Escape from Lisbon(Lee Conrad) Luis Martinez entered the bookstore on the Rua do Salitre a few blocks away from the Spanish Embassy in Lisbon, Portugal, the city of seven hills. He looked out the store window to see if he was still followed by the thin-faced, swarthy man in the long black coat and homburg pulled down on his face. The man had sidestepped into the entrance of an alley and peered out. Luis swore to himself. He thought he had lost him. It was the man’s slouch and long nose that gave him away. He reminded Luis of a crow. Luis walked deeper into the store, browsed the shelves of state approved books and picked one up. While the book looked interesting, he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish it. A bullet, he surmised, then dumped into the Tagus River. He left the bookstore through a door in the back.

The man in the alley looked at his watch and realized something was amiss. He ran across the street, dodging a trolly car and burst through the door. The shop owner asked why he was in such a hurry. The man flashed his Polícia de Vigilância e Defesa do Estado badge at the store owner.

“The man that came in here ten minutes ago. Where did he go,” he hissed.

The shop owner, cowering before a man of the PVDE, pointed a shaky finger towards the back door.

The Portuguese state policeman rushed to the back knocking books off a haphazard table but knew he was too late. He looked up and down a narrow lane of closed-in buildings. Empty. His quarry had flown.

Luis turned a corner off the lane just seconds before the man came out of the bookstore. He walked briskly towards his destination, stopping once to light a cigarette in a storefront. He used the opportunity to see if he was still followed. He breathed in the nicotine to calm himself and with relief continued his journey.

A misty rain began to fall. Luis pulled the collar up on his coat. His eyeglasses fogged over, and his nose dripped. What miserable weather, he thought. He checked inside his coat to make sure the documents he had taken from the embassy were still dry.

Luis had gained a position at the Spanish Embassy in Lisbon in April 1934 a few years after the monarchy was abolished and the republic was founded in 1931. He considered himself a liberal and free thinker. He hoped that the republic would bring Spain into the 20th century and that the hold of the Catholic Church and the nobility would be lessened. He had friends in left-wing movements who tried to pull him their way and talked revolution. But Luis had been a gradualist and thought his way was the right way. Now he knew he had been naive.

The Spanish Civil War began in July 1936 when a group of right-wing military officers with support of the fascist organization Falange launched a coup against the democratically elected and progressive Popular Front government. In towns and cities where right-wing nationalists and the army took over a wholesale slaughter of those on the left took place. In areas of Spain where the coup supporters were defeated the slaughter of the nationalists, and their fascist allies took place. Blood flowed in streets across Spain.

When the nationalist coup failed to gain control of Madrid, Barcelona and other areas of Spain the republic, his republic, found itself in a civil war. The embassy where he worked was a hotbed of intrigue and treason. It had been the embassy of the Spanish Republic but even here in Lisbon it had gone over to the coup supporters. The nationalist rebels, with the support of António de Oliveira Salazar’s authoritarian Estado Novo dictatorship of Portugal, antagonistic to the left leaning Spanish republic, took over the embassy. It wasn’t that difficult. Most of Luis’s co-workers had sided with the nationalist rebels. He knew he had to leave; his days were numbered. But first there was work to do for the republic.

Luis made his way out of central Lisbon and up the hill to the Alfama district, the oldest and most traditional of all of Lisbon’s districts. He had been here many times before and admired the Moorish influences of the ancient buildings, the exotic rabbit warren of narrow streets and pastel-colored buildings. He passed crowds of people heading home from work, downtrodden and wary. Some stopped in at taverns for a glass of wine and listened to sad Fado music or shopped at the neighborhood markets.

Luis had left the embassy at 4 pm. It was now 5:15. His attempts at alluding his tail had cost him precious time. He hoped his contact was still here.

The door on the first floor of a small apartment opened a crack and an old man with an unshaven face and watery blue eyes stared at him.

“Adriano, it’s Luis, let me in. Quickly man!”

He opened the door, let Luis in and scanned up and down the street.

“He is in the kitchen,” said Adriano.

At a small wood table, a middle-aged man with a black beret and working man’s clothes sat smoking a cigarette.

“You are late. Was there trouble?” he said in Spanish.

“I was followed. He looked like PVDE.”

The man creased his dark eyes and stared at Luis.

“You lost him I hope.” He stood to rise, reaching for the pistol in his belt.

“Yes, please sit down, Francisco.”

“Do you have the documents?”

Luis pulled the papers out from the inside of his coat.

“I must get this and myself out of Portugal, Francisco. My bridges have been burned.”

“You know the situation, Luis. Crossing the border to the east is out and into the Basque region to the north tricky. Show me the documents.”

The man at the table looked over the papers in front of him. It was a list of names of rebel nationalist sympathizers and spies secreted into the republican government with the purpose of sabotaging it.

“Yes, I see why you must leave. These must get to the republic as soon as possible.

“I can’t go back to my apartment,”

“Yes, that is obvious. You will stay here until we can move you.” said Francisco.

Luis had met Francisco a week ago after he sent word surreptitiously from his embassy to the republican government in Madrid. He needed to escape Lisbon and had an important document to bring with him. Could they help him escape. Madrid replied by sending Francisco and told Luis he was to go to the address of Adriano Almeida a Portuguese sympathizer of the Spanish Republic.

That night Luis, Adriano and Francisco sat around the kitchen table as Francisco told them of the latest news from Spain. In Portugal news about the civil war was slanted towards the nationalist side by the government controlled media. Adriano though had a shortwave radio that could pull in broadcasts from the Spanish Republic’s Radio Madrid as well as a clandestine Portuguese anarchist station called Radio Fantasma.

After a few hours of listening to Radio Madrid, Adriano turned the radio off.

“Good news, so they say,” said Adriano. “But what aren’t they telling us?”

“That without help Madrid will fall,” said Francisco. “It is propaganda for the masses, not the truth.”

At the headquarters of Portuguese State Security, Lieutenant Cavalho of the Polícia de Vigilância e Defesa do Estado was yelling at the thin man.

“What do you mean you lost him!”

“I’m sorry sir. He went into a bookstore and slipped out the back.”

“And what were you doing all that time? Ogling our fair women of Lisbon? Get out! Consider yourself lucky I haven’t demoted you!”

Lieutenant Cavalho sighed to himself and rubbed his temples. He could feel the headache coming on. He knew this had to be bumped up to the captain. Luis Martinez was the last of the republican holdouts at the Spanish embassy. The others were turned over to the Spanish nationalists to be expelled to a more than likely death across the border in Spain. Carvalho left his office and went up the stairs to his superior Captain Lourenço.

He told the captain’s secretary he needed to speak to the captain about an urgent matter about a Spanish Embassy employee. The secretary knocked on the door and stuck his head in and spoke. He turned back to Lieutenant Cavalho. “You may go in, Lieutenant.”

Inside the office Lieutenant Carvalho eyed the large map of Portugal and the Portuguese flag behind the huge desk of Captain Lourenço. In front of the desk sat an older man impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and holding a cane with an ivory carving on the top.

“An opportune time, lieutenant. What do you have for me? By the way, this is Senhor Camara, a Spanish friend who is a liaison between us and the Spanish Embassy.”

Senhor Camara turned his head and nodded.

Sweat beaded on the forehead of Lieutenant Carvalho and his tie seemed to restrict his neck, much like a noose.

“Well, Lieutenant? Report.”

“My man who was following Luis Martinez reports that he lost him.”

“Are you saying that a possible spy for that wretched Spanish Republic slipped through your hands, Lieutenant?”

A chill went through Carvalho as the captain stared at him.

“Yes, my captain but not for long. I will assign more men, and I too will walk the streets searching for him.”

“Yes, you will, lieutenant. Close the door when you leave. Dismissed.”

Once outside the room, Carvalho wondered how he was going to find this man. He knew the PVDE had hundreds of informers. He needed to find the right one.

Carlos Machado was just one informer. Once Lieutenant Carvalho put out the word of what he needed Marchado sent word that he might be able to furnish information. Marchado was a rightist who loathed those who worked against the president and the new order. He kept a vigilant eye on communists, democrats and anarchists. One was Adriano Almeida. He loathed the man after a dock strike years ago when on the picket line, Carlos, a thug for the shipping companies, suffered a broken head when Adriano bashed him with a club.

“What do you have for me Machado?”

“Two days ago, I watched a man go to Adriano Almeida’s building. A new man I have not seen before. He seemed frantic and pounded on the door for Almeida to let him in. When he did this Almeida looked up and down the street suspiciously. That should be worth a few escudos.”

“Only if it is worth it, Machado. Now, what is the address?”

As the dawn fog was lifting from the Tagus River, Lieutenant Carvalho and four of his officers huddled around the corner from Adriano’s building. Their plan was simple, rush the house, break down the door and sweep up Adriano and Luis Martinez, former employee of the Spanish Embassy and suspected spy.

Luckily, Adriano was a morning person. As he drank his coffee, he peered out the front window of his building. Something was not right he thought. He saw workers crossing the street to avoid an alley they normally would walk past. That was unusual. These men never deviated from their walk. Then he saw a face peak out around the corner. Dark hat, long nose. Now Adriano knew. He shouted to his guests.

“Wake up! We will have visitors soon.”

Luis and Francisco scrambled to their feet and quickly dressed as Adriano said, “I suspect the PVDE is looking for Luis. If they find you as well Francisco it will be bad. This building though has a surprise for our friends. It is an old safehouse going back decades. Behind that shelf is a small door leading to a cellar and a tunnel that will lead you to an opening in an abandoned building that was destroyed by fire years ago. From there you are on your own. Go now, comrades!”

Adriano closed the shelf hiding the door as Luis and Francisco made their escape. He turned to the sound of splintering wood. The front door was demolished by a battering ram and five men pushed their way into the apartment.

“What is going on here!” Adriano shouted.

“Stand aside. This is State Security business,” said Lieutenant Carvalho.

He looked around the back room at disheveled bedding. It looked like more than one person was living here.

“Explain this,” he pointed to the room.

“I haven’t cleaned up since my cousin was here a few days ago.”

“His name and address!”

Adriano gave it knowing his cousin would cover for him and lie to the hated PVDE.

Luis and Francisco made it through the stone reinforced tunnel and into the abandoned building.

“We made it Francisco. I thought the PVDE had us for sure. My life on this earth would not have been long if they turned me over to the embassy with the list. Do you have any ideas on how I can get out of Portugal with you so I can turn this over to the Republican government?”

“I am not sure right now, Luis. Let me see that list again.”

Luis gave it to him.

Francisco held the list tightly. All those names of nationalist spies who have secreted themselves into the fabric of the Republican government in order to destroy it. Even Francisco’s real name was listed. He almost gave himself away at when he saw it the first time as they all sat at Adriano’s kitchen table.

“When do we go to Spain, Francisco? What is your plan?”

“I will be going to Spain, but not you Luis.”

He pulled out the gun from his waist band and shot Luis in the heart. Luis tumbled onto concrete and charred wood debris, a questioning look in his eyes as he died.

Francisco put the gun back in his waist band. His unit of the Nationalist Military Police would be waiting for him at the border. Then he would be once again secreted back into the republican side to sow mayhem and distrust. He was concerned that carrying the list of names so far would be dangerous if it should fall into the wrong hands. Those bungling idiots of the PVDE almost fouled everything up but in the end, it worked out fine, he mused as he stared down at the body of Luis. He had no remorse. Luis was an enemy. He took out his matches and lit the list. The paper glowed, turned to ash and floated into oblivion. Best this way he thought. The republic will never know how many of us are in their midst. He whistled the nationalist song Cara al Sol as he started his journey back to Spain.

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