The Nude Nurse and the Master of the Whip.
Part 37 March 31, 1974 - The Fifth Day, Midday, Coronel Rodríguez Office
Coronel Rodríguez was catching up on some paperwork before going to observe Eulalia’s interrogation.
Capitán Matías Ayara knocked on the door and entered.
“Yes,
Capitán?”
“I’d like to speak to you about the
Sanchez couple.”
“Ah, yes,
Ramon and
Gabriela. You have been the lead interrogator with them. What do you think?”
“Well,
Mi Coronel, we have gotten everything from
Ramon that he has. After we had him and
Gabriela together on
La Parrilla, he was desperate to tell everything he knew. He gave us
Elena Montoya who will be very useful. In the end he is a low-level dissident who wasn’t very active.”
“and your recommendation?”
“He’s been here nine days; its surprising he’s still alive. I don’t see a need to kill him. I would recommend we transfer him to the State Penitentiary for a 10-year term.”
“Which he may very well not survive.”
“True, but one less death for us to cover up.”
“Yes. I agree,
Capitán. Have him transferred today. And
Gabriela?”
“Less involved than
Ramon. All she knows she learned from him. It was very useful having her here to put pressure on
Ramon, but otherwise she is unimportant. She’s been here 5 days and is reaching her limit, mentally as well as physically. I’d just release her.”
“She may be useful in another way. She has a young child to worry about?”
“Yes, a 15-month-old boy. She is very worried about him.”
“If we were to offer to release her and reunite her with her child, would she be willing to help us?”
“She’d sell her soul to the devil for that!”
“Good. Move her to B Wing and cease all abuse. Tell her we may have a way for her to see her son. Take her to the infirmary if necessary. I want her stronger in a couple of days.”
“
Si, mi Colonel!”
March 31, 1974 - The Fifth Day, British Airways flight 666 Heathrow to Santiago
Dean Robert Hawkins looked at his boarding Pass. “British Airways.” As of today, BOAC and BEA were merged by Act of Parliament to form British Airways. It would take a while to stop using the familiar old initials.
Service hadn’t changed he thought, stretching out in his leather upholstered first-class seat. The Outreach Program (directed by himself) spared no expense for his quick trip to review “progress” in Chile. Leaving Heathrow at 9:00 PM, he had been served a late supper of Chateaubriand and mashed potatoes with French truffle butter.
A bottomless glass of 1965
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti La Tâche provided lovely class to the meal.
It was one of Robert’s favorites. He and his friends Bob and James have visited the vineyard a couple of years ago on a beautiful autumn day.
The vineyard received its current name, which means "task", when the de
Croonembourg family bought it from the
Abbey Saint-Vivant in 1631.
After the meal, a lovely young stewardess in a tight-fitting uniform had tucked him in for the night. He’d given her bottom a pinch when she’d poured him his last glass of wine. As she finished tucking him in, he gave her another, firmer pinch, eliciting a cute little squeal, and a polite (if not quite as enthusiastic as he expected) “Thank You, Sir.” He considered for a moment reporting the slut for lack of courtesy, but lost the thought as he drifted off to a well-deserved sleep.
After seven hours of sound sleep, Hawkins awoke to some rich coffee from the same sexy stewardess. His morning pinch on both her cheeks was accepted with better grace than the night before, but she still didn’t really seem to enjoy it. Damn frigid young women these days, he thought.
April 1, 1974 - The Sixth Day, British Airways flight 666 Heathrow to Santiago de Chile
He enjoyed the classic English breakfast served and went out of his way to give the cheeky (he laughed at his own pun) stewardess several more pinches. If she wouldn’t act appreciative, no reason she should be able to sit comfortably for a while. The airline needed to train these girls better. He determined he’d write them a letter on the subject - and complain about her personally - Kathy, he'd remember that.
Touching down at 8:35 AM at the seven-year-old
Aeropuerto Internacional de Pudahuel, Dean Hawkins looked out on a beautiful, but chilly, early fall (he had to remember the reversal of season down here) morning. He felt a slight stirring in his loins as his thoughts drifted to the real reason for his “fact-gathering” trip. Observing the interrogation of Miss Eulalia Burns.
A military driver greeted him with a brisk salute at the baggage claim and escorted him to a waiting limousine. Well, he thought, these people know the respect I deserve.