by Robin Mahle
“I speak English. We are here to see FBI Special Agent Elijah Cain.” Varela held out his badge. “Civil Police Rio de Janeiro.”
“One moment please.” He called back to the agent. “He’ll be up in a moment.”
Varela nodded and turned to Sosa. “Come. We’ll wait over here.” He started toward a row of chairs against the wall opposite the security desk.
Sosa began to feel the weight bear down him as to the significance this meeting would have. It would change things for him and his family. And could even force him to leave the city were things to go unexpectedly bad. Sosa was already planning his escape route, but if, as the tipster implied, this was the work of an American, perhaps this American was working alone and was not in bed, as they say, with the gangs. Time would tell. And the response from the FBI was about to be revealed.
Special Agent Elijah Cain appeared from beyond the corridor and made his way to the men. His pace was succinct and purposeful. It was clear already this was a deliberate man. Perhaps it was his maturity, appearing to be in his sixties. He must’ve seen more than his fair share and appeared to have no problems calling out those who would question his authority. The burly man dressed in a grey suit approached them. “Inspector Varela?”
“Yes, hello. I am Gustavo Varela.” He offered his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us. This is Investigator Pedro Sosa.”
“Investigator Sosa. Pleasure.” Cain extended a greeting to him. “I trust your flight was uneventful?” He already started back into the corridor.
“Yes, sir. Precisely how I prefer to fly.” Varela fell in line behind the agent.
“My office is just over here.” Cain made his way to the office and held open the door. “Please, come in and take a seat.” Once they were inside, he closed the door and walked to his desk. “So you say there is a possibility an American is involved in the disappearances of two of your citizens?”
“Forgive my broken English, but that is correct, sir,” Sosa began.
“Excuse me, son, but I prefer to hear from your supervising officer.” Cain set his sights on Varela. “You’ve come a long way for my ear, Inspector. I hope you can offer evidence to support your claim.”
Sosa had just been admonished by a man who was not his superior. Not even Varela was prone to such comments. It was insulting. But if he wanted help, he would have to take it, whether or not he approved of such behavior. This was why he disliked Americans. They were bold and arrogant and to behave this way in his country? With a calming breath, he listened as Varela explained.
“While hard evidence is negligible, Agent Cain, there is reason to believe based upon an eyewitness account.”
“And is this eyewitness reliable?” Cain asked.
“It is an anonymous source.”
Cain dropped his head. “You’re telling me you don’t have an eyewitness? That all you have is what amounts to an anonymous tip. Forgive me, Inspector. The time and money involved in making this trip could have been better spent on finding a viable source for your claim. What is it you believe I can do based on an anonymous tip?”
“We have the Amigos dos Amigos behind us on this effort, Agent Cain,” Varela replied.
Sosa eyed him with concern. They had no such thing. In fact, it was essentially words of warning the AdA had offered. Stay out of it was the gist. But it had accomplished what must have been Varela’s goal. Cain appeared acutely interested now.
“AdA.” Cain mulled over the mention of the notorious gang. “They control Rocinha. Them and their partners, the Pure Third Command.”
“That is correct. And sending in Brazil’s military police has done nothing but given them determination to wait it out. We are here because we need the help of the FBI, if this is indeed a series of disappearances instigated by one or more of your citizens.”
“Well, if I am to take this to the men upstairs, I will need more. What can you get me that will give us definitive proof? Even our teams don’t want to wade into the Rocinha waters.”
“The source can be traced back.” Sosa spoke up and would hold his ground against this tyrant. “And I have a description of the American. With that, and your enormous resources, I think an identification would only be one step away.”
“This is one hell of a big can of worms you’re asking me to open, I hope you know,” Cain said.
“It is dangerous, but sir, we have so many missing young women. More than a few of which disappeared only in the last few years. I think that means something.” Sosa peered at Varela who nodded for him to continue. “There is no question the dangers that lurk inside Rocinha—for all of us. But if we have a description of the American, will you help us find him?”
Cain eyed the men. “A face will only get us so far. We need a name. And if this person doesn’t have a criminal record or any prints on file, that will make this much more difficult.”
“Are you saying you will help, Agent Cain?” Varela asked.
“Get me what I need and I’ll consider it.”
The quaint mom and pop restaurant near the Quantico offices was where Kate waited. She was the first to arrive and was expecting Noah Quinn at any moment. It had been agreed their meetings would occur outside the BAU because this would be off-book to anyone else on the team. And so far, Kate had only consulted with Dwight Jameson on the matter. No one else knew of their agreement and certainly not Nick Scarborough. She was doing this for him at an untold cost to herself.
Quinn entered the restaurant and spotted her at a nearby table. A stylish man, fit and in his prime at 32 would be, under any other circumstances, attractive to Kate. In fact, she had once found him handsome a long time ago. But she knew too much about him now and had seen the ugliness inside him. She wished it hadn’t been that way, but she would never forgive him for using Nick’s weaknesses to get from her what he wanted.
“Sorry I’m late.” Quinn sat down opposite her. “Have you ordered?”
“No.”
“Good.” He opened the menu.
Kate trained her sights on him. He appeared as though everything was completely normal, that this was just another day in the lives of BAU profilers. She gazed at the menu and tried to remember why she was here. This would end soon and when Dwight Jameson came back to her with evidence Quinn had been duplicitous, she would throw it right back in his face.
The waitress approached. “Hello. Are you ready to order?”
“The chicken Caesar, please,” Kate said. “And an iced tea.”
“And for you sir?”
“Actually, I think I’ll have the same.” Quinn handed the menu to her. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
When she walked away, Kate began. “I hope you have pen and paper ready. I’m sure you’ll be underwhelmed.”
“There you go again, underestimating yourself. When this is over, Kate, you’ll see I’m not the enemy here. This will benefit the both of us. I have every intention of giving you credit on this study.”
“I’m sure you will, but I can’t say that I’ll want it.” She leaned over the table, resting her elbows atop it. “Where would you like to begin?”
“Oh. Okay. I figured we’d eat first, but there’s no better time than now.” He retrieved a voice recorder. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.”
“I understand your relationship with your father is or was somewhat strained. Can you tell me if that stems back to your discovery that you had been abducted at such a young age?”
She wanted to ask how he knew, but it didn’t matter. It was likely in her personnel file somewhere. The FBI conducted all sorts of personality tests before accepting an applicant. “My father had a lot of trouble accepting what had happened to me when I was six. He held himself responsible, as you can imagine.”
“Sure. That makes sense. But since you’re aware of that, have you forgiven him?”
She held his gaze with contempt. “Why don’t we talk about Hendrickson. H
e’s the reason you’re here, right?”
In that moment, the food arrived and she was grateful for the distraction. This was going to be harder than she thought. How could he not see how insensitive his actions were? Maybe because he’d never experienced the hardships she had faced. “We should eat first.” Kate tucked into her salad and shoveled a large bite into her mouth, smiling at him in return.
The disappointing trip to Brasilia was capped off by the chaos that surrounded the police station back in Rio.
Varela slowed as he entered the parking lot. “Check your phone.”
Sosa retrieved his phone. “No messages. No calls. What is going on here?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better get in there quickly.” Varela cut the engine. “Don’t talk to the press. Just go inside.” He stepped out of the car and made his way through the reporters. “Sem comentários!” “No comment!”
Sosa was right behind him and didn’t so much as look at the reporters, fearing for his safety and that of his family’s. When he followed Varela inside, the station was in the throes of similar disorder.
“What is going on?” Varela demanded as he entered.
“You didn’t hear?” An officer who stood among the others asked. “A field of bodies was found buried at the top of the hills in the favela.”
Sosa marched to the Missing Persons wall. “Are any of them here? On this wall?”
“Yes, many of them,” the officer replied.
“We need to go there now.” Varela turned to the officer again. “You. Take us now. Who is there?”
“Policia Militar.”
“They don’t conduct investigations,” Sosa replied.
“They are there to prevent an uprising and to protect the site. I will take you there now.”
Varela’s cell phone rang. “Sim.” He paused while the conversation began. “We are on our way now. Thank you, senhor.” He peered back at Sosa. “The commissioner will be meeting us there.”
The officer escorted Varela and Sosa through the swelling crowds outside and to his patrol car. “The door is open. You should get in quickly.” He eyed the crowd as they shuffled toward them.
The men slipped inside and the officer started the engine, speeding out of the lot in reverse. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just get us there quickly,” Varela replied. “When did this discovery happen?”
“While you were in the air, senhor. I don’t know if anyone attempted to contact you. The Commissioner called and asked your location.”
“What did you tell him?” Varela asked.
“That you were out of town.”
Varela eyed Sosa through the sideview mirror before turning back. “And nothing else? You did not disclose our location?”
“No, senhor.”
“Good. Who found the burial ground?”
A young man who called and asked not to be identified.”
Varela nodded. “Exactly what we need, another anonymous tip. And the AdA?”
“I don’t know if they are aware, but I assume so. They are never far from such things.” He turned right and continued up the hillside through the narrow streets and run-down shacks until reaching the end of the road. “We will have to walk from here. The terrain is too difficult.” He stopped the car and stepped out.
“Someone with a car would’ve had to get up that hill.” Varela turned to Sosa. “Tire tracks. Take photos if you see any.”
Sosa nodded as he stepped out and the three started up the hillside.
At the top was where the Commissioner waited, alongside members of Brazil’s military police who were tasked with maintaining order. But what awaited them as well were two high-ranking members of the AdA, including Luiz de la Costa, whom Varela had met with only a day earlier. Everyone knew who they were, but no one would dare arrest them. It was likely the commissioner was in their pockets as well.
“Where were you when this happened, Inspector Varela?” The commissioner asked.
“I was on a personal errand, senhor. My sincerest apologies.”
The commissioner pursed his lips before returning his sights to the overturned earth. “Perito Criminal,” “Crime scene investigators” are on their way. We should clear everyone out so that they can do their job. This is going to be a blemish on the favela. And with so much going against us, we cannot afford to bungle the efforts. Not even them.” He eyed the gang operatives hanging nearby.
Varela began, “I will ensure they will not interfere as I don’t believe they wish to in any case.”
Sosa had gone out on his own in search of tire tracks and how the young man who phoned in might have spotted the vehicle or the people inside it. He made his way to the grounds and peered inside where layers of dirt had already been pulled away. “Who was here? Who did this?” He asked one of the officers.
“We had to know this wasn’t a hoax and began to remove the earth.”
“Did anyone touch the bodies?” Sosa pressed on.
The officer shook his head.
Sosa knelt down and peered again that the body that rested on top. There were others beneath it, that much he could see. But they were only partially exposed. Once the crime scene investigators arrived, they would discover what horrors lay beneath. But at first glance, he knew who these victims were. They were the women on the wall. While he couldn’t put a name to the one who appeared lifeless and mangled, he knew who she was.
He started back toward Varela. “Senhor, we will need to set up lights. Dark will arrive soon and these poor children of God cannot be expected to stay in the earth this way.”
“It will be set up soon. Do you recognize them?”
“I can only see the one on the top. I don’t know who she is by name, though not Adriana Santos, that I can tell. However, her body…”
“I know.” Varela patted him on the back. “We will get them out tonight. However long it takes.” He peered down the hill at the approaching vehicles. “I believe they are here now. We should help them get started.” Varela made his way to the path below.
Sosa, however, opted for another, more dangerous route. He looked toward the two men who stood nearby, de la Costa and another of the AdA, no doubt. And the time had come to question them. He peered back at Varela to make sure he wasn’t looking because he would not allow such a bold move. But Sosa needed something to take back to that “idiota” FBI agent in Brasilia. He knew they would not get anywhere without that man’s help. But this, maybe now, this would convince the agent they had an American citizen murdering innocent young women from the favela. Sosa was already convinced of it.
He made his approach to the men who wore rifles on their backs. “Perdão.” “Pardon me.” My boss, Inspector Varela,” He pointed in Varela’s direction. “He spoke to you regarding the likelihood these victims are a result of an American. Do you know anything about that? Anything that you could tell me?”
The men eyed each other before de la Costa spoke. “We are good for the people of Rocinha. We have provided services to them. Electricity, running water. This disgrace is not the work of our people. No matter how the policia militar frame it.”
“Do you know then, anything at all about these innocent victims?”
“We are only here to make it known that the Amigos will not tolerate such violence against the people of the favela.”
Sosa nodded and walked away. That was rich. These people were among the most violent gangs in all of Brazil. They didn’t care who got in the crossfire. They don’t care how many they killed, but it was clear he would not get an answer from them. His only chance would be to find the person who called in the location. A young man. He would ask around for this boy. Because in order to solve these crimes, he knew the Americans would have to participate. And the only way to ensure that, was to point the finger at one of their own.
6
Dwight Jameson, the former colleague and close friend of Kate Reid and Nick Scarborough, sat in his car outside the apartment that belonged to Noah
Quinn. His window rolled down, the warm breeze drifted inside. He didn’t know the man well but disliked him thanks to what amounted to blackmail in Dwight’s mind. What the man had proposed to Kate seemed beyond compare. So his job now was to figure out how Agent Quinn knew about Nick’s struggles with alcohol. It was an odd feeling surveilling essentially one of his own. But he would not sit by and watch him try to destroy either or both of his friends.
The night had already settled in for its warm slumber and Dwight waited for Quinn to leave the apartment. The building was well-lit and it would be easy to spot a car leaving the parking garage from where he waited. The goal was to follow him and understand his habits. Maybe get lucky enough to see who he hangs out with. If ammunition against Kate existed, he would make sure there was ammunition against Quinn.
A car emerged from the parking structure beneath the apartment building. Dwight ducked lower into his seat, keeping his eyes above the door frame. The car in question was a 2014 silver Mercedes coupe.
“Mr. Quinn. Where might you be headed off to?” Dwight turned the engine and switched off the lights, pulling out onto the road several feet behind Quinn. He kept enough distance because this wasn’t his first rodeo.
Quinn’s Mercedes continued through downtown D.C. until he pulled into a spot in front of a bar. Dwight had to find a place to park nearby and by the time he did, he noticed Quinn walk inside. And he wasn’t going to let him go in alone. Dwight stepped out of his vehicle and entered the bar. Quinn had only met Dwight once and that was some time ago, so he didn’t feel the need to be overly furtive. However, that changed when he spotted Quinn in a booth with someone he did recognize. “You gotta be kidding me?” He darted in the opposite direction before he was seen and considered his options because the person Quinn was meeting with was very familiar with Dwight. In fact, she had worked with him for a while. “What the hell are you doing with him, Myers?”