It was pitch black down in the factory as all the lights were off. There had been no work today as it was the Day of our Lady and work would not start again until eight o'clock the next morning. Boss or not, Borrodo was always scrupulous in observing the religious beliefs of his workers. Martin Torres sat in the elevated office of his subordinate, the Assistant Factory Manager, and remembered the Day of our Lady when he had first noticed Christina Morrel. It was three years ago to the day. He lit another cigarette and looked at his watch. Borrodo would know any moment now that someone had tipped of the Americans again. Surely this time they would capture the pickup craft and smash the Spanish side of the connection. That would unleash the hounds of hell all right if they did. Well, he was ready.
He had been at the factory all day on the pretence of checking over the stock books and invoices. His manager had been delighted to be given the day off to attend the fiesta even if he was a little worried that his Jefe might find some detail he had overlooked. Torres had then had the place practically to himself, as there were a minimum of soldiers on duty, just half a dozen in the gatehouse. They were all that were necessary these days as in the last six months the whole site had been enclosed by a six-foot high fence with an electrified top strand. Nobody had disturbed him and the soldiers had only waved casually at him when he had left at lunchtime and then returned in the afternoon.
He had parked his big Chrysler Jeep in the manager’s private parking spot by the rear exit and had been able to go back and forth at will without being seen from the gatehouse. By this method he had been able to transfer some two-dozen cases of explosives, filched from the work on the airstrip, and put them where they could do the most damage. If and when they came for him he would see to it they got a shock. He switched on the old-fashioned brass desk light and taking a felt pen, began to inscribe the name from his dreams in letters three centimetres high across a sheet of A4 paper. He was engrossed in this when he was brought back to reality by the sound of several cars screeching into the car park and shouts from the gatehouse.
The lights went on in the main factory building and he heard the sound of booted feet running down the passageway between the rows of vats. They changed sound as they hit the metal stairs to the elevated office and then the door burst open and four of the soldiers stood there, breathing heavily. Two remained outside while the other two came in and stood one on each side of the door, weapons held ready and pointing directly at him. He froze.
Nobody spoke and the silence stretched to nearly a minute before softer footsteps sounded leisurely on the stairs and Fernando Borrodo entered the office. He stood there for a moment, white linen jacket draped around his shoulders and straw hat worn on the side of his head, with the inevitable cigar held between his gold ringed fingers, handsome and golden with the aura of power. Torres licked at dry lips.
"Martin, are you not going to invite me in?"
Borrodo removed the hat and brushed some imaginary dust from the immaculate jacket. Torres recovered himself.
"Certainly, Jefe. Please have a seat."
He started to rise, but a soldier gestured for him to remain seated and he subsided again.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Borrodo smiled a smile to chill the blood of a snake. His eyes were cold and hard and at this moment could have belonged to that reptile. He spoke to one on the soldiers.
"Tell them to bring it up."
The soldier left at the double and Fernando turned again to Torres.
"Why have you been working today, Martin? It is the Day of our Lady and no one is required to work on such a happy occasion. What have you found to do with yourself?"
He puffed on his cigar and flicked the ash onto the desk between them. Torres quickly moved the ashtray to where he could reach it.
"I have been checking the books and the stores, Jefe. It is not such a happy day for me as it is for others and I preferred to work."
He gave a small, nervous smile. The footsteps of the soldier that Borrodo had sent away could be heard returning. He made another careless flick of the cigar.
"Why have you betrayed us to the Americans, Martin?"
The question was asked in the same tone of voice as he had been using all along and for a moment Torres nearly answered, until he realised what Borrodo had said. He did his best to look hurt and amazed at the same time. He raised his open palms to heaven.
"I, Jefe? I would not do such a thing."
Borrodo turned his head and spoke towards the door.
"Bring it in."
When Torres saw the black communications case that should have been sitting in his safe, he knew he was a dead man. What is more he knew that all his family would die with him. He felt a sudden anger that drove away his fear and looking at Borrodo he sneered.
"Where is your pervert of a brother? Picking out some suitable trees? Going to give the psychopath a treat, are you?"
The words were hissed out through compressed lips. Borrodo's face did not change.
"It’s more likely that he is raping your sisters a few times, I should think. Carlos prefers to have them before the soldiers get to them. No! Don't move or Jordi here will blow your arm completely off. He's good enough to do that." He leaned forwards. "How long have you been betraying us, Martin?"
Torres snarled the words at him.
"For over a year."
"Why?"
Torres picked up the piece of A4 paper and held it up so that Borrodo could see the name written there.
"Because you killed her. After you let that animal you call a brother, and his soldiers, play with her for a few hours." His voice rose and he leaned forward across the desk pointing at the other man. "I might have forgiven it if you had given them dignified deaths, but you don't do that, do you. Its not the way of Borrodo's law."
He wiped the sudden tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"So we will both die together, then." He gave a ghastly smile. "You know, I was just about to telephone you and confess when you arrived. I thought you would send Carlos for me and I would have preferred it to have been Carlos sitting there, but I suppose the Americans will be more than happy that Its you. Goodbye Fernando."
Still crying he brought his knees together under the desk. The two pieces of copper taped to the insides of his knees made contact and the electrical circuit formed by the wires running from them to the battery and the detonators in the factory beneath the office, was completed. The explosion was massive and very destructive.