Start of a transcript of Identification number: //BB852CA2-153B-435B-BB44-32605659C574// Interpreter version 1.2.9 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126 Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson >banner Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >about 1958: DANCING WITH FEAR by Víctor Ojuel Made with Inform 7, September 2017. Art by Ara Carrasco (@aracarrascoart). Tested by Ara Carrasco, Dustin Connor, Mathbrush, Matthew Holland, Florencia Minuzzi, Andrew Schultz and Marie Vibbert. Special thanks to Marie Vibbert and Alexander Preymak. Type HELP for instructions to play this game. Type THINK to get a hint. Type AUTHOR to know more about the author. Type ART to know more about the cover art. >author Víctor Ojuel (Barcelona, 1983) is a writer, narrative designer and translator based in Manchester, UK. His latest published video games are Immortal Redneck, Ariadne in Aeaea and Dimension Drive. He is available as a freelance writer, narrative designer and translator for games and other multimedia projects. Send your feedback about this game, on Twitter (@victorojuel) or by email: victor.ojuel@gmail.com. >art Cover art by Ara Carrasco. Ara Carrasco is a professional 2D and 3D artist based in Manchester, UK. She is available for freelance work and commissions. Follow her on Twitter: @aracarrascoart. Contact her for quotes at aracarrascoart@gmail.com. >x me Ay caramba, if it isn't Salomé Vélez, "la diosa de la selva"! The vanished great ex-vedette of the Enjoyado Club, in her latest comeback as not-that-great third-line corista at the Casino del Ritmo! Some would say you're a bit faded, but that's just bitter ex-lovers. Or yourself, on a bad day. You look ravishing in green satin, it matches your eyes. The damp air is ruining your exquisite coiffure. >i You are wearing: an emerald gown some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: a clutch purse (closed) From the windows and verandas spills the sound of music and laughter. >x pumps Brand new and silverscreen-grade glamorous, whether your feet can survive the night in those heels is another, less relevant question. The damp air is ruining your exquisite coiffure. >x gown You are wearing a strapless sheath gown, satin glimmering with deep green and aquamarine hues. It's long enough that it won't be out of place in a society soirée but featuring enough side slit that you can actually dance in it. It took you a lot of persuading to convince Sokolov to pay for it. One has to enjoy the occasional perks of the job when one can get them. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >*para break after "get them" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x pumps Brand new and silverscreen-grade glamorous, whether your feet can survive the night in those heels is another, less relevant question. The damp air is ruining your exquisite coiffure. >x gloves Long evening gloves matching your dress. You would have gone for satin as well, but you know from experience that lace provides better friction for partner dancing. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >smell You smell nothing unexpected. For a second you fancy hearing the hum of the city, but no noise carries across the bay. >listen You hear nothing unexpected. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >dance What do you want to dance with? >dance with claudio Neither the place nor the time. For a second you fancy hearing the hum of the city, but no noise carries across the bay. >examiname Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >mira Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* thought it was worth a try... Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? > x doorman The doorman is a tall black man, with square shoulders concealing great muscular power under the perfectly cut uniform. He smiles occasionally, showing perfect white teeth against black skin. A measured, effortless and meaningless smile. He seems poised, alert. You used to know this kind of men. Some were sneaky, others righteous. All of them were dangerous. This one is also handsome. A flying insect buzzes past, humming as if mocking you. >open purse You open the clutch purse, revealing invitation. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >read invitation The invitation is printed on heavy, expensive creamy paper with golden foil. Twin columns repeat, in English and Spanish, that César Pinteño is honored to invite "Mr. Alden York and a companion" to their exclusive party. A flying insect buzzes past, humming as if mocking you. >give invitation to claudio (first taking the invitation) You take the invitation. You produce the invitation. The doorman takes a quick glance at the invitation, nods and gives it back to you ceremoniously. Then he proceeds to open the doors for both of you. Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. Your companion shoots his cuffs, checks his cufflinks. Claudio escorts you to the hall of the mansion, already thick with cigar fumes and conversation. He takes a long look at you. "Well, my dear, aren't you ravishing tonight." "Let's do the job first and the ravishing later, shall we, mister York?" He shrugs and gestures exaggeratedly for you to go first, towards the ballroom to the north. From the ballroom arrive the melodical lines of Cómo duele una traición. >n Claudio and you make your way through the thickening throng of invitees, towards the ballroom. He seems to be looking for someone among the crowd. Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. "Bueno, pues aquí estamos," says your companion with a shrewd smile. He shakes his head towards a particularly distinguished-looking man surrounded by fawning invitees. "That's César Pinteño, our host tonight. But we're not interested in him except for what he has in his... damn! See that little group of officers over there? They are blocking the way to the corridor. If you could get their attention with your womanly wiles, maybe I could sneak around and break into Pinteño's office..." "Shhh, habla usted demasiado en español, mister York. Shut up. Let's see this through and be gone." "Over to you, girl. Go charm those officers." You catch Claudio checking you out. The melody of Flor de azalea fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. The officers keep talking in their corner, obstructing the way to the corridor. ...read his report from Dien Bien Phu? And what did he have to say when the French Communists refused to help with the war effort the previous year... >talk to officers You approach the group slowly, almost afraid of meeting those eyes. "Gentlemen, may I..." "Well, well, look who's here tonight. Salomé Vélez, no less. Making a fresh start in life?" You hold Alcázar's stare. His hair has a bit of grey, there are a few more lines around his eyes, and is wearing a colonel's uniform instead of a mere lieutenant's. For the rest, it's him all right. The same devious bastard. "Coronel Alcázar. Long time no see. Are you still a good dancer?" you bring yourself to say. "A better one. Shall we dance?" ...although strictly off the record, I must admit I am very skeptical indeed about this project of monsieur Spaak. It is too soon to have France and West Germany under the same roof. This so-called EEC is bound to fail, even if my superiors are still in denial about it.... >dance What do you want to dance with? >dance with alcazar Alcázar brings you to the dancefloor with exaggerated courtesy. You return a fake smile and try not to recoil from his touch. "Well, how have you been? Are you dancing again? Tell me where, I'd love to see you again." "Of course you would. What about you, coronel? Hunting many guerrilleros these days?" "Bah, that motley crew. They're done for. Most of them are already rotting in jail, the rest must be starving in the mountains. But tell me about yourself, really. We didn't part as friends, but I can help you. For olds times' sake, eh...?" From the corner of your eye you spot Claudio scurrying down the corridor. Just a little longer now. You sigh. "I've been doing fine. I'm fine," you cut him off, grimacing at the memories... Please press SPACE to continue. Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1954 You wake up from a dream of being buried alive. It's still dark. It's still the clink. You try closing your eyes again, hard, but sleep won't come. You open them again, getting them used to the darkness. The rest of you sure has gotten used to darkness through these years.A ray of moonlight comes through the barred window, drawing a whiteish band across the cell - from the sleeping face of one of your cellmates to the graffiti in the rough whitewash wall. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >dance with alcázar Alcázar brings you to the dancefloor with exaggerated courtesy. You return a fake smile and try not to recoil from his touch. "Well, how have you been? Are you dancing again? Tell me where, I'd love to see you again." "Of course you would. What about you, coronel? Hunting many guerrilleros these days?" "Bah, that motley crew. They're done for. Most of them are already rotting in jail, the rest must be starving in the mountains. But tell me about yourself, really. We didn't part as friends, but I can help you. For olds times' sake, eh...?" From the corner of your eye you spot Claudio scurrying down the corridor. Just a little longer now. You sigh. "I've been doing fine. I'm fine," you cut him off, grimacing at the memories... Please press SPACE to continue. Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1954 You wake up from a dream of being buried alive. It's still dark. It's still the clink. You try closing your eyes again, hard, but sleep won't come. You open them again, getting them used to the darkness. The rest of you sure has gotten used to darkness through these years.A ray of moonlight comes through the barred window, drawing a whiteish band across the cell - from the sleeping face of one of your cellmates to the graffiti in the rough whitewash wall. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >* suggest italicizine coronel to make it clear that it's not a mispelling; also guerrillos. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* space after "years." Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* is whiteish a word? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* suggest graffiti on rather than in the wall Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x me Inmate #3266, Isabel Castañeda. Collaboration with organized crime, five years. Maybe just three with outstandingly good attitude. If you don't catch pneumonia or something worse while you're inside. >i You are wearing: a prison uniform You are empty-handed. >x uniform Not even the black and white stripes thing you've seen in the movies, but a drab off-beige thing that could have been either real white or cream-colored when it was brand new, back when the Spanish were still here. >* para break after "here." Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x bible You open the book at random and read a few lines. Something about ancient kings and other stuff. Mother was very much into this, but the only Biblical yearning you have right now is get out and watch Salome again... You close the book with a thud. No time to start daydreaming about Gene Kelly again. >daydream Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1954 A ray of moonlight comes through the barred window, drawing a whiteish band across the cell - from the sleeping face of one of your cellmates to the graffiti in the rough whitewash wall. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >x window A nighttime view of the remote province of Floresta, from this... vantage point. The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region, all sugar cane fields. >look through window A nighttime view of the remote province of Floresta, from this... vantage point. The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region, all sugar cane fields. >x cell Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x cellmate Your cellmate is sleeping fitfully, mumbling something about numbers and people... >listen to cellmate Intrigued, and for lack of better entertainment, you creep closer to your cellmate and listen to her ramblings. She's repeating the name of a man... a former lover? And some numbers... a phone number? No, wait, those ring a bell... But, of course! >g She keeps going on about Bible chapters, dreaming of something very pious for sure. >g She keeps going on about Bible chapters, dreaming of something very pious for sure. >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1954 A ray of moonlight comes through the barred window, drawing a whiteish band across the cell - from the sleeping face of one of your cellmates to the graffiti in the rough whitewash wall. Your cellmate is sleeping. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >read graffiti A patchwork of corny poetry, prayers, obscene drawings and curses, made over the years by the inmates. >x moonlight Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >pull bars That is not the proper way to deal with this. >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1954 A ray of moonlight comes through the barred window, drawing a whiteish band across the cell - from the sleeping face of one of your cellmates to the graffiti in the rough whitewash wall. The other woman in your cell is tossing and turning in her bunk bed. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >x bed Bunk beds, awfully uncomfortable. >wake roommate Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >wake cellmate You shake her gently and she jumps out of bed, startled. She sits down in her bunk, panting and giving you the evil eye. "I wanted some company. Listen, I don't know why you don't like me, and I don't care that much. No funny stuff, I just want someone to talk so I don't go crazy before they let me out. I'm Isabel. What's your name?" "Liliana," she says, after a long, hesitant pause. "Fine. See? It's not such a big deal. What are you in for?" "Crimes against the State," she says proudly, "and you?" "Sleeping with the wrong man. Men." "Well, the patriarchy is part of the apparat of capitalism, and another instrument of oppression in the toolbox of the elite," she explains matter-of-factly. >ask about the patriarchy (You'd rather communicate with TALK TO a character.) >talk to liliana "You sound educated, paisana. You look too smart to be here," you taunt her. Or flatter her. Both? "Nobody ends up here for the right reasons, Isabel. My father is Patricio de Castrejo, the Justice Minister. So yes, I am educated, and the only thing education has shown me is how many of us are denied any." "Oh, I know Patricio! He is a great fan of mine at the Enjoyado. Well. Used to be," you add, fingering what remains of your hair. "Well, there you go. You think you have nothing in common with the peasants because you don't have to do hard work on the field? You as well are opp..." "Don't you tell me about hard work, señorita de Castrejo," you interrupt. "I have trained, rehearsed and danced until my toes bled and my toenails fell off." "Exactly. But call me compañera, please," she nods, delighted. And that is how you got started. Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >sing You were always more of a dancer. >dance (with the prison uniform) That's crazy, you can't dance with the prison uniform! >dance with liliana She's not your kind of dancing partner. >x window The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region. The sugar dances in the baked breeze. Floresta, the middle of nowhere. If you could only see the sea from here, you could dream Puerto Duquesa was nearby... >read bible You open the Bible on the book that your cellmate seemed to be talking about in her sleep. Skimming, you look for the chapter and verse matching the numbers... And read something quite unlike what you were expecting. Without any change in typography or layout, the text changes right there from some parable into "...and seize the means of production." Well that was unexpected. >throw bible out window Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >burn bible This dangerous act would achieve little. >eat bible That's plainly inedible. >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >talk to liliana "...but you say that I am not a respectable woman because I dance with skimpy clothes? Well, why is it better to clean, or cook, or write long pamphlets that nobody but you cares about?" "What I mean, compañera, is that your job is not respectable, but you are! The application of labor to production should exert a dignifying influence upon the worker, not degrade her! And that is why we must reclaim the very concept of work from them!" "So suppose it all worked. Would I still be allowed to dance? Will I earn more? Will I live better? Will I be considered at least two steps removed from whoredom, instead of one?" "Well, I mean, it's an intrinsically denigrating spectacle, marrying the colonialist exploitation of indigenous culture and the commoditization of the female body..." "So I'll be out of a job, compañera." "Compañera, the finer point of theory here are..." >indulge the marxist rantings of my cellmate Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to liliana "...but you say that I am not a respectable woman because I dance with skimpy clothes? Well, why is it better to clean, or cook, or write long pamphlets that nobody but you cares about?" "What I mean, compañera, is that your job is not respectable, but you are! The application of labor to production should exert a dignifying influence upon the worker, not degrade her! And that is why we must reclaim the very concept of work from them!" "So suppose it all worked. Would I still be allowed to dance? Will I earn more? Will I live better? Will I be considered at least two steps removed from whoredom, instead of one?" "Well, I mean, it's an intrinsically denigrating spectacle, marrying the colonialist exploitation of indigenous culture and the commoditization of the female body..." "So I'll be out of a job, compañera." "Compañera, the finer point of theory here are..." >* would prefer that this dialogue not be repeated Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >sleep You lie back and close your eyes, but sleep won't come. >pace Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >look through window The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region. The sugar dances in the baked breeze. Floresta, the middle of nowhere. If you could only see the sea from here, you could dream Puerto Duquesa was nearby... >draw graffiti Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >sharpen spoon Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >x guard Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >call guard Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to self >* needs a response Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >jump What for? The window is barred, you know. >wave You wave. >x liliana Liliana is a thin, pale woman in her mid-thirties - but she might be younger, since the prison ages people quickly. She has an intense gaze. She is listening carefully to your every word, as if pondering whether to trust you with some sort of revelation. >search bed Bunk beds, awfully uncomfortable. >ask liliana about the means of production (You'd rather communicate with TALK TO a character.) >* extra line feed Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >n Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >s Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >e Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >w Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >u Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >d Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >in Alas, you aren't going anywhere for the next few years. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >get all Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >hints Try THINK. >look Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >read bible You skim through the other text camouflaged into the Bible - brainy discussions about agrarian reform, loads of talk about economics that you don't really get, and lengthy discussions of "the terminal manifestations of neo-colonial oppression" and "the historical imperative to unite the peasant masses of Latin America into a fraternal, common struggle with the European proletariat". A bit tough for an evasion read, but then it was the Bible. >g You skim through the other text camouflaged into the Bible - brainy discussions about agrarian reform, loads of talk about economics that you don't really get, and lengthy discussions of "the terminal manifestations of neo-colonial oppression" and "the historical imperative to unite the peasant masses of Latin America into a fraternal, common struggle with the European proletariat". A bit tough for an evasion read, but then it was the Bible. >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >wake The dreadful truth is, this is not a dream. >* well, it is a flashback... Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >return to present Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >end flashback Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >rot in jail Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >loook Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >look Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >x sunlight Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x window The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region. The sugar dances in the baked breeze. Floresta, the middle of nowhere. If you could only see the sea from here, you could dream Puerto Duquesa was nearby... >x sugar The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region. The sugar dances in the baked breeze. Floresta, the middle of nowhere. If you could only see the sea from here, you could dream Puerto Duquesa was nearby... >x floresta The prison used to be a convent and commands quite a vista of the surrounding region. The sugar dances in the baked breeze. Floresta, the middle of nowhere. If you could only see the sea from here, you could dream Puerto Duquesa was nearby... >dream of puerto duquessa Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >revolt Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >x ell Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x cell Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x cellmate Liliana is a thin, pale woman in her mid-thirties - but she might be younger, since the prison ages people quickly. She has an intense gaze. She is listening carefully to your every word, as if pondering whether to trust you with some sort of revelation. >talk to liliana "...but you say that I am not a respectable woman because I dance with skimpy clothes? Well, why is it better to clean, or cook, or write long pamphlets that nobody but you cares about?" "What I mean, compañera, is that your job is not respectable, but you are! The application of labor to production should exert a dignifying influence upon the worker, not degrade her! And that is why we must reclaim the very concept of work from them!" "So suppose it all worked. Would I still be allowed to dance? Will I earn more? Will I live better? Will I be considered at least two steps removed from whoredom, instead of one?" "Well, I mean, it's an intrinsically denigrating spectacle, marrying the colonialist exploitation of indigenous culture and the commoditization of the female body..." "So I'll be out of a job, compañera." "Compañera, the finer point of theory here are..." >l Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, summer of 1955 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. There's a Bible in the cell floor, where the guard left it. >think Thinking: "I've been arguing with Liliana for ages. She's obviously very much into politics. I'm sure if I got her some political reading material it would make her day." >* line feed Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >give bible to liliana (first taking the Bible) You take the Bible. "Oh, so they did manage to get it in, after all! Why did you never tell me?" she marvels when you finally give her the hidden message inside the Bible. You shrug smugly. "You could have been a capitalist agent. You're a Castrejo, after all." "Screw you, compañera! This is the best news I've had in years! Well," she stops brusquely to look at you. She gives you one of her rare smiles, and you haven't even debated her today. "What?" "You know, you could be useful to the cause. We don't have anybody like you - not a known cadre, not a peasant, not an intellectual. Not from the elite, but able to mingle with them. I might have a job for you. Once we get out of here, of course. You aren't holding your breath. Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, autumn 1956 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. >* I had assumed that Liliana had jotted her politcal thoughts in the Bible... Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to liliana "So what are you planning on doing when you get out?" "Well, I'll try to find a job. I'm in no shape to be onstage at the Enjoyado, even if anyone remembered me and gave me the role. I guess I will have to start again, from scratch... Oh God. I'm not in shape to go back to the damned academias again. Look at me, Liliana. Honestly. I'm thirty. What do you think I can do?" For once, instead of political theory she gives you a handshake. A very peculiar handshake. "What's that?" "Secret handshake. But it's only between men. If you're greeting another woman, you do this with your eye, and then you touch your lip. No, like this. If it's a man, you put your hands together, here. And touch your ear like this. Good." "What's this all about?" "Your future, compañera Isabel. This is a job interview..." Santa Clara de Floresta Women's Prison, 1957 A ray of sunlight comes through the barred window. Another day of nothing at all. Liliana seems lost in thought. >talk to liliana "Show me you have learned. Give me the secret signal." >give signal (to cellmate) She nods. "Very well. Whenever you meet one of ours, give them the signal and the password, and they'll recognize you as a compañera. It's designed to be discreet, but exercise caution anyway. Don't go signaling everyone on the street." "Talking about walking the streets again, I'm out in six months." "Yes. Listen up. Once you're out, go to the bar at the Casino del Ritmo on a Thursday evening. There will be a man wearing a carnation - red, white and pink on alternative weeks. Follow him and tell him you're coming from me. Give him the signal. His name is Claudio. He will get you money and a job." "Finally you're talking. Is he one of yours?" "He used to be. He has his tendencies. I have him... on loan to somebody. He'll bring you to that somebody. He's not to be trusted, but we might find him useful. Learn all you can. And as soon as I'm out of here..." Please press SPACE to continue. A sudden noise takes you back to the present. Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The sweet sad sounds of A media luz fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. The officers keep talking in their corner, obstructing the way to the corridor. You are shaken awake by a commotion on the other side of the room. Many heads are turning towards the noise. You have a sinking feeling that something has gone terribly wrong... And then Claudio appears, pushing and shoving his way through. "Let's dance!" he mutters urgently, with a tense smile. His bowtie is askew, his skin sweaty, his eyes are not smiling. ...sigo sin ver por qué carajo hay que llenar toda la maldita fiesta de yanquis para ser sofisticados. Qué pasa, como que no tenemos suficientes personas de nivel en toda la puta isla o qué... "Come on, let's dance! Hurry!" >dance What do you want to dance with? >dance with claudio Claudio spins you around, hugging you close. "Claudio, what the...?" "No time!" he whispers urgently in your ear. "Listen, I'm caught. You don't know me. Get to the safe, take what's inside and bring it to Sokolov!" Before you can get a word in, he slips something cold and metallic down the back of your dress. You jump a little, startled, and he smiles as if he was saying a pleasantry and repeats, "Get to the safe!" A split second later, a tall blond man appears, accompanied by the black doorman. "Get him!" The servant immobilizes Claudio without a word. The blond man fixes you with a stare; you have the wits to look shocked, a tad offended, and he nods at you. "Excuse us, madam, this man has been caught stealing. I suggest you return with your companion." And with that he leaves, following the servant and his prisoner. ...I'm telling you, an agrarian reform is the whole leitmotiv, the sign of the times. Whoever gets the peasants on their side... Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The musicians are playing El Manisero. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. The officers keep talking in their corner, obstructing the way to the corridor. ...you remember old Marcelo? They used to call him Negrete and he had the Club Enjoyado for a few years, but he made some enemies, had to cut and run. Last I heard he was holed up in Cuba. Might be your man, if you have the contacts... The metallic thingie in your back seems to be shifting... >e You start heading in that direction, when suddenly the tall blond man reappears, this time without the black servant. He has the coldest eyes. He reminds you a little bit of Burt Lancaster in The Killers, which is an odd thought to have right now. "May I see your invitation, madam?" he says, giving you a blatant once-over. ...last time I saw him he was in very bad health, so naturally the Curia is already sharpening their daggers. You should hear what they say in private, the garbage about "Hitler's Pope" is the least offending filth I've heard... With each step, the thing in your dress lets go a little festive jingle... >i You are wearing: an emerald gown something metallic stuck inside the back some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open but empty) ...oooooh, is that a Balenciaga? Oh, it fits you like a dream, my dear. I have to confess I'm more of a Dior girl myself, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate his inventiveness... That damn metallic thing seems to be slipping fractionally down your back... >give invitation to blond The blond man snaps the piece of paper from your hand. "And where is Mr. York, if I may?" "Oh, around," you say with a vague gesture towards the room. "Dancing, I guess. Chasing other skirts, possibly. Who knows. Who cares. Would you care to dance?" you add. He smiles and for a second you think you are out of the woods. "Interesting, because we have a very angry gentleman outside, screaming at the doorman that he is Alden York and that his invitation has been stolen. And since we have already caught the imposter..."You argue in vain as the black valet carries you out of the room, with a look of distaste in his eyes. Claudio and you spend the night in a police station, awaiting legal procedure, but it never arrives. At the crack of dawn the rebels storm the capital. While many other prisoners are liberated, somehow word gets to the rebel leaders that you to are to be shot immediately. If only you hadn't been caught with the stolen invitation... *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The melody of Perfidia fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. The officers keep talking in their corner, obstructing the way to the corridor. ...there was talk that he could be the next Justice Minister, but was sidelined at the eleventh hour. Of course, the problem with Castrejo is his family. That disgrace of a daughter, did you hear he ended up in prison on subversion charges... With each step, the thing in your dress lets go a little festive jingle... >talk to blond "You mean, whom I came with to this party?" you ask, playing for time. "Yes, madam, exactly that. We are checking that all guests are... legitimate guests, so to speak. Who are you escorting?" he asks, in a tone that makes it very clear it's the last time he asks. You pretend to cough a little while you think who could vouch for you... ...the story is all over the papers, you can't spend an evening at the Yacht Club without hearing about that slut and that parvenu. It's the stuff of a Corín Tellado novel... Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >talk to blond "Sir, I don't know who you are, but you are being very impertinent. I have very important friends amongst the Puerto Duquesa elite and..." "And you don't have an invitation. Let's go visit those friends of yours, miss," he interrupts, grabbing you by the arm and calling the doorman. You argue in vain as the black valet carries you out of the room, with a look of distaste in his eyes. Claudio and you spend the night in a police station, awaiting legal procedure, but it never arrives. At the crack of dawn the rebels storm the capital. While many other prisoners are liberated, somehow word gets to the rebel leaders that you to are to be shot immediately. If only you'd found someone to vouch for you... *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >i You are wearing: an emerald gown something metallic stuck inside the back some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open but empty) ...exactly what the country needs right now, some order, and a credible guaranteee against Communism. Pay no heed to that Pinko press, sir, doctor Duvalier is the man Haiti needs right now... That damn metallic thing seems to be slipping fractionally down your back... >get metallic You twist an arm around your back, trying to reach inside your dress. The gown is tight and the pesky metallic thing is awkwardly located, and it keeps sliding lower and lower as your wiggle. A few guests turn around to look at you. Nervous at attracting that much attention, you try to catch the blasted thing but only manage to drop it to the floor. A black-shoed foot appears out of nowhere and kicks it out of sight with a metallic clinking. The tall blond man smiles disagreeably. "In a hurry to leave, madam? I knew that clumsy spy would have brought some broad as an accomplice. You're coming quietly with us, miss." You argue in vain as the black valet carries you out of the room, with a look of distaste in his eyes. Claudio and you spend the night in a police station, awaiting legal procedure, but it never arrives. At the crack of dawn the rebels storm the capital. While many other prisoners are liberated, somehow word gets to the rebel leaders that you to are to be shot immediately. You never hear about Sokolov again. *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >give signal Whom do you want to give the secret signal to? >blond You engage the yanqui in conversation and slip a few codewords in the chat. His replies are curt, sometimes monosyllabic. If you had the slightest hope that he was with Liliana's gang, it's been slashed. ...last time I saw him he was in very bad health, so naturally the Curia is already sharpening their daggers. You should hear what they say in private, the garbage about "Hitler's Pope" is the least offending filth I've heard... Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >e The tall blond man blocks your way. Unsmiling, no apologies. Before you can answer, he snaps the piece of paper from your hand. "And where is Mr. York, if I may?" "Oh, around," you say with a vague gesture towards the room. "Dancing, I guess. Chasing other skirts, possibly. Who knows. Who cares. Would you care to dance?" you add. He smiles and for a second you think you are out of the woods. "Interesting, because we have a very angry gentleman outside, screaming at the doorman that he is Alden York and that his invitation has been stolen. And since we have already caught the imposter..."You argue in vain as the black valet carries you out of the room, with a look of distaste in his eyes. Claudio and you spend the night in a police station, awaiting legal procedure, but it never arrives. At the crack of dawn the rebels storm the capital. While many other prisoners are liberated, somehow word gets to the rebel leaders that you to are to be shot immediately. If only you hadn't been caught with the stolen invitation... *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >remove dress Disrobe here? Of course not! ...exactly what we don't need is a decent Christian writer like Greene getting all Commie with rubbish like that Quiet American nonsense. We do have a civilizing mission to accomplish after all, yes, laugh if you will, but... The metallic thingie in your back seems to be shifting... >slap blond Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >hit blond That is not the proper way to deal with this. ...although strictly off the record, I must admit I am very skeptical indeed about this project of monsieur Spaak. It is too soon to have France and West Germany under the same roof. This so-called EEC is bound to fail, even if my superiors are still in denial about it.... Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >* dialogue about M. Spaak is repeating Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to officers You wave at Alcázar and head towards him, closely followed by the blond man. "Salomé is back, you always are..." "Sir, do you know this woman?" asks the American. You lean against the officer, letting him get your waist. His hand lands an inch away from the thing inside your dress. You need to be fast... "My dear coronel, this yanqui gentleman here is pestering me. He doesn't think we're together, can you get him off me, please?" The officer stands a bit taller. "Can I help you, mister americano? If you have a problem with my woman, you talk to me, like a man." "Sir, we have serious security concerns tonight, and specially regarding..." "I am mister Security in this country, my friend. I am the Seguridad Cívica. Now you behave like a good little yanqui or I'll have you kicked out of here so hard you'll land on the door of your embassy, mister yanqui." The blond man stiffens and leaves without a word. As soon as he's gone you untangle yourself from the coronel. "Hands off, Alcázar. Hope you enjoyed that, see you never again," you mutter and get away from him. ...very passé indeed, Mildred, but long lines will come back, mark my words. Paris always comes back to the longline, it's like a migrating bird... With each step, the thing in your dress lets go a little festive jingle... >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The melancholic notes of Sin remedio fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...can't win in Vietnam just as they couldn't in Korea because, frankly, the tide is turning on capitalism. No it's not just theory, listen, listen, it is no coincidence that the situation at the Fulda Gap has become tenser during the winter... That damn metallic thing seems to be slipping fractionally down your back... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. With each step, the thing in your dress lets go a little festive jingle... >e (first opening the mahogany door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. The metallic thingie in your back seems to be shifting... >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The sweet sad sounds of Dilema fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...exactly what the country needs right now, some order, and a credible guaranteee against Communism. Pay no heed to that Pinko press, sir, doctor Duvalier is the man Haiti needs right now... Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >undo Inner corridor [Previous turn undone.] >s (first opening the teak door) It seems to be locked. Whatever Claudio stuck in your dress has uncomfortably sharp edges... >knock on door Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. The metallic thingie in your back seems to be shifting... >get metallic You take a quick look around to make sure nobody's anywhere near, then unzip the back of your dress a little, just enough to get a hand in and grab the metallic thingie. You zip up your dress immediately, looking around. Nobody to see you. Phew. And the last thing Claudio gave you so secretly before being carried away, stage left, is... the car keys. Well, at least now you have a way out of here. >put keys in purse You put car keys into the clutch purse. >i You are wearing: an emerald gown some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open) car keys >* You put car keys -> You put the car keys Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >drop invitation Better no leave this just anywhere. It might look suspicious if somebody finds it. >x signal It's a series of passwords and hand gestures designed to identify other revolutionaries. >* that's kind of concrete isn't it? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >drop signal The signal is something immaterial. You can't do that. >* point taken. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* would still prefer it not to literally be a visible object Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >look Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >give signal to me You can't give the secret signal to yourself. >x teak You see nothing special about the teak door. >x mahogany You see nothing special about the mahogany door. >l Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >* minor point - how do I know that the teak door leads to the library? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s (first opening the teak door) It seems to be locked. >e (first opening the mahogany door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >* curious that the two doors elicit different responses under the same condition Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* the exit back to the ballroom is not explicitly mentioned in room description Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >n You stop for a second to calm down. Don't panic, Salomé. Don't get claustrophobic. West to go back to the party, the library door to the south, the mahogany door to the east. It's fine. It's fine. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The band is playing Sin remedio. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...you remember old Marcelo? They used to call him Negrete and he had the Club Enjoyado for a few years, but he made some enemies, had to cut and run. Last I heard he was holed up in Cuba. Might be your man, if you have the contacts... >talk to pinteño You cut a way through the guest jungle, using smiles with the men and elbows with the women, until you're as close to the host you possibly can without shoving aside a couple of ladies. "You are a charming raconteur, mister Pinteño, but I have an important question for you," you cut abruptly. That gets you a few sharp stares by the ladies but also the host's attention. You smile your best vedette smile into those eyes, wait a beat and say "Are you also a great dancer?" One of the women scoffs and another whispers loudly about manners or lack thereof, but the man seems amused. "Why, miss..." "Salomé. Charmed." "Only one way to find out, miss Salomé." ...exactly what we don't need is a decent Christian writer like Greene getting all Commie with rubbish like that Quiet American nonsense. We do have a civilizing mission to accomplish after all, yes, laugh if you will, but... >* possibly can -> * can possibly be Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* beat and say -> beat and say, Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >dance with pinteño You try to get the host's full attention, sailing through his satellites. "So, shall we dance, señor Pinteño?" "Gladly, my dear Salomé, but I'm waiting for the band to play one of my favorites. Latin music is not really my thing." "Oh. I see. Well then, I shall be back." Damn... Now, how do you pull that one off? ...was looking to get Benny Moré for tonight, but he's all booked in Havana for the rest of the season, and Los Panchos are in Mexico, so I settled for Lucho. He's not half bad... >x band It's "Lucho Salamanca y su orquesta"! One of the hottest bands of Puerto Duquesa, but you know good old Lucho from way before he became famous. Yeah, Lucho and you go back. Last time you read about him he was touring in New York. They must have flown him in for the occasion. ...sigo sin ver por qué carajo hay que llenar toda la maldita fiesta de yanquis para ser sofisticados. Qué pasa, como que no tenemos suficientes personas de nivel en toda la puta isla o qué... >talk to lucho You nod to Lucho, who smiles back. Last time you saw him in person you were a bright star at the Enjoyado and he was sailing in your wake. Now his band is an international sensation, and you... You shake your head, trying to shake those thoughts. ...el problema es que estamos desconectados de lo que pasa en el resto del continente. Uno abre el Vocinglero, la Gaceta, y salen noticias de Nueva York, de Miami, de París, ni media palabra de México o Chile. Ahí el problema, por eso no tenemos la entidad politica que cabría esperar de... >talk to lucho You nod to Lucho, who smiles back. Last time you saw him in person you were a bright star at the Enjoyado and he was sailing in your wake. Now his band is an international sensation, and you... You shake your head, trying to shake those thoughts. ...sigo sin ver por qué carajo hay que llenar toda la maldita fiesta de yanquis para ser sofisticados. Qué pasa, como que no tenemos suficientes personas de nivel en toda la puta isla o qué... >give signal to lucho You look intently at Lucho at make a series of fast winks and some discreet hand gestures. He raises one single eyebrow. You shrug and gesture for him to carry on. Don't even know why you though he'd be one of the revolutionaries. If someone was ever completely uninterested in anything but music, that's old Lucho. ...he was in East of Eden, I think? What a wretched film indeed. I hope they do something a bit more wholesome next time around really... >merengue Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >cha-cha Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >salsa Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The orchestra is playing Dilema. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...I'm telling you, an agrarian reform is the whole leitmotiv, the sign of the times. Whoever gets the peasants on their side... >x band It's "Lucho Salamanca y su orquesta"! One of the hottest bands of Puerto Duquesa, but you know good old Lucho from way before he became famous. Yeah, Lucho and you go back. Last time you read about him he was touring in New York. They must have flown him in for the occasion. ...the story is all over the papers, you can't spend an evening at the Yacht Club without hearing about that slut and that parvenu. It's the stuff of a Corín Tellado novel... >x blond A tall blond man of particularly cold blue eyes, with a marked American accent. He looks a bit like a Hollywood star and a killer, if that is possible. ...those ragtag guerrilleros in Cuba? No, they're a joke, really. Not even real Commies, I tell ya. A bunch of reactionary peasants led by priests, that's all. But you see, this happens every decade or so, nothing to worry about... >talk to blond ...and then the sister married the Pinteños when they lost the ingenios in the 90s, so there, he's a half-breed at best, what with those airs, as if he was a damn Grande de España... >i You are wearing: an emerald gown some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open) car keys ...incredible potential of this island, really. If it hadn't been for the Spanish, this could be a second Havana, maybe a third Miami. They're still catching up, of course, but just give them ten years, maybe fifteen - hell, give me five and a line to the Presidente and I'll make this the pearl of the Caribbean... >give signal to alcazar You approach the officer again, reluctantly. "Coronel, a question - have you ever seen a blue mockingbird under the moonlight?" "I have seen it devour a snake at dawn," he replies without the slightest hesitation. You blink twice, surprised. "I wasn't expecting... well. That." "What, that I was one of the subversives?" he says conversationally, pulling out his gun "Probably because I am not. I wasn't expecting you to be one of those pathetic guerrilleros either. A whore for foreigners and small-time smugglers, that's the Salomé I knew, but a revolutionary? Ha! The things one sees these days. Move, woman. To jail with you." *** The revolution goes on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Ballroom [Previous turn undone.] >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. Lucho is playing Dos gardenias. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...read his report from Dien Bien Phu? And what did he have to say when the French Communists refused to help with the war effort the previous year... >laugh Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >dance with alcazar For some reason, you dance with him again. Go figure. He grabs you possessively. "Why don't we go somewhere more private, Salomé? I'm sure we still know how to have some fun together." "Let go, Alcázar. I came with someone..." "And who's that loser? You were always awful at choosing men..." "None of your business. Bye." ...and then the sister married the Pinteños when they lost the ingenios in the 90s, so there, he's a half-breed at best, what with those airs, as if he was a damn Grande de España... >i You are wearing: an emerald gown some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open) car keys ...can't win in Vietnam just as they couldn't in Korea because, frankly, the tide is turning on capitalism. No it's not just theory, listen, listen, it is no coincidence that the situation at the Fulda Gap has become tenser during the winter... >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The orchestra is playing . Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...you remember old Marcelo? They used to call him Negrete and he had the Club Enjoyado for a few years, but he made some enemies, had to cut and run. Last I heard he was holed up in Cuba. Might be your man, if you have the contacts... >x alcohol Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* extra space after "orchestra is playing" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. A uniformed doorman stands at the entrance, greetings guests and checking their invitations. From the ballroom arrive the sweet sad sounds of Rayito de luna. >talk to doorman He looks at you for a second before speaking, and then he stops mid-word to look around for anyone standing too close. "I am sorry about your companion, señorita." "That man, I don't know him," you hasten to explain "I just happened to be there, and he came out of nowhere and wanted to dance, so we danced, and then that blond gentleman..." "You don't need to explain nothing to me, señorita. That man you don't know at all is going to do all his explaining to a police interrogator tonight, and he will be lucky if he sees the light of dawn. So if I may be so bold, I suggest you make sure to be far by then. It's a bad night for the likes of you to be mingling with men like these. If you don't mind me saying so." You return his stare. You wish you knew what is he actually telling you. Could he be...? You nod curtly and break off. From the ballroom arrive the melancholic notes of Dilema. >give sign to doorman Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >give sign alto doorman Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >give signal to doorman You give the valet the secret signal that Liliana told you about. He nods, looks around and takes you to a deserted side corridor. "So you're on a mission for Liliana tonight, compañera?" he whispers quietly. "For a friend of hers, I think. Ally. Sort of. Ay Dios, I'm not sure any more. The only thing I am sure about is I need to find a safe. Do you know where it is?" you whisper hurriedly. "I do, but it's not that easy to get there. Pinteño's safe is in his office, past the library. I have seen it only a couple of times, but I've never been there without him. He carries the only key to his office with him, at all times. All I can do for you is unlock the library door, pretend it was an honest mistake. Can't help you about the office. " "Carajo, compañero. So I need to get the key from him... and then somehow open the safe? Well, maybe if I earn Pinteño's trust over some time, then one day..." "You don't understand. It has to be tonight. It's happening tonight!" "It's happening tonight? What is... oh." You look at each other, in a heavy silence. It's happening - what Liliana used to say. It's happening. The big one. And it had to be tonight... "Jesús, María y José... It's tonight! OK. OK. I'll see what I can do..." You take a deep breath before returning to the hall. It's all or nothing, then. You have to reach that safe! From the ballroom arrive the tragic lyrics of Volare. >l Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. A uniformed doorman stands at the entrance, greetings guests and checking their invitations. From the ballroom arrive the melancholic notes of A media luz. >n Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The sweet sad sounds of Ladrona de besos fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. Alcázar's gaze follows you around the room like a starving wolf. ...I'm telling you, an agrarian reform is the whole leitmotiv, the sign of the times. Whoever gets the peasants on their side... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >s (first opening the teak door) Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. Dropped casually on a sofa is a music record. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. You cast an eye around the room. Yes, that must be the library. Across the room you spot another door, made of rosewood... Than must lead to the office where the safe is! Maybe it's your lucky night and he's left it unlocked...? You're almost there when a noise makes you turn around... to see someone standing at the threshold. Must be Pinteño! Your mind is already racing to think of a plausible excuse for being here... But it's not Pinteño. "Oh, so this is where you were hiding from me, you bad, bad girl?" says Alcázar playfully. Your relief at not having been caught vanishes in a second. "I wasn't hiding... least of all from you, Alcázar. I was just... a bit tired." "Is that so, Salomé? Well. Let's rest then. Let's relax together. He closes the door. >x record An unlabelled music record. It looks well-worn, so Pinteño must really like this one... >x cue Taller than you, made of dense black wood. >get cue That would be too obvious. >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. Alcázar is sitting in one of the sofas, smiling at you salaciously. Dropped casually on a sofa is a music record. >get record You take the record. >put record on player Putting things on the recordplayer would achieve nothing. >x recordplayer This must be the very last model, the best money can buy. Means nothing to you. You've always been a live music kind of woman. It is open and completely empty. >put record in player With the coronel here, it's not exactly the right time to listen to music... >i You are wearing: an emerald gown some evening gloves a pair of pumps You are carrying: a record the secret signal an invitation a clutch purse (open) car keys >x sofa Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >sit What do you want to sit on? >sit sofa Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* implement sofa? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x couch Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x chair Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to coronel "No, we have talked enough already. I want to see more of you." >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. Alcázar is sitting in one of the sofas, smiling at you salaciously. >x table Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x bookcase Hundreds, perhaps thousands of books. You don't have the time or inclination to check each and every one of them for hidden objects. >x books Hundreds, perhaps thousands of books. You don't have the time or inclination to check each and every one of them for hidden objects. >x paintings It is an oil painting depicting the Ensenada Ruíz, with a Spanish galleon in the background, all pregnant sails and cannon smoke. In the foreground, conquistadores and Taíno Indians exchange volleys of musket fire and arrows. Wonder who won. An aged plaque on the frame explains it as "BATTLE OF TALABARTAZO, 1598". Probably Liliana would have something to say about the imperatives of History and the economics of oppression. You're not really in the mood to appreciate art tonight. >look behind painting Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. Alcázar is sitting in one of the sofas, smiling at you salaciously. >take off gloves What would Rita do? With an insinuating smile, you switch on the record player, hoping it will mask the noise you're about to make. It's not quite Put the Blame on Mame but it will do. You take off one glove, throw it at him, then the other... but instead of throwing it, you get a better idea. "Stand still, this will make what's next more of a... surprise," you whisper suggestively, blindfolding him with the long piece of lace. "Run away and I'll tell Pinteño I found you here," he threatens. "Oh, I won't." And now, for that shocking surprise... >get cue Eyeing Alcázar tensely, you pick up the cue by the narrower end... Please press SPACE to continue. And bring it round with all your might, smashing the hard wood against his head. There's a dry, creaking sound. Please press SPACE to continue. And it's curtains for the head of the Seguridad Cívica, the feared man who sent people to prison in their thousands. You were aiming for his head, hoping to knock him out, but he moves at the last moment and the thicker end of the cue catches him in the neck, bending it the wrong way. He drops back in the sofa, then slides morosely to the floor like a dropped handkerchief. You stand for a moment there, panting, cue in hand, then drop it. A dense silence falls, roaring in your ears, stronger than the distant echoes of the party still raging a few steps from here. "So finally I have committed the crime you could have put me in that jail for," you whisper, trembling slightly. "Lo comido por lo servido, coronel. Estamos en paces." If there was a tiny chance of turning back, cutting and running, leaving all this madness behind, it's gone now. You are in, to the bitter end of this dance with fear. >search coronel You try not to look at the grotesque angle of his head. >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. You can also see some evening gloves here. >wear gloves (first taking the evening gloves) You take the evening gloves. You put on the evening gloves. >e (first opening the rosewood door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >put record in recordplayer You put the record on and gently drop the needle on the spinning disc. After a few clicks and scratches, a fast-paced lindy hop fills the room. Oh, you do remember very well the first time you heard this one... Please press SPACE to continue. A seedy "academia de baile" in Tintero, 1945 "¡Isabel, despierta de una vez!" You jolt awake. The owner of the academia yells at you again from the bar. "I catch you slacking again and tomorrow night you don't bother coming around here any more, girl! ¿Está claro o qué? ¡Pues espabila, coño! Now move your ass and get some tickets!" You nod to the boss and get back on your feet, casting an eye across the dancing hall. Well, another night, another foot ache. Time to dance. The room is squalid, but that's hard to notice in the half-light and through the dense mass of dancing bodies swimming in tobacco smoke. It's close to midnight and the dance hall is packed. The music band is growing louder and louder, trying to drown out the din of conversation and dancing shoes against worn-out linoleum. It's stifling, the overhead fans just managing to push around the hot sweat-scented air. Beyond the open windows, Tintero stirs, febrile under the full moon. The usual band is playing tonight. You spot a young man who looks like a peasant, clumsily looking for a dancing partner. A man in a cheap white suit is prowling the room. Probably a low-life. >talk to young "Hey paisano, you want to dance?" The man looks at you up and down, nods vigorously and steps forward. You avoid him smartly. "Fine, not that fast. Do you have tickets? Yes, exactly. Give me two of those." "Two? My friend told me it was just one ticket to...", he says, with a thick Floresta accent. "Where's your friend? He sounds like a smart boy. Is he handsome? Maybe I should dance with him instead. Is he from Floresta? I really like the men from Floresta, you know. So virile." "I'm from Ceniciento! It's close to Santa Clara de Floresta..." "No way! My mother is from Santa Clara. Give me those two tickets, neighbor," you say, snatching them from his hand with a wink and a smile and making a show of sliding them into your dress. "Let's dance." >dance with young You begin to move together to the rhythm of the music. His hand keeps fidgeting in the small of your back. "Are you married?" "That's none of your business. And stop it with the hand, you're making me nervous. Just leave it there and we'll be fine. No, it doesn't mean you can slide it down. Leave. It. There." "All right, all right. Oops, sorry. You know, I'm a hard-working man, and honest. So you're free?" "So I'm tired. Loosen up. No, it's two-three, cha cha cha. The other foot. Anyway, it was lovely dancing with you." You smile and vanish into the crowd before he can say another word. >l A seedy "academia de baile" in Tintero, 1945 The room is squalid, but that's hard to notice in the half-light and through the dense mass of dancing bodies swimming in tobacco smoke. It's close to midnight and the dance hall is packed. The music band is growing louder and louder, trying to drown out the din of conversation and dancing shoes against worn-out linoleum. It's stifling, the overhead fans just managing to push around the hot sweat-scented air. Beyond the open windows, Tintero stirs, febrile under the full moon. The music changes to a merengue. You can also see a lowlife here. >x lowlife He looks life a smuggler, fresh from the docks - sharp, aggressive, a lucrative but problematic kind. The kind who might appear with twenty tickets and a bottle of rum one time, and a knife the next night. Victoria has told you scary stories, you'll do well to keep it professional with this type of man. >talk to lowlife "Good night, sir. Won't you invite me to dance?" "Sounds like a good way to start the night, señorita...?" he asks, with a foreign accent in his Spanish. "Señorita sounds like enough. Can I have a ticket, please?" "Just how much do you make with these pieces of paper?" "Sir, do you want to dance or not?" "I want to dance. In fact I want to dance all night. What's that, sixty dances? Seventy, eighty?" he holds up a 5 sueldo note between two fingers. You pause for a second, look him in the eye, then take a sideways glance towards the bar. The boss doesn't seem to be looking this way. You take the folded note as quickly as possible. "Fine, let's dance. But let's keep to this end of the room." >dance with lowlife He gets closer with unusual poise and you two start moving. "So how does one get you out of this hole? I'm thinking dinner and a movie." "One doesn't, so don't bother thinking. Just dance." "I thought I was doing just that. Listen, my name is Marcelo and..." "You're very rich, or about to be very rich, or hard-working and in good health. Mister, did you really expect me not to have heard all that before?" The dance brings you apart for a second, and just before he can hit you with a cunning riposte, another man cuts in and grabs him by the arm. He whispers something into Marcelo's ear; he frowns. "I'm sorry, señorita, there's something I have to take care of. I'll be back." And with that he leaves with the second man. The song ends and there is a sudden silence at the end of it. Zacarías climbs on the band stand to address the patrons. "Alright, thank you, gentlemen! Now the band is going to take a short break, but we'll be back with more music and dancing in ten minutes. Meanwhile, the bar is still open, come have a drink with the girls. Don't go, the night is still young! Thank you, thank you, lads." Finally, a break. You sigh and find a chair to take your weight off your heels for a minute. A voice behind you says, "hey mulata, want a smoke?" >l A seedy "academia de baile" in Tintero, 1945 The room is squalid, but that's hard to notice in the half-light and through the dense mass of dancing bodies swimming in tobacco smoke. It's close to midnight and the dance hall is packed. The music band is growing louder and louder, trying to drown out the din of conversation and dancing shoes against worn-out linoleum. It's stifling, the overhead fans just managing to push around the hot sweat-scented air. Beyond the open windows, Tintero stirs, febrile under the full moon. One of the musicians is smoking a cigar, sitting in the band stand, pensively looking at the ceiling. >x musician The mulato takes another pull from his cigar, smiles smokily at you. >talk to musician You sit beside him in the bandstand. He passes his cigar and you take a pull. "How's your night, mulata?" "Too many men, mulato. How's yours?" "Same. And once I'm done here, I'm off to another dive. Less respectable. Got to make a living somehow." "Less respectable than...? Oh. I see. Well. I hope I never see you there, my friend. I get two cents for each," you show him your wad of tickets. He takes a glance at your five-sueldo note instead. "So do I, both accounts. Name's Lucho. One day it will be "Lucho y su orquesta". Big neons, you know." "I know. Isabel. But one day it will be Salomé Vélez, the great vedette. Pink neons for me." "So it will, mulata. So it will." >g "Well, Isabel. It seems we have to get back to work. Plenty of work tonight, with the end of the war." "What war?" "The big one." "Ah, the yanqui one. Yes, I've seen it in Casablanca. You get back on your feet, back to hunting patrons... Zacarías gestures you to get closer, and that's never good news. You're still thinking possible excuses for a thousand possible offences when he grabs your hand and pries it open. "What the hell is up with you girls nowadays? This is stealing, Isabel," he says, taking the five peso note and waving it in front of your nose before pocketing it. "I have to pay for the place, the booze, the musicians, and you want to keep all the money for you, eh? I'm short on girls tonight, so you can stay until we close, but you better harvest tickets because it's your last night." He ignores your protests and returns to the bar. There's a sudden commotion near the entrance. Everyone stops to look in that direction. There's a lot of yelling and shoving, and a group of yanqui sailors make their way to the centre of the dancefloor. The pale, obviously drunk one who seems to be the leader is shouting at the band in English. You can hardly understand a word of it` "Dance good, understand?" he insists, in broken Spanish "That song, no good, understand? We win war, war is over, we win! So play American song, you! Good American song, to dancing. Understand?" He mimics out dancing in a style you've seen before. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Zacarías counting a wad of fresh dollars, turning a blind eye to the disturbance. Impervious to the yells, Lucho gets to his instrument and starts playing a lindy hop, and soon the rest of the band follows. The yanquis seem pleased enough and soon everybody's back to dancing. >* one fewer line feeds after casablanca, one after patrons... Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x gringos Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x yanquis Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x soldiers Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l A seedy "academia de baile" in Tintero, 1945 The room is squalid, but that's hard to notice in the half-light and through the dense mass of dancing bodies swimming in tobacco smoke. It's close to midnight and the dance hall is packed. The music band is growing louder and louder, trying to drown out the din of conversation and dancing shoes against worn-out linoleum. It's stifling, the overhead fans just managing to push around the hot sweat-scented air. Beyond the open windows, Tintero stirs, febrile under the full moon. A burly yanqui sailor in uniform, perhaps forty, obviously drunk. He wants a dance, or so he thinks. Lucho is playing that damned lindy . >x salor Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x sailor You see nothing special about the sailor. >dance with sailor You know the drill - no ticket, no dance. He should know it as well. >get ticket You take the wad of dancing tickets. >dance with sailor You know the drill - no ticket, no dance. He should know it as well. >talk to sailor "Hey, yanqui, do you have a ticket?" You have to do a bit of mimicry a bit before he understands (dancing, something rectangular, point to the wad of tickets, gesture of giving it to you, then dancing motion again). He yells something in reply, and you point to the bar and make the international gesture for money. He stumbles in the general direction of the boss, and comes back with a fistful of tickets. He drops the lot approximately in your hands. >dance with sailor Hesitant at first because it's an unfamiliar rhythm, you try to match the yanqui's moves. Lucho plays the lindy magnificently, going by the enthusiasm of the sailors. He winks at you, and the memory dissolves into a sea of faces... Please press SPACE to continue. The record has ended and is spinning aimlessly in the record player. You find a pen and scrawl the title of that lindy hop on the back on the invitation before you forget it again. Now, if you can get the band to play this one, you're pretty sure you can get Pinteño to the dancefloor. Why, not that long ago you were good at ensnaring millionaires, and now... You switch off the record player, trying not to think of it. Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >hide corpse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >put corpse under table Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >e (first opening the rosewood door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >w Dazed by the seemingly seamless wall of books, it takes you a second to spot the teak door again. There it is, leading back north and into the corridor. >n (first opening the teak door) You get out of the library, checking there's nobody in the corridor. Then you check your dress for blood, your hands, you put on a fake smile and carry on. Nothing to see here. You still have a job to see through. Yes. That. That goes before everything else. Cling to that. Let's go. >l Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The melancholic notes of Volare fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...pues la tengo vista de algo, te digo. A saber con quién habrá venido. Oye, igual es una de las del Enjoyado. Siempre cuestan de reconocer así todas vestidas... >dance with pinteño You try to get the host's full attention, sailing through his satellites. "So, shall we dance, señor Pinteño?" "Gladly, my dear Salomé, but I'm waiting for the band to play one of my favorites. Latin music is not really my thing." "Oh. I see. Well then, I shall be back." Damn... Now, how do you pull that one off? ...exactly what the country needs right now, some order, and a credible guaranteee against Communism. Pay no heed to that Pinko press, sir, doctor Duvalier is the man Haiti needs right now... >talk to pinte?o Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to pinteño You try to get the host's full attention, sailing through his satellites. "So, shall we dance, señor Pinteño?" "Gladly, my dear Salomé, but I'm waiting for the band to play one of my favorites. Latin music is not really my thing." "Oh. I see. Well then, I shall be back." Damn... Now, how do you pull that one off? ...el problema es que estamos desconectados de lo que pasa en el resto del continente. Uno abre el Vocinglero, la Gaceta, y salen noticias de Nueva York, de Miami, de París, ni media palabra de México o Chile. Ahí el problema, por eso no tenemos la entidad politica que cabría esperar de... >talk to band You nod to Lucho, who smiles back. Last time you saw him in person you were a bright star at the Enjoyado and he was sailing in your wake. Now his band is an international sensation, and you... You shake your head, trying to shake those thoughts. ...exactly what we don't need is a decent Christian writer like Greene getting all Commie with rubbish like that Quiet American nonsense. We do have a civilizing mission to accomplish after all, yes, laugh if you will, but... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. Lucho is playing Nuestro amor. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...exactly what the country needs right now, some order, and a credible guaranteee against Communism. Pay no heed to that Pinko press, sir, doctor Duvalier is the man Haiti needs right now... >s Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. A uniformed doorman stands at the entrance, greetings guests and checking their invitations. From the ballroom arrive the melodical lines of Ladrona de besos. >talk to doorman He whispers "The library is open. That's all I can do for you. Buena suerte, compañera." From the ballroom arrive the melancholic notes of Flor de azalea. >* line break after compañera." Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. A uniformed doorman stands at the entrance, greetings guests and checking their invitations. From the ballroom arrive the sweet sad sounds of Contigo. >talk to guests Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s In front of the mansion The night is warm black velvet, with a few cold diamonds up above, hanging over the broad silver swirl of the bay. On the other side, Puerto Duquesa burns with feverish yellow lights. To the north is the great house you're standing in front of, on the edge of a rocky cape, surrounded by sea and jungle. About thirty luxury cars are neatly parked in front of the house. The car that brought you here is a Silver Phantom. From the windows and verandas spills the sound of music and laughter. >x phantom The car Claudio drove you in is a shiny Silver Phantom. He must have nicked somewhere in the Paseo. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >*nicked somewhere -> nicked it somewhere Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >open phantom The door is locked. Claudio must have the keys. The damp air is ruining your exquisite coiffure. >unlock car What do you want to unlock the car with? >open curse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >open purse You open the clutch purse, revealing car keys. From the windows and verandas spills the sound of music and laughter. >get keys You take car keys. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >open car with keys From the windows and verandas spills the sound of music and laughter. >enter car You get into the car. >search car The interior of the car is smooth, spotless and silent. Nothing noteworthy except for the glove compartment. >open glove compartment You open the glove compartment, revealing publicity photo. >get photo You let go a sigh, half disappointed, half flattered. Well, what were you expecting Claudio would bring to a mission like this? A gun? Some crucial document? Something useful? No, that wouldn't be Claudio. It had to be an old photo of you. Oh well. If you don't survive the night, at least you'd know you still have some fervent admirers. Gritting your teeth, you leave the keys in the ignition, so you don't have to fumble in the dark if you need to make a quick getaway. >get photo You already have that. >put photo in purse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) >put publicity in purse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >put publicity into purse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >put photo into purse Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x song Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x invitation Twin columns repeat, in English and Spanish, that Cesar Pinteño is honored to invite "Mr. Alden York and a companion" to their exclusive party. On the other side of the paper, you have scrawled the elusive title of that lindy hop song. >* did I miss being informed that I had done so? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >exit You get out of the car. In front of the mansion The night is warm black velvet, with a few cold diamonds up above, hanging over the broad silver swirl of the bay. On the other side, Puerto Duquesa burns with feverish yellow lights. To the north is the great house you're standing in front of, on the edge of a rocky cape, surrounded by sea and jungle. About thirty luxury cars are neatly parked in front of the house. The car that brought you here is a Silver Phantom. The breeze carries a scent of seasalt and overripe fruit. >n Entrance hall The mansion opens like a bright expanse of glass, chrome and occasional touches of dark tropical woods. Music and conversation swirl in the air like opium smoke. The hallway connects the entrance with the ballroom to the north, where most of the noise comes from. To the south the great double doors that lead back outside, into the night. A uniformed doorman stands at the entrance, greetings guests and checking their invitations. From the ballroom arrive the melancholic notes of A media luz. >n Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The tragic lyrics of A media luz fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...the story is all over the papers, you can't spend an evening at the Yacht Club without hearing about that slut and that parvenu. It's the stuff of a Corín Tellado novel... >n Trying to blink away the bright lights and the dazzle of pearls and chrome finishes, you look for the exits. To the south is the entrance hall, to the east a dark corridor plunges deeper into the house. ...and there he was, pants down, redder than Khrushchev, looking at me like I'm going to shoot his head off, and he goes, he goes, "I think you sleep, effendi..." >x band It's "Lucho Salamanca y su orquesta"! One of the hottest bands of Puerto Duquesa, but you know good old Lucho from way before he became famous. Yeah, Lucho and you go back. Last time you read about him he was touring in New York. They must have flown him in for the occasion. ...don't look now, for Chrissakes. No, the one in the green dress. Yeah, of course she's mulata, they don't really have real whites in this godforsaken island. What? They don't speak English either. Anyway, I swear, if I could get rid of Peggy for one damn evening... >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) ...incredible potential of this island, really. If it hadn't been for the Spanish, this could be a second Havana, maybe a third Miami. They're still catching up, of course, but just give them ten years, maybe fifteen - hell, give me five and a line to the Presidente and I'll make this the pearl of the Caribbean... >show title to band Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >show invitation to band You give the paper to Lucho. He takes a quick look at it and nods. "A lindy hop? No problem, we can play that one for you, Salomecita." And they start preparing for the song. Now's your chance to catch that recalcitrant dancer... ...the story is all over the papers, you can't spend an evening at the Yacht Club without hearing about that slut and that parvenu. It's the stuff of a Corín Tellado novel... >dance with pinteño You let Pinteño lead you to the center of the room. He grins as you two begin to move to the lively lindy rhythm. "Ah, the memories this brings, girl! I remember the 40s, those were the times..." You smile back in sympathy, but your eyes are trained on the slight bulge in his jacket pocket, where he must be carrying the key to his office. So close, yet so out of reach... Every time you get closer to him you try to reach for it, but each time you lack half a second. The pace is too fast for you to be able to slide your fingers inside his jacket. Once song after the other, you come this close to him noticing... Finally you give up, hiding your frustration behind a charmed smile. "Wow. That was quite something. I'm out of breath, my dear. I expect to dance with you again, Salomé, when the band decides it's time for a slow one..." "Oh, I'll be delighted. Hope that's very soon... the night grows late," you whisper back, concealing your urgency with feigned lust. If you could only remember that waltz you used to dance with Marcelo... ...oooooh, is that a Balenciaga? Oh, it fits you like a dream, my dear. I have to confess I'm more of a Dior girl myself, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate his inventiveness... >*Once song after the other -> One song after the other Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to lucho You nod to Lucho, who smiles back. Last time you saw him in person you were a bright star at the Enjoyado and he was sailing in your wake. Now his band is an international sensation, and you... You shake your head, trying to shake those thoughts. ...very passé indeed, Mildred, but long lines will come back, mark my words. Paris always comes back to the longline, it's like a migrating bird... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >e (first opening the mahogany door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The melancholic notes of Sin remedio fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...incredible potential of this island, really. If it hadn't been for the Spanish, this could be a second Havana, maybe a third Miami. They're still catching up, of course, but just give them ten years, maybe fifteen - hell, give me five and a line to the Presidente and I'll make this the pearl of the Caribbean... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >listen to door You hear nothing unexpected. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >s Dazed by the seemingly seamless wall of books, it takes you a second to spot the teak door again. There it is, leading back north and into the corridor. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >listen to mahogany You hear nothing unexpected. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The tragic lyrics of Ladrona de besos fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...don't look now, for Chrissakes. No, the one in the green dress. Yeah, of course she's mulata, they don't really have real whites in this godforsaken island. What? They don't speak English either. Anyway, I swear, if I could get rid of Peggy for one damn evening... >w Trying to blink away the bright lights and the dazzle of pearls and chrome finishes, you look for the exits. To the south is the entrance hall, to the east a dark corridor plunges deeper into the house. ...and then the sister married the Pinteños when they lost the ingenios in the 90s, so there, he's a half-breed at best, what with those airs, as if he was a damn Grande de España... >x blond A tall blond man of particularly cold blue eyes, with a marked American accent. He looks a bit like a Hollywood star and a killer, if that is possible. ...oooooh, is that a Balenciaga? Oh, it fits you like a dream, my dear. I have to confess I'm more of a Dior girl myself, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate his inventiveness... >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) ...read his report from Dien Bien Phu? And what did he have to say when the French Communists refused to help with the war effort the previous year... >talk to blond ...after Suez, honestly, I don't see the Brits getting any say in this. Well, then get your embassy to work on that, right? It's not that they're going to have ideas on their own... >show photo to blond Somehow you don't feel like sharing pictures of you with this man... ...he was in East of Eden, I think? What a wretched film indeed. I hope they do something a bit more wholesome next time around really... >show photo to lucho You show the picture to Lucho. He nods. "Those were good times, Salomé." "These are still good times for you, Lucho. Better than ever." "I've missed you, mulata. Do you remember those times?" "I have tried to forget, mulato. But tonight, I'll have to remember. There's something I need to do. Sorry, I have to go. I'll find a quiet place to look at this photo. " "Yeah, you do that. Godspeed, mulata." ...sigo sin ver por qué carajo hay que llenar toda la maldita fiesta de yanquis para ser sofisticados. Qué pasa, como que no tenemos suficientes personas de nivel en toda la puta isla o qué... >* delete line feed between "photo." and closing quotation mark Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The sweet sad sounds of Sin un amor fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...I did foresee all this back in '46, actually. Oh, please. The French retreat was a foregone conclusion. It's utterly ridiculous that De Gaulle would try to keep Indochina at this point in History... >dance alone Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) ...can't win in Vietnam just as they couldn't in Korea because, frankly, the tide is turning on capitalism. No it's not just theory, listen, listen, it is no coincidence that the situation at the Fulda Gap has become tenser during the winter... >take off pumps You take off the pair of pumps. ...exactly what the country needs right now, some order, and a credible guaranteee against Communism. Pay no heed to that Pinko press, sir, doctor Duvalier is the man Haiti needs right now... >wear pumps You put on the pair of pumps. ...pues la tengo vista de algo, te digo. A saber con quién habrá venido. Oye, igual es una de las del Enjoyado. Siempre cuestan de reconocer así todas vestidas... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >x phonograph Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x recordplayer This must be the very last model, the best money can buy. Means nothing to you. You've always been a live music kind of woman. It is open and completely empty. >* alias phono, phonograph, etc. to record player Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >turn off record player It isn't something you can switch. >x record player This must be the very last model, the best money can buy. Means nothing to you. You've always been a live music kind of woman. It is open and completely empty. >x record Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >get record Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >climb bookcase Little is to be achieved by that. >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) >x invitation Twin columns repeat, in English and Spanish, that Cesar Pinteño is honored to invite "Mr. Alden York and a companion" to their exclusive party. On the other side of the paper, you have scrawled the elusive title of that lindy hop song. >e (first opening the rosewood door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >s Dazed by the seemingly seamless wall of books, it takes you a second to spot the teak door again. There it is, leading back north and into the corridor. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >n You stop for a second to calm down. Don't panic, Salomé. Don't get claustrophobic. West to go back to the party, the library door to the south, the mahogany door to the east. It's fine. It's fine. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >talk to york Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >x corpse You try not to look at the grotesque angle of his head. >get corpse You grab him by the arms, pulling him with a grunt of effort. You drop it again, with a sigh of desperation. Where can you hide a body, Salomé? It's not something you do every day... Obviously you can't drag it to the corridor, and if somebody comes into the library, they are bound to find it... That only leaves one possibility, you think, eyeing the rosewood door. >* line feed after "effort." Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >think Thinking: "Oh, that photo I found in the car... It brings so many memories"." >x photo It is a black and white publicity photograph, shot on a cabaret stage decorated with palm leaves. A girl in fake Taíno costume stands with knees together and hands raised to the skies, invoking some equally fake god. Big bold lettering announces that: EL CLUB ENJOYADO presenta su nuevo espectáculo "LA DIOSA DE LA SELVA" con la divina y única vedette SALOMÉ VÉLEZ The memories stab you in the back, and through the heart... Please press SPACE to continue. Club Enjoyado, 1953 "¡...la divina vedeeeeeeeeette... Salomé... Véleeeeeeeeeeeez...! Welcome to the Club Enjoyado, ladies and gentlemen! ¡Buenas noches, damas y caballeros, esperamos que hayan disfrutado de este número, y que sigan disfrutando de la velada! This was our main show, "La Diosa de la Selva", the Jungle Goddess, but the night is still young! Stay with us, and enjoy yourselves!" The thunderclap of applause nearly eclipses the speaker's voice. You stand before the audience one more time, arms still outstretched towards the ceiling, from where a deluge of confetti is raining upon the stage. You stand there a couple of seconds too long, drinking it all in, before bowing out. This is what you were born for. The Enjoyado is in full swing tonight - the stage is filled with light, the space is overflowing with sound, it's impossible to find a free table. Except, of course, if you are the vedette of the main show and her companions. Lucho is directing his new ensemble tonight, and they sound like heaven. Club Enjoyado, 1953 (in the dressing room) Half of the space in your dressing room is occupied by an orchard-sized assortment of flowers. Your reflection in the mirror looks radiant. On the table a glossy magazine lays open. You can go OUT into the club once you're ready. >i You are wearing: a stage costume for "La Diosa de la Jungla" You are empty-handed. >x magazine You turn a couple of pages. Oooh, Salomé is already showing at the Cine Imperial? You can't wait to see that movie! After all, you chose your artistic name after hearing Rita was playing the lead... You close the magazine, and realize there was something under it. It's a little square box from a jewelry boutique on the Paseo... Breathless, you open it. Inside, the diamonds on the necklace reverberate with a thousand little lights. Dios mío... >* line feed at end of paragraph Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x necklace Diamonds on silver, ideal for your complexion. And astronomically expensive to boot. >wear necklace (first taking the diamond necklace) You take the diamond necklace. You put on the diamond necklace. >* reporting the taking action is redundant Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x me The great Salomé Vélez, the most celebrated vedette in Puerto Duquesa! And the first mulata to make it all the way up through the ranks, out of the chorus line, stage front center, no less. You are dressed as the titular Jungle Goddess in the show "La Diosa de la Selva", the sensation of this season at the Enjoyado Club - a swirl of sequins, feathers and brown skin. The diamonds around your neck sparkle like a little private stars. >* a little private stars -> little private stars Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Club Enjoyado, 1953 (in the dressing room) Half of the space in your dressing room is occupied by an orchard-sized assortment of flowers. Your reflection in the mirror looks radiant. On the table a glossy magazine lays open. You can go OUT into the club once you're ready. >* why capitalize out here? This isn't a convention used elsewhere Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x flowers You breathe in the perfume, and can't resist checking the little accompanying notes. Some are anonymous, some quite bold. The biggest bunch is signed "with love, for my Sally, Marcelo". He's so sweet... Then there's an ostentatious bouquet of red roses signed "Ricardo". Red roses from a stranger? Quite uncouth. With the red roses comes a long, flat box: a dress. You unfold it. And a very demure dress it is. There is a gentle knock on the door. "Señorita Vélez, mister Negrete says he'd be delighted if you joined him at his table." "Tell Marcelo I will," you shout back, "once I'm done." No harm in making him wait a bit, of course. Give him some time to yearn. >wear dress (first taking the white dress) You take the white dress. You are still wearing your stage costume. You should take it off first if you want to wear the dress. Marcelo is waiting for you outside. >remove costume You take off the stage costume for "La Diosa de la Jungla". Marcelo is waiting for you outside. >wear dress You put on the white dress. Marcelo is waiting for you outside. >x me The great Salomé Vélez, the most celebrated vedette in Puerto Duquesa! And the first mulata to make it all the way up through the ranks, out of the chorus line, stage front center, no less. You feel a bit out of place wearing such a demure dress. . The diamonds around your neck sparkle like a little private stars. Marcelo is waiting for you outside. >* problem with line wrap above Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x roses You breathe in the perfume, and can't resist checking the little accompanying notes. Some are anonymous, some quite bold. The biggest bunch is signed "with love, for my Sally, Negrete". Marcelo is so sweet... And then there's the red roses from "Ricardo", who also sent that dress. Marcelo is waiting for you outside. >out Club Enjoyado, 1953 The Enjoyado is in full swing tonight - the stage is filled with light, the space is overflowing with sound, it's impossible to find a free table. Except, of course, if you are the vedette of the main show and her companions. Lucho is directing his new ensemble tonight, and they sound like heaven. You can go IN, into your private dressing room. Marcelo sees you coming and stands up to greet you, imitated a second later by the man he was sharing the table with. A man in the grey uniform of the Seguridad Cívica is sitting with Marcelo. You weave your way across the room, making heads turn and returning smiles. "Ah, there you are, preciosa. My Salomé," he beams, smiling charmingly as he kisses your hand. Always so theatrical. His eyes fall on the diamonds sparkling around your neck and seem to catch some of their light. "You really are breathtaking tonight..." "May I introduce you to lieutenant Alcázar? The teniente here is one of the most promising young officers of the Seguridad Cívica," says Marcelo. You scowl a little at the sinister grey uniform which always means bad news. The officer seems in his mid-twenties, stocky, beady-eyed. The officer's eyes widen a little at the sight of the dress you're wearing. His smile becomes a little brighter. He winks an eye at you. "A pleasure to meet the famous Salomé Vélez. I am your greatest admirer, señorita" announces with a bow. "I'm afraid that position is already taken, lieutenant", replies Marcelo, a bit too cuttingly. The three of you sit down for dinner. >* extra space between "of the" and "Seguridad Cívica" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* announces with a bow. -> he announces with a bow. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* lieutenant", -> lieutenant," Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* a couple extra line feeds above Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Club Enjoyado, 1953 The Enjoyado is in full swing tonight - the stage is filled with light, the space is overflowing with sound, it's impossible to find a free table. Except, of course, if you are the vedette of the main show and her companions. Lucho is directing his new ensemble tonight, and they sound like heaven. You can go IN, into your private dressing room. Marcelo is sitting at the table with you and the lieutenant. The lieutenant seems a bit agitated, as if eager for a fight. "Did you like the show, lieutenant?" you ask casually. "I loved it. But only because it has you in it, you see. I don't normally like that sort of thing, you know." You exchange a look with Marcelo, who drinks from a Martini and shrugs. "Well, thank you. I'm much flattered. What kind of thing?" "Oh, you know. Indian stuff. The jungle, the pagan thing, sacrificing virgins under the full moon. If I respect the Spanish for one thing it's because they brought the true faith to Puerto Duquesa." Marcelo raises en eyebrow, you smile a little. "Is that so? Well, Marcelo here is Spanish. Luckily he's a good Catholic," you add tartly. Under the table, his foot has found yours. >* en eyebrow -> an eyebrow Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to marcelo You try to get Marcelo's attention with some small talk, but he replies quickly and goes back to arguing with the lieutenant. Not good. "So tell me, lieutenant, how is coronel Feijoo doing?" asks Marcelo, taking another sip from his drink. "He's doing great. Back on active duty this week, after the raid in Floresta last month." "That's good. Hear he barely escaped with his life. Those guerrilleros are giving you a hard time?" "Not at all. They are just peasants, the rank and file - and their leaders, intellectuals, a bunch of faggots, they don't have real blood in their veins. They even have women leading, can you imagine? Only once we were in real danger. That's where I got my medal, for a chest wound in the Iribarre campaign. Want to see it?" he adds, looking at you. You shake your head as fast as possible. Marcelo's foot is playing with yours under the table. >g You try to get Marcelo's attention with some small talk, but he replies quickly and goes back to arguing with the lieutenant. Not good. "Lovely dinner, señor Negrete. But I'm here on duty. I have a business proposition for you," says the officer as you finish dinner. "I'm sorry - duty or business?" asks Marcelo. He seems to already know where this is going. He shifts a bit in his chair, and his foot climbs slowly up your leg. "I am a man of duty and you are a business man, are you not? I hear you have business interests in the docks, all along the Tintero. I know the import tariffs are getting higher and higher, and who would blame a good businessman who just wants to make a decent living? And save a few sueldos to buy pretty things for a lady," he adds. "Well, coronel Feijoo would. Blame me, I mean. If I did save those sueldos, which naturally I do not." "Is that right, señor Negrete?" >talk to alcazar You try to distract the military man from his argument with Marcelo, but he hardly pays any attention to you. Marcelo kills his drink and gestures for another. He looks at you and the other man alternatively, sighs. "I'm afraid we're boring the lady here, teniente. I appreciate your concern for my business interests, but they are all taken care of, and all payments are up to date with coronel Feijoo. Your superior." "My apologies to the lady, I'll try to be brief then. Coronel Feijoo, my superior, has bigger fish to fry, namely crushing the guerrilleros in Floresta and making sure our American friends remain our friends. Me, as I said, I'm a man of duty. And my duty these days is to ensure no smuggled goods get past our inspections and find their way to the pockets of unpatriotic, foreign businessmen, and from there to money-laundering clubs and the purses of every kind of whore in Puerto Duquesa." Marcelo's foot had passed your knee and was making tantalizing progress up your thigh, but suddenly it stops and vanishes. >g You try to distract the military man from his argument with Marcelo, but he hardly pays any attention to you. Alcázar shifts his gaze from you to him and back again. Marcelo smiles politely, a smile you know damn well means trouble. "I don't like the insinuations you're making here, lieutenant." "I'm not making insinuation, I'm speaking plain Spanish here. Maybe you don't understand very well because you're not from around here, eh? Alright. I don't care how much you're paying Feijoo. He's busy killing rebels in the middle of nowhere, and I am here. I am in the Enjoyado. I am in Tintero. I am in every one of your warehouses, in every one of your whorehouses. You will cut me twenty percent of everything or I will kick you back to Spain like my grandfather kicked yours, understand?" Marcelo sighs, places his hand on the table, looking at them intently. "Fifteen." "Twenty-five." "What?" >talk to marcelo You try to get Marcelo's attention with some small talk, but he replies quickly and goes back to arguing with the lieutenant. Not good. The silence grows denser, meaner. The officer fingers a medal in his chest. "I didn't get this one for not having some balls, Negrete. You give me twenty-five percent of your earnings or I give you a hundred percent of ten years in a cell." "OK, give you twenty." "Thirty." "What the hell are you playing at, Alcázar? Do you want my money or just to piss me off?" "I want to show you what happens when you try to haggle with me. Go on, try again. Make me another offer and I'll ask for forty, and maybe the girl on top of that..." And that's the last Alcázar gets to say. Jumping to his feet, Marcelo gets him with a haymaker that lands him in the next table. The music doesn't quite stop, but you can't hear it any more. The lieutenant gets up slowly, brushing pieces of food from his uniform. His hand twitches for a second over the gun at his holster, but he smiles and stands at attention. "I told you, señor Negrete. Every time you refuse an offer, the price goes up. Next time it will be too high for you. Señorita Vélez, good night." Walking rigidly, the officer disappears towards the bar. Marcelo sits down again, slowly. "Sorry to have ruined your night, Salomé ." >* extra sspace after Salomé Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* extra line feed after paragraph Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to marcelo "That was a mistake, Marcelo. You don't know the Seguridad Cívica. These people can beat their mothers to a pulp for a sueldo..." "I've been making business here for a while, Sally. I know them. I know coronel Feijoo. He's every bit a bastard, but he has brains for business. This lieutenant? Just a jumped-up peasant with a badge. He tries to make some trouble, next time I dine with Feijoo at the Yacht Club I'll get Alcázar sent to watch convicts build roads in Floresta." "Well, you're the man, but I'm the local. I know how goons like Alcázar think. I'll talk to him, I'll make a deal so you don't have to lose face." "I don't want you anywhere near that thug. He's not above hurting women." "Oh, I'm a big girl, thank you. I have survived twenty-five years with the Cívica before you appeared, remember?" "And what's with that dress? It doesn't look like you." "A present from the lieutenant." "And why are you wearing it, Sally? That only encourages him. Makes him think he's getting his way with you..." "And that makes you look weak, isn't it? Jesus, how do men survive childhood? It's just a dress." " "Take that off, please. Better still, give it to me." "Ridiculous." >* extra quotation mark after just a dress. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >dance with marcelo "Darling, let's dance, come on." "Not right now, Sally. Sorry. That pig has put me in a real bad mood." >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >in Club Enjoyado, 1953 (in the dressing room) Half of the space in your dressing room is occupied by an orchard-sized assortment of flowers. Your reflection in the mirror looks radiant. On the table a glossy magazine lays open. You can go OUT into the club once you're ready. >remove dress You take off the white dress. >wear costume You put on the stage costume for "La Diosa de la Jungla". >out Club Enjoyado, 1953 The Enjoyado is in full swing tonight - the stage is filled with light, the space is overflowing with sound, it's impossible to find a free table. Except, of course, if you are the vedette of the main show and her companions. Lucho is directing his new ensemble tonight, and they sound like heaven. You can go IN, into your private dressing room. Marcelo is still sat, looking intently at the table, mind elsewhere. You spot Alcázar at the bar, drinking like a sailor. >talk to marcelo "That was a mistake, Marcelo. You don't know the Seguridad Cívica. These people can beat their mothers to a pulp for a sueldo..." "I've been making business here for a while, Sally. I know them. I know coronel Feijoo. He's every bit a bastard, but he has brains for business. This lieutenant? Just a jumped-up peasant with a badge. He tries to make some trouble, next time I dine with Feijoo at the Yacht Club I'll get Alcázar sent to watch convicts build roads in Floresta." "Well, you're the man, but I'm the local. I know how goons like Alcázar think. I'll talk to him, I'll make a deal so you don't have to lose face." "I don't want you anywhere near that thug. He's not above hurting women." "Oh, I'm a big girl, thank you. I have survived twenty-five years with the Cívica before you appeared, remember?" You sigh, shaking your head. Marcelo tries to drink, but you catch his glass in mid-air and drink it yourself. "God knows why you keep on drinking this stuff, Marcelo. Anyway. I still haven't heard how the show was." "You were great, Sally. No wonder men lose their heads for you. Oh, I keep forgetting. The friend I told you about? He says television might be interested. Told me he's showing some Americans around the island these days, Hollywood types. The yanquis, they're crazy for anything Latin." "If it has legs in it. Really? Hollywood? I mean... do you really think...?" "How's your English going, Sally?" "No kidding?! Oh, great! Listen... Blinking lights along the eastern shore..."What's that, a poem? Well, better brush up on that, I already received the publicity shots and you look stunning," he says, searching an inner pocket and leaving a photo on the table. You take it eagerly, hands trembling. "And for now - may I ask you to dance, Salomé Vélez?" >dance with marcelo You glide to the dancefloor and start with a lively cha cha cha. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Alcázar among the crowd. "Your really look like a goddess tonight," he whispers when the dance brings you get closer together again. "Well, the diamonds don't hurt." "A fitting pagan offering?" "I think you have won My favor, at least for tonight..." The song ends and you return to your table. His eyes sparkle, his mouth looks inviting... >talk with alcazar Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk witl alcázar Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Club Enjoyado, 1953 The Enjoyado is in full swing tonight - the stage is filled with light, the space is overflowing with sound, it's impossible to find a free table. Except, of course, if you are the vedette of the main show and her companions. Lucho is directing his new ensemble tonight, and they sound like heaven. You can go IN, into your private dressing room. Marcelo only has eyes for you. You spot Alcázar at the bar, drinking like a sailor. >* extra space between "Alcázar" and "at the bar" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >talk to marcelo "That was a mistake, Marcelo. You don't know the Seguridad Cívica. These people can beat their mothers to a pulp for a sueldo..." "I've been making business here for a while, Sally. I know them. I know coronel Feijoo. He's every bit a bastard, but he has brains for business. This lieutenant? Just a jumped-up peasant with a badge. He tries to make some trouble, next time I dine with Feijoo at the Yacht Club I'll get Alcázar sent to watch convicts build roads in Floresta." "Well, you're the man, but I'm the local. I know how goons like Alcázar think. I'll talk to him, I'll make a deal so you don't have to lose face." "I don't want you anywhere near that thug. He's not above hurting women." "Oh, I'm a big girl, thank you. I have survived twenty-five years with the Cívica before you appeared, remember?" You sigh, shaking your head. Marcelo tries to drink, but you catch his glass in mid-air and drink it yourself. "God knows why you keep on drinking this stuff, Marcelo. Anyway. I still haven't heard how the show was." "You were great, Sally. No wonder men lose their heads for you. Oh, I keep forgetting. The friend I told you about? He says television might be interested. Told me he's showing some Americans around the island these days, Hollywood types. The yanquis, they're crazy for anything Latin." "If it has legs in it. Really? Hollywood? I mean... do you really think...?" "How's your English going, Sally?" "No kidding?! Oh, great! Listen... Blinking lights along the eastern shore..."What's that, a poem? Well, better brush up on that, I already received the publicity shots and you look stunning," he says, searching an inner pocket and leaving a photo on the table. You take it eagerly, hands trembling. "And for now - may I ask you to dance, Salomé Vélez?" >* dialogue has repeated Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >dance with marcelo You glide to the dancefloor and start with a lively cha cha cha. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Alcázar among the crowd. "Your really look like a goddess tonight," he whispers when the dance brings you get closer together again. "Well, the diamonds don't hurt." "A fitting pagan offering?" "I think you have won My favor, at least for tonight..." The song ends and you return to your table. His eyes sparkle, his mouth looks inviting... >kiss marcelo Your lips meet, the buzz of the club vanishes for the moment. You couldn't tell how much time passes until your lips part. "Can't wait for the end of the night, Sally..." Marcelo whispers. "Oh, but you will! Because first you're taking me to the movies. I want to see the new Rita Hayworth one. Don't you want to see her play my Biblical self?" "Not really. Can't we skip that and go to my place?" "We'll have plenty of time for that. I'll get changed, you go get the car. I'll be out in a second. Don't worry. I won't wear much." You kiss again, at length, and then you disengage. He leaves with a wink. >in Club Enjoyado, 1953 (in the dressing room) Half of the space in your dressing room is occupied by an orchard-sized assortment of flowers. Your reflection in the mirror looks radiant. On the table a glossy magazine lays open. You can go OUT into the club once you're ready. You should get changed. Marcelo is waiting for your with the car. Yay! To the movies! >remove costume then wear dress You have just finished undressing when a noise behind attracts your attention. Horrified, you see Alcázar enter the room and close the door behind him. "Go ahead, scream. With the din that mulato friend of yours is making out there nobody will hear you." "Get out of here or I'll...!" ...a cue, you're looking for that ebony cue, a creaking sound, death... no, no, this was years ago, no handy billiards stick, but there was something, there was somebody... You are frozen, covering yourself with your hands, a thousand voices screaming inside your head. You look around, looking for a weapon, looking for an exit... You don't see him coming into the room, you only see a blur of motion when Alcázar is swept off his feet and thrown against the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Marcelo kicks his head before he can reach for the gun, then takes hold of the weapon and points it to his head. "Yes, move, pig. Do it. I have reasons enough to kill you." "I will get you, Negrete. No matter how long it takes, one day I will get you and your whore," says Alcázar as he gets up, wiping blood from his mouth. Then smiles, an ugly reddish smile, and is gone. In the ensuing silence Marcelo and you hug tightly. He says things in your ear, things you don't hear. Please press SPACE to continue. The only thing you hear is a waltz, the waltz Lucho's orchestra is playing, drifting through the open door. Soothing, calming, as the fear fades slowly away. The memory starts fading as well. Please press SPACE to continue. Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. A single tear falls on the picture. You wipe it quickly. Goddamned men and their games. Goddamned Alcázar, may the bastard burn in hell, where you sent him a minute ago. Goddamned Marcelo, who couldn't stay, couldn't keep his nose clean, couldn't fix things. Goddamned Claudio, who has left you with this ticking bomb in your hands. And goddamned Sokolov, who's using you like a pawn. You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. But you will survive. You will survive them all. You have yourself, and you have that waltz. Yes, Lucho will remember. Lucho never forgets. If you tell him about that night, about that waltz, he will remember which one. Let that waltz save you. Salomé Vélez will waltz with fear, one last time. You're already wearing that! >i You are wearing: some evening gloves an emerald gown a pair of pumps You are carrying: a publicity photo the secret signal an invitation, with a song title a clutch purse (open but empty) >w Dazed by the seemingly seamless wall of books, it takes you a second to spot the teak door again. There it is, leading back north and into the corridor. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >e (first opening the mahogany door) The door is locked and you don't have the key. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The orchestra is playing Dilema. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...el problema es que estamos desconectados de lo que pasa en el resto del continente. Uno abre el Vocinglero, la Gaceta, y salen noticias de Nueva York, de Miami, de París, ni media palabra de México o Chile. Ahí el problema, por eso no tenemos la entidad politica que cabría esperar de... >talk to lucho You nod to Lucho, who smiles back. "Lucho, play that waltz for me, will you. For old times' sake. You know which one." He nods without a word and signals to his boys. ...como lo oyes, Consuelo. Se fue con los guerrilleros. Menuda perdida, y mira que Liliana viene de una familia de las de toda la vida, terratenientes de Floresta de los más antiguos... >* Play it once, Sam. For old times' sake. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The tragic lyrics of Angelitos Negros fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...I'm telling you, an agrarian reform is the whole leitmotiv, the sign of the times. Whoever gets the peasants on their side... >dance with pinteño Pinteño leads you to the center of the room. He's quite a good dancer, if a bit too exaggerated with the turns. The waltz gives you ample opportunity to get close, and he doesn't mind if you do. "You're a great dancer, Salomé," he whispers in your ear as you bury your head in his shoulder to block his view of your hand. "Well, I'm a professional. I dance at the Casino del Ritmo. Why don't you come watch me one of these nights?" "Oh, I will. Meanwhile, talking about this very night, why don't I see you later, once all this bores are gone?" he proposes, and you giggle just as you slip two fingers into his pocket. "For more dancing?" you whisper back. "If that's what you want." The waltz ends, and you curtsy like a proper lady before wandering away, a coquettish hand to your chest... to conceal the key you just stole from him. You already have all you wanted from him. Let's not to mess with him any more, lest he discovers his key is missing. ...el problema es que estamos desconectados de lo que pasa en el resto del continente. Uno abre el Vocinglero, la Gaceta, y salen noticias de Nueva York, de Miami, de París, ni media palabra de México o Chile. Ahí el problema, por eso no tenemos la entidad politica que cabría esperar de... >* this bores -> these bores Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* need more or less line feeds after "just stole from him." Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* lest he discovers -> lest he discover Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is closed. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >open rosewood You open the rosewood door with the key. >e Private office At last! Here is Pinteño's private office... and against a wall rests the damn safe. You breathe out in relief. All through the night, that safe has become the stuff of legends to you: you were half-expecting it not to exist. Well, it can still be empty. Sure, you'd love to explain that one to Sokolov... Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. >undo Library [Previous turn undone.] >push corpse e The corpse cannot be pushed from place to place. >e Private office At last! Here is Pinteño's private office... and against a wall rests the damn safe. You breathe out in relief. All through the night, that safe has become the stuff of legends to you: you were half-expecting it not to exist. Well, it can still be empty. Sure, you'd love to explain that one to Sokolov... Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. >open safe It's locked with a combination. You'll have to guess the number and DIAL it >* DIAL it -> DIAL it.[paragraph break] Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x bull The figurine is the size of an open hand, and it represents a bull, made of some kind of black metal. It looks extremely old. The note in the pedestal says it's "late Minoan, circa 1500 BC, found in Mycenae", whatever that means. >dial 1500 You spin the dial, trying to guess the combination, listening in vain for telltale clicks (you have no idea how they are supposed to sound, in any case). And nothing happens. That didn't work. What could that combination be? Somebody's birthday? >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. >rub bull You rub bull. >push pull Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >get bull The figurine is totally irrelevant to you. >turn bull It is fixed in place. >x prints A collection of woodprints, Japanese-looking. Some are in vivid, beautiful colors, others in black and white. A woman that looks like a geisha to you is explained in a note as "the celebrated actress Shiratama, early Edo period", and a warrior in a tangle of swords and intrincate clothes is, apparently, "the legendary ronin Akechi Nobuhide". Probably all very rare and precious. So Pinteño is fond of art and History. Could that be a clue? >w (first opening the mahogany door) You open the mahogany door with the key. Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >x portrait Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >x portrait Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x painting It is an oil painting depicting the Ensenada Ruíz, with a Spanish galleon in the background, all pregnant sails and cannon smoke. In the foreground, conquistadores and Taíno Indians exchange volleys of musket fire and arrows. Wonder who won. An aged plaque on the frame explains it as "BATTLE OF TALABARTAZO, 1598". Probably Liliana would have something to say about the imperatives of History and the economics of oppression. You're not really in the mood to appreciate art tonight. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >dial 1598 With a faint click, the safe unlocks. >open safe You open safe, revealing microfilm. >get microfilm With a twitchy hand, you palm the little thing. And now, finally, you will be in control, for once... You hear footsteps and voices coming down the corridor. Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * spacing issues after "coming down the corridor." Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >e Startled by some distant noise, you almost run into a wall. Relax, relax, keep the body loose, this is like a mambo. The mahogany door is to the west and leads to the corridor. The rosewood door to the south communicates with the library. >w Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The band is playing Por una cabeza. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. The thing with the bomb is, you Yankees are obsessed with deterrence and, hear this, it's just not going to happen. I have it on good authority, Khrushchev has a certain clique preventing him from taking that decision... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >* hm, so not apparently a matter of timing? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >e Startled by some distant noise, you almost run into a wall. Relax, relax, keep the body loose, this is like a mambo. The mahogany door is to the west and leads to the corridor. The rosewood door to the south communicates with the library. >w Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >w Ballroom The room is overflowing with guests and thick with laughter, alcohol and conversation. Beyond the massive glass walls the inky Caribbean sleeps in moonlight. To the south is the entrance hall, and a corridor to the east plunges deeper into the house. The quiet blond man is quietly staring at the host from the corner of the room. The melancholic notes of Bésame mucho fill the air. Pinteño is telling yet another inane anecdote. ...don't look now, for Chrissakes. No, the one in the green dress. Yeah, of course she's mulata, they don't really have real whites in this godforsaken island. What? They don't speak English either. Anyway, I swear, if I could get rid of Peggy for one damn evening... >e Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >e Startled by some distant noise, you almost run into a wall. Relax, relax, keep the body loose, this is like a mambo. The mahogany door is to the west and leads to the corridor. The rosewood door to the south communicates with the library. >w Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >x safe The safe is open, and inside there is microfilm. >x microfilm All this... for this. It's a small reel of microfilm, the diameter of your index finger. God only knows what is in there, but it must be the thing that Claudio was after, the thing that Sokolov sent him in for, and you as help... Some secret worth all this, you hope. Enough to buy you some safety, finally? >n Startled by some distant noise, you almost run into a wall. Relax, relax, keep the body loose, this is like a mambo. The mahogany door is to the west and leads to the corridor. The rosewood door to the south communicates with the library. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >close door You close the rosewood door. >undo Library [Previous turn undone.] >close mahogany Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >close teak You close the teak door. >* gods, they used a lot of hardwoods here... Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >n (first opening the teak door) Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >close teak You close the teak door. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >search safe The safe is open, and inside there is microfilm. >get microfilm With a twitchy hand, you palm the little thing. And now, finally, you will be in control, for once... You hear footsteps and voices coming down the corridor. Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * don't see how I could have played this differently, but... Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >close rosewood You close the rosewood door. >get microfilm With a twitchy hand, you palm the little thing. And now, finally, you will be in control, for once... You hear footsteps and voices coming down the corridor. Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is closed. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >s (first opening the rosewood door) You open the rosewood door with the key. Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >n (first opening the teak door) Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >w Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >s Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >e Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is open. >close rosewood You close the rosewood door. >close mahogany You close the mahogany door. >get microfilm With a twitchy hand, you palm the little thing. And now, finally, you will be in control, for once... You hear footsteps and voices coming down the corridor. "What the hell. This door is supposed to be locked at all times. That damn valet..." it's Pinteño's voice. "Why am I not surprised. It was completely amateurish to meet here and I told you so. I'm sick and tired of your cowboy operation." "Whatever, mister Professional. Let's get down to business..." "What the-!? It's Alcázar! He's dead! Call the servants! Someone has killed the colonel! He have a killer! What are you...?" Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > "extra line feed after Let's get down to business Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * He have a killer -> We have a killer Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is closed. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. >s (first opening the rosewood door) You open the rosewood door with the key. Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >n Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is open. The mahogany door to the east is closed. >close teak You close the teak door. >lock teak What do you want to lock the teak door with? >lock teak with key That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >s (first opening the teak door) Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is open. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >close teak You close the teak door. >lock teak What do you want to lock the teak door with? >lock teak from the inside Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >lock teak with key That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >l Library The walls are covered with bookcases and fine paintings. A magnificent pool table occupies the centre of the room, and there is a modern record player on a side table. The teak door to the north, leading to the corridor, is closed. The rosewood door to the east, leading to the office, is open. An ostentatious ebony pool cue lies on top of the table. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >put corpse in office Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >x corpse You try not to look at the grotesque angle of his head. >push corpse You grab him by the arms, pulling him with a grunt of effort. The only logical place to hide the corpse is the office, so you drag it there. Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >* wasn't I not able to move the body earlier? Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >Spacing issue after "grunt of effort" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is open. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. >close rosewood You close the rosewood door. >lock rosewood What do you want to lock the rosewood door with? >lock rosewood with key You lock the rosewood door. >* with key should be an implicit action Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >close mahogany That's already closed. >lock mahogany with key You lock the mahogany door. >save Ok. >get microfilm With a twitchy hand, you palm the little thing. And now, finally, you will be in control, for once... You hear footsteps and voices coming down the corridor. "What the hell. This door is supposed to be locked at all times. That damn valet..." it's Pinteño's voice. "Why am I not surprised. It was completely amateurish to meet here and I told you so. I'm sick and tired of your cowboy operation." "Whatever, mister Professional. Let's get down to business..." You hear both men sit down in the library. You should get the hell out of there before they catch you, in silence and NOW." Silently, you try to steady your breathing. Careful now, or they'll hear you.... >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is closed. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. "Well, you can relax now." "Listen, César, I'm here for one thing, and I've already humored you more than enough. Things are moving fast. Do you have the goods or not?" "I do, and I am ready to discuss a price" "How would you like to be the next President of Puerto Duquesa?" "Presidente Pinteño does have a great ring to it..." >listen You hear nothing unexpected. "Then hand over the goods." "You do know I have other... prospective buyers." "I know a certain cultural attaché to the Soviet embassy called Sokolov. He's a cultural attaché like I'm Ginger Rogers. Knock it off, Pinteño. You like Reds as much as I do. Who do you think sent that clown pretending to be Alden York?" "Too blunt for the Russians. I told you it was local ops. I've been warning you about the guerrilla..." Perhaps you should leave the office while they're still busy... >* can't help eavesdropping since I have "undo" and saved games available Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >* ops -> op Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >z Time passes. "Oh, please. A bunch of intellectuals with a penchant for slumming it with the peasants. I was in Korea and I can tell you these paisanos of yours are nothing like that. So get the hell over Liliana de Castrejo, Pinteño. She prefers to shag barbudos rather than a filthy capitalist, so what?" "She has nothing to do with..." "Sure. You're not bitter at all. Not like you would take revenge or anything." You'd feel a lot safer out of this office... >z Time passes. "Can we go back to the Presidente Pinteño topic?" "Sure. And stop wasting my goddamned time. We close the deal tonight, here and now, or you're out of it. Keep playing and next thing you know it will be Presidente Alcázar. He doesn't have your personal issues when it comes to Reds." "That thug? Like he knows how business..." The conversation is interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. There is a brief pause, then "What!?" Say again!?" They could enter the office at any minute now. Get out! >z Time passes. "The rebels are wha-oh Jesus Christ." Another pause, a creaking of chairs. "Hell... The rebels have made a dash for Puerto Duquesa! The Cívica reports clashes all along the Altos del Oro. They've taken the radio building!" "I told you, you idiot! It's over. I'm out of here!" "No, wait, come! Let's get the microfilm first!" Then the sound of hurried steps and loud cursing... Damn, they're heading for the office!Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * need a space after "heading for the office!" Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >l Private office Pinteño's office is as luxurious and comfortable as you could expect, but you only have eyes for the safe. The safe! Whatever is inside has costed lots of suffering, some lives... and might still claim yours. From the wall, a few prints look at you with utter indifference to your predicament. In a side table there's a figurine of a bull. The rosewood door to the south, leading to the library, is closed. The mahogany door to the west, leading to the corridor, is closed. The corpse of the coronel lies crumpled on the far side of the room. "Oh, please. A bunch of intellectuals with a penchant for slumming it with the peasants. I was in Korea and I can tell you these paisanos of yours are nothing like that. So get the hell over Liliana de Castrejo, Pinteño. She prefers to shag barbudos rather than a filthy capitalist, so what?" "She has nothing to do with..." "Sure. You're not bitter at all. Not like you would take revenge or anything." You'd feel a lot safer out of this office... >w Moving as silently as you can, you step out into the corridor "What's that? There's someone in the office! Sounds like..." "High heels? Oooh, let me guess..." Pinteño storms through the door, looking at you accusatively. "What the hell are you doing here...?" "I think that's abundantly clear," interjects the tall blond man, coming into the room a step behind the host... with a pistol in his hand. "Listen, gentlemen, I can..." you start, but he cuts you off as well. "You can certainly do a lot of things, miss, and we're certainly going to do a lot of things to you in return. Mister Pinteño, be effective for one time in your goddamned life and tie her up. I'm taking her to the Embassy. We'll make her talk faster than your Seguridad Cívica goons..." *** The revolution carries on without you. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >undo Private office [Previous turn undone.] >remove shoes You take off the pair of pumps. "Well, you can relax now." "Listen, César, I'm here for one thing, and I've already humored you more than enough. Things are moving fast. Do you have the goods or not?" "I do, and I am ready to discuss a price" "How would you like to be the next President of Puerto Duquesa?" "Presidente Pinteño does have a great ring to it..." >w Moving as silently as you can, you step out into the corridor (first opening the mahogany door) You open the mahogany door with the key. Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. "Then hand over the goods." "You do know I have other... prospective buyers." "I know a certain cultural attaché to the Soviet embassy called Sokolov. He's a cultural attaché like I'm Ginger Rogers. Knock it off, Pinteño. You like Reds as much as I do. Who do you think sent that clown pretending to be Alden York?" "Too blunt for the Russians. I told you it was local ops. I've been warning you about the guerrilla..." >w You hesitate for a second, then decide to stay and hear the rest of the conversation. You are already neck deep, at least you're going to know the full story. "Oh, please. A bunch of intellectuals with a penchant for slumming it with the peasants. I was in Korea and I can tell you these paisanos of yours are nothing like that. So get the hell over Liliana de Castrejo, Pinteño. She prefers to shag barbudos rather than a filthy capitalist, so what?" "She has nothing to do with..." "Sure. You're not bitter at all. Not like you would take revenge or anything." >w You hesitate for a second, then decide to stay and hear the rest of the conversation. You are already neck deep, at least you're going to know the full story. "Can we go back to the Presidente Pinteño topic?" "Sure. And stop wasting my goddamned time. We close the deal tonight, here and now, or you're out of it. Keep playing and next thing you know it will be Presidente Alcázar. He doesn't have your personal issues when it comes to Reds." "That thug? Like he knows how business..." The conversation is interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. There is a brief pause, then "What!?" Say again!?" >w You hesitate for a second, then decide to stay and hear the rest of the conversation. You are already neck deep, at least you're going to know the full story. "The rebels are wha-oh Jesus Christ." Another pause, a creaking of chairs. "Hell... The rebels have made a dash for Puerto Duquesa! The Cívica reports clashes all along the Altos del Oro. They've taken the radio building!" "I told you, you idiot! It's over. I'm out of here!" "No, wait, come! Let's get the microfilm first!" Then the sound of hurried steps and loud cursing... Damn, they're heading for the office!You hear the two men rushing into the office. "Damn, it's Alcázar! He's dead! Someone... someone has killed Alcázar in my own house!" "You've been played, you imbecile!" Of course, the news about the rebel offensive spreads through the party like wildfire. In a matter of seconds, the guests panic, rushing out of the house. Please press SPACE to continue. Inner corridor In stark contrast with the noise and light of the ballroom, the corridor is silent except for the muted sounds coming the party. The finishes are dark wood and lights are indirect, creating a sense of peace that feels more like ominous mystery to you, at this time of night... and considering you aren't supposed to venture any further. A teak door to the south leads to the library and is closed. The mahogany door to the east is open, leading to the office. >* line feed after "imbecile!" Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >w Ballroom The room is empty, strewn with broken glasses and overturned tables, food, alcohol and furniture thrown around everywhere. It is open to the sea on two sides, or so it seems from behind the massive glass walls. Beyond them, the tropical night extends all around, uninterrupted, seawards. To the south is the hall you come from, and a corridor to the east goes further into the house. Lucho is sitting on the orchestra stand, smoking alone. >sace Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >save Ok. >talk to lucho You sit next to Lucho. He gives you his cigar and you take a long pull from it. "Hey mulata, how's your night?" "Too many men, mulato." You give the cigar back to him and you both stare through the window for a while, in silence. A myriad little lights are descending from the hills, towards the city. "Another party gone, eh, Isabel? Well. We've been through a lot, you and I. You've always looked out for your own interest, from the first night we met. I still remember that note you wanted to keep all to yourself. Five sueldos. Well. Hope you've found what you were looking for." You turn the microfilm reel between two fingers. "Yeah. I have. Take care, Lucho." "You too, Isabel. See you at the next dance." >kiss lucho It was never like that. Lucho and you were friends and colleagues. >* "To the south is the hall you come from"; came from, but also not accurate here. Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s Entrance hall The hall is deserted, a sterile expanse of glass and chrome like the entrance to a ransacked tomb. >* extra line feed Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >s In front of the mansion The night is warm black velvet, with a few cold diamonds up above, hanging over the broad silver swirl of the bay. On the other side, Puerto Duquesa burns with feverish yellow lights. Over the hills, hundreds of little points of light like fireflies are descending upon the city. Most of the cars are gone, except for a few, including the one you and Claudio used. The tall blond man is running all over the place, shouting "Bring the car! Bring the damn car, Eike!" >* Glad we got to hear the whole speech outside the office Salomé, I don't get what you mean... Do you need help? >enter phantom You get in the car and drive to Puerto Duquesa as fast as you dare, heart racing. Sokolov is waiting for you with obvious signs of impatience. He examines the microfilm view an arcane-looking machine and grins. "Good, comrade Vélez. What we have here will get me all the leverage I'd ever need with these guerrilleros... and finally the Lubyanka will start listening to my opinions about establishing a foothold in the Caribbean..." That night, the rebels descend upon the capital. After a brief fight, presidential forces surrender and a new regime is put in place. Claudio is liberated from the Seguridad Cívica jail. You're both flown to Moscow to receive "proper training". A few years later, you find yourself working as a cultural attaché to the Soviet embassy in Havanna, sitting at Sokolov's former desk. It feels great to be back somewhere without snow. It would be ideal if Claudio didn't spend the whole day bitching about being your subordinate. ...pero al salvarte hallar pudiste protección y abrigo donde curar tu corazón herido por el dolor... -Manuel Esperón, Flor de Azalea *** Ending 4/6: Favoring Sokolov. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * view an arcane machine -> with an arcane machine Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > * Havanna -> Habana or Havana Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > q Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > quit