The Assignment (14 page)

“The Citizens’ Guard is an illegal organization, isn’t it?”

“We-ell, illegal. It’s useful and reliable anyway. And even Captain Behounek is short of men. The Guard has also promised to take over responsibility for water rationing. On this matter I should advise you to contact the leader of the executive committee of the Citizens’ Guard.”

“Who is that?”

“Dalgren—didn’t you know? No, of course, you’re new here. You and I should get together on how we shall organize the giving of orders and sharing of duties.”

“From now on we can surely put our minds to finding reasonable and workable solutions as things crop up.”

“That sounds all right but usually doesn’t work out in practice. I can’t stand disorganized reasonableness.”

At that the conversation ended. Manuel Ortega at once called his assistant.

“Do you know anything about military matters?”

“A little.”

“How big is a regiment?”

“About two thousand men.”

“How many vehicles suitable for transporting water do you think they might have?”

“Well—thirty at least, probably more. I suggest you call the C.O. and ask him.”

“Thanks for your advice.”

He put down the receiver. The cooperation of the army seemed to leave a great deal to be desired.

“The military are all loafers—tramps in uniform,” said Fernández philosophically. He was standing by the window, chewing at his seeds, his hands behind his back.

The heat in the room now surpassed all previous records and when Manuel rose to his feet, a dark patch of sweat had already begun to form on the seat of his chair. Despite this he felt as if he were just beginning to hit his stride. In front of him lay a list of things to do, none of them especially interesting but they were at least urgent. He adjusted the gun under his jacket, and went into the other room to dictate his radio appeal to his secretary. When she had typed it out, he read it through and she said, as if in passing: “Shouldn’t this so-called Citizens’ Guard be condemned more forcibly?”

“As far as I can see, both sides have behaved most irresponsibly. The trouble this morning was at least of a spontaneous nature. To blow up the waterworks, with the people in it as well, was, on the other hand, a planned outrage.”

“No, it wasn’t very nice, was it?”

“Besides, we seem to have arrived at a situation in which the whole town is dependent on the help of the Citizens’ Guard. In such a position one must be reasonable.”

“Your radio appeal is undoubtedly reasonable,” she said dully.

“Besides, it in fact condemns the proceedings this morning.”

“Yes, it does.”

When he was back at at his desk he saw that she was right. His speech was just as routine as the speech by General Gami
which he had heard the day before. It urged all political organizations and all sections of the population to be calm and dignified, condemned violent measures, and appealed for solidarity and reason. After that it finished up with information as to where people should report to help in the emergency.

The speech contained no personal views or opinions, no anger, sorrow, or bitterness. He had quite simply copied it from memory from hundreds of similar appeals he had heard over the years. Manuel Ortega was conscious of this, and each time he read through the text, the worse he thought it.

At a quarter past twelve he went to the radio station with López and read his speech. It was broadcast live without rehearsals, which made him acutely nervous, and his voice was tense and unnatural. At the same time they took recordings on a tape which could be broadcast at half-hour intervals. The radio station, which was new and situated in the western part of the town, was guarded by both the police and members of the Citizens’ Guard.

When Manuel Ortega got back to the Governor’s Palace, Danica Rodríguez had taken a radio into her room and was listening to the first repeat of his speech. She gave him a tired, indifferent look. He went into his room but at once turned back and, standing in the doorway, he said: “I don’t like it either.”

She looked up in quick, cool surprise but said nothing.

Five minutes later Dalgren telephoned.

“Your speech was excellent,” he said. “May I be the first, on behalf of the Citizens’ Guard, to express my regret over the impetuous events of this morning? Youthful imprudence and a spontaneous desire for revenge got the upper hand for a while. You were right to condemn such behavior. You’ll be glad to hear that the whole executive committee is in agreement with me on this.”

Then he went on to the subject of maintaining the water supply.

“We’ve twenty large tankers now in use. I assume that’s enough. I’ve put my own people to work figuring out what quantities should be dealt out to each household. You can leave those details to us. But I should be glad if you would keep an eye on the work on the reservoirs. Otherwise we might find ourselves in a situation where the tankers would be immobilized because we haven’t enough collecting places.”

Soon afterward an unidentified citizen called and said: “I hope you haven’t inadvertently overlooked the situation we villa owners find ourselves in. We’ve invested very large sums in laying out our gardens and in this climate they’ll burn up in a few days if we can’t water them. Some of the transport must be detailed for this purpose.”

“You must understand that we must first see to the people’s drinking water requirements and after that make provision for matters of hygiene.”

“Yes, yes—I see I’ll have to talk to Dalgren personally. You don’t seem to understand what I’m talking about.”

A moment later Colonel Ruiz was on the line again.

“I’ve just had the first reports from the officer in command of the engineers’ company. He thinks the business at the waterworks should be fixed up to a limited extent in about two or three days.”

“Can you possibly put a few more vehicles at our disposal?”

“Not at the moment.”

“The construction of the reservoirs is going too slowly, especially in the southern sector.”

“I’ll try to send a few more men there.”

Later on in the afternoon, even Behounek made his presence known.

“Behounek speaking. Just wanted to tell you that peace and quiet reigns in all sections of the town.”

“What’s the atmosphere like? Rebellious?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Not in the workers’ quarter, either?”

“No. Your appeal has had a calming influence. We put it out over the internal loudspeaker system.”

“And it was well received?”

“Yes. Especially among the natives. Most of them are decent peaceable creatures. Like children. Believe what you tell them.”

“Have you counted the casualties?”

“Yes. At the waterworks one policeman was killed, two slightly injured. Of the Citizens’ Guard one man was killed, only a youngster by the way, and seven injured, one seriously.”

After a moment’s silence Manuel asked: “And the natives?”

“That’s not certain. At a rough estimate, about thirty-odd people were killed, no more, I don’t think.”

“By the police?”

“My men reported six.”

“And injured?”

“About ten have been taken to the hospital. But that figure is of course neither reliable nor final.”

“How many arrested?”

“None so far. But you’ll be pleased to hear that the saboteurs will probably be tracked down tonight. They were brought in a small truck. An hour ago we found the truck wrecked in a sector which is well known to us. I think I even know where they are.”

Behounek’s voice was cold and hard.

No one called for the next ten minutes, and Manuel Ortega took the opportunity to think out a few points. At least thirty people had been killed in the workers’ sector, and according to Behounek, only six of them were victims of police bullets. The others had been killed by an organization which was in all respects illegal. In other words, there had been twenty-five murders and none of the murderers had been arrested or even taken in for questioning. No one seemed to expect the
police to make any arrests, not even the next of kin of the murdered men. The appalling injustice of this filled him with cold rage and without another thought he picked up the receiver and called Behounek.

The conversation that followed was heated.

“I refuse to accept your failure to arrest people who commit murder under the cover of an illegal civil-military organization.”

“You saw for yourself, for God’s sake! Everything was just one great shambles. Can
you
say who shot whom? Do you think we’ve time to carry out police investigations of individual cases in time of war and revolution?”

“In that case you should arrest Dalgren as responsible for the Citizens’ Guard and its members.”

“You’re crazy! Whom should I arrest for the death of one of my men who was shot down there?”

“Whoever killed him or whoever gave the order.”

“Man, can’t you hear what I am saying? I don’t
know
who killed him. I don’t know who was responsible! That’s why I haven’t arrested anyone.”

“In that case it is your duty to find out about it. If you take sides in a conflict like this then you’ve misinterpreted your duties. It is possible that you’re a good officer, Captain Behounek, but you’re a bad policeman!”

“That’s enough insults. What did you yourself do during the whole mess? I’m just asking. What did you do? Stood and gawped a quarter of a mile away. And besides, you had an opportunity to watch me working all the time.”

“I maintain that you saw thirty people murdered without lifting a finger to find those responsible. You haven’t even bothered to count the casualties.”

“You can go to hell with your moralizing!”

“Do you call thirty dead men moralizing? Have you no respect for human life? You’re a monster!”

“What are you then? What are you doing here? You’re
a completely meaningless figure, a nobody sent here to … well … at least I know my job.”

“No, I repeat. You do not know your job. And if you do then you hide the fact damned well. You’re either a rogue or a bungler, Captain Behounek. You should resign or give yourself up to the police!”

There was a silence for five seconds, then Behounek said with dreadful acerbity and concentration: “You are upset because today you’ve seen something new and frightening. I am tired because I’ve been working without sleep for forty-eight hours. For the sake of both of us, therefore, I refuse to continue this conversation.”

Manuel Ortega slammed down the receiver in the middle of the last word.

He got up and raged backward and forward across the floor. His heart was thumping and his eyes glistening. He breathed heavily and unevenly and the sweat poured down his face.

Never before had he experienced anything like it. It was years since he had found himself in such a state of emotional upheaval. He was used to carrying out both his work and his private affairs in a rational and businesslike way. Now he could not even see the people around him, neither the totally unmoved López nor Danica Rodríguez, who had come into the room just as he had slammed down the receiver. Obscurely he realized that it was Behounek who had drawn the longest straw, who had succeeded in keeping cool and had had the presence of mind to collect himself for his final rejoinder. But despite this he was convinced in some way that it was he himself who was right and that he had followed a clear line throughout. In other words, he had acted correctly.

Manuel Ortega tramped backward and forward once or twice more. Then at the door he suddenly stood still and remained there for perhaps half a minute with his head lowered. Then he banged his fist on the doorpost, turned
around, and looked at the others. López was sitting on his chair with his hands on his knees. With his short legs and fat arms he looked like some Oriental idol.

Danica was standing by the desk, smoking and holding a piece of paper in her hand. She stood absolutely still and looked at him and her gray eyes seemed to glitter. She put the paper down on the desk, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and smiled a narrow, avid smile. Then she turned around and went back into the other room.

Manuel Ortega stood still and watched her go, gripped by a wild impulse to fling her over his shoulder, carry her into the bedroom, throw her down on the bed, and tear off her clothes. He crushed the impulse and went back to his place behind the desk.

Most remarkable, he said to himself, shaking his head.

At dusk their work was far from completed. The telephones went on ringing and reports flowed in. Through the window they could see people in the plaza working by the headlights of cars on the construction of a water reservoir of planks and tarpaulins. It was soon finished and half full of water. The situation was under control.

At half past eight the telephone rang for about the fiftieth time. It was Behounek. His voice was calm and formal.

“I want to emphasize,” he said, “that I still think it more important to track down and put out of action a bunch of irresponsible terrorists who might even tonight appear again and blow up the hospital or the power station, than to go from door to door asking decent citizens what they were doing at six o’clock this morning.”

“I’ll admit that, but I still don’t think that the one duty should override the other. Anyhow, I apologize for the tone of voice I used in our earlier conversation.”

“I do too. We were both exhausted, and for my part it looks as if there’ll be no sleep for me tonight either.”

“I wish you success in your search.”

A little while later Manuel Ortega at last went out to the woman in the other room.

“Are we eating together tonight?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, but I’ve another engagement. I’m afraid I can’t.”

“I suppose it’s not much to cry about.”

At about ten he got López to drive him around the town. The reservoirs were ready and well filled, the streets mostly deserted, and only in a few places could the patrols with the yellow armbands of the Citizens’ Guard be seen.

As they were standing in front of the Governor’s Palace again, all the lights suddenly went out.