Brag
05-15-07, 02:42 PM
Previous postings are on my webbie: http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/ (http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/)
Vortex
Instalment 8.
#
The annoying rattle of gravel stopped when Jaime Lynch reached the asphalt road in San Bernardo. He drove the 1936 Ford Cabriolet with the top down and enjoyed the coolness of the summer morning. The sun had just come out from behind the Andes promising another hot day. To Lynch warm days were a luxury . The weather on the cold Pacific coast was either foggy, rainy or windy.
Despite his nervous discomfort, hatless, he was determined to enjoy the 20 kilometer drive to Santiago. However, his uncle's words last night kept reverberating in his head.
"Jimmy, Imagine what would happen to our country if we don't get the oil we need. Not only we retreat into a hundred percent horse and buggy economy, But the little industry we do have will disappear. It will be worse than when the Germans invented synthetic nitrate. Already, we have been informed that our quota of petroleum products has been reduced by ten percent." When agitated, Antonio Lynch, former under secretary of agriculture, switched into English. "It's the bloody Americans, who support the British. We need to be in a position in which the Brits will owe us a favor. So, please, accept the offer to go to Berlin."
Lynch was at a loss of words. He rose from the wicker chair and walked to the edge of the terrace overlooking the family vineyard. "But, uncle, I'm getting married."
"Postpone it. In the long run, it will be better for you both."
Lynch had to slam on the brakes to avoid colliding with a horse cart coming in the opposite direction and staying in the middle of the road. Bloody people could not understand that a car seen at a distance would be on top of them in a matter of seconds. Of course he hasn't been paying attention either. Instead of cursing the cart driver, he waved and forced a smile.
The tall buildings surrounding the enormous Plaza Bulnes and flanking the squat, gray presidential palace bespoke of a past prosperity and the hope of a great future. A future about to collapse because European nations could not get along. Lynch parked his car in front of the Ministry of War, placed his uniform cap square on his head, jumped out, and sauntered toward the side entrance guarded by naval personnel.
Captain Montalvo rose from behind his desk as Lynch entered the office of the Director of personnel and clacked his heels together.
"Have a seat, Capitan de Corveta."
For a second, Lynch felt dizzy with disbelief..
Montalvo chuckled. "By decree of the president, you're promoted ahead of seniority. A messenger will be here shortly with the certificate. Coffee?"
After a few minutes of pleasantries, Montalvo said, "We're having lunch at the Hotel Carrera with an Englishman from the British Embassy and he is paying. The Commander in Chief of the Navy, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the President have approved. So--Don't mess up a brilliant career today."
Gilbert Ffrench, a thin, white haired man, was already comfortably settled in a booth of the Carrera Bar where the drinks cost about ten times more than humbler establishments. Most Chileans could not afford to drink here. "It is so good of you and the Chilean government to offer assistance to the British Crown."
Lynch studied the Englishman who seemed eager to hear Lynch's response. "As an assistant naval attaché in Berlin, I will be sending my reports to Santiago. What my government does with those reports is outside my providence."
"Quite, quite, my dear fellow. There is a chap we're quite interested in. We believe that you may convince him to work for his Majesty's Secret Service. He is a friend of yours. Victor Goss is his name."
Vortex
Instalment 8.
#
The annoying rattle of gravel stopped when Jaime Lynch reached the asphalt road in San Bernardo. He drove the 1936 Ford Cabriolet with the top down and enjoyed the coolness of the summer morning. The sun had just come out from behind the Andes promising another hot day. To Lynch warm days were a luxury . The weather on the cold Pacific coast was either foggy, rainy or windy.
Despite his nervous discomfort, hatless, he was determined to enjoy the 20 kilometer drive to Santiago. However, his uncle's words last night kept reverberating in his head.
"Jimmy, Imagine what would happen to our country if we don't get the oil we need. Not only we retreat into a hundred percent horse and buggy economy, But the little industry we do have will disappear. It will be worse than when the Germans invented synthetic nitrate. Already, we have been informed that our quota of petroleum products has been reduced by ten percent." When agitated, Antonio Lynch, former under secretary of agriculture, switched into English. "It's the bloody Americans, who support the British. We need to be in a position in which the Brits will owe us a favor. So, please, accept the offer to go to Berlin."
Lynch was at a loss of words. He rose from the wicker chair and walked to the edge of the terrace overlooking the family vineyard. "But, uncle, I'm getting married."
"Postpone it. In the long run, it will be better for you both."
Lynch had to slam on the brakes to avoid colliding with a horse cart coming in the opposite direction and staying in the middle of the road. Bloody people could not understand that a car seen at a distance would be on top of them in a matter of seconds. Of course he hasn't been paying attention either. Instead of cursing the cart driver, he waved and forced a smile.
The tall buildings surrounding the enormous Plaza Bulnes and flanking the squat, gray presidential palace bespoke of a past prosperity and the hope of a great future. A future about to collapse because European nations could not get along. Lynch parked his car in front of the Ministry of War, placed his uniform cap square on his head, jumped out, and sauntered toward the side entrance guarded by naval personnel.
Captain Montalvo rose from behind his desk as Lynch entered the office of the Director of personnel and clacked his heels together.
"Have a seat, Capitan de Corveta."
For a second, Lynch felt dizzy with disbelief..
Montalvo chuckled. "By decree of the president, you're promoted ahead of seniority. A messenger will be here shortly with the certificate. Coffee?"
After a few minutes of pleasantries, Montalvo said, "We're having lunch at the Hotel Carrera with an Englishman from the British Embassy and he is paying. The Commander in Chief of the Navy, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the President have approved. So--Don't mess up a brilliant career today."
Gilbert Ffrench, a thin, white haired man, was already comfortably settled in a booth of the Carrera Bar where the drinks cost about ten times more than humbler establishments. Most Chileans could not afford to drink here. "It is so good of you and the Chilean government to offer assistance to the British Crown."
Lynch studied the Englishman who seemed eager to hear Lynch's response. "As an assistant naval attaché in Berlin, I will be sending my reports to Santiago. What my government does with those reports is outside my providence."
"Quite, quite, my dear fellow. There is a chap we're quite interested in. We believe that you may convince him to work for his Majesty's Secret Service. He is a friend of yours. Victor Goss is his name."