In the Valley of the Mountain Lions - Book 5
Copyright© 2024 by August the Strong
Chapter 26: The Prosecutor in Our Valley
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 26: The Prosecutor in Our Valley - The people of this once remote valley in the Andes have new prospects. They now have phones, internet and contact with people. They can finally buy the basics. The group of twelve-year-old girls abducted to Peru are integrating better and better. They often look enviously at the pregnant teenagers and want to have their first sexual experiences too. Above all, there is one important task: to track down the billions of dollars belonging to the dead criminal Rus and put them to good use.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft ft/ft Teenagers Consensual Fiction Harem Interracial
Shortly after lunch on Tuesday, the sirens wailed in the village. Soon afterwards, the others followed. From a distance, I could see a police car with flashing blue lights and a jeep slowly coming down the steep slope towards us. Luca was the first to notice the vehicles and fired a warning shot into the air. As they drove on, he fired another volley just in front of the police car. The vehicles stopped and sounded their horns. I ran to the entrance and stopped Luca. It was clear that he didn’t recognise the flashing blue lights. I quickly sent him into the village and approached the cars unarmed, beckoning them to our barrier. I asked them in English what they wanted before I would allow them to enter our valley, of course. I had a feeling they were asking about our mothers who were too young and their children.
While Diego and a construction worker slowly and laboriously opened the secured entrance, I whispered to Olivia, “Quick! Take the older children down to the basement of the palazzo. Please be quiet. Maybe Willka can put on a cartoon.” Olivia nodded and sped off on her new electric scooter.
First, the police wanted to arrest the boy who had shot at them. I explained to the only man who spoke English that the Indio boy had assumed it was another robbery. “Luca has probably never seen a police car before. He thought we were going to be attacked again.”
The man in the suit and tie looked at me in disbelief. I showed him the remains of the jeep and armoured car near the entrance. The police officers couldn’t believe the repeated attacks. I pointed to the remains of the Blackhawk helicopter, which were visible from there. “They even attacked us with a helicopter! Can you see the wreckage there?”
They fell silent for a moment, as Mr Tello, the public prosecutor, wanted to voice his concerns. He introduced me to Ms Ximena Inez Zorrilla from the Family and Child Welfare Service in Trujillo. Then he said, “There’s a report alleging that minors have been abused and impregnated here in the valley. My job is to investigate.” He handed me an official document in Spanish. Isabella and Carmen, who had joined us in the meantime, translated the document for me.
“OK, so you want to investigate our valley, which is at least 20 kilometres long. Where do you want to start?”
He pointed to our guesthouse. I knew that Sula was still in the delivery room with her newborn daughter. Now, she was standing on the stairs, looking curiously around. I pointed out to the prosecutor that he only had the right to question minors in the presence of their parents. But they weren’t here. I would step in as their representative from time to time. I gestured to Sula not to answer any questions and then introduced her to the prosecutor. He asked her about her age, her child’s date of birth and the child’s father. I replied, “Sula is sixteen years old. Her child was born ten days ago, and the baby’s father is unknown.” Sula nodded in confirmation.
The woman from child welfare, as I understood it, was taking notes for the prosecutor. The only people left at the Casa were the Condorcan family with their children, and Olivia and her a ten-month-old son called Nicolas. This didn’t give the prosecutor any further grounds for asking questions. Then I called Lucia. Ms Ximena was aware of the events of May, when ‘Mama Olivia’ had breastfed Lucia’s son, Amaru. She explained to the prosecutor the situation of the poor, starving woman in the park who could no longer adequately feed her baby. Everyone immediately realised how well Lucia and her son were doing now. She also made an impression with her appearance: she was well dressed, slender, and had the figure of a model. Lucia was more excited than I had ever seen her before. Then, faltering, she explained in Spanish that she had been raped in Trujillo by an older man she didn’t know and had become pregnant. This was accepted. In the garden behind the house, we found Kantu with her daughter, Tamayu. Olivia credibly translated the stories of the interviewees and how they had become pregnant again.
Before driving to the main building, I showed the Peruvians the destroyed bridge and the two helicopter wrecks. They still couldn’t believe that we had shot down the large military helicopter and blown up the armoured personnel carrier. Babette had accompanied us. I showed them the scars on her leg, which she sustained when she was hit by mercenaries after her rocket-propelled grenade blew up the armoured personnel carrier. The prosecutor was still shaking his head in disbelief.
To dispel any doubts, I drove the visitors to the cemetery. First, I showed them the graves of the two Indios. “These men arrived in our valley completely unexpectedly and raped two young women, Kira and Isabella. When we rescued the girls, the rapists were unfortunately killed in a shootout. We only know their first names: Gael and Daro. Since that day, two young Indio boys, Luca and his brother Diego, have been living with us. The two bandits kidnapped them from a mountain village.”
The prosecutor had lots of questions and recorded some of the answers on his phone, particularly those relating to the fifteen mercenary graves. He seemed to have forgotten the reason for his visit.
The police were searching the Indio village for Luca with the intention of arresting him. However, Olivia had sent him to the forest huts. She knew the consequences of shooting at police officers. In the meantime, she showed the guests around and introduced them to some of the villagers. Ms Ximena was amazed by the clean huts with electricity and running water. Carmen emphasised that I had connected these small houses to the electricity grid and provided running water free of charge. I was glad that the villagers supported me. Of course, they were also wary of the police and the ‘Mr Judge’, as Carmen called him.
Carmen told Ximena, who was very kind, about her three healthy children. When the subject of their father came up, she pointed at me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. At almost the same time, Leonie and Florence hugged me. I lovingly stroked my children in their arms. The woman from the child welfare service looked at me penetratingly. Now, she was afraid. I laughed at her and told her in Spanish that I was paying all the child maintenance. The prosecutor was annoyed when he realised that my Spanish was better than I had claimed. I countered that investigations just have to be precise. “My native language is Flemish, English is my best foreign language, and I can also speak a little German. I’ve only been learning Spanish for three months, so I still make a lot of mistakes and don’t understand everything. That’s why I only wanted to speak English.”
All four nodded because I had spoken to them in broken Spanish with deliberate mistakes.
As I had instructed, the sixth-grade class was in full swing at the Palazzo. “Heidy, please come here. The prosecutor wants to know who the father of your child is.”
The thirteen-year-old answers in English. “That was Claudio, our English teacher. He used my mouth and body every day. It was disgusting. At first, I resisted, but after two days, I just let it happen.”
We explained to the prosecutor that we had taken Heidy, who was four months pregnant at the time, from a children’s home in Trujillo because she was one of the girls that Rus had abducted. Heidy had become pregnant by a student from Lima. Later, I showed the investigators the girls’ eleven passports, all of which were stamped ‘Permanent Residence Granted’. I couldn’t resist showing the pictures of the girls as we had found in the so-called orphanage in the mountains. The woman was horrified, and the prosecutor became more reserved. However, he did ask where the home had been. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the address. Then I called Theres and Inka over. They were clearly recognisable in the photos, looking completely exhausted and malnourished, but now they were healthy, strong, and well dressed.
Meanwhile, the police had searched the basement but found nothing suspicious. Fortunately, it’s not that easy to find the hidden door to our cinema. Afterwards, we went to see our cook, Luisa. She invited the guests to lunch, but the prosecutor refused. He wanted to see the girls, who were at the school in Mersto for their exams.
Then we bumped into Daja. She was clearly pregnant, but she smiled kindly and placed her hands on her swollen belly. She confirmed in Spanish that the father was her thirteen-year-old friend, Luca. Mr Tello wasn’t happy about that, but it did calm him down for a while. When it was Fahsai’s turn, the noise from the children upstairs grew louder. The police officers went upstairs. In her inimitable way, Fahsai once again spoke mysteriously about the mountain god Apu, who she said had given her the child. The policewoman smiled at the Yemeni woman, stroked her hair, and wished her good luck for the upcoming birth.
We followed the police officers upstairs. The young Indio women, Valentina and Adriana, who were looking after the children, were our kindergartners. As they didn’t speak Spanish, they couldn’t provide any information. The woman told the prosecutor that these must be the children of last week’s students, the ones the maths teacher had mentioned. Ah, so that’s where the wind was blowing! It wasn’t Magdalena who had reported us, but the overwhelmed teacher. The prosecutor wanted to see the ten students who were in Mersto for the exam, as well as their children. Of course, everyone was at work. I quickly called Lenya and Esther, who worked in the palazzo. They pointed to their babies and emphasised how happy they were with their children. The babies’ fathers were unknown. Following the numerous robberies in the valley, they were reluctant to discuss the matter. Then Babette appeared in all her glory and kissed her little Rafael, born on 22 November this year. No one asked her age. She looked very grown up and towered more than a head above all the other guests.
I pointed out that it was actually a midday rest period for the young children. The woman recognised this and convinced the prosecutor to stop the investigation. However, I still had an ace up my sleeve: the two families’ rooftop apartments. Priya and Zarina proudly showed the guests around their homes. Nguyen introduced himself as Priya’s partner and Zarina explained that she lived there with her husband, Yu Yuan, and her two children. The apartments, with the new furniture, were a dream for every Peruvian, and this made an impression on the guests. It would be hard to imagine a more beautiful place to live. We sat on the concrete benches near the parapet and enjoyed the wonderful view of the green valley, the waterfall, and the ice-capped mountains. Ms Ximena was particularly moved and whispered in Spanish, “It’s like a fairy tale here. I’d like to live like that one day.”
On my tablet, I showed the prosecutor and the woman from child welfare services clips from our celebration of the inauguration of the apartments here on the roof. The pure joy of the twelve- and thirteen-year-olds in particular made our guests smile. I also gave the prosecutor the opportunity to watch clips of our battle with the mercenaries. The two police officers standing behind him cheered when the helicopter was shot down. Even more exciting was the battle with the armoured car.
“Mr. Berthier, where are your weapons? It is illegal to own military weapons in our country.”
There was definitely no desire on my part to reveal that. So, I searched for the clip showing the intervention of the three Peruvian military helicopters. You could also see me being arrested and covered in blood. “The military investigated everything and took the only surviving attacker and our weapons. Now, we only have one submachine gun and two hunting rifles left. The lieutenant colonel allowed us to keep them for self-defence.”
For several minutes, the events of the robbery were the subject of our discussion. I offered everyone a cigarette. The police officers smoked them with relish. Even Ms Ximena tried one but stubbed it out after two puffs. The prosecutor was the only one who didn’t want a cigarette, he was pushing for the investigation to continue. He asked who owned the buildings in the valley. I showed him a copy of my official deed to the valley and explained that I had acquired it through Boguruskij’s intrigues, with the aim of not being found by Interpol, and that he had planned and prepared my death.
When Mr Tello asked me how we could afford all this, I simply replied, “Financing the lives of so many people isn’t easy, but I have a licence to mine gold and silver in Peru. We’ve sold some silver so far. We’re currently negotiating with the Central Bank to purchase pure gold before the end of the year. Then everything will be much easier. Would you like to take a look at our gold production?”
The prosecutor and Ms Ximena accompanied me to the large construction shed behind the football pitch. I pressed the buzzer. Yu checked who was at the door and opened the steel door. He was busy studying the components of the gold extraction machine using the Chinese manual. The small electrolysis plant was running automatically but was only producing 150 grams of pure gold per day. Small gold bars, each weighing 100 grams, were laid out on a table next to a precision scale and a volumetric meter. “The Central Bank ordered these bars. They are 24-carat pure gold. Each bar is worth at least $4,500. The Central Bank buys them for $4,100, achieving a margin of almost 10%. Normally, the mining concession in Peru is only one percent of sales. However, we are happy to forgo the additional profit. This way, we don’t have to worry about distribution or securing such valuable shipments.”
Ximena looked closely. “They’re stamped with a small chakana, the Inca cross. Very beautiful! What do the numbers behind them mean?”
“The chakana is our trademark, granted by your bank and meaning ‘made in the Valley of the Gods’. The numbers indicate the purity and the year of manufacture, exactly as the Central Bank requested. Luca, the boy who tried to stop you with gunfire, usually works here. He was probably worried about our gold, too.”
But that didn’t matter anymore. The two visitors were fascinated by the gold, unable to believe that such wealth could lie so simply on a table. Mr Tello did a quick calculation. “Twenty bars are already finished. So, there are almost 300,000 SOL here. Unbelievable! Don’t these bars need to be put in a safe?”
“Of course, Mr Tello. They were just stamped today. But nobody steals in our community.”
I showed him a wooden box containing around a hundred gold nuggets. “That’s about 200 kilograms of gold, and not a single piece has been stolen yet. Feel free to hold one in your hand. It’s a good feeling to hold fifty thousand dollars in your hand, isn’t it?”
Mr Tello passed the lump to Ms Ximena, who almost dropped it. She hadn’t expected it to be so heavy. Both visitors assured me that they would never reveal our valley’s secret. They thanked me for placing such great trust in them.
Meanwhile, the two police officers were waiting at the gate. They couldn’t leave the garden because the entrance was securely locked. I covered my hand as I entered the code to open the gate.
The prosecutor pointed to the almost impassable fence and the burglar-proof gate. “But you certainly have good security, Mr Berthier. Well done!”
Afterwards, we visited the new kindergarten that was being built. Our guests were visibly impressed by the generous scale of the construction, which had already made great progress. I also informed the visitors that we had funded the reconstruction of the road from the 3N to the gas station, as well as the road from San Huano to the mountain village and into our valley. I showed them photos on my mobile phone of how densely overgrown the road had been for almost 50 kilometres, leaving us completely trapped.
We drove to the guesthouse. The final meeting took place on the terrace. The woman from child welfare said in her report that there had only been one case of child abuse: Heidy’s. As the other children were over fourteen years old, there was no reason to prosecute the cases unless the parents filed a complaint.
Unfortunately, the prosecutor had a completely different opinion. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Mr Berthier,” he began, “one thing has become clear to me: you tried very hard to impress us, but you can’t deny abusing teenage students. If I investigate further, it will certainly emerge that you impregnated at least five teenagers. How old are Babette Manciu, Lenya Vernushina, Ananda Varma, Isabella Debay, and Esther Egerszegi?”
He could only have obtained the full names from the maths teacher. It was clear to me that Mr Tello had seen through me. Nevertheless, I gave an evasive answer. “I’d have to look it up to give you an exact answer, but I’m almost certain they’re all sixteen.”
“Do you admit to being the father of these teenagers’ five children, or do I need to investigate this more thoroughly, perhaps with a DNA test?”
My heart raced and I was shocked, so I hesitated to answer. But what else could I do? “Yes, Mr Tello, they are my children. We were in a desperate situation and could see no way out of this valley. To be honest, it wasn’t my idea. The young woman wanted a child so badly.”
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