HIGHEST AND MOST DISTINGUISHED CONSIDERATION
A Novel of the Foreign Service
By
Gene C. McCoy
CHAPTER 29

Panama - 1971
The Kuna Indians are separate and distinct from the rest of the polyglot, multi-colored people of Panama. By treaty with the Panamanian Government the Kunas occupy an archipelago of small islands in the Bay of San Blas off the southern Caribbean coast of Panama. They are hard workers and much sought after as trusted employees in both the Republic of Panama and the U.S. controlled Canal Zone. With the aid of light planes these tiny, gentle people commute between Panama city and their paradise-like islands where they practice their tribal handicrafts and maintain a fierce indepen¬ence from the mainland.
With Soledad standing off to one side, dabbing at the beads of perspiration on her forehead, Pete stood in the midst of diminutive Kunas, in a tiny corrugated iron shed on the edge of Panama's Paitilla Airport, and competed with them for plane tickets. His six-foot frame looked like a landmark in the midst of the small Indian bodies which surrounded him. All of them held their money above their heads, and waved it at the harried clerk behind the counter.
When at last Pete was able to press his money into the clerk's hand he eased through the crowd and signalled for Soledad to follow him to a faded brown-and-white Beachcraft Bonanza parked in the blistering tropical sun on the ramp outside the shed.
"You mean we're going in that little thing," she said as they walked across the tarmac toward a coffee-colored Panamanian pilot standing on the wing beside the open door of the cabin.
"Yes," he shouted over the roar of another airplane's engines. "We're going in this little thing." He helped her climb up on the wing, and the pilot took her by the arm.
"Good morning," the pilot said. "You go to Pidertupo?"
"Yes," Stuart replied, "to Joe Martin's place."
"Okay, get in, we're all set to take off."
Soledad slipped into the back seat, and Pete wedged himself in beside her. The pilot climbed into the left seat, and a fellow passenger, a Kuna Indian, occupied the right hand co-pilot's position.
The pilot started the engines, taxied to the end of the runway, pushed the throttles forward and took off. It was the first time Pete had ever taken off in a plane without going through some check-out procedures.
Soledad clasped his hand. "I thought you had to warm planes up and check things out before you took off," she yelled over the roar of the engines.
"They don't bother with those things on this airline," he shouted back at her. "But what these pilots lack in procedures, they make up for with faith."
Taking a package of cigarettes from her purse she lit one. He reached over and took the package from her. "I quit smoking several years ago, but every once in a while I need one. This is one of those times," he said and lit the cigarette.
They climbed and banked to the right, and he looked down at the ships lying in the channel waiting to transit the canal. Then they were over land again and climbing into the cloud cover that hangs over the mountains of the continental divide. In a few moments, the land was no longer visible as they flew through soupy grey clouds, and he took her hand in his. Leaning back he closed his eyes, and avoided thinking about the rugged mountain peaks hidden in the clouds just outside the window.
It was not long before the pressure on his ears told him that they were starting their descent, and a few minutes later they broke out of the clouds over a cluster of small green islands dotting the transparent waters of the Bay of San Blas. They banked sharply to the left and directly in front of them he could see the red earth of the dirt strip as the pilot lined the plane up to land. They came in low over the treetops of the coconut palms, and dropped down hard on the strip. Soledad breathed a sigh of relief as they rolled to a stop beside the bay where Joe Martin's boat was tied up at a makeshift bamboo jetty.
They pried themselves free from the plane and jumped down off the wing to greet Joe Martin's broad, suntanned smiling face. "Hi, Pete. Welcome to Paradise," he said.
"Soledad, I want you to meet Joe Martin, the happiest man in the world."
Soledad offered her hand. "Pleased to me you, Soledad," Joe said. "You guys lucked out. You and Pete are the only guests. You've got the island to yourselves. Annie and I are there of course, but we won't bother you."
They followed Joe to the jetty and leaped to the deck of the boat and waited while Joe's Indian crew loaded their gear on board. Joe unhooked the microphone of a single side band radio that kept him in touch with his wife, Annie, on Pidertupo.
"Paradise One, this is Paradise Two, over," he said.
The radio crackled and hummed as Annie responded to his signal. "Paradise Two this is Paradise One, go ahead, over."
"I've got our cargo of depleted diplomats on board and we're on our way home. Get out the ice and have the martinis standing by, over and out."
"Ten - four, Paradise Two. Paradise One out."
Pidertupo is a one-block-long sliver of fine white sand, and under the coconut palms that grow out of it, Joe and Annie Martin had created their utopia. A row of spotlessly clean thatched-roof, bamboo cottages face the crystalline Caribbean Sea, and after two days Pete and Soledad lost all recollections of the meaning of time. On Pidertupo they ate when they were hungry; they slept when they were sleepy, and all other urges were satisfied with equal spontaneity. They loafed, sailed, snorkeled, read and made love at all hours of the day and night.
In the evenings they sat on the beach in front of their cottage and sipped sundowners before joining Joe and Annie in the main house for one of Annie's gourmet meals, or walked hand-in-hand around the edge of the sea where Soledad picked up shells and sand dollars which she studied with her special artist's eyes. They had been on the island five days when in the evening they were sitting on the beach, a bottle of cold Chablis between them, watching the sunset. "I have never been so happy in my entire life, Pete. I honestly didn't know that such happiness existed," she said.
"I know, darling," he replied. "It seems almost sinful to be this happy, doesn't it."
"Oh no, I don't think that. I think this is the way that God intended for us to be. Happy in simple, natural surroundings, and happy in love." Drawing up her legs in front of her she encircled them with her arms and rested her chin on her knees. "Pete, I haven't been exactly open and honest with you," she said.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Is there another man in your life? Are you married?"
"No, I'm not married, but there has been another man in my life," she said. "Oh God, I feel terrible telling you this." "Then why are you telling me," he said. There was a tone of disappointment in his voice.
Soledad heard it and rose to her knees to face him. "Oh, Pete, I'm sorry. There's nothing between us, him and me, now. Compared to what I have with you there never was anything." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Believe me."
"Then why do you want to talk about it?"
"To put it in the past," she said. "The same way you wanted to put Ruth in the past. You said you didn't want anything to mar our future. Neither do I."
Pete turned and looked into her eyes. "Is there something that needs to be put in the past?"
"Not really," she said. "It is in the past, no matter what happens between us. He was married, Pete, and I hate myself for having had an affair with a married man, and the reason that I'm telling you about it is that Quito is a very small town. People gossip and say hateful things. I didn't want you to hear about this from someone else. I wanted to tell you myself."
"Do you think I would pay any attention to what anybody said about you, my darling?
"I don't know, Pete, but you might misunderstand me, and I want very much for you to understand me, the same way that I want always to understand you. This man was married, and I broke off the affair before I met you. I wasn't just going from one man to another, and those are the kinds of things that people say in Quito. My own sense of right and wrong, my own sense of regard for myself, made me break it off."
"Did you love him?" Pete asked.
"At one time I thought I did," she said, "but I know now that I didn't know what love was. I do now, and I love you."
"That's all the more to your credit," he said, and took her hands in his. "It's easy to end an affair when you no longerÜ care about someone."
"That's a nice thing to say, Pete."
He reached over and drew her close to him. He kissed her, and her tongue slipped between his lips. A flicker of desire rose in his loins and he stood up, then pulled her up with him. They walked hand and hand into the warm transparent water where very slowly they made love as the sun was setting behind them.
It was dark when they came out of the water, and after showering together they dressed and walked down the sandy path to join Joe and Annie for cocktails and dinner. The fresh sea breezes had a sweet, fresh smell and the horizon was already light with a full moon that would soon be rising.
They climbed the steps of the house built on stilts up to the veranda where Joe was behind the bar mixing the drinks. "There you are," Joe said. "I was afraid the lovebirds were not going to make it, and I was going to come up after you. I've got some bad news for you, Pete." He walked around the bar and handed two frosty martinis to Pete and Soledad.
"Bad news?" Pete said. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Yes, I had a radio message from my agent in Panama. The American embassy called and asked him to pass a message to you from the embassy in Quito." Joe walked back to the bar and picked up a scrap of paper, and handed it to Pete.
Pete took the paper from him and read it. Regret interrupting your leave, but it is urgent that you return to Quito immediately - Tony Chandler.
"Who's Tony Chandler? Joe asked.
"He's the ambassador in Quito," Pete said and handed the paper to Soledad.
She took the paper from him and read it. "I'm sorry, Pete," she said. "I wonder what's happened now?"
"Who the hell knows," Pete replied, "but I'll have to go back and find out. He wouldn't have called for me if he didn't think that he needed me."
"I'll radio tonight for the plane to come over from Panama first thing in the morning," Joe said. "Is there a flight into Quito from Panama tomorrow?"
"Yes, there's one everyday. If we leave here at daybreak, we can make it," Pete replied.
"Pete, I know it must make you feel good to be so important that you can't take a few days vacation, but if I were you, I'd get the hell out of that business. You've had enough shit, oh, pardon me Soledad," Joe reached out and touched Soledad on the arm, "anyway you know what I mean, in your life."
"Joe, I think you may be right", Pete said.
As the three of them stood on the veranda looking out toward the sea and a rising moon, the last thing in the world that Pete Stuart wanted to do was return to Quito.

CHAPTER 30
Panama and Quito, Ecuador - 1971
From the international airport in Panama, Pete called the embassy in Panama City, and asked them to send an immediate action cable to Quito telling them that he was on his way and requesting that a car meet his plane. With luck, he thought, the cable would arrive before he did.
After drinking a cup of thick espresso cafe con leche they boarded their plane for the three hour flight to Quito, and they both slept until the announcement of their impending arrival. Stuart looked out the window of the plane. The cloud cover was still hanging over the Andes Mountains, but surrounding Quito the snow-capped peaks of three volcanos, Mounts Cotopaxi, Pichincha and Chimborazo, rose above the clouds and glistened in the morning sunlight. They circled for several minutes until the pilot found a hole in the clouds, and he then started his descent. Then, once again they were in thick grey clouds, and when they finally broke out of the cover they were low over the long green valley in which Quito lies high up in the Andes. It was raining, and Stuart reflected that they had been lucky. They could have been diverted to Guayaquil, as frequently happened during the rainy season.
With Pete's diplomatic passport they quickly cleared customs and immigration, and when they walked out with their bags in hand, Pete's driver, Eduardo, was waiting for them. Eduardo took the bags and escorted them to the car parked at the curb, just outside the airport, in a space reserved for diplomatic and official vehicles.
They dropped Soledad at her house, then continued on to the embassy. Pete went straight to the ambassador's office and was immediately admitted.
"I'm sorry to call you back from your leave, Pete, but our ICC settlement didn't stay together," the ambassador said, and picked up a red bordered action backed copy of an incoming cable from his desk. "We got this cable from Washington yesterday morning."
Stuart took the cable from him and read it.

THE FOREIGN SERVICE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA INCOMING CABLE CONFIDENTIAL IMMEDIATE ACTION: AMEMBASSY, QUITO FROM: SECSTATE, WASHDC SUBJECT: PRESS REPORTS ON MISUSE OF AID FUNDS. 1. DURING MORNING PRESS BRIEFING DEPARTMENTAL PRESS OFFICER WAS QUESTIONED ABOUT NEWS ITEM WHICH APPEARED IN WASHINGTON COLUMNIST FRITZ CLAYTON'S COLUMN ALLEGING THAT AID FUNDS WERE USED TO PAY ICC FOR RECENTLY NATIONALIZED TELECOMMUNICATIONS PROPERTIES. CLAYTON CHARGES THAT FUNDS DESTINED FOR LAND REFORM WERE DIVERTED TO PAYMENT OF ICC CLAIM. 2. FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT OF CLAYTON COLUMN:QUOTE - THIS COLUMN HAS RECEIVED CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION THAT THE MILITARY GOVERNMENT IN ECUADOR RECENTLY DIVERTED A LARGE SUM OF MONEY GIVEN TO THEM UNDER AN ALLIANCE FOR PROGRESS PROGRAM FOR LAND REFORM TO PAY OFF A CLAIM WHICH THE MULTINATIONAL GIANT INTERCONTINENTAL COMMUNICATIONS COMPANY HAD AGAINST THEM FOR PROPERTIES THAT WERE EXPROPRIATED BY THE GOVERNMENT EARLIER THIS YEAR. OUR SOURCES ALSO REPORTED THAT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN QUITO HAD FULL KNOWLEDGE OF THE DIVERSION AND EVEN ENCOURAGED THE GOVERNMENT TO DO IT. THIS IS JUST ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF THE BLATANT MISUSE THE STATE DEPARTMENT MAKES OF FOREIGN AID BY USING MONEY INTENDED FOR LONG-TERM DEVELOPMENT TO ACHIEVE SHORT-TERM POLITICAL OBJECTIVES. THE FILES OF THE GENERAL ACCOUNTING OFFICE ARE FILLED WITH SIMILAR REPORTS, AND IT IS TIME THAT THE CONGRESS CONDUCTED A FULL-SCALE INVESTIGATION INTO THE EXTRAVAGANT GIVE-AWAY PROGRAM THAT THE STATE DEPARTMENT USES AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR TRADITIONAL DIPLOMACY-UNQUOTE 3. EMBASSY REQUESTED TO INVESTIGATE AND PROVIDE ITS COMMENTS ASAP. STANFIELD
Pete placed the cable on the ambassador's desk and turned in his chair to look out the window at the soggy grey day. The wind-driven rain beat steadily against the windows.
Too many people in Washington and Quito knew about this to keep it quiet, he thought, people in AID, the department, the White House, Congress and the Ecuadorian Embassy. There was no telling where the leak had come from, nor what the motives were of the person who leaked the info r mation.
If the Washington papers were carrying the story he wondered if the local Las Noticias had picked it up, and he recalled his chance me eting with Agapito Romero that Sunday night in the Plaza Santo Domingo.
"What about the local press, are they carrying anything?"
The ambassador picked up a newspaper from his desk and handed it to Stuart. "Take a look at the lead story, and then read the editorial," the ambassador said.
The lead story on the front page which was headlined "Alliance for Progress Scandal Bared in United States," was straight wire service reporting, and carried a verbatim translation to Spanish of the original Clayton column.
Clayton, Stuart knew, was a right wing sensationalist who was vehemently opposed to the foreign aid program and the State Department, and he never missed a chance to bash either or both in his column. Turning to the editorial page he found an editorial, undoubtedly written my Agapito Romero, entitled, "More Corruption?"
Mr. President, once again stories of corruption and gross mismanagement of our nation's fiscal affairs are seeping out of the morass of graft and bureaucratic ineptitde that has characterized and continues to characterize the Ministry of Finance. However, more shocking and damaging to our nation's prestige is the fact that this latest story found its way to light in pages of a foreign newspaper. Perhaps the many years that our Minister of Finance spent abroad explains this phenomenon.
Mr. President, your administration came to power behind an anachronistic and decadent government with promises of a new era of honesty and integrity. Are we to assume that these promises meant nothing, and that the same cynical, self-serving politicians and bureaucrats who misappropriated public funds for their own greedy ends continue to manage our nation's affairs?
Mr. President, the people of Ecuador deserve an answer to the charges reported elsewhere in this journal that in your Ministry of Finance there has been a conspiracy with foreign capitalists to sap our nations wealth. Mr. President, the people of Ecuador deserve to know why your Minister of Finance was meeting surreptitiously with an officer of the American Embassy on the night before you announced an honorable settlement with the Intercontinental Communications Company. Is it possible, Mr. President, that your Minister of Finance does not share your vision of a new era, and that during his long tenure in foreign countries he lost sight of our traditional concept of honesty and integrity?
"Wow!" Stuart exclaimed. "Romero's really going after Jorge. He undoubtedly figures that if he can get Jorge out of the Ministry the land reform program will go with him. What Romero would like as a Minister is a nice, dullwitted, unimaginative military officer who won't make waves and will just maintain the status quo." Stuart then recalled Jorge's misgivings about his enemies getting anything that could be used against him.
"I see no problem answering the cable," Pete said. "We just stick to the original story. It's airtight. Whether Jorge survives or not is another matter."
Stuart pushed himself out of the chair. "I better see if I can get through to Jorge on the telephone, and try to find out what's going on," he said.
"I thought it was best that you continue to deal with Jorge," the ambassador said. "That's the reason that I brought you back. This thing is too hot to just sit on, so I'll let you go now so you can call Jorge."
Stuart left the ambassador and walked quickly down the hall to his own office. "Good morning, Janie," he said to his secretary.
"Good morning, Mr. Stuart. So you got back. It's a shame that you had to interrupt your vacation. I'm very sorry," she said looking up from her desk.
"Thank you, Janie. Would you see if you can get Jorge Chiriboga on the telephone, and then bring me a cup of coffee."
He walked into his own office, pulled off his jacket, and sat down behind his desk. Jorge would have to do what his own conscience dictated, he thought, but he wanted him to know about the chance meeting with Agapito Romero, and about the inquiry out of Washington. The phone buzzed and he picked it up then waited for Jorge's secretary to put him on the line.
"Good morning, Pete," Jorge said. "I guess you've seen the newspaper?"
"Yes," Stuart replied, "and we've got a cable out of Washington asking for comments as well." Jane brought in his coffee and placed it on his desk. "Jorge, there's something that I thought you ought to know. On Sunday night, after you let me out of your car, I ran into Agapito Romero. He was fishing for a story, but I thought I dodged him by saying we had just been up to Las Cuevas restaurant talking over old times."
"That's alright, Pete. I appreciate your calling but that doesn't really make much difference. Romero is just acting as a spokesman for the oligarchy, the big landowners who are afraid of land reform, and the banana growers down on the coast who are still smarting over the tax I levied on their exports. If it weren't this, it would be something else." His voice was flat, and Pete could tell that he was taking the attack on his personal integrity hard. It was ironic, he thought, that Jorge should have to stand such abuse. He was the most idealistic and honest man in the entire government, maybe the entire country.
"Well, I just wanted you to know," Stuart said. "One other thing, Jorge. I plan to answer the inquiry out of Washington by saying that the two issues were separate. In so far as the land reform program goes, the government accepted all of our recommendations, and in accordance with the terms of the loan agreement we disbursed the advance. The fact that the ICC negotiations were going on at the same time had no bearing on the first issue. I'm still convinced that you were perfectly within your rights as to how you used and managed your foreign exchange. What are your plans, or can you talk about them?"
"I'm waiting to see the President now," Jorge replied. "My plans will depend upon what comes out of that meeting. I have a hunch, Pete, that my effectiveness as a minister will be greatly impaired, and we have a lot of hard decisions ahead of us. Romero won't let this thing die. He'll keep using his newspaper to print accusations and innuendo that will make my job impossible. Don't forget, Pete, that the group he represents doesn't want change, unless it's to go back a hundred years."
"I know," Stuart replied. "Jorge, don't let this thing get to you personally. You know what your motives were, and they were honorable, so don't let Romero or anybody else let you lose ight of that fact."
"That's pretty hard to do, Pete. I know the truth."
"The truth is just exactly as I stated it to you a while ago, and don't forget it. Stick to your guns, pal, and let me know how your meeting with the President goes."
"I'll try, Pete. Thanks for calling."
"Goodbye, Jorge. Stay in touch." Stuart replaced the receiver. He didn't like the tone of Jorge's voice, nor his remarks about "knowing the truth." That kind of thinking could only lead him to doubts himself and his motives. Things were going to be rough enough without him harboring self-doubt.
Taking a piece of paper he inserted it into the typewriter beside his desk to draft a reply to the cable from Washington. Using the two-finger technique he pecked DRAFT CABLE at the top of the page, and then went into the text.
1. IN ADDITION TO REFTEL EMBASSY WAS AWARE OF CLAYTON COLUMN THROUGH LOCAL PRESS. IN CONSERVATIVE, PREMIER MORNING DAILY, LAS NOTICIAS, LEAD NEWS STORY QUOTED CLAYTON ARTICLE verbatime, AND ON EDITORIAL PAGE THEY LEVELED CHARGES AGAINST MINFIN JORGE CHIRIBOGA OF CONSPIRACY WITH FOREIGN CAPITALISTS, AND SUGGESTED INVOLVEMENT OF AMERICAN EMBASSY. FYI EDITOR-PUBLISHER, AGAPITO ROMERO, IS SPOKESMAN FOR CONSERVATIVE LAND OWNERS BOTH IN SIERRA AND ON THE COAST, AND HAS LONG BEEN OUTSPOKEN CRITIC OF LAND REFORM OR ANY OTHER TYPE OF CHANGE-END FYI.
2. EMBASSY VIEWS CLAYTON COLUMN AS JUST ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF HIS IRRESPONSIBLE JOURNALISM, AND IS INDICATIVE OF HIS NAIVETE WITH RESPECT TO WORKINGS OF AID PROGRAMS AND THE CONDUCT OF DIPLOMACY. NEGOTIATIONS ON LAND REFORM LOAN HAD BEEN IN PROGRESS FOR OVER TWO YEARS, AND WERE TOTALLY UNRELATED TO ICC MATTER. IT SO HAPPENS THAT CONCURRENT WITH RESOLUTION OF ICC NEGOTIATION, GOE ALSO RESOLVED TO UNDERTAKE LONG-AWAITED LAND REFORM AS EVIDENCED BY CALL ON DEPARTMENT BY ECUADORIAN AMBASSADOR, AND THEIR NOTE FROM FOREIGN OFFICE WHICH ACCEPTED ALL RECOMMENDATIONS BY AID TECHNICIANS. FYI-CLAYTON COLUMN IN ERROR WHEN HE STATES QUOTE FUNDS GIVEN REPEAT GIVEN TO THEM UNDER ALLIANCE FOR PROGRESS-UNQUOTE. ADVANCE TO GOE FOR LAND REFORM WAS MADE UNDER A REPAYABLE REPEAT REPAYABLE LOAN AGREEMENT ON WHICH INTEREST IS CHARGED-END FYI
3. AT THIS STAGE EMBASSY SEES NO REASON TO QUESTION SINCERITY OF GOE BY CHALLENGING REPRESENTATIONS THAT WERE MADE BOTH ORALLY AND IN WRITING. DEPARTMENT IS WELL AWARE THAT AT ANY GIVEN TIME EMBASSY AND GOVERNMENT MAY HAVE SEVERAL ISSUES UNDER CONSIDERATION, AND SOLUTION OF ONE OR TWO SIMULTANEOUSLY DOES NOT NECESSARILY LINK THE ISSUES NOR THE SOLUTIONS.
Pulling the paper out of the machine he stood up and re-read it before taking it to his secretary to transcribe. He had no doubt that the message would settle things in Washington, and that Clayton would drop the story. There were many examples of improper use of AID funds around the world that were far more sensational than this one, and it was impossible to get to the truth about any of them. No one was able to cut through the maze of Capital Assistance Papers, Project and Loan Agreements, cables and Implementation Letters to find the truth. The truth was so obscured in bureaucratic red tape that it left one with doubts that there was any truth.
He recalled the fish-freezing plant that had been built in Africa only to find that there were no fish to freeze. The technician who came up with the idea was promoted and transferred to another country to make the same mistake again, while the plant sat rusting in the steamy saline air.
This case in Ecuador, he rationalized, was minor to the many others he knew of, and the truth in this instance was that Jorge planned to get the land reform program moving. ICC's pressure became a blessing in disguise, and the government had made a genuine commitment to change. It was also true that AID money had helped the government through a short-term political crisis, but there was nothing unusual about that either.
Settling things in Quito, however, was not going to be as easy. Jorge was right about Romero using his newspaper every time he made an unpopular decision or crossed the oligarchy. Furthermore there was no doubt that Lopez Peralta's popular support was so tenuous that he would have to let Jorge go if it came to a real confrontation with the land owners.
Jane returned with the cable typed in final and placed it on his desk. "Would you like me to take this up to the code room?" she asked
"Not right now, Janie," he replied. "I'm going to hang on to it for a while. I want to hear how things go with Jorge Chiriboga."

CHAPTER 31
Quito, Ecuador - 1971
Lopez Peralta asked Jorge to continue in the government, and as Stuart had predicted, nothing more was heard from Washington, but for the next month Romero hammered away at Jorge. He was always careful, though, to direct his attacks against Jorge personally so as not to bring down the wrath of the military on him, and provoke press censorship, or worse, the seizure of his newspaper.
When it finally became clear that Jorge's usefulness was seriously impaired, and that he was more of a liability than an asset he submitted his resignation to General Lopez Peralta. He did, however, request and receive permission from the President to use the television to make a statement to the public on his own behalf.
On the night that Jorge was to make his appearance Stuart was at home alone in his own house. A torrential rain was falling, and it pounded on the roof of the high beamed ceiling. He turned the volume on the television set higher as the nightly concluded, and the announcer urged people to remain tuned for a special broadcast by the Minister of Finance. Opening the screen of the fireplace, he dropped another log on the coals then settled down with a martini to listen to the speech.
The commercial concluded and the announcer returned. "Señores, El Ministro de Finances, Doctor Jorge Chiriboga." Jorge was seated in a lounge chair and appeared self-assured and relaxed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in the past month there have been charges made against me in a Quito newspaper that I conspired with a foreign company to carry out an act that was illegal and not in the best interests of the country. This same newspaper has suggested that because of the many years that I spent abroad, I no longer hold the values that we Ecuadorians share and are proud of. Both charges are false.
"As the Minister of Finance, it is my responsibility to make certain that the fiscal affairs of the nation are conducted prudently and in keeping with the best principles of sound management. The books and records of the Ministry and the Central Bank are open to public inspection, and an examination of these records will show that during my tenure I have done exactly what was expected of me. I have at all times acted with the best interest of this country and the people in mind. My personal records are equally available for public scrutiny, and I have nothing to fear by such an examination.
"When I returned to Ecuador from Washington after nearly ten years' absence, I did so at the request of the President whose visions of a better life for all Ecuadorians I share. His plans and hopes for the country are plans that I believed I could contribute to. There are elements of our society who do not share this vision of a better standard of living for our people, and who are actively opposed to any change that will disturb the privileged positions which they occupy. Until these elements accept that they can no longer continue their selfish exploitation of the people, no peaceful change can come about.
"I have today submitted my resignation to the President, not because I admit any complicity in wrong doing, but because I feel I can no longer work with forces who live in a self-fulfilling environment, creating the values they wish to esteem on a day-to-day basis. I believe that my continued presence in the cabinet could only serve to harden their reactionary attitudes. I have told the President that we must move forward in the areas of land reform, health and education, and he agrees. I am sure that he will continue to press for improvements in these sectors. I am sorry that I will not be able to participate in bringing about these improvements, but so strong is my love of this country that I would rather step aside than continue in the government knowing that my participation was an impediment to progress. Thank you and goodnight."
It was a good speech, Stuart thought. Even though he was on his way out, he was not going to let Romero and the oligarchy get away with smearing his reputation. He had certainly exposed his idealism and Stuart was amazed that a man could continue to have ideals in this world where nothing was what it appeared to be. It was also clear that Lopez Peralta didn't want him to be too specific and talk about the ICC settlement, nor the land reform program. Stuart speculated that Lopez P e r a lta would just let Jorge go and hope that Romero would back off. With Jorge out of the cabinet there was little chance of the land reform program getting off the ground, and in a year or two AID would request a refund of the money advanced. He pushed the button on the television set to turn it off, then walked to the bar to refill his glass.

CHAPTER 32 Quito, Ecuador - 1971
Since returning from Pidertupo, Soledad and Pete had alternated their evenings between her studio and his house. Tonight, just one week after Jorge had resigned from the cabinet, they had agreed to meet in her place. Sitting alone in front of the fire, Stuart thought about Jorge, and his own life. It had taken balls to do what Jorge had done, to resign rather than go along with the system, or make concessions to Romero.
He looked at his watch and wondered what was keeping Soledad. He was anxious to tell her of his own plans, for through Jorge's action something had clicked inside of him, and he realized that he would have to resign also. Stuart had become acutely aware that inside of him there were still some ideals, and that he was going to have to sit down in front of a typewriter and find them again. He was not going to sell guns to irresponsible terrorists, or persuade people to participate in schemes to maintain the status quo to satisfy U.S. interests, and he was not going to feel guilty about Ruth and Tommy any longer. Tomorrow morning he would go into the embassy and draft his letter of resignation, then go to California to settle things with Ruth. She would want all of the money, but it no longer made any difference to him. He and Soledad would devote their lives to one another, and the pursuit of the duende, the spirit of truth and beauty.
At the same time that Stuart was formulating his plans, Soledad was in the office of Doctor Guillermo Fuentes where she had gone without telling Pete. She despised gynecological examinations, and even though she had known Dr. Fuentes all of her life, she still had the feeling that she had been violated when he probed inside of her.
Throwing the long white smock over the stirrups of the hideous table used to perform pelvic examinations, she dressed, then went to the Doctor's office. Taking the chair in front of his desk she removed a package of cigarettes from her purse and lit one.
"You're not a heavy smoker, are you, Soledad?" Dr. Fuentes asked her.
"No," she replied. "Four or five a day. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, we want you to take good care of yourself because you're going to need all of your energies for something else. You're going to have a baby, my dear. You're pregnant."
"That's what I was afraid of," she said.
"Afraid, Soledad? There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "Childbirth is a wonderful experience."
She knew that he was being careful and gentle with her because he knew that her own mother had died in childbirth, but she also knew that he knew that she was not married. She closed her eyes, and clasped her hands in front of her. "I know," she said, "but I don't know who the father is." Worse than the doubt, though, was the small ray of certainty that told her the life that was growing inside of her was Carlos' child.
"You must have some idea, Soledad. You're not a promiscuous woman."
She reached into her purse and pulled a handkerchief from it and held it in both hands over her mouth, then sobbed as tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh God, how could this happen to me?"
Getting up from his chair Dr. Fuentes walked around the desk to her side. He placed his hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her with words of reassurance. "Soledad, don't let yourself become so upset. Everything will be alright. Would you care to tell me about it? I've known you ever since you were a little girl."
She regained some composure and reached up to touch his hand. "Thank you," she said and dried her eyes with the handkerchief. "I was seeing a man for the past year who is married. I hated myself all of the time that I was doing it, but I kept seeing him anyway because I thought I loved him. Finally the guilt became too much for me, and I broke off with him, but during the last time that we saw one another we made love. Made love may not be accurate. The more I think about it the more I realize that it was more that I was raped. He had been drinking, and...." She stopped talking, looked down at her hands and shook her head from side to side. "Oh God, I hate telling this. It makes me feel like a tramp, or some kind of animal."
"You're neither, Soledad," he comforted her, "and don't torture yourself with such thoughts. Would you rather not tell me?"
"No, I want to tell you. I have to tell someone."
"Alright," he said gently. "Go ahead."
"I felt such a relief when it was over. I regained my self respect, and I could look at myself in the mirror. Everything in my life began to fall in place. My paintings were selling, I was full of new ideas, and then I met the most wonderful man whom I love so much that I can't describe the feelings. I feel like I've known him all of my life, or maybe in some previous life," she said and thought of sitting on the beach in Pidertupo with Pete when he told her about the gypsy woman up in the Guardarama mountains.
"Does this man love you, Soledad?"
"Yes," she said.
"If he loves you this will make no difference to him."
She looked up at the doctor. "I wish I could believe that," she said. "Honestly believe it, but I can't. I know that he would always wonder whether I truly loved him or just tricked him into giving my child a name. Doubt is a terrible thing to deal with."
"Yes it is, Soledad, and for us Latins it is more of a monster than it is for some others. We think In absolute terms. But this man would have no reason to doubt your love. Love has a way of making itself known, and felt. Do I know the man?
"I don't think so. He's an American in the American Embassy.
He walked back to his desk. "That being the case you have even less to be concerned about. Americans don't suffer from doubt the way we Latins do."
"But he's married too," she said.
"That's a different matter, Soledad, and in that case I think perhaps you should forget about both of them. As your physician, my concern is for your wellbeing and that of your child." The tone of his voice changed abruptly. The friendly warmth disappeared and he was cold and professional. Soledad knew that he was passing judgement on her, questioning her morality.
Getting up from the chair she felt very alone. "Yes, maybe I should forget both of them," she said and looked him squarely in the eye. "How do you do that?"
He did not answer her question. "I'll want to see you in another month, Soledad, and in the meantime I think it would be best if you stopped smoking."
She left the doctor's office and decided to walk home. Walking gave her time to think and sort out some of the things she felt. Opening her umbrella, she walked slowly in the rain through El Ejido park, and then continued up Avenida Patria toward the American Embassy. As she waited at the stop light opposite the embassy an army truck pulled up and a platoon of paratroopers filed out and took up positions around the high iron fence surrounding the compound. On the opposite corner from where she was standing the police water cannon rolled to a stop.
The light changed and she quickened her steps. Something else has happened, she thought, and she felt a sudden, almost overwhelming, urge to be with Pete.

CHAPTER 33 Quito, Ecuador - 1971
Stuart was becoming anxious, and he paced the floor. It was unlike Soledad to not leave word if she was not coming home, and with a typical lover's response he was getting worried that something might have happened to her. When the telephone rang he rushed to pick it up. "Hello, darling," he said. "Pete, this is Mat Clausen. Since when did you start answering the telephone with such warmth?"
Stuart laughed. "Sorry, Mat. I was expecting someone else."
"Where are you, Pete? I need to send a car for you," Clausen said.
"Why? What's the matter now?"
"I can't tell you on the telephone, Pete, but it's serious."
"I'm at a house on the road down to Huapulo, just beyond the Hotel Quito," Stuart replied. "I think my driver is the duty driver this week, and he knows where it is, but is it really urgent that I come right now?"

"It's very urgent, Pete, so when the car gets there, come right straight to the embassy. Don't go home or stop any where else."
"Okay, Mat. I'll be waiting for the car." He cradled the telephone, then walked to the bedroom to put on his coat and tie. Taking a piece of note paper from a pad by the bedroom telephone, he scribbled a note to Soledad. "Darling, I'm at the embassy. I'll call you later."
He pulled on his raincoat and walked out through the little patio just as a horn sounded on the other side of the wall. He climbed into the back seat of the car and asked the driver what had happened.
"I don't know, Mr. Stuart," the driver replied. "We have many paratroopers at the embassy. I think we have more trouble."
Rounding the fountain in front of the Hotel Quito, Stuart thought that he saw Soledad walking, and he asked Eduardo to stop the car.
Mr. Stuart, they told me not to stop anywhere. I hate to disobey one of your orders, but I think I better do just as they told me," the driver replied and kept driving.
"All right, Eduardo. You do what they told you."
They pulled up at the embassy gate and a paratrooper flashed his light inside the car, then ordered Eduardo to get out and open the trunk of the car for inspection before he admitted them into the parking lot.
Stuart entered the embassy, signed the after hours log at the Marine Guard's desk, then took the elevator to the fifth floor where he walked back to Mat Clau¬sen's office. With Clausen, the Deputy Chief of Mission, were the Ambassador and Jim Kirk, the CIA Station Chief.
"What's up?" Stuart asked and pulled off his raincoat.
Clausen looked up from a paper that he was reading. "Jorge Chiriboga's been kidnapped," he said. "And this was thrown into the embassy parking lot from a car that raced by about the same time." He handed the paper to Stuart. It was a printed throw-away handbill headed in bold black letters.

MOVIMIENTO ANDRES GUERRERO MANIFIESTO "TIERRA Y LIBERTAD" WARNING: LET THE OLIGARCHY AND THE POLITICIANS WHO CONSPIRE WITH THE AMERICAN EMBASSY TO HOODWINK, DECEIVE AND STEAL BE ON NOTICE THAT THEIR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. ANDRES GUERRERO WAS THE VICTIM OF A SYSTEM WHICH IGNORES THE NEEDS OF SIX MILLION PEOPLE. LET THE PERPETRATORS OF THESE OUTRAGES BE ON NOTICE THAT WE ARE NO LONGER GOING TO SIT PASSIVELY WITH OUR HATS IN OUR HANDS WHILE YOU KILL US OFF ONE BY ONE. WE ARE NO LONGER GOING TO LET YOU CIRCULATE MONEY THROUGH THE SYSTEM IN THE NAME OF DEVELOPMENT ONLY TO SKIM IT INTO YOUR FOREIGN BANK ACCOUNTS. THIS IS A MANIFESTO OF TERRORISM AND THE SEIZING OF ONE CORRUPT POLITICIAN IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. WE DEMAND "TIERRA Y LIBERTAD."
Stuart looked up from the paper, and he wondered if the others were aware that the slogan "Tierra y Libertad," Land and Liberty, came from the Mexican Revolution, and had been the battle cry of the peasants who rallied behind Emiliano Zapata.
"It doesn't look good, does it, Pete?" the ambassa¬dor said.
"It's a disaster," Stuart replied. "But what in the hell can we expect? Agapito Romero keeps publishing his God damned lies everyday, until those poor bastards sitting out in the cold get fed up. The oligarchy is going to end up victims of their own propaganda just the way that Jorge is a victim of their fucking lies and greed."
"My immediate concern is that no one in this embassy ends up a victim," the ambassador said, "and you're the most likely candidate, Pete. I think you better stay here in the embassy tonight, and we'll see how things look tomorrow." He then turned to Kirk. "Jim, with your contacts in the National Police, can you arrange to have personal bodyguards assigned to Pete, Mat and me?"
"I think I could," Kirk replied. "Do you want me to call right now?"
"If you would, please," the ambassador replied.
Getting out of his chair Kirk walked to the telephone beside Clausen's desk. He picked it up and dialed while the others waited silently.
"Primera Brigada," he said and waited. "Hola compadre, Jim Kirk here. How's chances of getting four of your best officers detailed to look after the ambassador and three other embassy officers until this thing settles down?" He listened carefully to the commandant of the First Brigade, the unit within the National Police Force in charge of protecting diplomats and embassies.
"That's fine, Captain, If you could send them over right away, I'd appreciate it. Ciao." He replaced the telephone and turned to the ambassador. "They'll be right over."
"I noticed you asked for four officers," the ambassador said.
"Yes, sir." Kirk replied. I decided that I'd take one for myself."
The ambassador stood up, and placing his hand on his hips he turned his body to the left and right as though his back was bothering him. "I guess there's nothing more we can do tonight. As soon as the policemen get here we can all go home and get some rest. All except you, Pete. You sleep down in the Marine Guard's room, and if anything happens during the night, call me immediately."
"Should we get a cable out to Washington on this tonight?" Clausen asked.
"I don't think so. Let's wait until morning and see if we have something more to report," the ambassador replied.
The meeting broke up, and Stuart walked to his own office and picked up the phone. First he called Merche at his home and cautioned her not to let anyone in the house, then he dialed Soledad's number.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello, love, it's Pete. I'm not going to be able to come home tonight. We have a little trouble and I have to stay in the embassy all night.
"Alright, Pete. I saw all of the paratroopers pulling up in front of the embassy. Are you okay?" Her voice had an unusual flatness to it.
"Is anything wrong, Soledad? I was worried when you didn't come home."
"No, Pete, everything's okay. I'm worried about you," she said, but still with the flat, unanimated tone of voice.
"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," Pete said. "I have a lot of things I want to talk to you about. I'll see you tomorrow." He paused, and before she could hang up he said, "Love, I don't want to frighten you, but don't let anyone in the house if you don't know them."
"I won't, Pete," she replied, and her tone of voice frightened Pete. The thought crossed his mind that she could be under the gun of a terrorist at that very moment.
"There's no one there with you is there?" he asked.
"No Pete. I'm alone, and I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all."
"Okay, darling, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."
"I love you, Pete," she said. "Goodnight."
He replaced the receiver and walked to the Marine Guard's desk. "You're going to have a guest tonight, Tim," he said to the Marine Corporal on duty behind the desk." The Marine had changed from his us ua l kh aki uniform to combat fatigues, and he wore a flak jacket. His helmet was sitting on the counter beside a loaded shotgun, and a tear gas grenade.
"Very good, sir," the Corporal replied. "I hope you sleep better on that bed than I do. "
As he opened the door to the sleeping room, the four policemen walked into the embassy and identified themselves to the guard. Stuart entered the room and closed the door behind him. He was tired and in no mood to talk to anyone. Pulling off his shoes, he lay down on the cot and closed his eyes. Thank God, he thought, this sort of life will soon be over for me.
Then he prayed to God for Jorge's safety.

CHAPTER 34
Quito, Ecuador - 1971
Soledad was awakened by the wail of a siren that sent shive rs through her body. Glancing at the illuminated numbers on the digital clock beside the bed she saw that it was only three-twenty. She stared at the clock as the numbers rolled by. Three-twenty-one, three-twenty-two, and finally, at three-thirty she conceded that sleep would remain illusive, and she sat up in bed. Propping a pillow behind her back, she took a cigarette from the package on the night stand and lit it. Then, remembering what the doctor had told her about quiting smoking, she snuffed it out.
How quickly, she thought, she had become accustomed to sleeping beside Pete with her body pressed close to his, and how lonely the bed was without him. How long will it take to forget the sensation of the pure joy of loving and being loved? Were we born with a recollection of God's love? Is that seeking of love from another human being motivated by that recollection? Is that what allows us to go on in the face of almost unbearable suffering? Is it because loving another human being touches the place in us where we have that memory of God's love? Is loving and being loved so sweet because it fills that void and links us to infinity?
Slipping out of the bed, she pulled a terrycloth robe over her naked body and walked to the living room. After rekindling the fire she took a small wooden box from the bookshelf and opened it to remove her mother's letter. Standing before her portrait she read the letter. "Retreat to a quiet place where you can hear your tiny inner voice, then rely upon it," the letter said. She sat down on the sofa and continued to gaze at the portrait, and from somewhere in her inner reaches a small voice told her what she must do.
She could not tell Pete about the baby. To tell him would be to spoil the harmony of their love that she knew was perfect. Then there was also Ruth to be considered. No matter how much she wished to deny it, the truth was that Pete was married, and there must be a reason why he continued to stay married to Ruth. Soledad knew that she must continue her work. If she could not paint, she could not live. It was only through painting that she could transcend herself, lose sense of herself, and for a few brief moments be out of herself and in touch with some cosmic force.
She could not stay in Quito. She could not endure the things that people would say, nor the way that they would stare at the child, looking for some familiar resemblance that would answer the question they had in their minds. She would not wish that on her child; she would not wish that on any child. She knew from her own childhood that people doubted the legitimacy of her claim to the name of Benalcazar, and she hated the way that they always looked at her with a questioning appraisal to see if they could find a trace of her father's features, his complexion or the color of his eyes.
She would go to Bogota. She had friends there and they would help her find work and establish herself with the gallery owners. The pain of this decision was almost unbearable, and she closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to carry out what she knew she had to do.
It was five o'clock when Stuart awakened, and his first thoughts were of Jorge. Swinging his feet off the bed he sat on the edge of the narrow military cot and pulled on his shoes, then walked out to the Marine's desk. The policeman who had been detailed as his bodyguard sat reading a novel while Tim Kelly made his entries in his watch log. "Good morning, Tim, any word?"
"No, sir," he replied looking up from his log. "Everything is quiet."
Stuart then turned to the policeman, and offered his hand. "Buenos dias, he said. "I'm Pete Stuart."
The policeman, a round faced Indian, stood up and took Pete's hand. "Buenos dias, Señor Estuart," he said. "Teniente Gonzalo Rodriguez, a sus ordenes."
Stuart poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the Marine's desk, and then explained to the police lieutenant in Spanish that he was going upstairs to his own office. There was no need to accompany him, he told the officer, and assured him that he was very interested in cooperating with the police to insure his safety. The lieutenant was insistent, however, and told Stuart that he did not in the least mind waiting outside Stuart's office for as long as was necessary. "Muy bien," Pete said. "Vamanos." With the officer at his side he walked to the elevator, and took it to the fifth floor. They then walked to his office where the lieutenant sat down in the chair behind Jane's desk, and Pete entered his own.
Taking a piece of paper from the drawer he inserted it in the typewriter and drafted his letter of resignation. It was brief and to the point and simply stated that for personal reasons he was resigning and that he wished to be relieved from duty as soon as possible in keeping with the needs of the department and the Foreign Service. He then wrote a brief note to Ruth, and told her that he would soon be seeing her to discuss some arrangements with respect to their futures. He avoided specifics with Ruth, and preferred to see her face-to-face when he told her of his wish to divorce.
Every man has a fantasy that he keeps nestled away, down deep in his innermost being. Occasionally, during a dull staff meeting, or at three o'clock in the morning when sleep has eluded him, he brings it out to sharpen and hone to perfection by focusing all of his attention on it. It may be to own a quiet place by the sea, a mountain retreat, a sail boat or his own little business, a ski shop, a book store, an art gallery. Whatever the fantasy when he lives with it, life takes on an idyllic quality, childlike, where pressure is removed and one works at his own pace. Because of the satisfaction of devoting himself to something where the wish and the will converge, time loses all significance and energy seems to come from some core that is infinite, and not only replaces itself, but expands geometrically as it is used, so that the more one works, the more energy there is available to continue. It is the focal point of all creativity, and is such a personal thing that it becomes as much a part of the man as the lines in the palm of his hand. It both determines his personality, and is determined by his personality. It is both the cause and a symptom of his problems and his pleasures.
Scratch any Foreign Service officer, they say, and you'll find a writer, and Pete was no exception. Pete's dream, his fantasy, his innermost desire was to be a writer. He had visions of himself sitting in his studio in a little whitewashed village on the coast of Spain, maybe in Calpe, on the Costa Blanca, tapping out the story of his life. Whenever he enjoyed a particularly good moment he always thought that someday he could bring it all back in his literary undertakings. He took the attitude that life was just like making vino fino de Jerez. These wines are called vinos de crianza. That is to say that they are "bred." Each year the new harvest is added to the madre, mother, of a previous crop, and the new wine takes on all of the flavor, bouquet and color of the madre. Experience, he thought, was the madre of his future writing. If he lived intensely, enjoyed every moment to the fullest, and experienced as much of life as was possible he would have the madre for a full literary adventure in later years. So he had lived. He had it all. Women. Sports cars. Brooks Brothers suits.
Every Dionysian delight went into the creating of his madre, but he knew that someday he would retreat to his apollonian paradise, put away the three button suits, pull on a pair of old jeans and a warm sweater, sit down at the typewriter and make stories out of the madre that had been aging in him.
His dream also included a whole round of other literati with whom he would while away the evening hours in a local cafe talking about their work, the meaning of life, and style. He would have a wife and children and together they would live a self fulfilling life with their entire existence devoted to art. Ah, art! There is the real safe haven from anxiety, the place where there is everlasting peace, happiness and satisfaction. The stories he would write! He had them all plotted out in his head. He knew exactly where he was going with his story line and what the settings would be. He would tell all about the wonderful years in Spain, the women he had known, and wonderful sensation of discovering a country that he loved very much. He would tell about spending nights in the Cafe Gijon with his friend Henri Fultan, the expatriate director of theater, and what it was like to fall in love with and be loved by a woman who was the best of all possible worlds; American, oriental and seasoned in Europe. Could there possibly be more?
He was certain that he would reach the time when experiencing those things from which the madre was being made would no longer be important. He would cease to live for the future. He knew that someday he would live in the present, the now, and the now would be formed like the past from the madre. Now, he was, with Soledad, on the verge of making that now a reality.
At seven-thirty the ambassador arrived and after a short conversation in which Pete informed the ambassador of his resignation, he returned to his office and began cleaning out his desk. He tried several times to call Soledad, but received no answer.
He checked in with Jim Kirk to see if there was any word about Jorge, and learned nothing except that the government had made no public announcement of the kidnapping. At ten-thirty he was summoned again to the ambassador's office.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" he said from the doorway.
The ambassador was standing at the window looking out over the parking lot and the display of troops, the water cannon, several military trucks and a squadron of horsemounted riot police that were all surrounding his embassy. It looks like a fortress, he thought.
"Yes, Pete, come in and sit down, please." He turned away from the window then walked to the chair behind his desk, and slumped into it. "I want to tell you again how much I regret your decision to resign, but I know from our conversation this morning that your mind is made up. In the end we all have to do what our conscience tells us." "Yes, sir, we do," Stuart replied. "I guess there's still no word on Jorge, is there?"
"No, nothing. The government has troops deployed all over the country, but they still have no idea where he is. There's been no further word from the kidnappers, but those handbills have been distributed all over the city." The ambassador sat silently looking at Stuart for several seconds, and then picked up a stiff bond paper note from his desk. "You have no idea how much it pains me to have to give you this note from the Foreign Office," he said and handed the note to Stuart.

REPUBLIC OF ECUADOR
MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
NOTE VERBALE NUMBER 1278/US
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs presents its compliments to the Embassy of the United States of America, and has the honor to refer to the Vienna Convention on the assignment, privileges and immunities of diplomatic and consular officers.
During the past several weeks the activities of an officer of the Embassy of the United States of America, First Secretary Peter T. Stuart, have been the subject of criticism and comment in the press of Quito and Guayaquil. These same activities of First Secretary Stuart have provoked and incident of armed terrorism within the Republic of Ecuador that has seriously threatened the stability of the government.
It is, therefore, with regret that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs must inform the Embassy of the United States of America that the continued presence of First Secretary Stuart within the territorial limits of the Republic of Ecuador constitutes a threat to the internal security of the Republic.
Accordingly, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, on instruction from its government, has declared First Secretary Stuart to be Persona non Grata as set forth in the Articles of the Vienna Convention herein referred to. The Ministry would appreciate the Embassy taking the necessary steps to comply with the Articles of the Vienna Convention herein referred to with all deliberate speed. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs avails itself of this opportunity to reiterate to the Embassy of the United States of America the assurance of its highest and most distinguished consideration.
"I'll be damned!" Stuart said. "Persona non Grata, PNG'd, kicked out! What a hell of a way to wind up a career! Son of a bitch! I've had a suspicion for a long time that there weren't going to be any winners down here, but I'll be damned if I thought I would end up one of the losers. I guess anyone who gets involved in Latin America is going to end up a loser. There aren't any winners!"
"Pete, don't take this thing too hard. I'm going to see if I can't get the Minister to retract this note."
"It doesn't make any difference, Mr. Ambassador, don't bother any more for my sake." Reaching for the package of cigarettes on the ambassador's desk he took one out and lit it." I can't even remember what the Vienna Convention says about declaring an officer PNG. The last time I looked at it was when I was a junior officer in the Foreign Service Institute."
"It gives us twenty-four hours to get you out of the country, but under the circumstances I think it would be best if you left on the Braniff flight this afternoon. You're a sitting duck down here and nobody can rest as long as you're around."
"That being the case I have a lot of personal things I have to take care of," Stuart said.
"Don't worry about your effects, Pete. The General Services people will get your things packed up and shipped after you've gone."
"I don't mean my personal effects, Mr. Ambassador. I mean my personal life. I've got someone I'll have to take with me." He remembered Merche, and added, "In fact, I've got two people I've got to take with me." Getting up from the chair he started to leave.
"Pete," the ambassador called to him.
"Yes, sir." He stopped and turned to face the ambassador. "Please be careful, and don't get out of sight of that policeman. I don't want anything else to happen to you."

CHAPTER 35
Quito, Ecuador - 1971
Returning to his office, Stuart called Merche and told her to pack his and her own things to leave that afternoon. He then found his bodyguard and strode out of the embassy to his black sedan.
Eduardo pulled the car up in front of the high whitewashed wall, and before he had come to a complete stop, Stuart opened the door on his side and swung his legs out. After ringing the bell, he opened the gate with his own key, and walked through the small Andalusian patio to the house. The door opened and Soledad looked with surprise at the police lieutenant. Before entering Stuart turned and faced the policeman.
"Lieutenant, would you mind waiting outside here while I talk to Miss Benalcazar?"
"Señor Estuart, my orders are to not let you out of my sight."
"Lieutenant, there is no way in or out of this house except through this door, believe me. There is no danger here."
"Muy bien, señor, I'll wait here for you." "Pete, what in the world is happening? Who's that lieutenant?"
Stuart took her by the arm and led her back to the studio. "He's my bodyguard," he said.
"Your bodyguard! What's happened?"
Stuart put his hand to his forehead. " Christ, love, so many things have happened that I don't know where to begin. I guess the most important thing is that Jorge Chiriboga has been kidnapped."
"Oh God, no, Pete! When?"
"Last night as he was leaving the Ministry, and there have been threats against me."
"Pete, why don't you leave here before something happens to you?"
"I am leaving, Soledad. I've been ordered to leave. I've been PNG'd.
"PNG'd, what's that?"
"I've been declared Persona non grata by the government. I'm leaving on the Braniff flight this afternoon, and I want you to come with me."
"Pete, I can't just pack up and leave."
"I know it's a lot to ask, Soledad, but I love you and I want you to come with me."
She turned her back to him and walked to the window and looked out over the mountains that sloped down toward Tumbaco. "I can't come with you," she replied, and removed a handkerchief that had been tucked in the sleeve of her sweater.
He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her arms and turned her around. He looked into her green eyes. They were red and swollen, and he could tell that she had been crying before he arrived; the tears were rolling down her cheeks now. "Soledad, for God's sake, listen to me," he pleaded. "I've been ordered out of here, but I can't leave you behind." He took her in his arms and drew her close to him. "There are so many things I have to tell you, but there isn't time now. Won't you just believe that I love you, and that I want you to come with me?"
She looked into his eyes and had a terrible sinking sensation as she realized that he was leaving her. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears and shook her head. "I can't" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. "I can't come with you, Pete. She thought of that Indian song that Pete had translated.

Yo fui buena contigo.
Como una flor un dia en
el jardin en que yo soñaba
me arancaste.
Di todo el perfume de mi melancolia
Y sin hacerte nigun mal me dejaste.
He stepped back and looked at her. "Soledad, something has happened. You're strange and different. I noticed it in the tone of your voice last night on the telephone. What is it, what has happened?"
"I can't tell you, Pete."
"What do you mean, you can't tell me? I don't understand you, and I don't think that you understand that I have to leave."
"Oh I understand that you're leaving, Pete. I understand it very well."
"Soledad, does this have something to do with that other man you told me about. The man you were in love with?"
"In a way, Pete, yes."
"You still love him?"
"No, I love you, Pete."
"Soledad, I'm confused, and I'm getting just a little bit angry."
"Then you better leave, Pete. I don't want to have a memory of you when you were angry?"
"Would you rather remember me as hurt? Hurt worse than having a bull's horn jammed into my guts?"
She turned away from him again. "No, I don't want to hurt you." Her voice was barely audible, and she thought she was going to faint. A torrent of tears was just below the surface and her body ached from the sobs she repressed. "I think you better go, Pete."
"This place is going to blow sky high, Soledad, and I don't want you here when it does. I want you to come with me, please."
She walked to the sofa and sat down. "I'm leaving Quito, Pete, but I can't come with you."
"None of this is making any sense to me, and the only conclusion that I can come to is that you still love the other man."
"Pete, please go now. You must have a lot of things to do if you're leaving this afternoon."
"I can't believe any of this. It's like a nightmare, and you're being awfully stubborn."
"I don't mean to be stubborn, Pete. I just can't go with you." She looked at him and wondered if he would go back to Ruth. Maybe after all of these years Ruth had forgiven him. If she were Ruth she would forgive him. She would forgive him anything, she thought. "Goodbye, Pete."
As the impact of her insistence hit him, Stuart had that terrible Noche Triste emptiness in his chest. "Goodbye, Soledad." He turned and walked out through the patio with the police lieutenant at his side. Climbing into the car he leaned back and closed his eyes. Oh, My God, he thought, why is all of this happening to me? What in the fuck am I doing wrong? He was empty and his entire body ached. Oh God, he prayed. Don't let me go. Please, don't let me go.

GO TO CHAPTER 36
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Gene McCoy © August, 1998
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