A collaboration post between
@The Spectre and
@The Wyrm
“Demands for reunification with the Panama Canal Zone are growing stronger than ever as the Third Nationalist Party held demonstrations at one of the most busiest bridges in the region. Ricardo Martí, chairman of the party, stated that “Blackwell must take the next step and demand the return of the lands stolen in 1904.” Local police were able to control the demonstrations and kept traffic calm.” the news anchor said as if she was reading a script. Martí turned off the television and grabbed his favorite glass of Sangria. He couldn’t help but celebrate the successful task of getting noticed. Even if it only was mentioned by local news.
‘One step at a time’ he always said to himself. It was time to get any potential members of the Third Nationalist Party. It was founded when Central America reunited in 1922. However, it grew during the Great Depression. Their population grew to rival the Democratic and Republican party; however, it wasn’t enough to beat President Héctor Pinto twice. Eventually, the economy got better and the Third Nationalist Party lost all of that power. Now, in 1960, it was back to square one. Martí has been working on a plan to resurrect the party back to its glory days. For now, he wanted to just relax.
Unfortunately, the peace didn’t last long. “You can’t go in there!” he heard his secretary shouting with authority as he heard footsteps. Martí stood beside the desk while opening one of the desk drawers to reveal a pistol. He quickly closed the desk drawer as the door knobs turned.
The man that stepped through the door could have been one of any thousands of Latino workers throughout the nation. He wore a basic white homespun jerkin and pants, a straw hat, and wore the loose fitting sandals so popular in warmer climates. There was nothing remarkable about him, so much so that one might think he was a figment of Marti’s imagination.
A second man followed and he seemed even less remarkable save for a stature that betrayed a man who knew how to handle himself, the ram-rod straightness of a soldier, the wary glance about the room, and the imposing physical size that was hidden by his rough clothes. He shut the door in the secretary's face as the first man bowed his head slightly to Marti.
“Chairman Ricardo Marti.” A second short bow. “I am Rubén Manuel Espinosa and I come to offer you help in your struggle.” He smiled broadly, it was almost impossible to dislike the man.
Martí was confused by the presence of the two individuals in his office. There wasn’t any way that his secretary or anyone to stop them. Especially the soldier. They didn’t appear to be typical supporters of the Third Nationalist Party. The way that Espinosa presented himself made it clear that he wasn’t the middle class citizen, looking for answers to their problems. For a second, he thought that they were from the mafia until he saw the informal outfit.
“Mister Espinosa, I am wondering how you were able to enter my office in the first place.” he asked in a demanding tone, “Why didn’t you set up an appointment?”
“I find it best to appear when I am least expected Mister Marti. To move like a ghost is my job. Well,” He smiled broadly again. “That and to offer my support to people like yourself.”
He saw the question forming on Marti’s lips and waved it down. “Let be frank Mister Marti, you need help, financial help, and I am here to give it.”
Martí took several small steps back to the desk drawer as a form of protection. He didn’t know if he was dealing with the mafia or some sort of classified government operator. However, the Nationalist Party has been struggling financially since the fifties. “Who do you work for?” he carefully asked Espinosa.
“Without giving to much away, let us just say an “interest party”,” He made air quotes as he spoke and the man behind him echoed the words. “Someone with international interests that likes the way you think.”
That was undoubtedly quite vague but Espinosa had strict instructions he was not to reveal the nature of his employer. He helped himself to a chair, sat with cheerful sigh, and then waved his compatriot forward. The soldier reached into his shirt and pulled out a small thin box, not more than eight inches long and four inches wide. He placed the box on the desktop and then, with a meaningful glance at Marti, flipped open the lid.
A gold bar gleamed up at Marti from inside a red velvet cushion. It bore no markings of any kind that he could see and the sun pouring through the window reflected off the bar to give the room a soft golden glow.
Martí was taken back by the realness of the gold bar as he touched it for a second. Both men weren’t from the mafia. Even with all of their power, they couldn’t produce a gold bar without robbing the most important bank in all of Central America. It had to be the international interest that Espinosa mentioned. But who? And why now? Then, he knew why the ‘interesting party’ wanted his attention. The Canal Zone.
Guess all of his work got some international attention after all.
“This is about the Canal Zone, isn’t it? The Third Nationalist Party has only been the Central American political party to demand reunification of the land taken by the Americans.” he asked
“This is not about anything quite so… Mundane.” Espinosa’s gaze suddenly became quite intense as she stared at the politician. “This is about Latin America my friend. A new age, a new world where he shall once again be a powerful and useful part of something bigger than ourselves!”
The passion in Espinosa’s voice was felt in his very soul. For to long he had watched as his beloved country had fallen into chaos, nobody succeeding but the rich while the poor became even poorer. Then a man had come to him, visited him in his humble home, and presented to him another way. A better way. And he had taken it.
Martí’s gut was telling him that there was more to Espinosa than he’s willing to share. He took another look at the outfit that Espinosa was wearing. Then, he asked a question, “Where did you grow up?”
Espinosa shrugged and waved vaguely toward the north. “North of here in a Village I am sure you have never been to. My father was a baker, my mother a seamstress. It was a completely unremarkable life. Unremarkable until the man from Mexico City arrived. He spoke of a plan, a plan that would see the people of Latin America united with others of Spanish descent. A plan to keep us from being nothing more than an American source of cheap labour to exploit.”
He laughed a bit as he heard the man’s story because it was insane. “I am sorry for that. It’s just a bit weird that they a small, remote village would allow a Mexican to set foot there.” Suddenly, he decided to change focus to this mythical man’s plan. “Regardless, getting Central America to unite and stay united is a difficult job. After all, there were two attempts at a united Central America before the 1900s. I feel for our president even if he’s an American.”
Then, Martí picked up the bottle of Sangria and two glasses. He made sure to cover up the label as he made drinks for the guest. Afterwards, he took the glasses and set them on the table. “Do you want a drink? A friend of mine got the bottle a while ago and refused to tell what it was. I am always busy with work that I don’t have the time to try it. Now that I have a guest, who brought me a gold bar, in my office.” He lied to Espinosa as he placed the glass near him. Martí wanted to know if he’s telling him the truth.
“Now, let’s make a toast.”
Espinosa drew a flask from his jerkin with a flourish and held it up in a toast with a sly wink.
“I was told to trust no one with my life but myself and my friend here. I will join you, but I will drink my own if you will not be offended. After all, there are enemies everywhere! What with an American lording over you, it could be forgiven to think you might be a man of the CIA.”
Martí followed suit with the toast and drank the wine. “It would be a lie to say that I support the new president. Blackwell says that he might be one of us, but he truly will never be a Central America. Hell, he was only made president because the last one died in his sleep. And he’s tiptoeing around the situation in Panama. What a coward.”
Then, he placed down the glass on the desk and looked at Espinosa. “How’s the drink?” he suddenly changed the subject.
“It serves me well enough. I suppose I should just be blunt with you. We are here to support your campaign if are looking to remove the American influence from Latin America. That is all. Mexico suffers a similar struggle, as does Cuba, let none of us go to our graves saying we allowed the Americans to squash our traditions or treat us as cattle.”
He wasn’t surprised that they were here to stop the Americans since he repeated it over and over. “Then, what are you suggesting?” Martí asked as he sat down on his office chair, “We don’t have any say in the government at the moment.”
Espinosa nodded and shrugged slightly. “I am not a man of politics, Senhor Marti, I am simply a man with access to money and I wish to help fund your work. I think you will find such an investment will give you a lot of sway in many things. Perhaps it is better there than in Mexico, but I would think you could not go wrong “persuading” the Police to see things your way.”
Martí was going to respond until he remembered about his original plans regarding the canal zone. He opened a drawer and pulled out some papers among with a map of the entire state of Panama. “I might have something that will sound impossible but it will force Blackwell, and possibly the United States, to respond. Want to hear it?”
“I do, I do indeed. I would also like to know what you need from me.”
Martí smiled and then tapped the map several times. “My party always held demonstrations on November 3rd since the forties to demand reunification. It’s a special day for all Panamanians because it’s the day that we declared our independence from Columbia. Usually, we only a hour long speech that demands the return of the canal that was taken for us. I have a feeling that this year is going to be different.”
He then pointed at the most traveled bridge in Central America that allowed cars to cross the zone without trouble. “Instead of a long speech, let’s occupy the bridge for a week.” he gave a devilish grin.
“That will get the attention of our government, the United States, and the entire world. As thousands of Panamaians joined the movement, our cries for reunification will be broadcast for the whole world to see! Undoubtedly, this will get the attention of the American government; however, we need to take it a step forward. Why don’t we paint them as the bad guys? The cowards who brutally attack peaceful protesters just because they want one Panama. However, we have five months to make sure that everything goes to plan.”
He grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and started to write down something. “We would need to spread the word all over Panama and Central America. And in order to do that, we would only need money to pay for the equipment and gear for the encampment and to pay off the local police.”
“Thoughts?” he asked Espinosa.
“I think you sound like a man with the plan.” Espinosa slid the gold bar across the desk with two fingers. “Take this as an initial… “Donation”. Here is my number.” He handed over a card with a number stamped onto the surface. “When you need more, you call this number and leave a message for me about looking to purchase some sheep. I will approach you again at that time.”
“Got it.” Marti agreed as he took the card and put it in his pocket. “The gold bar will be used to announce the demonstration; however, the occupation will remain a secret at the moment.”
He got up from his chair and said, “Thank you for this… unique meeting. I wish you well.”
Espinosa took the hand and shook it firmly. “You are most welcome. I look forward to working with you. Goodbye.” He turned and the two men the left the room as they had come. The roar of a large engine outside indicating that they were gone.
As the engine was heard, the secretary entered the office and looked at Martí with a worried expression. “Are you alright, sir?” she asked.
He immediately reached for the gold bar and hid it in one of his drawers. “I am great.” he said before shutting the drawer. “Please notify all important members about an emergency meeting tomorrow.” he asked his secretary before she could leave the office. She nodded and left to make the calls. Marti waited until the door was shut and opened the drawer to reveal the gold bar. He grabbed the gold bar and held it tightly in his hands.
It was time to start working.
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