Checkmate in Rio

by Nick Carter

  She came to him completely, giving herself with a grace and simplicity he had forgotten could exist. Even what she said so softly in his ear reminded him of a river: "Let it last forever… let it last forever… Darling, let it last…"

  He let it last as long as he could bear the exquisite pain of so much mounting pleasure, as long as she was content with their slow, voluptuous movements. They floated dreamily together on a current that picked up tempo as they rode it, until they hit the rapids and were forced to cling more fiercely to each other. Her hands caressed and fondled him with a growing urgency, until at last her fingernails bit into his back and her mouth melted against his in final supplication and sudden hot desire. Then he was lost — beautifully, wonderfully, ex-hilaratingly lost. Their bodies tensed and arched and flowed together, thighs straining deliciously and mouths blending. Then — over the waterfall, and down, and down, and down, and down… and down…

  She sighed a long, shuddering happy sigh and let her head fall back against the billowing pillows. Nick lay beside her, marvelously relaxed and dreamily content, and let her pull his head against her warm soft breasts. This time there was no compulsion to get up and run. It was right to lie there with her, glowing and refreshed.

  "Sweet baby," he murmured drowsily.

  She looked into his eyes and smiled, and made a little purring sound like a sleepy kitten.

  For a while, they slept.

  He got up when daylight left the room and the warm glow began to seep from his body. Rosalind stirred then, too, and after a while he poured them both a drink and they began to talk long and seriously, sharing the day's experiences. Rosalind started with her encounter at the museum and wound up with a description of her escape that made Nick frown and smile in turn.

  "But I didn't accomplish a thing," she concluded. "All I got out of it was a good look at his face."

  "At least you could have sneaked a look at his book. Hellhouse of Passion!" Nick laughed and rattled his ice cubes. "No, you did well. As usual with this sort of thing, we start out having very little to go on. Our best bet is to stir things up and keep stirring until something comes to the surface. We've got to make them show themselves. And I think we're getting there. I stirred up a regular hornet's nest this afternoon myself — that's why Michael Nolan had to come to an unexpectedly early end." And he told her of his day's work, starting with his dealings with Pereira and lightly sketching in the events that led up to the swift departures from the Serrador.

  She listened intently, interposing an occasional perceptive question and comment.

  "The main trouble with all this," he finished, "is that the police are now going to be so interested in Nolan's enquiries to the editor of the Journal that they're going to intensify their own efforts and start getting in our way. On the other hand, they may turn up a whole lot of information that we wouldn't be able to get at ourselves — even to the point of discovering the killers and whoever's behind them. And then again, that might leave us just as much in the dark as we were before."

  "What exactly did Carmen de Santos tell you?" she asked. "Did she have any idea that her husband was anything but a newspaperman?"

  He shook his head. "Not according to our own reports, nor from what I gathered from her. She just thought he went out on a hot news break. It's possible that she was covering for him, but I doubt it. She said that a few hours after they got back from their trip that Saturday morning, he settled down with a newspaper. Suddenly he said, in what she described as a sort of choking voice, 'My God! That little bookstore man, Appelbaum, has been found dead. Murdered!'"

  Carmen had been a little surprised by her husband's reaction. As far as she knew João's only contact with Appelbaum was an occasional visit to his bookstore.

  Shortly afterwards he had made a phone call, but failed to reach his party. It was a local call, and he had said: "I'm calling from the Rio Journal. Is your husband there, please? There's a story I'd like to — oh? Oh, thank you. No, no point in leaving a message."

  And a few minutes after that, he had received a phone call.

  He had listened for a moment and then said: "Amethysts, no, but if it's emeralds, of course I'm interested. But what's the story? He's left town, too? But what about the one who — who didn't? I see. You think it might break that soon…"

  Try as she would, Mrs. de Santos could remember little more of the conversation. She had made no attempt to listen, and anyway she had been occupied with the baby.

  But before he had hung up he'd said: Álvares, is it? All right, I'll be there. Admiring the view."

  After he hung up he had waited then lifted the receiver and listened to the silence for a long moment before dialing first one number and then another without success.

  Then he had told Carmen that he had to go out on the trail of a story and that he would be back as soon as he possibly could. He had kissed her, tickled the baby, and left with his camera slung over his shoulder. And he had not come back.

  " 'Amethysts and emeralds,'" said Roz, frowning thoughtfully. "A jewel story?"

  Nick shook his head. "It sounds more like a code, a sort of password. Perhaps one that he'd used with Langley. And Langley had passed on to someone else — named Álvares."

  "Of the well-known team, Álvares and Martín? Good God. What made him go out like that without getting in touch with his home office first?"

  "I guess that's something we'll never know. But Álvares must have had a very compelling and convincing story for him. It seems he'd had some weeks to work it… Hmm. If de Santos was trying to call his cohorts, it must have been Carla he talked to. Oh, by the way — no message from the lady?"

  Rosalind shook her head. "None. Tough luck, Casanova"

  Nick saw her sudden change of expression and squeezed her hand.

  "She's part of the business — you're not. At least not in the same sense. You're special. I like you, I want you, I enjoy you, and you're adorable. I can't say any of the same things about her. She's a pathetic, neurotic woman."

  "Come now, you're protesting too much!"

  He stopped both of them by kissing her until she was breathless.

  "Now let's get ready to hit the hot spots. I'm hungry!"

  * * *

  They ate a sumptuous late dinner at A Cobaça Grande, where other diners eyed them curiously but left them alone. If anyone passing their table lingered long enough to catch a snatch of conversation, all he could hear was Rosita on the subject of hiring domestic staff — including a hairdresser — to serve them in their huge suite, and Robert talking about yachts, cars, the races and his lawyers.

  After dispensing an enormous tip they headed for the Carioca Club, in memory of Ferret.

  The hall porter had told them it was one of the town's most lavish and expensive, and it was. Genuinely fine murals of Rio and its beaches looked down upon a huge dance floor, at one end of which grew clumps of real palm trees, their heads almost touching the ceiling and their roots growing down through unseen holes in the floor. A six-piece band accompanied a sensually athletic team of acrobats in abbreviated beach wear. As Nick and Rosalind were shown to their ringside table the act finished to appreciative applause and the band led into a tango that throbbed with primitive excitement. They ordered quickly and joined the dancers, losing themselves in the superb music and the pleasure of each other's company, recapturing the slow, sweet thrill of the late afternoon.

  When the set ended they returned to their table and saw themselves being watched.

  "Cheers, my love," said Rosalind. "He's coming over here. You saw him first, but me — I've spoken to him. That's Silveiro."

  Nick took in the setup at a glance. A little round man with a half-solemn, half-jovial expression was threading his way to them from a table at the far side of the floor where another man was seated — a man wearing an air of sadness and a black armband.

  The little man stopped at their table and waved a proprietary arm at a passing waiter. "The same all 'round, Pedro," he said. "F
orgive me, Senhorina, Senhor, if I intrude. The lady I have had the pleasure of speaking to." He bobbed his head graciously. "Luiz Silveiro at your service, Senhor Milbank. May I join you for a moment?"

  "By all means," Nick said grandly. "As long as you do not ask like so many others do, the secret of my success!" He laughed knowingly, and Silveiro chuckled with him.

  "Strange that you should say that, Senhor," he said, sitting down. "I had planned to do exactly that!" The merry face quickly settled back into its solemn lines. "But actually I do have a little business to discuss, and I can do it very quickly. No, do not alarm yourself…" noting the expression of distaste on Nick's face. "It is just that as co-owner of this club I might perhaps make your stay here more enjoyable. Perhaps you are even planning to settle? I must confess that I noted your arrival with some interest and have been hoping to meet you. In fact, I have mentioned this to your lady."

  He beamed at Rosalind, who nodded in return.

  "Well, that's very good of you," said Nick vaguely, and waited.

  "You do not mind?" Silveiro hurried on. "Of course one has heard something about you through the newspapers — though one cannot always take some of their nonsense at face value. I would very much like to help make you feel at home here. To be my guest in the club," and he waved an encompassing hand, "at any time you choose. Perhaps to introduce you to some of our sporting figures — possibly assist you in real estate transactions and the hiring of staff. I know how difficult it is to get fair treatment in a new city, especially… Well, my services are at your disposal. Huh. It is about time, Pedro. Do not keep our guests waiting from now on." He frowned at the waiter.

  "Why, I think the service is excellent," Rosalind said sweetly.

  "Yes, indeed," said Nick. The waiter hurried off, looking grateful. "Your health, Mr. Silveiro."

  "Yours, my friends," returned Silveiro. "Well, I will not keep you any longer," he said. "Except to say one more thing. Naturally I have also heard of your desire to find something profitable to invest in. My partner and I have a number of flourishing concerns. At a later date, perhaps you would care to meet him. He is something of a financial wizard, as you will find out if you remain in Rio for long." He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. "Forgive me if I sound intrusive, but… I know that it is not always easy to get one's money out of the States into Brazil. If you are having any such difficulty, I am sure that Perez can be of help. I only offer these suggestions."

  Nick allowed his interest to sharpen visibly.

  "Currency restrictions, especially under the circumstances, are a bit of a problem. Perhaps there is a way of doing business with you and your partner…? Who is he, by the way?"

  Silveiro leaned across the table and spoke in lowered tones. Something a little servile crept into his attitude "His name is Cabral. Perez Cabral. He is sitting alone at that large table across the dance floor. Wearing the black armband. He has unfortunately just suffered a very great loss. His wife, you know." He sighed. "But life goes on. Ordinarily he would not even be out in public so soon, but the club has only just been redecorated and renamed and he wanted to see for himself how things are going. Perhaps you would like to meet him now?"

  "Oh, we wouldn't think of it," said Rosalind quickly. "The poor man! I'm sure he doesn't want to be bothered with strangers just now."

  "Senhorina, you are most thoughtful," Silveiro said gently, a sad little smile upon his lips. "But you see, he is my good friend, and I think the distraction will do him good. Just a quick meeting, perhaps, to take his mind for a moment off his troubles?" He looked pleadingly at Rosalind and Nick.

  "Well, if you're sure it's all right," Nick said hesitantly. "But I do think we can wait. It is not urgent."

  "I will ask him first," said Silveiro, rising.

  "Fine," said Nick. "But don't press him."

  "Of course not," said Silveiro understandingly, and bustled away.

  They watched him as he spoke to Cabral. The man with the black armband frowned, listened, nodded, and rose. He followed Silveiro to their table with the slow, easy stride of a man who owns the ground he is walking on. His manner on greeting them was suave and assured, but there was pain and desolation beneath his polished surface.

  "Miss Montez, Mr. Milbank… so honored to meet you." A waiter hurried to their table with a fourth chair and they all sat down.

  "Luiz is so precipitate," he said after a while, smiling slightly. "Of course I know that he has seen you at your hotel, and we have both wanted to meet you. But you must forgive him if all he thinks of is business." Silveiro smiled. "He is quite right, though, to say that we would like to be of service to you. And you know, Miss Montez, you can help me, too." Perez Cabral looked deep into Rosalind's eyes and seemed to like what he saw.

  Rosalind studied him, seeing a handsome man with graying temples and sad eyes.

  "I can? In what way, Senhor Cabral?"

  "My daughter," said Cabral, turning his gaze away from her and to the table top. "She has no friends in town, you see, since she has spent nearly all her life away at school. And she is so lonely and miserable that sometimes I am afraid for her. Perhaps you would be good enough to — well, perhaps I could prevail upon you to visit her?"

  "Of course," said Rosalind, with a rush of sympathy. "Of course I will. I should like to, very much. I suppose she is not… uh… going out?"

  "Afraid not." Cabral shook his head. "The mourning period, you know. So it will be boring for you."

  "Please don't think that for a minute," Rosalind interrupted. "When may I call on her?"

  Silveiro, thought Nick, was tuned in to the conversation with an intentness that scarcely seemed warranted. Nick himself was taking it in with growing interest.

  "Tomorrow? In the afternoon?" Cabral suggested. "Then perhaps Mr. Milbank will call for you and at that time we might discuss these import difficulties. Luiz and I, you know, do a certain amount of importing and we know these currency problems. So, if that is convenient to you, Mr. Milbank…?" He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Nick.

  "Perfect," said Nick enthusiastically, noticing the rapid approach of a waiter toward their table. "I'll appreciate your help."

  The waiter bent over Silveiro and whispered something to him. Silveiro excused himself.

  "Forgive me, but — a small matter of business."

  He left them quickly and crossed the temporarily deserted dance floor to join a man waiting near a rear door apparently leading to the club offices.

  A sharp heel ground suddenly into Nick's ankle. It could only have been Rosalind, and yet she was smiling her social smile and talking to Cabral. Cabral seemed to be responding perfectly normally. So…? Nick's glance flickered back to Silveiro and his companion, who appeared to be discussing something of considerable interest. The other man was big, broad-shouldered, with rather ugly eyes set close together in his small head. Nick took a mental picture of him while sipping his drink. Little Silveiro was staring at a newspaper thrust under his nose by his sudden visitor.

  Nick returned his attention to Cabral, who was telling Rosalind that he was sure that his stepdaughter Luisa, at some later date, would enjoy shopping and sightseeing with the kind Miss Montez. Nick slid smoothly into the conversation, of sightseeing attractions and the delights of swift airplane travel, noticing that the man talked elegantly — in clichés.

  At last he rose with a sigh and thanked them rather fulsomely for their friendship.

  "I see there are some people that I will have to greet," he said regretfully. "And I have imposed upon you long enough. Until tomorrow, then." His tall, slim body bent in a bow, and he left them to pick his way through the tables and smile sadly upon the newcomers among his guests.

  "Did you see that man?" hissed Rosalind. "Talking to Silveiro?"

  Nick nodded. "Know him?"

  "Almost too well. That's Tomaz!"

  "So. I thought it might be," murmured Nick. "Drink up, sweetheart. We have work to do."

  They talked quietly while
they finished their drinks. A Brazilian comedian had the floor. They could hardly be expected to give him their full attention.

  "If Silveiro is so close to Cabral," Rosalind said quietly, "and so obviously connected with Tomaz, then doesn't it seem likely that he found out about Maria Cabral being one of our agents? And — and somehow dragged the other names out of her?" She shivered slightly.

  "I gathered from Cabral," said Nick thoughtfully, "that his wife died only a few days ago. Didn't you?"

  Rosalind looked at him. "Yes, I did."

  He could almost feel her mind working, and was sure that her thoughts were the same as his. Why hadn't Maria Cabral reported for so long? When did she die? How? And wasn't Perez Cabral even closer to her than Silveiro could have been?

  "But it was Silveiro that Tomaz wanted to see," said Rosalind. "Not Cabral… Is it possible that there's no connection at all? That neither of them knew what Tomaz was up to in his spare time?"

  Nick shook his head. "I can't buy that. It's remotely possible. But too remotely. Look. I'm going to skip Appelbaum and de Freitas for now and concentrate on this end. Let's go."

  They had paid off their waiter and were threading their way among the tables when they saw Tomaz ahead of them stopping briefly to exchange a word of greeting with Perez Cabral. Cabral seemed to answer coldly — almost with distaste. Silveiro hurried after Tomaz, jangling something in his right hand.

  A bunch of keys.

  Nick hurried after him, guiding Rosalind along possessively and praying that his maneuver would not be too obvious.

  His luck of the day held out.

  At the wide doorway to the club Tomaz halted in front of a jovial young man who seemed to be more than slightly drunk. Tomaz was acting as the bouncer. Silveiro, behind him, tried to sidestep. Nick pushed Rosalind in front of him, presumably out of the way of the nailing arms of the jovial young man. But something went wrong with his chivalry. The man somehow tripped over Nick's outstretched foot and plunged straight at Silveiro. In the brief confusion that followed, no one could possibly have noticed the little extra shove that forced Silveiro to drop his keys and hastily scramble after them. And no one could have thought that Mr. Robert Milbank was being anything other than helpful when he steadied Luiz Silveiro and gave him back the fallen keys.