Kidnapping in Buenas Aires

Everything worked out for the best. The kidnapping was a 100% success. The immobilized bodyguard lay down to rest on the sidewalk, and the venerable Don Olivares didn't even have time to blink before finding himself in the trunk. Then his body, in a slightly dented state, it must be admitted, was successfully teleported to one of the far corners of the old port, away from random witnesses. La Boca is where tourists thirsty for extreme sports are drawn to visit the local "bottom" and be horrified: a gloomy, dirty area with a distinct criminal "smell." Nearby, on a "patch" called Calle Caminito Republica de la Boca, a cheerful crowd of guests of the Argentine capital has the opportunity to admire the multi-coloured two- and three-story wooden buildings, covered with corrugated ship iron - what remains from the turbulent times and lovingly preserved by the descendants of the port people and sea pirates as a fond memory. The Sin Quarter. The light here never goes out, either day or night. Who doesn't wander here in search of pleasures of all kinds, the most perverted desires, carnal, selfish? But who among us is not without sin? Man is weak, and the formula is simple: pay - and take. A labyrinth of concrete ceilings, dirty sand underfoot, yellow, faded grass. However, I have no time for philosophy. The most interesting part was the beginning if you don't count my appearance before the illustrious hostage in a black stocking on his head. In the role of a hunting dog, or not a dog, I always got confused about the breed of dogs released into the marsh thickets to lure ducks. They take off - I shoot, grab and carry the carcass to the owner.

— Good evening, my friend! How nice to meet you. Why don't we chat about this and that? - I have nothing to say to you.

— But I have something to ask.

—Why don't you leave me alone?

— I forgot to warn you, but this is not a request. I regret having to receive you in such inappropriate conditions. You were slightly bruised; I hope you are okay. And before we move on to the methods you know - don't even argue - that allow you to obtain a hundred percent confession, let me ask you a question: why did you go over to the side of our enemies? Why? I don't understand it. Tell me. Friends should not have secrets. Do you agree?

— Who the hell are you to beg for friends? Are you from the Colombian revolutionaries FARC? State Security? Do you have a mandate? Show me.

He's right a hundred times: how can you tell an honest man from a criminal if he has a black stocking on his head and nothing written on his forehead?

— You have lousy security, senor. No good. A mandate? Why not. A machete will do?

— Okay, I get it. What do you want to do with me? What do you want from me?

— Sit down. Right here, please. We are your friends, Miguel. Therefore, we must keep an eye on you. So, you don't do anything stupid. For your own good.

— I don't understand what you're talking about.

— You're strange, Miguel, sometimes you understand, sometimes you don't. You smell of fear. We know you blabbed details of a secret project to a foreign spy over a glass of schnapps. Isn't that right?

— You've got me confused with someone else, sir. I haven't had schnapps since Prohibition.

— What law? The 1920 law in the USA? Do you even understand what you said, you dummy? Are you denying that you gave crucial secret information to a foreigner sent into the country?

— As if I were confessing. I swear on anything. What do you want from me?

— You're repeating yourself.

— I'm scared.

— A confession, my friend. A confession. That's all. It will give you a life-saving straw, and we'll let you go to the four corners of the world. We're not some kind of animals. That's why I was sent here to check, because I'm known for my objectivity and I don't have enough brain cells to deceive my superiors. Quick, name the agent who contacted you. Name, Miguel! It wasn't for nothing that I burned a lot of gasoline to find you while travelling around the country. Which, mind you, no one will pay me for. Miserly people!

— But I don't know any agent and haven't met him. I understand, finally. I've always been loyal to the Ahnenerbe, God knows, and the Führer if he's still alive.

— I believe you, I think you, Miguel. You're too excited, which is unacceptable in your situation. You just made a mistake. Got into trouble. Made a blunder. It happens to everyone. Adventures on your head are for the young, and you're far from young. I understand you. But nothing human is alien to you, right? We need his name, description, address, phone number. You'll tell us, of course, you'll let us know. Or are you afraid of us? Maybe we should offer you ritual suicide as an alternative?

— Afraid? Of whom? You? Harakiri? After I've been through all the circles of Hell? Never! We'll stand up for ourselves! You'll dance to my tune, yet you'll pay for everything.

— Calm down, my friend. You see, you're already separating yourself from us. From the Ahnenerbe. That's not good, Miguel. By doing so, you're excluding yourself from our common bright future. With whom have you been in touch? Name the name or place and time of our next meeting. Miguel! I'm offering you a good deal. Why should you endure terrible torment, which is inevitable if you persist? This is stupid, after all. We're friends, and we've been through so much together, both you and I. Believe me, I don't bite.

— But...

— No "buts"! Now or never. Could you betray your homeland for sex or drugs? The moment of truth, Miguel. Or whatever your name was?

— Miguel.

— You know: we know how to loosen tongues. It's our job. Yes, you and I are spies, but you can trust me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you know a lot about the project. There's an invisible war; we need men dedicated to the cause. Ultimately, it's not even about you but our common goal. The cause we serve, right? A cause of exceptional importance. Do you know how many years I've devoted to our common cause?

— And how many years?

— All my life. I know everything from A to Z, a walking encyclopedia. I have an impeccable reputation and a lot of imperial awards. When I saw your depressed look, it was as if a high-voltage electric shock struck me. Where is his dignity? That's what I need, I immediately thought. Is our security service wrong? No, never and never. I could enjoy the life of night Buenos Aires, but duty, Miguel, duty! You will help me. I'm listening to you. Last chance. Tell me, honestly, when was the last time you got drunk as a skunk?

— I don't remember. A long time ago, in my youth, I gave you my word as an officer.

— It was a test, Miguel. Would you instead go to Hell as a decent person or a liar? And now, your name, Miguel! Don't be silent! And don't you dare die without permission? The main thing is to trust me.

— Okay. Good. I'll tell you everything. My name is Hans. Hans Bormann.

— A surname that inspires confidence in people in the know. Not a relative of the Gauleiter, by any chance?

— No way, I'm a Bormann myself. Just don't torture me. I can't stand it since childhood. When Russian communists were interrogated during the war, I always went out to get some fresh air. I couldn't stand blood.

—You see, it's a different story, Miguel-Gans. You're just a sweetheart, as far as I can see. Don't be offended that things are going so awkwardly. You understand, it's the service. Nothing personal. And what would you have done in my place? Would you really let an old friend go home without telling him what he's hiding from the organization he's sworn allegiance to? The charter clearly states: by any means necessary, understand?

— Are you threatening me?

— Exactly. I am threatening.

— I just wanted to clarify.

— Well, great. Don't want to burn in hell? We understand each other. Behave well. Don't shout. There's no point in shouting: the people here are used to everything. Will you allow me to record your confession on a tape recorder?

— Just to be on the safe side. Nothing pushes us to extreme measures like lofty and noble goals. What's required is determination and ruthlessness. Fighting traitors, betrayers of the motherland.

— But you won't kill me?

— Miguel! Miguel, I like that name more than Hans. Aren't you ashamed! Liquidation hasn't been our priority for a long time. And not my profile, by the way. Of course, we'll give you a shot. So, you'll forget everything. Imagine waking up in the morning and not remembering anything that happened to you the day before. I hope we'll remain friends. Or would you prefer that I hand you over to the drunk, stoned inhabitants of the local slums, and they'll violate your civil rights until they get tired of it?

— Yeah... There's not much choice.

— Smart boy. I see that you're ready. Thank you for your cooperation.

— Do you need it right now? Can't we put it off until tomorrow? I really need to go to the toilet.

— You'll have to be patient, dear. We're not in kindergarten, we're not playing pick-up games.

— Should I wait until tomorrow?

— How would you like it? The sooner you tell me, the sooner you'll do your business. I promise. An officer's word. Speak.

— Well, what can I say... He looks decent. Looks like you.

— Why? Why does it look like me?

— Well... He's so strong, self-confident, impudent. A typical cowboy from the Midwest. So gloomy. His forehead is low and wrinkled. His nose is huge. I didn't like him at first sight. He plays baseball. All Americans play baseball, I read in the newspaper.

Lies! I'm not wrinkled, but I have an aquiline nose. But I can't kill him for a truthful lie. The jackal barks, but the caravan moves on to the next oasis.

— And the name? What name did he say? Last chance, Hans. Do you want to live, you dirty pig, you runt? Are you leading me by the nose? I'll turn you into liver. Do you know what delicious liver pies you'll make? They'll smell wonderfully of urine.

— Right now. But why pig pies right away? What's his name? Wait... May God grant me my memory. Either Jones or Johnson.

— As you say. In Argentina, there are as many Johnsons as there are dogs left. But what did you tell him? If you shared a secret with a foreign spy, you can be frank with us.

— Nothing, honest to God, nothing.

— So. you're saying you're as clean as a whistle?

— Exactly.

— Okay, okay, we'll think about it. Do you trust me?

— No.

— That's the problem, my friend. And another one in your head. Better tell me what's going on with the project. Bayres is fun, but there are too many spies around. You can tell me everything without hesitation. How are you? Who's financing it? Who's in charge? But don't you dare cheat me, Miguel? The truth, nothing but the truth, if you want to live. I won't wait any longer. I'll swat you like a fly. I especially emphasize in your sincere confession that I was polite to you. It will be helpful for my dossier: restrained with comrades, merciless to the enemies of the Reich, an authentic Aryan, etc. Don't thank me. I'm frank with you, Hans. Thank you for your time. Get started, don't waste time. Good luck to you!

I turned on the recorder and let Miguel speak. It was time to think about myself. After all, I am a great negotiator, in the sense that I can convince with words alone, without physical violence or executioner's tools. Besides, curiosity is my professional trait. Olivares was an ordinary weakling; I didn't have to ask him twice. Working for the state can be difficult, but it is necessary, and there is no arguing with that. The forces of law and order fight against universal Evil - it is so romantic, so patriotic, it is a noble mission for the most worthy. For modest and unnoticeable heroes like me.