You are not logged in.


Wednesday, April 26th 2017, 2:59pm

Potosi, Chilean-Bolivian Special Administrative Region - July, 1947
The hunt was on for an assassin.

The simultaneous murder attempts on Potosi's mayor and police chief had hardly been successful - both men were still alive, albeit wounded. One assassin was already dead, and the other on the run. But the attempt had been public: the city was in something of an uproar, and within an hour's time both police and military had been ordered into action.

While the Territoriales set out checkpoints on the main roads and searched for the assassin, the regional police - answerable to the targeted Capitan Herrera - were charged with finding any co-conspirators. The 331st Intelligence Company, as befitted its expertise, was ordered to assist them as they conducted their investigation. Capitan Leiva, as he listened to the senior police investigators chanting through a list of possible suspects, casually assigned both Paul and Lieutenant Paredes off with the police inspector assigned to interview Néstor Medina Zapata, one of the two potential contacts from the Bianchi network.

Medina did himself few favors during the interview, brazenly calling the police inspector a 'Chilean stooge'. The insult provoked the inspector, a Potosi native, to order a search of Medina's house, which Paul conducted himself. There was nothing to condemn the man of being a UGCB sympathizer, however, and very little of note aside from several sticks of dynamite and a small box of blasting caps in Medina's shed.

"How do you explain this?" the police inspector growled after Paul showed off his find. The policeman got in Medina's face, and Paul noted that Lieutenant Paredes had quietly loosened the flap on his pistol holster.

"Senor-" Medina said.

"Where did you get this?" the policeman demanded again. "What were you planning to use it for?"

"Work!" Medina snarled out, venom in his vocie. "You lameculos! I'm licensed to possess it - blasting for road construction. The paperwork is all correct, and even on file with the rotos." He spat out the derogatory name for the Chilean soldiers, and gave Paul and his commander a hateful glance.

The policeman was not entirely satisfied until he'd taken Medina down to the local precinct house, where Paredes finally confirmed that the dynamite had indeed been bought for road-blasting, and had been acquired with a proper license - not only from the local CBSAR authorities, but also the Chilean Army. Medina left - spitting fiery outrage, but still a free man.

"It's a pity about that," Paredes said, as Paul started up the Terrestre 675 in order to head back to the caserne. "I still have a feeling about him. He's a bad apple. While the dynamite was certainly possessed legally, I suspect he's actually stashing some aside for his own use later."

"I agree, sir," Paul said. "I hope you don't mind - but when I was searching the house, and was out of his sight, I wired two microphones in his house."

"Did you, now!" Paredes said, abruptly grinning. "And what else did you do during your search of the house?"

"I noted," Paul said, "that he no longer has any prospecting equipment, such as what Bianchi reportedly sold him. Perhaps it means he sold it; but perhaps it means that he never bought any in the first place."

"And this is why I pulled you out of motorcycle courier duty," Paredes said. "You've learned your lessons well. Now here's your next test. What do we do next?"

"We have our listening devices in place for both Medina and Mostacedo," Paul said. "I don't think Medina was very close to the assassination plot. He's too brash, like a bull in a rage. As for Mostacedo - who knows? But with the whole city up in arms, the UGCB agents here will lay low, waiting to see if they are discovered. They might talk, but they'll be on their guard, and do less in the way of action. That gives us time to cultivate information from our eavesdropping devices, and to build our case."