VENGEANCE REAWAKENED

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  Nathan unfolded a napkin and placed it on his lap. “Now, I’m sure—no, I know—most people in the favelas are good people. But these guys partying on this balcony aren’t some of them. I mean, it was obvious these guys were gang banger traffickers. You could see their gang tats and the pistols tucked into their shorts. And I’m sitting there terrified the whole time because these guys are looking down at me in the car and laughing and yelling insults at me.”

  “Like what?” Raziela said.

  “Like, calling me a sissy gringo and a lot worse. And that big bald guy—who was older and maybe their leader—looked like a real menace. He was huge, I mean body builder huge, and he had a red bull tattooed on his chest. He looked crazy.”

  Raziela and Molka exchanged quick glances, and Raziela said, “What did Cardoza say when he got back in the car?”

  “Nothing about all that. He just went right back to his usual, light, pleasant conversation. But my point is, the fact he’s friends with guys like that tells me he has a bad boy streak. Because a part of him wants to be around danger and criminals.”

  “Interesting analysis.” Raziela sipped her large soda.

  Nathan looked down at his tray and sighed. “How do they expect me to eat organic hummus without organic sumac?”

  Raziela grinned and leaned toward him. “Try using a fork, darling.”

  He smirked and leaned toward Raziela. “Oh, thank you, darling. Did I tell you again today how happy I am you came back?”

  Raziela laughed.

  Nathan stood and headed back to the hummus vendor.

  Raziela watched him with a sly grin. “I think our sweet boy, Nathan stumbled on to the Esperança favela home of one Alejandro ‘The Bull’ Abreu.’”

  “I think so too,” Molka said. “And if he can remember the approximate location, Major Fernandes is about to get a huge break in his investigation.”

  Raziela’s sly grin turned to a frown. “As much as I enjoy making a handsome man like Major Fernandes happy, we can’t let him debrief Nathan. At least not right now.”

  Molka pushed her tray away. “Why not?”

  “Because it might conflict with our operation. If Cardoza’s narcotics supplier gets arrested by the national police, his instincts aren’t going to tell him he’s in danger too. They’re going to scream it. He’ll have to assume he’s being ratted out by Abreu trying to save his own skin. So, Cardoza would immediately disappear again. Maybe for another eleven years.”

  Molka nodded. “Or maybe forever.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Cardoza’s Private Lakeside Estate

  Lake Tranquility

  10:36 PM

  The Kozlov brother’s attitudes before, during, and after their rescues from the border patrol office two nights prior underwent a radical transformation.

  Perhaps it was the premium sunset view over Lake Tranquility from their comfortable seats on the guesthouse’s terrace.

  Or perhaps it was their reclothing in premium silk dress shirts, wool dress pants, and leather dress shoes imported from Milan.

  Or perhaps it was the premium vodka in their glasses imported from Chernogolovka.

  Or perhaps it was the premium cigars in their fingers imported from Havana.

  Or perhaps it was the premium escorts in their bedrooms imported from Rio.

  Whatever the prompter, their agitation soothed to serenity by the sheer force of Gabriel Cardoza’s hospitality.

  The Ghost Crew captain who wore the red skull face bandana the night he helped rescue the Kozlov brothers—formally introduced as Romário—stepped through French doors onto the terrace. “Excuse me, Mr. Kozlov, Mr. Kozlov, Mr. Cardoza has arrived and asks that you join him in his living room.

  The interior décor of the main house—featuring polished granite countertops, alder wood doors and cabinetry, solid oak floors, brass accent pendent lighting, and crystal chandeliers—was a holdover from the previous owner.

  Cardoza planned to add his own personal style preferences as he did to the exterior, but new business opportunities began to overtake all his time.

  He waited for his guests—wearing an open collar red silk dress shirt over black wool dress pants and black leather dress shoes—at the long, curved, oak bar in the vaulted ceiling living room sipping premium vodka on the rocks. Not a vodka man as a rule—he preferred a nicely aged single malt scotch—but he wanted to seem simpatico to his important visitors from the Mother Country.

  The Kozlov brothers entered the living room and approached the bar.

  Cardoza smiled and spoke in Russian. “Grigori and Anatoli Kozlov, two of Russia’s most wanted, and two of my favorite thieves in law.”

  The men came together in a 3-way embrace punctuated with hard, Alpha male backslapping.

  The embrace ended, and Cardoza moved behind the bar and poured vodkas for the Kozlovs. “Are you comfortable in the guesthouse?”

  “Comfortable?” the younger Kozlov said. “For the last two years, we have lived in filthy apartments smaller than the closets over there.”

  “My chef is taking good care of you?” Cardoza said.

  The older Kozlov patted his paunch. “Too good.”

  “And the girls are also taking good care of you?”

  “Very good,” the younger Kozlov said. “Last night, I fell hard in love for about 20 minutes.”

  The older Kozlov slapped him on the back. “She told me it was more like 20 seconds!”

  The three men laughed.

  When they finished, the older Kozlov spoke. “I do have one complaint, however.”

  “Which is?” Cardoza said.

  “I have always loved boats. So we asked young Romário if we could use that beautiful boat you have here, but he said no one is allowed to drive it except you on penalty of death.”

  Cardoza smiled. “That’s the only way I can keep teenage boys from wrecking it. But we’ll take a boat ride tonight before bed.” He motioned to a large brown leather couch and a large brown leather chair fronting a massive, unlit stone fireplace. “Come sit.”

  The Kozlov brothers sank into opposite ends of the couch, and Cardoza sat in the chair facing them.

  The older Kozlov addressed Cardoza first. “Why didn’t you tell us that tough, old bastard Dimitri was overseeing your thief in law school here? Seeing him reminds me of the old days with your father.”

  Cardoza offered a nostalgic nod. “He was my father’s most loyal soldier.”

  “And I see you’re wearing your father’s old ring.” The older Kozlov gestured toward the thick gold ring on Cardoza’s right middle finger.

  “Yes.” Cardoza used his left forefinger and thumb to twist the band. “My father was to be buried with it, but I removed it at his funeral and pledged to wear it with honor.” He smiled again. “Has Dimitri given you a tour of the school yet?”

  “He has,” the younger Kozlov brother said. “Very remarkable what you’ve built. And he told us you bring in former military and police instructors from other countries to teach the students about weapons and paramilitary tactics. And he told us it’s his job to teach them our rules.”

  The older Kozlov spoke. “Where do you find these boys?”

  Cardoza placed his glass on a side table. “They’re recruited from the favelas in Rio. I only accept 18 and 19-year-olds. They must have no gang affiliations, no criminal records, and no arrests. And they must have grown up without a father or any significant male role models.”

  The older Kozlov grinned. “A need their new boss will happily fill.”

  “Yes,” Cardoza said. “And also, even during their training, they’re paid a nice wage, and their families are given financial assistance. This discourages them from leaving to join the trafficking gangs and instills personal loyalty to me. And not from just my generosity to their loved ones, but also because they realize that I know who their loved ones are and where they live. Which means they will take prison or die before ever betraying me.”

  The older Kozlov spo
ke. “Very clever, Gabriel.”

  “How many boys are in the school?” the younger Kozlov said.

  “Twenty-seven now with more recruits joining every week.”

  “And how many boys are already earning for you?” the older Kozlov said.

  “I currently have three, eight boy crews operational in Rio. Who, as we speak, are in the process of terrorizing most of the prominent businessmen in the city and bringing them under my roof.”

  The younger Kozlov spoke. “All without them ever knowing they are under your roof, of course?”

  Cardoza smiled. “Of course.”

  “Congratulations, Gabriel,” the older Kozlov said. “Your father would be proud. Now, what do you have planned for us?”

  Cardoza’s smiling face faded into an authoritative glare. “First, I have new identities for you that will never be questioned. And then I have Brasilia, São Paulo, and Rio de Janeiro, the three most populated cities in this country which are all ripe for our taking.”

  The Kozlov brothers exchanged a smiling glance.

  Cardoza addressed the older Kozlov. “Grigori, you will operate a legitimate construction firm in Brasilia for which I’ve used my contacts in the government to secure them many lucrative state contracts.”

  Cardoza addressed the younger Kozlov. “Anatoli, you will operate a legitimate construction firm in São Paulo. And again, I have secured all the best state contracts.”

  The older Kozlov spoke up. “But we have no experience in the construction business.”

  Cardoza waved a dismissive hand. “That is of no consequence. The actual owners will run the businesses and give you a nice percentage.”

  The Kozlov brothers exchanged another smiling glance.

  Cardoza continued. “But that’s not the real reason I’m sending you to those cities. Within a month, four more Ghost Crews will graduate and be ready for action. Each of you will be assigned two. And under your hands-off—but watchful—eyes, they will begin to bring the richest businessmen in your cities under your roofs.”

  “What about the richest businesswomen?” The younger Kozlov said.

  “They are not to be touched,” Cardoza said. “We will follow the old ways in regard to women.”

  The younger Kozlov spoke up again. “And, of course, we pay a percentage of what all those under our roofs give to us up to you?”

  “Yes,” Cardoza said. “Twenty-five percent. Do you agree to that amount?”

  The younger Kozlov nodded. “Yes.”

  The older Kozlov nodded. “Yes, more than fair of you.”

  Cardoza continued. “Like back home, you will use part of your profits to pay off the appropriate police and government officials to ensure no interference with your operations.”

  The younger Kozlov spoke. “And those who refuse to be paid?”

  “The same treatment as back home,” Cardoza said.

  The older Kozlov spoke. “Also handled by our Ghost Crews?”

  “Ruthlessly,” Cardoza said. “At the same time, the boys on your crew will recruit more boys from the favelas in your cities and send them here for training. Then, as new crews are graduated and sent to you, the more experienced boys on your original crews will each be made a captain of a newly arriving crew.”

  The older Kozlov spoke. “And as the boys on these new crews become experienced, they will captain a crew of fresh graduates.”

  “Exactly,” Cardoza said.

  The younger Kozlov nodded, impressed. “This is a very good system.”

  Cardoza took a polite vodka sip. “And should you lose a few boys here or there to the police, have no concerns. The favelas are filled to the brim with fresh crew material. Now, once you have ten to twelve crews active, your cities should be totally under your roofs. We will then expand out to other cities and even to rural areas. I believe in a matter of no more than five years; we will have the entire country under our roofs.”

  The Kozlov brothers placed their drinks on the coffee table before them, stood, and applauded Cardoza.

  Cardoza smiled. “Thank you. I have an event to attend tomorrow night with the president in Brasilia. So, I’ll be leaving early in the morning. I ask for your patience while I’m away. I’m not trying to ignore you. And to that point, on Monday, I’m meeting with your new business partners. And at that meeting, I’ll inform them of your soon-to-come arrivals and also secure from them your first tribute payments.”

  The younger Kozlov smiled. “I like that.”

  The older Kozlov smiled. “Sounds good, Gabriel.”

  Cardoza stood. “Now, let’s go for that boat ride.”

  The older Kozlov raised his glass in toast to Cardoza. “To the Boss of Brazil.”

  The younger Kozlov did the same. “To the Boss of Brazil.”

  The three men clinked glasses and drank.

  When Cardoza lowered his glass, his eyes glistened. “The Boss of Brazil. If only my father were still alive to see that happen.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Israeli Embassy Visitor Apartment

  Brasilia, Brazil

  11:57 PM

  Ugh!

  Not again!

  The searing pain woke Molka from her peaceful sleep.

  Another headache tore through her skull.

  Imagine pain like a thousand, glowing hot, needle-sized knifes plunged into the center of your mind at once which immediately began to sadistically twist in every direction slashing and shredding and shredding and slashing.

  No pain killer could help you. The headaches didn’t last long enough for it to take effect, anyway. You just had to surrender to the uncontrollable agony.

  But as gruesome as the headache was, the dark urges which came afterward were far worse. Think of the most horrible, dangerous, vicious, depraved, bloody thoughts. Thoughts a normal brain would strongly suppress to hold on to its own sanity suddenly welling up and becoming not just tolerable but completely rational and preferable and justifiable.

  Every time the dark urges came, you would try to fight them.

  And every time you would lose.

  Then the dark urges would fade shortly like the headaches and leave you with a depressing shame such thoughts were a part of you.

  And that was the most painful part of it all.

  Molka closed her eyes tightly to ride out the latest anguish and hoped the dark urges wouldn’t follow.

  Maybe that time would be different.

  The pain, as always, subsided in a few minutes.

  The dark urges came anyway.

  PROJECT MOLKA: TASK 6

  SUNDAY

  APRIL 18TH

  CHAPTER 19

  Independence Day Reception

  Israeli Embassy

  Brasilia, Brazil

  8:48 PM

  “Say what you will about the ambassador’s nervous tendencies. The man throws a great party for over 1000,” was Raziela’s initial comment from her basement observation position into the earpiece she’d given Molka to wear.

  Viewing the scene before her, Molka couldn’t disagree. She emerged from the basement with her hair worn down—to cover the small speaker in her ear—her contacts in, and adorned in the tight-fitting, knee-length, royal blue dress Raziela picked out for her and then accessorized with a silver-colored bodice and silver broach from the Counsel’s “toy closet” concealing a small camera and a small microphone, respectively, that Raziela monitored.

  In the huge yard behind the ambassador’s residence, the open-air reception was festively decorated in Israeli and Brazilian flags. A stage with a microphoned podium was set up for the various dignitaries to speak to the VIPs seated at tables upfront and to the other invitees in rows of chairs behind them.

  To the stage’s right, a massive video screen showed highlights of the best moments in Brazil-Israel relations the past year, as well as a pre-recorded speech from the Israeli Prime Minister.

  Located behind the seating areas: a large, blue, climate-controlled tent housed an opulent buffet
and a bar, slick display booths of Israeli technologies in the Brazilian market, and a little bandstand for the band which Cultural Department head Nathan booked and whose lead singer came on stage and sang a tear-inducing version of the Israeli National Anthem to begin the evening.

  Almost two hours into the proceedings, all the Tier-1 guests—led by the Brazilian President, his ministers, and advisors: including Cardoza, along with various Brazilian politicians, ambassadors and diplomats from friendly nations, and religious leaders—entered the ambassador’s residence for a more private and intimate gathering in the air-conditioned comfort.

  This left the Tier-2 guests—like Molka—milling around for almost another hour and making small talk.

  And Molka hated making small talk with strangers.

  So she sat by herself in the last row of empty chairs.

  Raziela’s somewhat over-modulated voice squawked into Molka’s right ear again: “What are you doing?”

  Molka turned in the seat so no one would see her talking to herself. “Waiting for Nathan to bring Cardoza to me.”

  “I know that. I mean, why are you just sitting alone? Go mingle.”

  “I’m not much of a mingler.”

  “Well, tonight, you’re a veteran embassy employee who has attended many events like these. Go mingle.”

  “What’s taking Cardoza so long?” Molka said. “What if he’s already left with the president?”

  “Relax, I’m also monitoring the embassy security channel, and they’ll get a notification when the president is about to leave. When Cardoza can get a free moment, he’ll find Nathan again, and Nathan will bring him to you. Now, go mingle.”