The man who enters is bookish, lean, in his fifties. He looks like he could’ve been a scientist once, but has evolved into a businessman over the years.
“Italo Fellini,” he says, saying his first name with a soft ‘I’ (eee-tall-oh), “Chairman of the Energy Summit.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” the blond lead agent says.
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” Fellini replies. “I was intimidated into taking Viktor off the program lineup, but now I’m putting things right.”
“Sorry, Doc. We take our orders from the Ambassador.”
“Who has no authority here,” a woman says.
Detective Irma Dos Santos, the Rio cop who interrogated you on your first night here, enters with two junior policemen.
“Step away from the computer terminal, or I will have you arrested,” she says.
“You’re all clueless, aren’t you? Dumb bitch,” the agent says.
The Detective punches the pretty-boy agent square on the nose. “Escort these men out.”
Once the junior police officers comply, she turns to you and Chairman Fellini.
“It wasn’t just a conspiracy between your Ambassador and our Governor,” she says to you. “The Rio Chief of Police was in on it too. Luckily, I have proof of his assistance in the attempted murder of Jane Nightingale, the plot to frame Doctor Viktor Lucio de Ocampo, and his efforts to cover up the identity of the true murder victim: Sarah O’Connor, an American tourist visiting Rio with her brother.”
“The Ambassador must have paid the cops to dispose of the ‘pick me up’ note!” you say.
She nods. “We were told not to solve the case, and were threatened by the Chief, but now I’m going to ‘blow the whistle,’ as you say. We need to rid ourselves of police corruption, and what better time? Just as both our countries are now free of these corporate evils.”
“It’s over,” Chairman Fellini adds. “The truth is out, and now progress can march on without further impediments from these deep-pocketed corporate criminals.”
“All thanks to you,” Detective Dos Santos says with a reverent smile.
* * *
Part of you can’t believe you pulled it off; that this week’s events have actually happened. With a sly grin, you pinch yourself to make sure you aren’t dreaming. Yet here you are, seated in a private room at Antiquarius—perhaps Rio de Janeiro’s most upscale restaurant and the preferred spot of monarchs, pop stars, and the Brazilian elite.
The champagne tickles your throat as it goes down, but honestly, you couldn’t tell the difference between the $3,000 bottle and the $1,000 bottle.
“Guess you’d better get used to this, now that you’re going to be the richest people in the country,” you say.
Viktor and Jane smile from the other side of the table and then lean forward to claim their own champagne glasses.
“Just tonight,” Jane says. “We’re planning on investing in Brazil’s future. Education, healthcare, infrastructure. There will always be a place for you here, if you want it.”
Viktor raises his glass. “To you, Tourist.”
You raise your own champagne flute, clinking the glass against theirs and say, “Saúde!”
• Click to continue…
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Main Stage
This is the primary auditorium of the Energy Summit. Thousands of people are sitting in rows upon rows of theater seating, all waiting for the presentation to begin. When it’s not used as a conference site, this could be (and probably is) an opera house.
There are two main sections, split in half by a walkway upon which you now stand. Half the seats are to the right, down toward the stage; an upper section is to your left. Divided by aisles, these two sections are further split so that there are a total of six seating areas.
And that’s just on this floor. There’s a balcony with almost as many seats. It looks like the Dolby Theatre where the Academy Awards are presented in Hollywood.
You look to the stage, at the grand curtain where Viktor and Jane will swoop out and accept the Oscar for Best Conspiracy, but only if you find the control room in time and plug the evidence into the projector.
So what are you doing wasting your time here? You’d better rush over to the only room you’ve yet to visit in this wing:
• Imprensa.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Making Enemies
Falador is furious. What did he expect—honor amongst thieves? He jumps up, angry enough to attack you, but Irma waggles her revolver like a school marm might wave a finger at an unruly student. He stays back, and the two of you leave the teen alone in the house, with only hatred as his reward.
Detective Dos Santos tucks her service revolver into an ankle holster, then holds an open palm toward you.
“You don’t want to get caught out in the open with a weapon. Elite Squad will see the AK first, then they’ll notice you’re American after they’ve shot you.”
Can’t argue with that; so you hand Irma the weapon. She dashes forward and hurls the rifle atop one of the buildings.
“Okay, now what?” she says. “Do you want to go see what else Danly might be up to, or head back to the hotel, or—?”
The brick wall nearest you suddenly explodes outward as a progression of bullets pushes toward you. Irma runs around the corner, grabbing your hand and pulling you with her. After the second burst of gunfire, you hear a teen’s shouts echo through the alley.
“It’s Falador,” Irma explains as you run. “He’s found some friends and has offered 100 reis for our heads. I think he’s planning on using your money for payment.”
Your legs windmill beneath you from pure adrenaline, and eventually you emerge from the alley into another wide street like the one where the armored car battle took place. Looking down each side of the road, you see several Elite Squad figures blocking each egress route. If those are traffickers bearing down behind you, you’re about to get stuck in another gun battle.
“What now?” you ask in desperation.
She looks around, equally frightened. Then something catches her eye. She points ahead at a graffiti sign reading, Albergue.
“It’s a hostel!” she cries. “Come on!”
• Flee to the hostel.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Making Green
“Our Biofuel Division is constantly expanding. Have you heard of Tropical, our sugarcane processing facility? Well, BP Biofuel is adding a further $350 million to Tropical, expanding our ethanol interests substantially. We plan to increase our harvest to 5 million tons of sugarcane per year, which would allow us to produce around 450 million liters of ethanol equivalent per annum.”
“Sounds impressive.”
She nods. “This investment will create almost eight thousand jobs for the construction and running of the mill, as well as sugarcane cultivation. Additionally, we’ll be able to export approximately 340 gigawatt-hours of electric energy to the Brazilian national grid. We see a bright future for ethanol with Brazil.”
“I’ll say. It seems like this isn’t just a one-time thing, then?”
“I should say not,” she says with a smile. “In the last five years we’ve invested more than $2 billion in biofuel research.”
• “Do you know why Viktor Lucio de Ocampo was blacklisted? Did BP have anything to do with it?”
• “What exactly was Viktor working on?”
• “I’ve heard enough. Thank you for your time.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Making Up
She wipes the tears away and her face beams with a new, radiant happiness. She kisses you again, in joy and love, arousing attraction within you once more. You make love again, this time with new understanding of one another, unlike the rushed frenzy of discovery that characterized the first time.
You’re left out of breath but satisfied. Once again Irma smokes a cigarette, perspiration clinging to her naked body.
“We must keep our
passion a secret,” she says. “If the others knew, it could compromise the investigation. But maybe after the whole thing is over….?”
“We could go out on a proper date?”
She laughs. A warm feeling overtakes you as you look at her smile. “Come on, we’d better get you back.”
• Return to the hotel, your passion a secret.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Messenger
Viktor takes out a small notebook, the same journal you used to test his handwriting, and scribbles on one of the pages. He uses a handkerchief to tear the page from the notebook so as not to leave any fingerprints. With equal care, you receive the note. It reads:
“No doubt you’re looking for me.
Let’s meet where we can do so with open arms.”
“What does it mean?” you ask.
“Just a small riddle,” Viktor replies. “Where in this city are you always welcomed with open arms?”
He turns toward the sky, his body pressed against the railing, arms spread like he’s “On top of the world!” in Titanic. Beyond him on the distant horizon is the statue of Christ the Redeemer with its arms open toward the city.
“What if they don’t figure it out?”
Viktor shrugs. “Then they’re not very bright. If that’s the case, I’m not worried about them anyhow.”
You’re not sure you share his apparent lack of concern, but you don’t argue the point. “So, what? I’m just supposed to go tuck this under their windshield wiper?”
“Pretty much. Here, I wrote down the license plate of their Land Rover when I was trailing you last night. Odds are you’ll find it down at the consulate while they’re talking to Jane’s coworkers. Go downstairs, get on the red-line again, and tell the bus driver you’re an American and you need to get to the consulate. That’ll be easy. The hard part is avoiding detection at the garage. Good luck. We’ll meet up at Capricciosa, a nearby pizza joint in Ipanema.”
* * *
He was right; getting to the consulate wasn’t hard. The bus dropped you off only a block away, a total of a thirty-minute ride, and now you’re walking around the corner to the Consulado Geral Dos Estados Unidos.
It’s kind of an odd sight. In the middle of a busy downtown intersection there’s an office building with majorly restricted access. Foot traffic is constantly scrutinized by men in Security uniforms and Kevlar vests. The road out front is blocked from any would-be kamikaze car-bombers by rows of concrete pylons and a guard shack allowing entry only to those with proper identification.
The consulate itself is a palace-sized office building with a clear route to the parking garage. There’s the ID station, and the path for approved cars is delineated by several neon-green and black-striped signs.
Traffic streams heavily past the consulate and there are plenty of pedestrians on the sidewalk. There’s even a park across the street where locals picnic with street food under an angel statue’s flowing bronze robes and watchful gaze.
So…how to get inside?
• Talk to the guard, tell him I forgot my ID. He’ll let me in; I’m an American.
• There’s a trash truck and I’ll bet anything it’s about to head inside. Jump in the back!
• Plenty of motorcycles here in traffic; knock the driver off, swerve through the pylons, rush the gate!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Microwaved
“We were just looking around,” you say, palms raised in supplication.
“For what?”
You gulp. “We didn’t see anything.”
Muniz draws his handgun. “Irma, I’m kind of freaking out. Talk to me.”
The other two cops draw as well, whispering to Detective Muniz in Portuguese.
“It’s okay, Lucio.” Irma says. “The Americano understands how things work here.”
“How long have you been following us?” he chambers a round. “Why have you been following us?”
“Agent Danly knows,” you bluff. “He knows where we are, and he knows you met with the suspect. The jig is up.”
Lucio Muniz’s head cocks to the side, like a dog who’s found something curious to play with. He says something in Portuguese to the men, motioning toward you. They step forward.
“Well then, boss-man’s gonna want a report, right? He’ll wonder what happened, no?”
“Lucio, please,” Irma says, and a tear runs down her face.
“Once a witness, always a witness.” Then, turning to you, he adds, “Do you know what the drug lords do to witnesses here?”
You shake your head.
“That’s okay, I’ll show you.”
One cop grabs Irma and the other grabs you, pulling you into the alley with the burnt corpse. They take your weapons, toss them into a stack of tires, then line you up against the wall and wait for Detective Muniz.
“Please step into the tires.”
He indicates a waist-high stack of tires beside you. At gunpoint, you follow the order. Another stack waits for Irma and she does the same, sniffling against freely flowing tears.
“The first step in any good cover-up is finding a plausible story. See here? You say you came to find the suspect, well, here you go—looks like you found him, just as he was about to kill again, but you were unable to save this poor girl. Instead, you became a victim yourself.”
The men put another tire over your head, adding to the stack. One adds a tire to you, the other to Irma. One by one, growing the stack.
“Please,” she sniffles.
“Sh, sh, shhh….It’s okay, you get to die a hero, trying to stop the killer. And I tried to save you, only I got here too late.”
They add another tire. The stack is up to your chest now.
“Agent Danly will never believe you,” you plead. “You won’t get away with this!”
“Hush now, you’ll miss the best part. The drug lords, they load witnesses—squealers—into tires like this. This is called ‘the microwave’ and it’s the only way to be sure you don’t talk.”
They put one more tire on you, this one over your head, so you can no longer see out. A moment later, liquid pours over the rubber rim, dousing and saturating the tire pile. From the smell, you can tell it’s gasoline.
“Don’t worry! We’ll catch the murderer! He’ll pay for all the girls he kills, and for all the Americans. A cop-killer cannot go free.”
With that, the stack is lit on fire. Despite a pain like you’ve never experienced, you cannot free yourself from the tower of tires, struggle though you may. In a frenzy to save yourself, you’re able to knock the tire stack on its side and you fall onto the alley floor, but the tires have fused together under the intense heat.
Soon you’re unconscious. Soon after that, you’re burned alive.
THE END
Mind the Car
Agent Danly and Detective Muniz leave you to twiddle your thumbs in the SUV. As soon as they close their doors, you lock them shut. You watch from the tinted windows as they head out through the hole in the broken wall, disappearing from view. Almost immediately you start to sweat. It’s warm out, but Danly didn’t crack the windows. Nor did he leave the keys. The air grows thick with humidity and the effect is like resting head-first under the covers in the heat of summer.
You’re contemplating opening the door, just to get some kind of breeze, when you see several figures come through the wall. It’s not your law enforcement friends. In fact, it’s a gang of six young boys. They’re all shirtless, save for two, who wear baggy tank tops. The one in the lead has a soccer ball and they’re eyeing the SUV with great intensity. That’s when you notice that the two at the rear are shaking spray paint cans.
• Jump out and scare the living bejeezus out of them. They’re just kids, they’ll go away.
• Honk the horn, hide on the floor, and hope they go away.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Money Talks
As Irma explains the concept to the drug trafficker, you see his expression change almost immedia
tely. He smiles, nods, and says something to Irma, but you don’t even need the translation. You pull out a $100 Brazilian reais note (the equivalent of $50 USD), flash the cool blue currency at the man, and then your own smile.
“Tell him this is just a taste.”
She does so. The Mouth spills it to the plainclothes detective. His entire body language is different now, and he leans forward and nods eagerly as he speaks.
“He says everybody has heard of the American murder. He says ‘killing an American is like bagging a jaguar,’ then he offers that he doesn’t mean any offense.”
You produce a matching $R100 note, sliding them side-by-side, the bust of a Roman woman with a crown of bay leaves peering proudly out at him in duplicate from the banknote faces. This amount of money could change someone’s life in a favela. He starts to stand up, but Irma shoves him back toward the couch.
“Tell him ‘he makes me happy, I make him happy.’ I want everything he knows.”
You fan yourself with the $R200 while you await his answer.
“He says he wishes he knew more, but only that the order came from high up in the ranks of the Shadow Chiefs. Something about a colonel. Near the very top. ‘She must have pissed off somebody,’ he says. What else? We must go soon.”
• “We know it’s the Shadow Chiefs who ordered the murder. That’s enough for now. Let’s go before it’s too late.”
• “Tell him this next question is very important: Did she owe money? Did she buy or sell drugs? How was she connected? If he answers, I can make it $R300.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Monopólio
Like a giant mansion on some remote estate, so sits the sugarcane plantation Monopólio. The sun has long set and now a cloudburst erupts overhead, dumping buckets of warm summer rain atop the three of you as you stare up at the grand staircase leading to the main house.
MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2) Page 22