by Robin Mahle
“After you.” He held open the door as the women stepped inside.
Adriana was in the passenger seat and her friend squeezed into the back seat of the small coupe. She waited for him to enter. “I don’t think I asked your name.”
“Scott.” He pulled away from the club and onto the road. “And you’re Adriana. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He peered through the rear view.
“Gabrielle.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
“Where did you learn our language?” Gabrielle asked.
“I live here several months out of the year.”
“This isn’t your home?” Adriana replied.
“Only part-time. And I live with a friend. He should be there when we arrive.” Scott continued along the winding roads and approached the coastal edge where the driveway of the mansion appeared. “This is it, ladies.”
Adriana appeared astounded. “It’s beautiful. Do you own it?”
“My friend does.” He stopped at the top of the driveway. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
Under cover of nightfall, a light rain fell upon the dirt that had been shoveled into the hole. Scott examined the work of his hired hand. “A little more just to be safe, though no one will bother to come look for them. We should also leave before the rain turns the road to mud.”
The freshly turned earth was pushed back in, one shovel at a time until Adriana Santos and her friend, Gabrielle, were buried at the base of the lush hillside far away from homes or people or anyone who would take notice.
The man with him was a local and spoke little English. But he knew it was time to leave when Scott returned to the car. Only this wasn’t the flashy Tesla in which he had driven the girls. This was a shitty Ford Fiesta that could have belonged to anyone. Seeing it emerge from the hills near Rocinha would be of no concern. And for this American in Rio de Janeiro, it was just another night on the town.
2
The cloud of uncertainty proved stifling for the FBI’s elite BAU team. They sat in silence in the conference room while awaiting the outcome of the investigation. The head of the department, Unit Chief Cole, had already assured the team that they would not be held liable for what happened in Boston, but Senior Unit Agent Nick Scarborough felt differently. As the team leader, it was his call to allow Boston field agent Connor Murphy and Police Detective Terry King to go into that apartment alone with two killers. It had ended badly for them; one died, the other was injured.
The group of specialist agents, with two recent additions who had shaken up the status quo, had only just begun to gel and not all were happy with the regime change. That was where the real problem lay.
Kate Reid was among the best of the best the FBI had to offer and she had grown fond of each of these agents, with one exception. Noah Quinn remained an enigma. His boyish good-looks, well-dressed and polished veneer had lured her in to believing she was safe around him. That he wouldn’t betray her trust, but he had. He also had yet to divulge to the powers that be what he thought he knew about Nick Scarborough, meaning he was likely awaiting this very moment to determine how he would play his hand.
“Good morning.” Unit Chief Cole arrived several minutes late. “I’ll keep this brief so you all can get back to work. First of all, I’d like to thank each of you for your assistance and cooperation in this investigation. I heard nothing but positive remarks from the Boston Field Office and you are all to be commended for your efforts. That said.” He handed out the report. “Let’s take a look at the resolution to this unfortunate episode.”
Each team member reviewed the report, devouring it for any hint of blowback. Cameron Fisher was the second in command. The former New York cop chewed on his toothpick as he began to read. Eva Duncan, who sat next to him, was a hard-edged Chicagoan who had worked closely with Agent Murphy on the case. She might have been the one hit hardest by his death. And Levi Walsh, a former military man from Alabama who was responsible for coordinating with the local police. He felt the loss too. And last, but not least, Noah Quinn—Kate’s supervisor and expert profiler. These were the people who had been there and witnessed, via audio, the events of that fateful evening that cost Agent Murphy his life. And now as they read the findings of the internal investigation, Kate pondered their reactions.
It was Nick Scarborough, the man in charge of this team, who broke the silence. “This appears to conclude that it was an error in judgement on the part of Connor Murphy that led to the shootout.”
“That’s right,” Cole said. “As I recall in my initial response to the incident, I believed it had everything to do with Murphy’s relative inexperience. And the committee agrees. I know you feel responsible for what happened, Scarborough, but this doesn’t fall on your shoulders. It’s time we all got behind you.” He eyed Quinn. “I am aware some of you didn’t agree with the decision, but it’s easy to second-guess something when it all goes to hell.”
This was the outcome Kate had hoped for, but what this meant for Quinn’s intentions remained tenuous. Nick wouldn’t be censured. He wouldn’t be reprimanded in any way. So how would Quinn use this now? That was something both she and Nick would have to prepare for. There was no mistaking one thing, as much as she hoped Quinn would be an ally, he’d made it clear that night, as they listened to the horrific shootout, that he had no intentions of letting what he knew about Nick slide. It would be up to Kate to figure out how he planned to use it to his advantage.
“This was the right call,” Fisher said. “I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t onboard with the decision to run the op that way, but had a more experienced agent been onsite, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.” He turned to Scarborough. “I should’ve stood behind you on this one and I’m sorry for that. You’ll have my full support and this won’t happen again.”
“That means a lot,” Scarborough replied. “Thank you.” He turned to the rest of the team. “Now that we can put this behind us, I’d like to move forward on the work we’re supposed to be doing. I will be making some changes as it relates to how and when we get involved in investigations. Our priority is not in field work. We have field agents for that. While I understand there will be circumstances that require us to play that part, I won’t put our focus on it. Our focus will and should always be to back up the field teams.”
“Agreed,” Quinn replied. “I’m glad we see eye to eye on that.”
“I think we can all agree we should get back on the horse and do what the FBI pays us to do. So I suggest we all get back to work. Thank you for your time.” Cole began to leave.
As the rest of the team left, Kate caught up to Quinn. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
He eyed Scarborough as he left the room. “Sure.”
She closed the door where the two remained alone and walked back to the table, dropping into a chair. “Look, I know you think what happened in Boston was Scarborough’s fault.” She waited for a retort, but he apparently had none. “And I’m sure you wanted someone to be held accountable. An agent died and that means something. I know that. We all do.”
“What is it you want to say to me, Reid? That I was wrong. Your boyfriend was right. Things between you and me haven’t changed. I still believe you could rise to be one of the greatest profilers out there. But that doesn’t mean I have to cozy up to Scarborough. It’s going to take some time to get past this one.”
“I get it. But there’s something I think you’re keeping close to your chest. Something I’m afraid you might use to prove some point or to use as a steppingstone.”
“And that is?”
She noticed he immediately took a defensive posture. “There’s a side to Nick Scarborough I think you want to exploit.”
“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” He remained standing and folded his arms as if exerting authority over her.
“Come on, Noah. Please don’t take me for a fool,” Kate replied. “While you might think you know the situation, trust me, you
don’t. And to play that card would only tear this team apart. Is that what you really want?”
“What I want, is you.”
“Excuse me?” she replied.
“I’ve made it no secret that I need you to work with me. Nothing’s changed, except your reluctance has become intolerable.”
“I’m sorry. You’re going to need to step back a minute and tell me what the hell you’re talking about. I have been very forthcoming with you.”
“No, you haven’t, and that’s going to change. If you want to play ball, this is how we do it. I want to write a paper and I want you to help me. Kate, I’m telling you, with both our names on it, it will change the trajectory of our careers. That I can promise you.”
“You over estimate what I can provide. You always have. I can see now that if this is how we get through our current predicament, then fine, I’ll do what you ask. But this stays between us until you’re ready to publish the findings.”
“I can agree to that.”
Kate retrieved her notebook and started to leave. “You’ll be the one getting the short end of the bargain, I’m sorry to say.”
He waited until she was out of earshot. “That’s where you and I disagree.”
Police Investigator Pedro Sosa stood before the wall of photographs, hands on his round hips, peering at them as if he knew them personally. All young and beautiful women. All from Rocinha. And all suspected to already be dead or victims of human trafficking, in which case, they might as well be dead. Rio was a dangerous city, more so now than in years past. And Sosa was torn between justice and safety for himself and his family. There couldn’t be both. Not here.
For the time being, there had been no ramifications to his suggestion that he pursue the disappearance of Adriana Santos. Was it possible his supervisor, Inspector Varela, wasn’t on the take? Possible, but unlikely. More likely was that he didn’t want to see harm come to Sosa for the minor infraction. That didn’t mean he would let him slide if he continued to dig into the situation. But what could he do to stop this? The people, his people, were suffering at the hands of criminals every day and to look the other way while it happened had begun to take its toll.
As he examined each and every photograph on the wall. With a furrowed brow, he retrieved a map of Rocinha and marked the locations of where the young ladies resided. They all lived in the area, but if there was a radius he could pinpoint, perhaps that would lead somewhere.
He began marking the addresses of the missing women and pulled back to view his findings. There was no definitive area, however, he did notice something unusual. The most recent of the women who disappeared were outside of the strongholds of the AdA, the Amigos dos Amigos. Could this mean the perpetrator understood that he was not to cross the organization? Or could it suggest a member of the AdA hadn’t wanted his counterparts to discover what was happening? Either way, this was an interesting find and maybe it meant something. The only way to know for sure was to take it to Varela. It would require Varela’s approval, and maybe he stood a chance of getting it. Sosa walked toward the Inspector’s office and knocked.
“Come in,” Varela replied.
“Inspector Varela, can I have a moment of your time?” Sosa asked.
“Of course. Sit.”
“I would like to visit the AdA second-in-command, Luiz de la Costa, and discuss a situation I believe I may have uncovered.”
Varela leaned over his desk with interest. “And what situation might that be?”
“The missing girls. I think it could be a rival gang seeking a turf war. We have seen this many times before, sir.”
“Yes. But in regard to drug trafficking not human trafficking. I’m not sure this is the road you should take, Pedro. This could place you and your family in jeopardy.”
“Yes, that is possible. But if I am to warn them of a possible impending turf war, might they want to hear from me then? And then I will understand if this is the work of the AdA or another gang.”
Varela captured Sosa’s gaze. “Why do you wish to pursue this, and why now?”
“Because I have a daughter and I would not want her mother to suffer what Adriana Santos’ mother is suffering through. Nor myself. I can make this appear as a favor to the AdA. Warning them of problems that may arise. That is how I will show them my—our loyalty.”
“Then you will not go alone. I will accompany you.” Varela stood from his desk. “Is there no better time than now, Pedro?”
“No, sir. No better time.” He was pleased by the support and held out hope that Varela could offer some rebuttal against the criminal organizations that were destroying not only the favelas but Rio in its entirety. Small and measured steps would be required, but this could be the beginning of something meaningful and Sosa prayed it would not cost either of them their lives.
They arrived at a known location of the upper echelons of the AdA. With armed guards outside the entrance, Varela approached first and displayed his badge.
“Inspector Varela here to see Senhor de la Costa. He is expecting us.”
The armed member of the crime syndicate eyed the officers before nodding and allowing them entry. Once inside, more armed men appeared and both were subjected to pat-downs ending in the surrendering of their side-arms.
The building was far nicer than anything else inside Rocinha. While the AdA attempted to buy the loyalty of citizens inside the favela by offering basic public services and throwing lavish parties, they kept the true wealth for themselves. The money derived from drug smuggling and human trafficking, it was all used to funnel more wealth to their operatives, including the civilian police force.
Another of de la Costa’s heavy lifters showed them to a room where the man himself was found. Varela and Sosa entered.
“Please, sit down, gentlemen.” De la Costa gestured to the chairs opposite his desk. “Inspector Varela, I understand you have concerns regarding a forthcoming turf war. I am glad you came to see me right away. Please, explain your concerns.”
Sosa followed his supervisor’s lead and let him open discussions.
“Yes, of course, our inquiry into a missing persons’ claim revealed something of interest that Investigator Sosa discovered.”
De la Costa eyed Sosa before returning his attention to Varela. “Continue.”
“What he discovered was that several young women in the community have disappeared, but what makes that remarkable is that they lived in an area where it is believed the Terceiro Comando Puro are attempting to gain control.”
De la Costa nodded his agreement. “Yes. This is interesting. However, at what point is this of concern for my operation?”
Sosa spoke up. “Well, sir, if the citizens become frightened enough, and that is beginning to happen, they might succumb to the demands of the TCP, disregarding your own.”
“And are you hoping to make arrests in this scenario?”
Varela peered at Sosa before turning back. “At your command. We can make that happen.”
De la Costa appeared to consider the officers’ plan of action. “I will make the inquiry myself. This is something the generals and I should discuss with the TCP prior to allowing you to question any member of their organization.” He stood. “I will relay the details. However, you must keep in mind, our arrangement still stands.”
“Of course, sir. Nothing changes until you say so.” Varela got to his feet. “Your time is sincerely appreciated.”
The officers were shown out as they walked back to their patrol car. Varela stepped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Progress was made today.”
Sosa eyed him. “Yes, sir.” But that wasn’t how he saw things. It was status quo as far as he was concerned. De la Costa would do nothing except warn the TCP we were asking questions. It was in his best interest to do so. He would be seen as offering an olive branch, both factions looking out for one another. This couldn’t stand. Not this time.
Upon their return to the station, Sosa and Varela walked insi
de.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Sosa said.
“These are dangerous waters you tread, Pedro. Do so carefully, yes?”
He nodded before returning to his desk and found something quite unexpected. A message lay on top of his keyboard. He retrieved the note that had a number written on it. No name, just a number. Sosa looked at his cell phone and considered making the call but thought otherwise.
“Sir?” He approached Varela again. “I need to run out for only a few minutes. It seems my wife has run out of petrol. I will need to bring her some.”
“Certainly.” Varela continued toward his office. “Give her my regards.”
Sosa grabbed his car keys and started toward the parking lot. He needed distance and a payphone, which were in short supply here. In fact, there were only a few remaining and the nearest one was still a mile away. He drove until he made it to the last vestige of a pre-mobile phone world.
Upon stepping out, he approached the run-down booth and prayed the phone was still in working order. When he picked up the receiver, a dial tone sounded. “Thank you, God.” With the slip of paper in his hand, he dialed the number and waited until the caller answered.
“Olá?” he asked.
“Pedro Sosa?” the voice said in return.
“Sim.” “Yes.” He waited while there was a short silence on the other end. Then the mysterious voice began.
“You are being led in the wrong direction. Neither TCP nor AdA have anything to do with the disappearances of the young women you seek.”
“Then who?” Sosa asked.
“You are looking inside the favela for answers. That is not where you will find them. To find them, you must look outside. Gávea, São Conrado.”
“Money? You are saying whoever is doing this has money.”
“Money, extreme wealth and many people under his charge.”