Nazi Gold by Alec Birri

Author:Alec Birri [Birri, Alec]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Emil looked in the Ford’s rear-view mirror. Laura was sitting between two piles of the Encyclopaedia Britannica she had packed and turning pages of the volume in her lap as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did?

‘All I’m saying is, my daughter’s much too clever for the police, so don’t expect to be her boss for long.’ Señora Gomez was sitting up front with Emil.

‘Will you put a sock in it, Mama?’ said Laura, eyes continuing to flit. ‘I will decide my career path, not you.’

‘And don’t think you can get away with anything physical either.’ Laura’s mother hadn’t stopped chastising Emil since breakfast. She leaned towards him. ‘And I’m not just talking about a raised hand.’

Emil’s attention might have been on the road ahead, but his mind’s eye was treated to another vision of Captain Gomez mouthing the words I’ll kill you.

‘Mama, if you don’t change the subject, you can join your suitcases in the trunk.’

Señora Gomez turned to Laura and spoke as if Emil wasn’t there. ‘You need a clever as well as a strong man to look after you – not some boludo thug.’

If Señora Gomez hadn’t already made her disapproval of Laura’s boss clear, that did it. Not only was Emil considered beneath the standard suitable for her daughter’s superior, but Laura’s mother had decided Emil belonged among the criminal classes too. But for a need to maintain diplomacy and the accusation being at least partly true, Emil might have protested. He let Laura come to his defence. Sort of.

‘Mama, that’s not our relationship, and you know it. And for your information, Inspector Vazquez is engaged to be married.’ Laura mumbled, ‘Even if his fiancée has had second thoughts.’

Señora Gomez harrumphed before finding a new fault to pick. ‘And what’s that on your top lip?’

‘Inspector Vasquez is trying to grow a moustache, Mama.’

‘Not trying – I am growing a moustache.’

Señora Gomez harrumphed again. ‘Not much of a man if you can’t grow something as simple as a—’

‘Passports ready everyone,’ said Emil with some relief at a sign that read Argentina Customs. ‘And be ready to get out of the car. Who knows what’s happened to our country in the time we’ve been away.’

‘Get out of the car?’ said Laura’s mother in a voice that Emil didn’t need to be a policeman to recognise was concern. ‘I’ve never had to do that before. Does that mean they’ll want to look in my suitcases?’

‘Probably,’ said Emil, expecting the search not to include the door panels where he had hidden the gold while Laura kept her mother chatting in the hotel’s restaurant. The red of Señora Gomez’s pallor visibly paled.

Sure enough, the Ford had no sooner joined a line for the border crossing than Emil was instructed to park alongside other vehicles, having their bags checked. The scene seemed to silence Laura’s mother.

As the driver, Emil was invited into the customs office, followed by the border police office, when he had presented his PFA identity card.

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