Excerpt
Spies followed spies, and double agents
crossed triple agents, and one followed another in a complicated and often
amusing dance. If you knew the city and had even the slightest inkling
of what was going on, you could walk into a restaurant and watch one
person sitting at a table watching another person and leave shortly after
they had left, and then another person from across the room follow both
of them and so on.
The Portuguese secret police kept tabs on the entire dance, although
they weren’t at all secret to the experienced observer. With their identical
trench coats and slouching fedoras, they stood out in a crowd as clearly as
if they had sported polka-dotted clown suits. But that was the idea – the
government was sending a message to the rest of the world that it had lots
of secret police, so everyone had better watch their step.
Sadly, ordinary people were also recruited to inform on their friends
and neighbours. They were paid based on the quantity and value of the
information they passed on, not by salary. The more they informed the
more money they received. As a result, many innocent people were ruined.
No one knew who the informers were and so people lost trust in
even their closest friends.
New Year’s Eve, 1956. Thanks to Ken’s careful plotting, the Canadian
ambassador had invited Ken’s family to a party at his home. Ken was
more determined than ever to immigrate to Canada and part of his plan
involved forging a relationship between his parents and the Canadian
ambassador in the hopes it would make them more comfortable with the
idea of leaving their home.
When the family arrived at the residence, Monsieur Desjardins met
them at the door and immediately spirited Ken away. “Come up to my
office,” he said. “I have something for you.”
Shutting the door behind him, Desjardins said, “I have two letters
here and two maps. The first is a letter of introduction to a couple who
live in British Columbia on Vancouver Island. They have a little cottage
on the shore by a stream. It was once known as the Pink River. It’s now
called Nile Creek. I go there every year to fish and it is the finest sea-run
cutthroat trout and salmon fly-fishing in the ocean. This letter will introduce
you and here is a map that will tell you how to get there. This
second one is to a Mr. Paddy McGelgan. He’s a wild, wild Irishman and is
the absolute twin of King George. He lives on a lake between Merritt and
Kamloops in British Columbia and I fish there every year before I go to
Nile Creek. It is, without question, the finest rainbow trout fly-fishing in
the world – and I have been almost everywhere.”
Desjardins picked up another smaller envelope. “This is a separate
matter,” he said. “In the event that circumstances should become difficult,
this is my contact information.
Libros Libertad 