by Robin Mahle
The sun had just peeked over the horizon while Pedro Sosa camped out near the location of what the locals had already dubbed “the killing field.” It wasn’t a term to be used lightly as its original meaning dated back to the 1970s Cambodian genocide. But this was no less gruesome. So far, the forensics team uncovered four bodies and they feared there were more. However, the hillside was becoming unstable and an imminent collapse of the ground was feared. The team would need to bring in equipment to stabilize the slopes and continue digging. Now they waited for identities on the bodies. But Sosa wasn’t going to wait for more to be killed and perhaps buried elsewhere. Maybe another killing field already existed?
For now, he waited because he was sure the boy who called in the location, a runner, as he discovered, would continue his routine. And as the skies were brightened by the sun, his hunch was right.
A young, athletic man jogged nearby. He appeared to be keeping his distance and rightly so. The area had been taped off and the earth loosened its grip on boulders and dirt that tumbled down. So he continued well enough away, but close enough for Sosa to see.
The boy appeared to slow as he neared the area, like he was waiting for another hole to open up in front of him and display the battered remains of young women, women he probably knew. This was Pedro’s chance.
He emerged from behind the thick leaves and deep green foliage of the native grounds and waited on the path ahead. When he caught sight of the runner, he held out his hands. “Está bem.” “It’s okay.” He slowed his approach. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The runner stopped in his tracks. Miguel Silva’s eyes darted back and forth as if searching for a place to run. “Polícia?”
“Sim.” “Yes.” Sosa displayed his badge.” I just want to know if it was you who called in to tell them about the burial ground? I promise, nothing will happen to you. I am looking for the one responsible for the deaths of our beautiful young women. And I think you might know more than you’ve said.” Sosa continued his approach, lowering his arms and pleading. “I need your help. You’ve been brave to do what you’ve done, but I need more. Will you help me?”
Miguel appeared confused and frightened. “I only saw the car.”
“A car? What car?”
“It was a piece of garbage. An old Ford Fiesta. I don’t know the year, but I saw the plates.
“You didn’t see who was driving? Was it only one person inside?”
“Two. There were two, but I left so they wouldn’t see me. That’s all I know.”
Sosa appeared pleased. “Is there any chance you can describe them? Either of these men you saw?”
“The driver, I think.” Miguel gazed upward. “Yes, the driver. He was dark haired. Groomed well.”
“Did he look like he was from Rocinha?”
“Oh no. He was dressed very well, at least his shirt. The other man, he might be from the favela. Shaggy beard, longer hair.”
“But the driver. Is it possible he could be American?”
“American? I don’t know. I didn’t hear him speak.” He hesitated a moment, but then continued. “I have seen it before. A few times before. And they didn’t look like good people. They looked like the kind to bring trouble.”
Sosa was losing a little steam. “You said you know the number plate? What was the color of the car?”
“White. It had rust on the back passenger wheel well. It was a hatchback. The number plate was LPM-2347. It was from Rio. I’m sorry. That’s all I know.” He eyed the crime scene several feet away.
“It’s okay. You have done the right thing. This will help more than you know. And no one will know we talked. You should go now. Go back to your running and don’t change your routine. Thank you.” Sosa patted him on the shoulder before heading back to his car farther down the hillside.
“Wait!” Miguel ran to catch up to him. “There is something else. I remember the driver held his mobile phone. I remember because it was bright, like he was using it to light his way.”
A wave of relief swelled through Sosa. He knew what this could mean. Cell towers. He could ping the towers for calls in the time frame of when the kid saw the car. “This is good news. Thank you, son. Thank you.”
Red and yellow floodlights illuminated the mansion’s exterior. It was nestled against the hills overlooking Leblon beach, which was only a stone’s throw from Ipanema and Copacabana. Inside, a celebration was underway and the DJ played dance music. Though it was 1am, people continued to arrive and the house was packed.
“Excuse me?” Scott approached with his dark hair slicked back, a thin stubbly beard and sporting a fitted button-down shirt. “I have news. Can we speak in private?”
With a cocktail at his lips, the owner of the home leaned into his associate’s ear, though his eyes never left the room. “Can this wait?”
“No, it can’t.”
Appearing disappointed, he agreed. “Fine. Lead the way.” Mason Wylder had been blessed with a magnificence reserved for mythological gods. He stood at six feet with muscles so well-defined, even beneath his form-fitted clothes, they appeared airbrushed. Radiant brown eyes and cheekbones carved like a Michelangelo sculpture, he captured the eye of everyone in the room, not just the women. He followed his associate to a quiet part of the home. Not an easy task. “What is so important? You know what this party means to me.”
“I do know and I’m sorry to pull you away from your guests. I have news that a burial pit was uncovered in Rocinha yesterday. And four bodies removed.”
Wylder’s face turned blank. “Have they identified any of the bodies?”
“Not yet.”
“And what are you going to do about this?” he asked.
“I think we should go back home now. Take a break and let things cool down. You’ll be needed back at work soon anyway so maybe now is the right time.”
“I’m not leaving yet. The season’s only just begun. I mean, look at this place.” He turned with open arms. “This is why we’re here. No. You’ll have to figure something out. We aren’t going anywhere. Not unless or until it’s absolutely necessary. No one is going to care about a few underprivileged girls from Rocinha. Christ, that entire favela is rampant with drugs and crime. The cops have enough on their plates.”
“Will you at least agree to a cooling off period? A few weeks, maybe a month. You can throw more parties. Whatever else you want to do,” Scott said.
“I’ll consider it, though I can’t make any guarantees.” He smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to my guests.” Wylder started back into the living area.
Scott was dumbfounded. This was not the reaction he expected. But he would have to do as his boss requested and hoped he could at least keep him on a short leash for the time being. “Idiota.” He started back toward the party, snatching a cocktail from a passing waiter as he did.
“Hi there.” A woman wearing a silky slip dress and high-heels approached him. “I saw who you were talking to just now. Are you a friend of his?”
Scott stopped and peered at the woman. “Yes. I’m his best friend.”
“Do you think maybe you could introduce me? I’d love to get his autograph.”
Pedro Sosa stared at his computer screen, closer this time, just to be sure he was seeing this right. He jotted down the phone number and opened a search engine, entering it to see its origins. “New York.” A smile crawled onto his lips, widening with each moment as he realized what this meant. “America.”
He shot up from his chair and rushed to Varela’s office. “Senhor? Senhor? Can I speak to you please?”
“Yes, what is it, Pedro? Did you trace the number plate on the vehicle?”
Sosa entered and closed the door. “I did. It was stolen. The number plate is useless to us. However, after I spoke with the runner and he mentioned a mobile phone in the hand of the driver, I searched for calls made around the tower on the hill on the night in question. I found several numbers, but only one I was interested in. It tr
aced back to the nearest tower in Rocinha. The number is from New York. Senhor, this is what we’ve been waiting for. Proof. And now we have it.” He held up the piece of paper with the number scribbled on it. “We can get this to Agent Cain. He’ll have no choice, but to look into this.”
Varela nodded his approval. “It isn’t exactly what we would have wanted, but it could be enough.” He grabbed his keys and stood up. “We’ll make the call to him somewhere else. Many mouths are fed by the hands of the AdA here.”
Sosa followed him as they walked to the Inspector’s car. Once inside, Sosa continued. “How will we keep this quiet if the FBI are involved?”
“Pedro, that is something you should have considered prior to now.”
“We already told the AdA that we think we’re after an American. I don’t think we should expect any retribution.”
“I do hope you’re right. And as far as keeping this quiet, I’m not sure that will be possible. The discovery of the gravesite is already on the news. Though most will believe it to be the work of the gangs. That said, I think we may need to pay the AdA another visit. Inform them the FBI may arrive but only to investigate the possible association to an American.”
Sosa agreed. “Yes, it wouldn’t be wise for the gangs to insert themselves into this or harm any member of American law enforcement.”
Varela chuckled. “The entire favela might suffer from drone attacks if that happened.” He pulled into a market where a phone booth was near. “I’ll make the call to Agent Cain. You stay here.”
Sosa waited while Varela left the car. He made his way to the phone booth and plucked in several coins. These booths were becoming rarer to find and especially ones that worked. But he’d used this particular booth before for less than noble reasons. “May I speak to Special Agent Elijah Cain, please. This is Inspector Varela in Rio.” He waited while the call was transferred.
“Cain here.”
“Agent Cain, this is Gustavo Varela.”
“Inspector. What can I do you for, sir?”
Varela surveyed the area. There appeared to be no onlookers. “I believe I have the proof you requested regarding the missing persons.”
“And what might that be?” A hint of derision laced his words.
“A phone number. A call that was made in the area where the burial field was found in Rocinha.”
“I am aware of this development. Go on.”
“It was made the night before the discovery and the call originated from a mobile phone with an American number. Specifically, New York City.”
“New York City. Well, that is interesting. Anything you discovered about the call logs? Like who the call was made to?”
“No, sir. However, I am hopeful that is where you can help. Sir, these women found in the ground at the hilltop, they were mutilated, some beheaded. It will take weeks to identify them with our resources.”
“And you don’t believe this has anything to do with the AdA or their compatriots?”
“I do not. I have a relationship with them. They have suggested they had no part in any of the disappearances.”
“Sure.”
“Agent Cain, you asked for proof. I have at least four female bodies, horribly disfigured and a phone number tracing back to someone from New York City. What more can I do? I am now begging for your help. This involves your people, not mine. And if I have to make that known publicly, I will not hesitate to do so.” There was silence on the other end and Varela feared the worst.
“Give me the number and give me all the intelligence you have. I need photos of the victims as well. I have some people I can call.”
“Thank you, senhor. I will send a courier with the information. I cannot entrust that my email system is not monitored.”
“If it comes to light this involves an American, Varela, you’re going to have to find a way to protect yourself and any of my people who offer their services. Can I count on you for that?”
“Yes, of course. I will ensure their safety.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Cain ended the call. He pulled up from his desk. “Damn it.” It was all he could do not to slam down his fist. He was pissed this appeared to embroil Americans. The PR would be a nightmare. Brazil wasn’t the easiest of governments to work with in joint investigations and Rio was probably the worst thanks to their tainted police force. Safety would also be an issue. There was no way Varela could guarantee his agents’ safety and he knew it. It would be up to Cain to furnish his people with arms and awareness of the area. He was going to be up to his ass in this one.
He pressed the number on his phone that rang his secretary. “Hey, can you get me the direct number for BAU 4? I need to speak to the unit chief.”
“Right away, sir.”
Unit Chief Cole held the phone to his ear. “You get me what you can and I’ll arrange for my team to make a visit. Yes, I’ll inform them of the risks and the necessary steps regarding their safety. I’ll let you know when they’re on their way.” He ended the call and started into the corridor.
Cole approached Scarborough’s office. “Can I bend your ear, Scarborough?”
“Sure. Come in. What’s going on?” He set down his papers and gave Cole his full attention.
“There’s been a request made by International Operations out of Brasilia.”
“What’s the request?”
“There’s a suspect—possible suspect, who the local authorities believe could be an American based on some eyewitness testimony and a cell phone number.”
“Okay. And the crime?”
“Crimes. Four bodies were discovered buried near the top of the hills at a slum in Rio. A place called Rocinha.”
“I’ve heard of the place. Rio’s been going downhill pretty much since the 2016 Olympics. Crime and violence are through the roof, not to mention the corruption.”
“Exactly. This is my fear in even asking this of you and your team. But the senior agent at the US Embassy in Brasilia was asked to assist. And due to the nature of the crimes, the condition of the bodies and number of them, he called us.”
Scarborough nodded. “They believe this could be an American serial killer in Rio?”
“That’s right. What do you think?” Cole asked.
“It will be risky for the team. No question. Can we expect to have the appropriate accommodations as a result?”
“Of course. Between International Ops and your team, safety will be priority number one. And I’ll personally get the director in on this one. The consequences of this could spread beyond anything we’d be prepared for.”
“I agree.”
“I suggest you consult with your team and get back with me. Today.” Cole began to leave. “Oh, and one more thing. If the unsub is American, the Brazilian government will prosecute to the fullest extent of their laws. There’ll be no bringing anyone back.”
“I’ll call a meeting with the team now and get back to you. Thank you.”
Within minutes, a call went out and Scarborough headed into the conference room. Kate was already inside with Quinn. Walsh and Duncan appeared behind him.
“Where’s Fisher?” Scarborough stood at the head of the table.
“Still in Miami,” Duncan replied. “Should we get him on a conference call?”
“Yes. He needs to be in on this.”
Duncan proceeded to make the call on the speaker phone in the center of the table.
“Fisher here.”
“It’s Duncan. I’ve got the team here and you’re on speaker. Scarborough called an urgent meeting. Can you talk?”
“Give me one second. I need to get someplace a little quieter.” The sound of movement was evident as he made his way to a more private location. “Okay. I’m all ears.”
Scarborough leaned over the table, his elbows straight and his palms pressed against it as he remained standing. “International Ops in Brasilia needs our help on a case in Rio.” He filled them in on the details. “I’m waiting on the file, but this is somethin
g within our scope of services. What I need to ask from each of you, understanding the challenges of their current environment, safety issues and the like, is this something you are okay with? Cole said we can turn it down, if need be.”
“If we do that, then International Ops will have to run it alone,” Quinn said. “This isn’t their kind of thing. I’m not sure we have a choice.”
“I agree,” Kate said. “I understand the risks. It’s the same risks most of our agents face on a daily basis.”
“Reid’s hit the nail on the head,” Walsh interjected. “I’m in. When do we leave?”
“And you, Duncan?” Scarborough asked. “This has to be unanimous. This is going to be an all-hands on desk situation. We’re either all in or none of us are.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” she replied.
“That leaves you, Fisher.”
“I’ll be on the next flight back and we’ll leave when you’re ready.”
“Then we’re all in agreement. I’ll let Cole in on the decision and we’ll go from there. Thank you. And safe travels back home, Fisher.” Scarborough ended the call. “Do whatever you need to do to get ready to jump in and hit the ground running. I don’t know how long we’ll be there but prepare for a long stay. Any other questions?” He peered around. “I’ll get back to you with flight details.”
7
The unavoidable layover in Panama City tacked on an additional three hours to an already lengthy flight to Brasilia. The team had just arrived at the international airport and had deplaned. The decision was made for SSA Cameron Fisher to fly directly from Miami to Brasilia to save time. His arrival preceded theirs by a few hours and now he waited at the airport with Agent Elijah Cain to collect the rest of his colleagues.
Walking along the breezeway in the terminal, Kate turned on her cell phone. There were several missed calls and texts from Dwight Jameson. It had been a whirlwind few days getting this trip cleared by the director and the State Department, so she had put the unfortunate situation with Quinn on the back burner without informing Dwight as much. It was a decision she now regretted after viewing his attempts to reach her.