveness. His all-time rival Lieutenant Colonel Monserrat the Rat wasn’t better a human being either. His records spoke for themselves: macho man, murderer, insensitive husband, careless father, a man ruthless against his enemies, hardcore conservative Christian, and worst of all, a champion of illegal accumulation of wealth. That, along with that insane quarrel with the general, had contributed to the man’s misfortune and disarray after the military coup.

Unfortunately, the wounds inflicted by the bloody military coup had shattered the hearts and souls of too many who opposed the new regime. They were persecuted by the almighty military men because of their ideological beliefs and forced to flee their homeland. They too became victims of their political and ideological ambitions and their great desire to do good for the society. They chose idealism over obscurantism, freedom over autocracy, and love over hatred. While in exile, they chose courage and dignity as their sole way of survival. Their iron will to make it through kept them alive until the day they could cherish again the sweet taste of progress and liberty.

In this novel, the author features a world where obsession for power, money, and machismo contrast vividly with justice, love, and liberty. The story begins on a cool morning of September 1973 in Santiago de Chile. It unfolds in a warm and chaotic Latino environment. It ends in the most unbelievable fashion.

Chapter 1

True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us.

—Socrates

Tuesday morning, September 11, 1973

My name is General Alfredo Augusto Barracaldo de las Pinas, the Honorable Chief Supreme and Commandant in Chief of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force. From this present time—he glanced at his watch—"8:35 a.m., I am the new President of the Democratic Republic of Chile. From the power conceded to me by God, and by Mother Nature, I declare illegal all political parties and all political organizations. The Parliament is dissolved. The old constitution is annulled. The members of the new government will be designated by me and by me only. They will be known in the coming hours. According to the new constitution, the members of the previous administration are declared persona non grata. These undesirable individuals are invited to leave the country immediately.

All private and public schools and universities are closed. All public gatherings are strictly prohibited. All the components of the Chilean media—radio stations, newspapers, and televisions stations—are declared illegal. The media, public and private, is now legitimate property of the State. All the hospitals and sanitary facilities are closed with the exception of the emergency divisions. For the security of the general public, a curfew will be in place in a daily basis from noon to 8:00 a.m., effective immediately. Anyone found on the streets during the curfew hours will be summarily executed, without exception. All acts of dissidence or antigovernment activities are strictly prohibited. All acts of subversion will be severely reprimanded. This is the law! May God bless my fellow citizens! May God bless the sovereign Democratic Republic of Chile! May God and Mother Nature shower me with their blessings and protection!

Chi-Chi-Chi… Le-Le-Le. Viva Chile! Viva el Pueblo Chileno!

And the national anthem was playing loud, louder than ever before.

The military coup was in force. The six-minute official announcement by the new almighty president of the republic shook the whole country. It shocked the world. That unforgettable six-minute speech opened a new chapter in the history of Latin American dictators and dictatorships. It would change the country and the people forever. Obviously, the news took everyone by surprise, even though some rumors of conspiracy were boiling at high temperature in the political arena. And the suspicions of some oncoming political turbulences waved in the frightened, freaky minds of the elected socialist leaders.

About twenty-four hours earlier, according to reliable sources, a delegation of high-ranking members of the American Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and military experts from the Pentagon landed at the Santiago International Airport. They were driven with high speed in a convoy of minibuses to the National Palace, La Moneda. Then they held a tumultuous meeting with the democratically elected leftist Marxist-Leninist president. A couple of gunshots were fired during and after the meeting. And that was it!

No one really knew what exactly happened in the president’s office. There were only rumors: rumors from the right. And rumors from the left. The chaos was everywhere: on the streets, in the business centers, literally in every household, in every living room, in the still-opened bars, cafes, and restaurants. And especially in the schools and university campuses. Immediately, after that mysterious meeting in the president’s office and the fired gunshots, access to the Palace La Moneda was denied to the public. All employees, except for the military personnel, were instructed to leave the palace. They were told to keep their mouths shut, to have no contact with the press and to avoid the TV reporters especially those curious and aggressive journalists from foreign countries.

You haven’t seen anything. You haven’t heard anything, they were told by the new officer in charge and responsible for the personnel’s evacuation.

In less than one hour after the official announcement of the military coup, all the principal avenues and streets of the capital were occupied by the military. Tension ran high inside and outside the public places—schools, markets, bars, restaurants. There were questions with no answers everywhere. The police was omnipresent. And as if the order was given from above, many of the high-ranking members of the political parties, from the center to the left, were fleeing Santiago, the capital. Most of the members of the leftist government were already on their way to the international airport. Other politicians were stuck in the airport, pushing and pulling through the crowd, trying to reach the ticket offices of the still-functioning international airliners. Those politicians from the Socialist Party headquarters in the Chilean west coast opted to escape by boat to neighboring Peru. Others chose to swing to the opposite direction, toward peaceful and relatively more stable Argentina.

In the streets of Santiago, there was chaos. Total chaos. Skepticism about the future was in all minds, as fear and anxiety kept many inside their home, avoiding confrontation with the army and the well-armed police. There was no single household of the country that was not affected by the events. About two months or so earlier, during a radio televised interview, an eminent political analyst predicted some political shake-up amid turmoil and misunderstandings between the Chilean government and some big turkey faces in Washington DC. Most of the Chilean politicians and activists, especially in the capital, knew there could be some troubles ahead. But no one, not even the most refined political analyst in Santiago and abroad, had predicted the troubles to be so deep and so devastating.

That morning of September 11 at 8:35 a.m., Pedro and his wife Ingela Katarina were about to finish breakfast. They were all dressed up and ready to start a new day. Pedro had made plans for the day: drive his wife to her working place and then do what he used to do every single weekday—drive his ten-year-old Ford sedan to the city center where he worked. It was a Tuesday. As every Tuesday, he would visit Ingela’s parents in the evening for a traditional family dinner. But that Tuesday morning, the family’s plan fell abruptly into a world of phantasms after that telephone call from a friend activist:

There is a military coup. Our president is dead. Turn on the radio! the person said sadly and hung up.

It was their dear friend and comrade Olivia De Vries. She was among the evacuated personnel from the presidential palace. Ingela rushed to the small radio in the living room. She turned it on and set the volume knot clockwise to the maximum. Pedro could hear it. He stopped eating. The fork suddenly dropped from his right hand. His left hand was too shaky to hold the knife. It dropped too. The atmosphere changed from amazement to anxiety. And from anxiety to deep fear. They too were warned about some possible political derangement but were reluctant to believe that the government they had voted for could have been overthrown in such a dramatic way. They just could not comprehend such horrible happenings. Pedro and Ingela were listening to the radio. They were glancing at each other, petrified. The six-minute message from the great almighty general was played repeatedly, without interruption. As if it was meant for every single citizen of the country to hear the message, understand it, memorize it, and never forget it.

"Catastrophe! Catastrophe! Los cerdos (the pigs) are taking over. Catastrophe!" mumbled Pedro.

Pedro tried to stand up. He fell back on his chair. His legs were too weak. Ingela stood in front of the radio, devastated, horrified, with her right hand covering her half-open mouth. She was mummified. Minutes later, as she partially recovered from the shock, she said,

Let’s go to my parents’ home. No one is safe here.

Right, let’s get out of here. The military will certainly come for us, replied Pedro.

In less than fifteen minutes, Pedro and Ingela, who lived in the heart of the city, only a couple of blocks from the city center where there were protests and confrontations with the police, had left their apartment. They were on their way to Ingela’s parents who lived in the outskirts of the city, only fifteen minutes by car. They left without thinking about tomorrow or the day after. Both needed to be in a warmer environment, in a safer place amid the tragic events in the national palace. They worried. A military coup of such magnitude had never crossed their minds. And never in their wildest dreams had they thought of having a dead president in the national palace. They left the apartment with the naive idea that they could resume their political activities as soon as possible and regroup with all their comrade activists to plan new strategies. There were tears in their eyes, but there was hope. There was sadness in their soul, but it was overshadowed by their unshakable faith in social justices. Their heart ached deeply with fear, but their confidence in the future was deeper. They knew their plan for the day had changed, but what they could not foresee was that their lives were about to change dramatically, forever.

Pedro El Guapo Gustaval was a well-established architect who graduated from the state university in Santiago. He came from a modest middle-class family with a strong political background. His father, and his grandfather before him, was a fervent militant of the Communist Party. Already as a teenager, Pedro became a full-time member of the party. In the school of architecture, he was an active and eloquent speaker during their political meetings. At work, he was highly respected because of his open-minded attitude and unlimited capacity of imagination. Despite his professional success, he remained a jovial, down-to-earth fellow who liked nature, sports, and music. He loved animals of all sorts and claimed to understand many animals’ languages. His long dark hair and beard gave him the combined allure of Jesus Christ superstar and Castro the revolutionary. His colleague nicknamed him Easygoing Pedrito.

Pedro E. Gustaval and Ingela Monserrat had been living together for about fifteen years. They never officially married. That was against their ideological principles. Their love was going strong despite some ups and downs. Unlike Pedro, Ingela came from an aristocratic family with deep conservative military roots. Catholic background and traditions ran in the family. As a young girl, she wished to be a nun. As time went by, that idea gradually faded away. And by the time she graduated from high school, her mind was completely twisted. Her love for Jesus converted into love for Karl Max. For obvious reasons, she became a rebellious, antireligion, antichurch, anticapitalism, anticonventional activist militant and a strongly minded young adult. She loved the idea of being socialist-communist. Ingela wanted to dedicate her life to helping people, people of all sorts, she said. At the age of seventeen, she entered nursing school without major difficulty. She did not use the special recommendations offered by the priest to be admitted into the school. Ingela was a very intelligent and dedicated A student. She met Pedro the day before her graduation from nursing school, and the two melted into each other ever since. They promised to never ever fall apart. Since the beginning of their relationship, they agreed to never set foot in a church, carry a stupid ring in their finger, and have a serious conversation with a priest. So the idea of being married in a church by a priest was totally out of the question.

Without any doubt, Pedro and Ingela loved each other. In addition to love, what really kept them together all these years was their political idealism and their common philosophy in life. Both loved politics and adored pure socialism. They hated corruption, and they became the fiercest enemies of social injustice and social inequality. Unfortunately, their left-minded attitude and political passion contrasted in black and white with Ingela’s parents whose conservative rightist roots were unshakable. Ingela’s aristocratic folks were the prototype of the right-wing Latino individuals who believed in God, church, and the military.

Ingela’s father, the lieutenant colonel Alberto Monserrat de Las Rosas Cabezota, was a deep-seeded military veteran and a hard-liner. He was called Don Alberto by his friends. But his foes, old classmates, and military colleagues nicknamed him Colonel Monserrat the Rat because of his reputation of being an intransigent and intolerant man with an obsessive-compulsive character. The colonel was a cunning type, a tricky man who adored money, illegal or otherwise. His lobby was to accumulate wealth. And he would do so in the most shameful and unscrupulous of manners. Despite his implications in all sorts of oddities and controversies, Colonel Monserrat the Rat remained a well-respected and influential figure in the military milieu. He was frequently consulted by his fellow colonels and generals from the Santiago Military Academy where he volunteered to lecture about twice a month.

I love the academy. I used it to keep in touch with my old military friends. And at the same time, I can teach some good manners to the younger generations, the colonel said when he was asked about his role in the academy.

Since the day he got promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel some years ago, Alberto Monserrat De Las Rosas urged everyone in his surroundings and all acquaintances in Chile and abroad to address him as Colonel Monserrat. He adored his military career and took particular pleasure in showing his uniforms and military ornaments. He would do anything for the military and the success of the military men. Despite the strong personal influence on his daughter Ingela, Colonel Monserrat De Las Rosas could not convince her to switch from left to right politically. He never understood or refused to understand the rationale beyond Ingela’s political orientations.

What a shame! he told a friend once. My daughter could be a devoted nun or a faithful Catholic school teacher. She could be so useful to our society. Instead she chose to join the brainless socialist gigolos. Those antireligion illiterate communist idiots manipulate her. And I particularly blame her stupid lover Pedro for converting her into communism. She has been brainwashed by her stupid lover.

For obvious reasons, the colonel hated Pedro.

He is as stupid as my left foot, the colonel commented the first day the two men met. He put my daughter in that political mess. Hopefully, she will soon find a real man.

Indeed, Pedro the zealous communist militant was known in all the police stations nearby as a troublemaker. He had been detained and incarcerated several times during violent confrontations with the police.

I love to be in jail, Pedro told a policeman the last time he was arrested. And when the captain of the police station ordered him to keep quiet, he shouted,

Your jail looks like the beach of Copacabana to me! I just love it. The longer I stay here, the better I feel.

The captain released him a few minutes later. Of course, the poor captain got a phone call from Don Alberto Monserrat, the almighty colonel.

Release the dummy! ordered the powerful colonel who felt pity for the revolutionary prisoner.

Every now and then, Ingela had to use her family name Monserrat to keep her politically subversive Pedro out of trouble. And all these tribulations with the authorities would not deter her from loving Easygoing Pedrito. Needless to say, the relationship between the colonel and his presumptive son-in-law Pedro has never been too smooth. The two men used to engage in long, almost violent arguments about religion and politics. Don Alberto on the right and Pedro on the left, both were stubbornly stuck in their positions with no desire to compromise or to make concessions. Of course, Ingela and her mother Rosalia, the colonel’s official wife, were always there to temper the two boyish men down and avoid the worst.

Interestingly, about two years preceding the military coup when the left-oriented president was democratically elected, during one of those near-violent arguments with the military man, Pedro swore the country would stay forever under the control of the Socialist Party and, as Pedro proudly predicted:

The country will never go back to dictatorship. The military is out of business, outdated, out of the game. And out for good. This is pure common sense.

But the confident colonel, who was secretly informed about the upcoming military coup, kept cool. He offered no immediate reply to zealous Pedro. No words about the well secretly kept plan that was decided among the high-ranking military dignitaries. The colonel gave Pedro a short dirty look and said with an ironic, almost insulting smile:

Let’s wait and see. Ahahah!

Pedro smiled back, but with a different kind of smile filled with optimism and naïveté. He could not figure out the meaning of the man’s ironic statement. Pedro was too idealist to see the reality. The colonel Monserrat the Rat was right. Indeed, there was a lot to be seeing. Much more than anyone could ever imagine.

Coincidentally, September 11, 1973, was also Colonel Alberto Monserrat de las Rosas’s forty-fifth birthday. The man woke up early in the morning with a strong predisposition and undeniable desire for a double celebration. He knew it all. The bottle of Pisco, a strong Chilean liquor, he bought a couple of days earlier when he was informed of the exact date of the coup was already on the table. It was already half consumed, and the music was playing louder than ever in the living room. Even the colonel’s wife Rosalia, who obviously had no clue about the military plan, was wondering about her man’s unusual good mood that Tuesday morning.

"Happy birthday, mi amor (my love)," said Rosalia with a soft voice, as they met in the dining room for breakfast.

At 7:15 a.m., the happy colonel was already all dressed up. For the occasion, he put up his newest shiny military outfit with all the decorations and ornaments—stars, multicolored strips, epaulets—as if he was ready for the most spectacular parade of his career. He replied with a glorious smile:

Thank you, my dear! Today is a very special day, indeed.

"I know, mi amor. Forty-five is a nice number, isn’t it?" said Rosalia, referring to the forty-fifth birthday.

Oh yes, I name today my ‘DV-day,’ added the colonel with a greater smile followed by a long sip of Pisco.

Your DV-day? What is that, Alberto? asked Rosalia with great curiosity and concern for the early morning Pisco session.

Oh yeah! It means Double Victory Day, the colonel answered happily.

Double Victory Day? asked Rosalia. You are hallucinating, Alberto. You are not in a battlefield.

Well, I think this is indeed a glorious battlefield, my dear Rosi! answered the colonel.

Well, let me tell you this. If you don’t stop your drinking habits, alcohol will soon claim ‘Double Victory Day’ on your brain, warned Rosalia with a serious tone. Her husband’s habits have caused enough frustration and irritation that Rosalia had begun to wonder for how long she could keep up with the man’s behavior.

Let me explain it to you, my dear Rosi…

Ahah, tell me Mr. Colonel DV-day! replied Rosalia with some irony and frustration.

The first victory is personal.

Ahah, why?

Because today I am forty-five years of age. We have been married for about twenty-two years. And during those twenty-two years, I have VIC-TO-RIOUS-LY managed to stay faithful to you. Despite all the temptations and attempts from a huge number of beautiful women, stated the colonel with his right hand on his heart.

Rosalia was thrilled by the confession even though she was not entirely convinced. Of course, there have been some rumors in the neighborhood that the colonel was by no means a saint. Rosalia knew better than anyone else that military men have allergy against the truth. They distort the truth. They tell the half-truth and they can never tell the whole truth, especially when a bottle of Pisco is around. So Rosalia was patiently waiting for her husband colonel to reveal the details about the second VICTORY. But the man was not in a hurry. Instead of speaking about his second victory, he indulged another long sip of Pisco and offered another glorious smile to his wife.

What about the second VICTORY? asked Rosalia.

I will tell you in a few minutes, replied the Pisco maniac and proud military man with a happy red face.

The colonel glanced at his watch. He freaked another victorious smile, much wider than the previous ones. While the Pisco was circulating at high speed in his bloodstream and the minutes were passing by, the military man was patiently waiting for the right moment to celebrate his second victory with great military pride. It was 8:16 a.m. The colonel turned on the small television in the living room and sat quietly in front of the monitor with an unusual happy face. And Rosalia was wondering, What in the world can possibly make my liar military husband so happy?

Nineteen minutes later, at 8:35 a.m., the almighty general Alfredo Augusto Barracaldo de las Pinas, the honorable chief supreme and commander in chief of the army, the navy, and the air force, appeared on the TV monitor. The exalted colonel Alberto Monserrat, the Rat stood up. He rose both arms with clenched fists and shouted loudly:

Yes! This is my second VICTORY!

Chapter 2

Good things always come to good people.

CP-J

Tuesday, September 11

9:15 a.m.

Less than one hour following the official announcement of the victorious military coup, the police and military had taken over the whole country. They literally occupied every single corner of the republic. They were already visible in all highways and main roads from north to south. In the capital, Santiago, the avenues and main streets were under their control.

If they meant to frighten the population, they definitely succeeded, said a taxi driver who was struggling and zigzagging within the city center.

The suburbs and neighborhoods in the periphery of the city were literally inaccessible. Checkpoints were set up every two kilometers or so in every principal avenue of the city. It was a blitz operation, a well-organized military invasion. After about two hours of driving, stopping, answering questions, and showing identifications through checkpoints and barricades, Pedro and Ingela finally arrived at the colonel’s driveway.

The colonel was standing proudly on the balcony in his shiny uniform and the inseparable glass of Pisco. He managed a glorious smile as he saw them arrive. Somehow he expected them although he would have preferred not to welcome the ridiculous Pedro. But he was part of the family and the poor man had no safer place to go. Ahah, where else could he go? the colonel mumbled with a presumptuous military-like attitude. He was the only one who could provide shelter to that dummy, leftist, activist son-in-law. And if it was not for the sake of Ingela, his beloved daughter, he would have kicked Pedro’s ass one thousand times. He would have done so, not only because Pedro was a leftist activist but also, and above all, for being a damn arrogant intellectual who had admiration for Fidel Castro and Mao Tse-tung. The colonel hated Pedro with all his heart and soul. As he saw Pedro stepping out of the car with his Che-like beard and that stupid long gray hair, he just freaked out. His victorious mood suddenly switched from good to sour. He became so pissed off for allowing—against his will—his daughter to cohabit with that atheist pig.

Look at him! he mumbled again with disdain, looking at Pedro walking toward the main entrance.

And the worst of all was that Pedro and Ingela had planned to have children, his grandchildren. Children who would be born with putrid communist blood in their veins because of their Marxist-Leninist father. Communists should not have children! Period! the colonel usually thought. He despised the man so bad that he had doubts about his capacity to procreate and put children with communist blood on earth. What an insult! How can that happen? How can God allow him to procreate if he doesn’t even believe in Jesus? the colonel asked himself so many times.

Rosalia! We have company, the colonel shouted at his wife who was still in the dining room.

Who are coming? asked Rosalia.

Ingela and—he muttered a bad word—are here, he said. He would not mention Pedro’s presence. He even refused to pronounce the name Pedro. He preferred to call him PEDO from hell to humiliate the man.

Oh, thank heavens! Now I feel better. I worry about them, answered Rosalia.

Don’t worry, Ingela will do fine, replied the colonel to calm down his nervous wife who could not stop crying since the news broke out on the television and radio.

Rosalia sensed that the worst was yet to come. During all those years of cohabitation, Ingela and her mother Rosalia have tried hard to be the buffer zone between the colonel and his son-in-law. He is only my daughter’s humble servant, the colonel said so often without any remorse. The two gentlemen, one from the Far Right and the other from the Far Left, never showed respect for each other. They never missed the slightest opportunity to put up a good verbal fight. Now that the balance of power has shifted toward the military, the man in uniform put himself in the position of absolute force. On top of the world, the world at his feet and ready to smash his opponent. The Goliath of Santiago. The Great Samson. With that colorful and radiant uniform on, he would need a simple finger snap to have the poor Pedro surrendered and begging for mercy. Right! As soon as the visitors set foot in the house, the triumphant colonel initiated the first assault.

Welcome, Mr. Loser! Welcome to safe haven, Mr. Communist! shouted the military man.

Pedro did not reply. He chose not to retaliate. The already-defeated activist wanted to avoid direct confrontation in such a humiliating day for the Socialist Party and for the country. Instead, he offered a dirty look to the well-dressed colonel. Pedro has preferred not to face the great Goliath. He walked in with great humility and his head down. In other circumstances, he would have answered by singing out loud the international socialism song and show up his right fist. He would have done all those things that used to make the damn colonel blush. But on that sad Tuesday, Pedro preferred to hold his fire. He chose to wait for the right second to launch a torpedo to the arrogant man.

Of course, the colonel was in his territory, in the position of power, and fearless in front of his defeated communist son-in-law, the little socialist loser. Minutes later, he launched a second attack against the weakened enemy with more humiliating words.

Tell me, ‘Little Che Guevara!’ What are you going to do now? the colonel asked in an ironic tone.

I will do what I have to do, Mr. ‘Alexander the Great’! Pedro shouted back.

Thank you for calling me ‘Alexander the Great.’ You are absolutely right. In fact, I may be greater than Alexander. Ahahaha! answered the colonel with a dirty laugh.

Oh right! replied Pedro, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Maybe you don’t understand the whole situation yet. Let me teach you some basic principles about national and international politics, continued the colonel.

Please hold the lecture for another time. You may need it for your students at the military academy school. They still don’t know how and where to carry out a military coup, said Pedro.

Well, well! Let me give you a little advice, Mr. Loser: don’t you dare criticize the military! We are still the most powerful Institution of this country, after the church, of course. And we shall have no mercy for our opponents. The future of this great nation depends on the military and on the military only.

Don’t claim victory so soon, sir. The war is not over, warned Pedro.

There is no war and there will be no war, mister. In our military language, we call that ‘total victory.’ In only a few days, there will be complete annihilation of the Left. We plan—and we will—root out the so-called Socialist Party. He offered a disgusted face. We will reeducate the leaders, punish their constituents, and reassure the rest of the population that mistakes like this will never take place again in our history. And a little dust like you, ‘Pedo,’ will have no choice but to come to me, the great colonel of the armed forces, and beg for protection.

"Wow, wow. Great colonel! I am afraid I won’t need your little protection. And by the way, this little dust standing in front of you is still full of life. Pedro lowered his voice. And that same little dust happens to be your daughter’s lover. Maybe soon he will be the father of your grandchildren."

Grandchildren! Ahahaha! Communist men cannot conceive. God would not allow such an obscenity. How dare you think about having children with my daughter? You are not Ingela’s husband. I never consented to that union. To me, you are just a stranger, a renegade, a little brainless communist who has brainwashed my daughter. Period.

The telephone in the living room rang. Rosalia took it.

Alberto, it’s for you, said Rosalia who offered the phone to her powerful husband. Then she whispered, It’s a colleague of yours.

Who is he? the colonel whispered back.

Sounds like Lieutenant Renaldo, she whispered again.

What the hell does he want? asked the arrogant colonel.

I don’t know, replied Rosalia.

The colonel managed a straight military posture. He cleared his throat, took a long sip of Pisco, then offered a fake low tone of voice: Here is Colonel Alberto Monserrat de las Rosas Cabezota. Who is this? the colonel asked in an intimidating tone.

Sir, I am Lieutenant Renaldo Hernandero, sir!

Uhm, Renaldo. What’s going on? And be short! I am very busy now.

Sir, this is very important, sir, added the lieutenant in a shaken tone.

What’s the problem, Renaldo?

This is about your daughter and her boy friend, sir!

What is it?

Sir, Commandant Benito Renecat has decided to start the ‘cleaning’ today. The names of Mr. Pedro and Ms. Ingela are on the top of his list. I think the commandant and a small group of soldiers are heading toward their apartment. They will arrest them and execute them on the spot. And I am afraid it may be already too late. And by the way, sir, your name is also on the list.

What did you say? What! yelled the colonel.

The lieutenant hung up.

Damn! Benito again! Damn, damn, damn! shouted the colonel, banging his right fist on the table nearby.

The colonel told Rosalia and his daughter Ingela what the lieutenant just warned him about. Ingela relayed the bad news to Pedro who was standing next to her. They trembled. They became speechless. They were glancing at each other with their jaws dropped and their eyes wide open. All of them knew how dangerous and merciless Commandant Benito could be. And there was indeed very little they could do to stop him.

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Commandant Benito Gutierrez Renecat, nicknamed the Cat by his friends and foes, was a high-ranking officer of the Chilean Armed Forces. He had an unbeatable military record: A student, graduated first in his class in SMA (Santiago Military Academy), fluent in English (his mother was American-born). He spent three years in the prestigious American military academy in West Point, Florida. He was a recipient of special training in the well-known Fort McFermont military base in Atlanta, Georgia. His experiences abroad—in the United States and Europe—made him a favorite contact person for the Pentagon, the CIA, and NATO.

The rivalry between Benito Renecat, the Cat and Alberto Monserrat, the Rat started long before they entered the SMA. The two men grew up in the same aristocratic, high-class residential neighborhood of Santiago. Once upon a time in their teenage years, Alberto and Benito were good buddies, hung out in bars, and chased the same girls. Their first argument took place when young Benito suddenly fell in love with Alberto’s younger and only sister, Regina. The jealous and protective Alberto confronted Benito, and the two men ended up in a ferocious fistfight. Of course, both claimed victory after the duel, but the resentment against each other never went away as Alberto felt betrayed by his friend the Cat. When the two young lovers Benito and Regina decided to tie the knot, Alberto accepted, against his will, to be a witness to their wedding. Then the two men reconciled, and all seemed to be fine for a while between the two macho-like Latinos. A few years later, and perhaps by coincidence, both gentlemen entered the prestigious military academy.

During those five years in the academy, Benito, the naturally gifted fellow, distinguished himself as an unbeatable, brilliant student. Envy among his classmates, including Alberto, became obvious. After their graduation, all doors were opened for Benito who was about to start a brilliant military career. First, he moved to West Point, Florida, then to Georgia, and later to Western Europe. And finally he was promoted as a special foreign attaché at the Chilean embassy in Washington DC. He had direct contact with the Pentagon and the White House. While Benito was accumulating trophies in his country and abroad, his envious brother-in-law Alberto was in Santiago chasing beautiful women, drinking Pisco, and accumulating wealth in the most unscrupulous of ways. His involvement in illegal activities such as human trafficking, drugs, and money laundering was known, but that had never been subject to serious investigations nor had the influential military man been indicted or prosecuted. He was well protected from above. Despite his weaknesses as a soldier and his reputation as womanizer, the wealthy Piscoman found his way up to the top of the ladder as lieutenant colonel of the armed forces. Of course, no one could deny that he got the right family name (Monserrat) and the right connections. Time went by, but he never forgave his classmate Benito for being so successful. And Benito was well aware of that.

All turned out for the worse when in the spring of 1969, the body of Benito’s only child was found decapitated on the beach about fifty kilometers southwest of Santiago. Benito and Regina were devastated. After a thorough police investigation, all evidences pointed toward Alberto, the envious lieutenant colonel. Of course, Alberto denied the accusations. Despite all efforts from Benito’s side to catch the murderer, the charges were dropped mysteriously by a local military judge. General Benito Renecat, the Cat cried for revenge. He swore he would not stop until justice was done. And defiant Lieutenant Colonel Monserrat the Rat vowed to fight back. Since then, the two men engaged in a series of malicious attacks and counterattacks against each other. Both rivals were determined to keep fighting each other until the end of time.

When the decision was made at the highest level to overthrow the socialist government by a military coup, General Benito Renecat was at the core of the plot. He was called upon by his military peers because of his brilliant mind and his reputation as a well-trained military tactician. And as his colleagues recalled later, Benito the Cat masterminded the coup from A to Z. On September 11, 1973, he was the right hand of General Alfredo Augusto Barracaldo de las Pinas. He got full approval from the general-in-chief to start the systematic elimination (the cleaning) of the enemies. Evidently, he could not directly accuse Alberto the Rat, but he gladly put the colonel’s communist daughter Ingela and his activist Marxist-Leninist son-in-law Pedro on the top of the list. And just next to them, on the list, was Alberto Monserrat in bold letters.

I want full revenge, General Benito the Cat told his boss, the almighty general Alfredo Augusto Barracaldo de las Pinas. The latter approved the decision.

The unexpected warning phone call from Lieutenant Renaldo Hernandero brought disturbances in the great colonel’s environment. His triumphant mood reversed to total anxiety. Complete CHAOS erupted. The colonel’s world was slowly turning upside down. In only a few seconds, the chaos converted into total PANIC. The music stopped playing. The TV monitor was turned off. Rosalia was crying. Ingela and Pedro were petrified. They knew that the general Benito Renecat’s degree of aggressiveness and cruelty was immeasurable.

The Cat never forgets and never forgives, muttered Ingela.

Even the colonel -until then unshakable- was shaken and worried for his life. He took the warning seriously. A reddish color invaded his cheeks. His right hand weakened and could no longer hold the glass of Pisco. The glass suddenly dropped. It broke in several pieces, which scattered over the wooden floor. The arrogant man in uniform stood frozen, powerless, glancing at his favorite alcoholic beverage spreading slowly in all directions.

Bad sign! Bad sign! A glass had never ever slipped from my hand. The superstitious colonel frowned to himself as he looked at his right arm trembling. He certainly was taken by surprise and found himself in disarray in his own territory.

Colonel Monserrat was aware of Benito Renecat’s pivotal role in the decision to topple the socialist government. Both attended the meeting during which the details of the cleaning were discussed. The colonel personally suggested the cleaning or systematic elimination of the leftist activists. He wanted to dismantle every single communist cell in the capital and beyond. He would be responsible for the incarceration and interrogation of all cell leaders, including Pedro. The colonel ought to be the executioner, the beast, the eraser of all opponents of the military regime. At least that was his request to the commander in chief. And he was confident his request would be granted. The great man didn’t expect his eternal rival Benito to be chosen instead as the officer in charge for the whole cleaning. He believed that the disastrous decision may have been made in the last minute behind his back. The colonel was confident that such awful reversal of fortune was instigated by Benito Gutierrez Renecat, the Cat, the intrepid Cat.

Vendetta! murmured Colonel Monserrat the Rat.

General Benito Gutierrez Renecat, the Cat was a well-accomplished military officer, a stubborn military man, and probably the most skillful officer the academy had ever produced. His records spoke for themselves. When it came to cynicism, Benito was unbeatable. He was merciless, pitiless against his enemies. Never forgive. Never forget was his best refrain. That was how dangerous Benito the Cat could be. Pedro and Ingela knew the magnitude of the danger. Both had friends and comrades who had experienced incarceration upon Benito’s order and undergone interrogation by the man himself in police headquarters. That was before the last general elections that ended in the triumph of the Socialist Party and the humiliation of the military. A slap in the face for the military generals. Now the situation has taken a hundred and eighty degrees’ turn. A seriously different situation. The Cat has been promoted since to the rank of general with more stars and bars on his shoulders. And with longer and more poisonous nails. All had shifted from serious to very serious. And the Rat (and his family) had all the reasons of the world to fear for their life.

Colonel Alberto Monserrat was obviously disturbed; but he decided not to lose control. He was walking at a low pace from one side to the other side of the living room. He was pacing with his head down. The man was thinking. Every now and then, he would scratch his forehead as if he was in search of new ideas. Suddenly, he stopped next to the table. He reached for the almost empty bottle of Pisco and poured the rest of the clear liquid in a new glass up to the rim. He emptied the bottle. Then a long sip of Pisco followed. The colonel figured a grimacing face, took a deep breath, and then a loud sigh (ahahah!). It sounded as if the Piscoman had liberated himself from a heavy burden. Or maybe the Pisco helped to reach some kind of a solution to his dilemma. He put up a serious face and started giving orders.

Rosalia! Call the driver. Tell him we are leaving in five minutes, launched the colonel.

Where are we going? asked Rosalia.

But she got no answer. Instead, the colonel yelled back: Do it now! Then he walked toward his daughter.

Ingela, we have to leave now. This place is too dangerous for you, added the colonel with a serious face

Where are we going, Papa? asked the frightened Ingela.

No answer. Instead, the colonel stepped to the left toward Pedro. He looked at him, reached a grave tone, and said:

And you, damn socialist shit. This is happening because of you. It is your damn fault. You have put my family in danger. One day I will make you pay for this. I will never forgive you for putting my daughter in this political mess, said the angry man.

I don’t understand. What the f—— are you talking about? replied Pedro with little respect for the great colonel.

Where are you taking us? insisted Rosalia.

The furious half-drunk colonel explained the seriousness of the situation again with more details. He insisted that the lieutenant’s phone call was too serious a warning to ignore and that the situation was very critical. He feared for their lives.

Benito is searching for you. He pointed at Pedro and Ingela. Benito is a brutal man. He has no soul, no heart, and no compassion. He will execute all of us if we fall into his net, said the colonel.

So do something, Alberto! replied the shaken Rosalia.

Can’t you protect us anymore? asked Ingela.

Call the Moneda! Rosalia was referring to the presidential palace. Call Augusto, the general. He is still our friend, right? asked Rosalia.

No. We have no friends there anymore. Benito has taken over. Damn Benito! the colonel mumbled in a grave and sad voice.

The Damocles sword was hanging over the colonel’s neck. The chances of preventing General Benito G. Renecat from eliminating the whole family were slim and that his fiercest enemy would not have mercy for him or for any member of the Monserrat family. He knew that angry Benito was unstoppable. He was hungry for revenge. It was personal. It was all about personal vendetta. And the only way out for the colonel was to run. Run fast and hide.

The tension rose high in the living room. Rosalia was desperate. Ingela tried to calm her mother down without success. Pedro, the defeated socialist, was cursing the military, the generals, the Pentagon, the CIA, the USA, the secret police, and the whole Western Democratic world. And the colonel was busy trying to figure out what to do and where to go and hide until the situation stabilized. First, in a few short seconds, he felt remorse for having created so many foes and so few friends. Then he thought about Benito. They could have been friends if it was not for that unforgivable, jealous attitude. They could have been both in the same military position, standing next to the great general Alfredo Augusto and indulging power and political fame in that glorious and victorious day of the military coup. And like Benito, that day, he could have been part of the general’s entourage and have his photo taken on the palace’s balcony. What an honor it would have been to have his photo taken with the other powerful generals in the front pages of all the newspapers in Latin America and the world!

Damn, I miss it! I miss the damn show, mumbled the colonel with a sense of defeat and rendition.

Needless to say, General Benito the Cat and Colonel Alberto Monserrat, the Rat despised each other. The Rat was envious of his old classmate’s success, and the Cat wanted nothing less than revenge for his late son. Oh yes, there was that unforgettable fate of Benito’s beloved and only boy. And the fatal story of Benito’s son came briefly to the Rat’s mind. He swiped out a cold sweat from his face, swallowed some saliva, managed another loud sigh, and gasped for air, followed by a deeper loud sigh. The man was in an irreversible state of distress. So flashbacks became inevitable.

The colonel recalled that day in the military courtroom some years ago when he was accused (and suspicious) of murdering Benito’s son Zenito. He remembered the face, the stone face, of the military judge. And his low-toned voice:

Not guilty! The court finds the colonel Alberto Monserrat de las Rosas Cabezota not guilty!

Those flashbacks engendered some kind of unease and discomfort deep in his inner soul. Another scattered cold sweat erupted from his forehead and ran down his right cheek. He swiped it swiftly, as if the stubborn man wanted to hide his state of distress and disarray from the world around him. He cleared his throat and reached for some water. The Pisco was long gone. Deep in his guts, he knew the truth. He knew the verdict could have been different without the skill and astuteness of his military lawyer who happened to be a dear friend and a close partner of the military judge.

God and my old military friends saved me from disaster, he concluded. But he knew he was guilty! And Benito had all the reasons in the world to seek revenge.

The driver had arrived.

The car is ready, sir! affirmed the driver.

The driver, Emilio Eusebio Pocacosa, was always ready to drive his boss to wherever the boss wished. The faithful driver has been working with him for more than twenty-five years. He always obeyed orders without questioning the colonel’s decisions. He usually knew in advance the colonel’s itinerary. But that Tuesday morning, the driver got no idea about where the boss and his family would be heading to. Emilio was quite disturbed by all these political turmoil. The military showdown in the city worried him. And rumors were circulating fast that his glorious boss of twenty-five or so years might have lost some power. That some of his few military friends were not included in the new cabinet contrarily to anyone’s expectations, including the colonel himself. And that many of the colonel’s foes have been promoted to some important key positions in the palace and military headquarters in the capital and around the country. Emilio was particularly concerned that he might consequently lose his driving job should his boss be forced to drag out of the political arena.

Emilio was standing in front of the colonel in the living room. He had never seen his boss in such a lamentable state. On the big man’s face, there were only signs of fear and devastation.

Dios mio! (My god!) I have never seen such a pale face. The boss looks like a soldier in retreat, thought Emilio. He would not dare say a word, but he understood that the whole house was in peril. He was wondering what would be his own fate in the next twenty-four hours or so. Before Eusebio could ask about the new destinations, the colonel approached him, passed him by, and walked in the direction of the door. Then the distressed man launched a new order.

Emilio! yelled the colonel.

Yes, sir.

Go home!

Ah… ah, go home? And why, sir? asked Emilio, astonished.

Because I say so. I don’t need you today. I don’t need you anymore. Go home and don’t come back. I will drive my own damn car. Get out! Just get the hell out!

But, sir! I didn’t do anything wrong? protested Emilio.

I said go home! insisted the angry colonel.

Emilio obeyed. As always. He could not believe it, but he forced himself to face the reality. He was fired. In those twenty-five-plus years Emilio had worked in Colonel Alberto Monserrat’s house, he had never seen his boss drive a car. Not even for one short second. So Emilio was wondering how the boss could manage to drive that limousine. He certainly did not seem to be in the best physical and mental condition to drive any vehicle at all. Not even a bicycle! Ahah! Emilio muttered to himself. After consuming one liter of strong Pisco, no one should be driving a motor vehicle, right? And the colonel was supposed to be aware of that too. Or maybe he was not. The man was born and raised in an aristocratic environment. He never had to drive. He was a high-ranking military officer; he always had a chauffeur. In those days in Chile, or in any other Latin American country, a military man had the God-given power and right to do as he was pleased. So driving under Pisco influence was not a sin and much less an unlawful act, not for the Church and neither for the State. So Emilio finally thought that Colonel Monserrat was free to take the road in any direction and at any speed. He was the well-known colonel of the Chilean Armed Forces, and still in uniform. Who would dare stop him?

Unemployed Emilio was devastated and disappointed, of course. He would have loved driving the whole family anywhere they wanted to, or he was ordered to. He was fired. Just like that. Without any explanation. Disgraced Emilio was doomed to go home without his last pay, without compensation, without saying goodbye, and especially without knowing where his boss and his family was heading to. What a chance he missed to discover the colonel’s safe haven! And he was puzzled by the idea that in less than twenty-four hours, his once-powerful boss could become a Mr. Nobody, an unhinged soldier in disarray.

Life is only made of twists and turns. You never know what is waiting for you at the next corner, reasoned the saddened Emilio, shaking his head from right to left. He could no longer hold the tears falling down his cheeks.

Earlier in the morning, Emilio had learned from a neighbor, one of the gossip lovers of the neighborhood, that rumors were circulating about the colonel’s dismissal and betrayal by his few military friends. Of course, he was skeptical about such disastrous news. But who would not? He could not comprehend that somebody’s fortune could dramatically change so quickly and so easily. Emilio was unemployed, but somehow he felt no pity for that boss he had served for so long. He even felt lucky to finally see that man, that tyrannical, authoritarian son of a bitch going down the drain so fast. He was a damn bad man, the fired driver mumbled as he walked by the black limousine he just drove a few minutes ago.

While he was walking away, Emilio managed a last glance at the car and the still-open garage door. Then the flashback: So much had happened in those twenty-five years of driving the man around. He could not recall the zillion times he was asked (by his boss) to close one eye and keep his mouth shut about the orgies that took place in the backseat of the limousine. He managed a smile and shook his head again. He remembered the last time he was ordered to clean up the backseat following the colonel’s sexual insanities with one of his colleagues’ wife. It was a Saturday evening. The morning after, the unscrupulous colonel was sitting with his wife in the same backseat with a serious and innocent face. They were on their way to the eight o’clock Sunday morning mass.

I have seen it all from that Catholic man, mumbled Emilio.

Now with the takeover of his military foes, as they were saying around, there was little chance for his arrogant boss to survive. Soon he might be off the game. Completely flushed out. And out for good! He may even be forced to flee the city with his family, to escape, to run away and run fast. The general Benito the Cat is coming! All the rats are running away! murmured Emilio with a joyful smile. Then Emilio consoled himself with a positive thought:

I know I am a good driver. God willing, I will find another job, another car, and another rich fellow. A good new job will come to me because good things always come to good people.

Emilio paused and asked himself:

How fast can that damn Rat run?

He nodded and added, I will find out in the next hour or so.

Chapter 3

Life is made of twists and turns. You never know what awaits you in the next corner.

CP-J

In the colonel’s house, the chaos was at its peak. The yelling and the crying continued. The news about the Monserrat family’s tragic fate had spread from one neighbor’s ears to another’s mouth. It didn’t take too long for the half-dozen maids serving Rosalia and her husband to figure out the tragedy that was unfolding inside the house. Emilio had no time to say goodbye, but the maids saw him leave the parkway in tears and in dismay. Bad sign! murmured one maid to the others. They understood that the house was no longer a safe place to be. They discreetly fled before being humiliated, fired, or be victim of General Benito Renecat’s cleaning plan. They too heard about Benito’s imminent vendetta. They too were frightened by the Cat’s fury.

Without a doubt, the events at the Moneda have weakened the colonel; he probably was in retreat, but by no means had he lost control. I still have my head over my shoulder. I am shaken but not broken, said the colonel to his wife and daughter in order to reassure them. Then he went straight to his office, locked the door behind him. Rosalia, Ingela, and Pedro stayed in the living room, all disoriented and wondering about their future and their safety.

In the office, the colonel managed to open the hidden safe located behind his military diploma. He quickly put together his passport, bank cards, the checkbooks with the Swiss bank account numbers, and of course, his rosary. How could he forget the sacred rosary? It was a present from a dear friend for his forty-fifth birthday.

May Jesus protect me and my family except Pedro! he murmured as he took the rosary from the safe. Pedro can go to hell, he added with a funny, gracious face.

The colonel slid the documents into two separate small plastic bags. In less than two minutes, he managed to dial the secret code to open the safe door, grab the documents, secure them, and wrap up the process with a short prayer. Then he walked out of the office. An unusual fake smile invaded his face. He approached his wife and daughter and said, Let’s go. Let’s leave now!

He invited Rosalia and Ingela to follow him. Pedro stayed about two steps behind Ingela. They were still confused about the colonel’s decision.

Let me pack a few things, replied Rosalia.

Rosalia rushed to the bedroom. Ingela and Pedro followed her. They wanted to help.

The colonel ignored them. He walked out of the house alone. He found the car in the driveway. He stepped in and quickly occupied the driver’s seat; he smiled as he saw the key in the ignition. He wanted to start the engine, but he remembered that he had no driver’s license and hadn’t driven a motor vehicle for ages, probably since he graduated