shut away in a room somewhere in Rio. God knows what she looked like now after a month in captivity.
I sat there, my head in my hands.
I thought about going to the police. They might arrest Eduardo, and the more I thought about it the more I was sure it was Eduardo, not Ricardo, who had ordered the kidnapping. But although it was clear to me that he was involved, there was no proof whatsoever. Even if the police arrested him, he would no doubt hire a top-class lawyer who would point out the lack of evidence.
I dialed Luis. It took several attempts to get through Rio's overloaded exchange, but finally I heard the ringing tone. Luis picked up the phone immediately.
''Nick?'" His voice was breathless, full of hope.
I shattered it. "Stahl won't change his mind. Bloom-field Weiss is going ahead with the deal."
Luis snapped. ''No!" His voice cracked. There was silence as he pulled himself together. "Couldn't you persuade him? Does the man have no feelings? Perhaps I should talk to him."
"There's no point, Luis. He's not going to change his mind."
"I'll call him," said Luis. "I'll tell him."
So I let him go and try his luck with Stahl, knowing there was no chance it would work.
I spoke to Luis the next day. I wasn't surprised to hear that he had had no luck. Our last hope would be if he could persuade the kidnappers that there was no point in killing Isabel; that they should accept money instead. Luis was optimistic, I wasn't. Eduardo didn't need money. Eduardo hated me. He probably hated Isabel too.
I couldn't just stew in my flat doing nothing, waiting
for Luis to try to persuade Zico to let Isabel live. Anyway, it wasn't Zico who needed persuading, it was Eduardo.
That was it! I couldn't talk to Eduardo, but I might just get somewhere with Ricardo. I picked up the phone and dialed his number.
"Dekker."
It was strange to hear that voice again. Crisp and in control.
"It's Nick EUiot."
Silence for a moment. Then, "Yes, Nick, what can I do for you?" The voice was cold but polite.
"I want to talk to you."
"I'm Ustening."
"No, not on the phone. In person. I'll meet you on one of the benches outside Comey and Barrow." I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to two. "At three o'clock."
I sat next to him. It was a warm day. He was jacketless, with his shirt cuffs rolled up. He was staring at the rusty old boat that was permanently moored in the dock. The odd burst of laughter came from the open doors of Comey and Barrow, where determined lunch-time drinkers lingered on into the afternoon. Above and behind us rose the Canary Wharf Tower itself, proud and white in the afternoon sunlight.
"What do you want? I'm busy," Ricardo said, without looking at me.
"Isabel's still alive." I watched him closely as I said this. I thought I saw something flicker in him, a slight widening of his eyes, a stiffening of his posture, but then it was gone. He sat there impassively, staring ahead. "But then you know that, don't you?"
''I didn't know that/' he answered. "I'm glad to hear it."
"And you also know that Bloomfield Weiss is in discussions with Lord Kerton about taking over Dekker Ward."
This time Ricardo said nothing.
I continued. "Isabel's father has received a message from the kidnappers that imless Bloomfield Weiss calls off their bid by next Wednesday, she will die."
Still no response. I pressed on regardless.
"I want you, and Eduardo, to know that I've spoken to Sidney Stahl, to ask him to stop the takeover. He didn't listen to me." I could feel the desperation welling up inside me. "Ricardo, I can't stop this takeover! You have to believe me!"
He turned to face me. The cool blue eyes looked me up and down, judging me.
At last he spoke. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you organized the kidnapping!" I said. "Or if you didn't, Eduardo did, which amounts to the same thing. And I don't want you to kill her!" I was pleading now, begging. But I didn't know what else to do.
Ricardo looked right through me, his face stone cold. "You have betrayed me. You are trying to sell my company to my biggest rival. And now you come up with some cock-and-bull story about how I arranged the kidnap of one of my own people. I want Isabel to live as much as you do. More, probably. I know nothing about the kidnap, Nick. So I can't help you. Now, I must get back to work."
He stood up and walked quickly back across the square toward the Tower.
"Well, at least talk to Eduardo about it," I said, walking beside him. He ignored me. "Eduardo's got to know what's going on. Talk to him!"
"Leave me alone, Nick/' Ricardo said, glancing at me coldly.
I stopped and watched him as he reached the varnished entrance to the Tower complex.
"Ricardo!" I shouted. "You can't let her die! You can't!"
My voice echoed off the squat blocks of offices around me as he disappeared inside the huge building.
I cycled back to the flat slowly, my mind wrestling with my meeting with Ricardo. He had been convincing about his ignorance of Isabel's kidnap. But then Ricardo was convincing. Always. There was a chance that Eduardo had arranged the kidnap without Ricardo's knowledge. Perhaps Ricardo would talk to him now. Persuade him not to have Isabel killed. Perhaps tell him to release her!
I was clutching at straws.
I pedaled past my flat and chained my bike to the railings at the foot of Primrose Hill. I stumped up the hill with its neat footpaths and stunted black lampposts. It was a cool day for June, and a breeze bit into my skin. Just below the brow of the hill, I sat down and looked over London. In front of me was the extraordinary polyhedron that was the aviary at London zoo, and beyond that St. Paul's and the skyscrapers of the City. Even farther away, barely visible through the new leaves of the trees on the hill, was Canary Wharf.
I had to work out how to find Isabel by next Wednesday.
Whoever had organized Isabel's kidnap wanted Dekker to remain independent. Ricardo and Eduardo were the two people most likely to want Dekker to remain independent. Yet Ricardo refused to admit any
knowledge of the kidnapping, and it would be inpos-sible to tie them in to it from here.
But what about the other end? What about Brazil? What about Rio? Now we were getting somewhere.
The kidnappers were a Rio gang. I had been attacked by a gang in Rio, even if it was only a gang of kids. Dave had guessed that this was linked to Martin Beldecos's death in Caracas, and money laundering at Dekker. Money laundering that was organized by Francisco Aragao, Ricardo's brother-in-law.
But why would Francisco Aragao want to kidnap Isabel?
I had exhausted all my leads in England. It was clear that if I was to work out who was holding Isabel, I would have to go to Brazil. There was no time to lose.
26
For the third time in the last three months, I saw the brown, dusty mess of Rio's northern suburbs through the window of an airplane. But it was different this time. Before, I had felt anticipation and excitement. Now I felt desperation and fear.
The ticket for the British Airways flight departing that evening had cost me half of what was left of the money Ricardo had lent me, but I had had no choice but to pay it. I had to do all I could to find Isabel, and that involved flying down to Brazil. If I didn't go, and the kidnappers carried out their threat, I would never be able to forgive myself.
Luis met me at the airport with a smile and an embrace, and his chauffeur drove us back to his apartment in Ipanema. There Nelson, Cordelia, and her husband, Fernando, were waiting. Cordelia was noticeably larger; I was relieved that Isabel's disappearance hadn't disrupted her pregnancy.
They greeted me with handshakes and smiles, and I was pleased to be among them again. We sat in the living room, and despite the difficulty of our task, there was an almost palpable feeling of optimism among us. It was as though now we were together again our
collective determination to find her would succeed,
despite the odds.
''So, what do you think, Nick?" Luis asked.
"Fm pretty sure I can guess who's behind Isabel's kidnapping."
"Who?" asked Cordelia, leaning forward.
"Francisco Aragao."
"Francisco Aragao? Ricardo Ross's brother-in-law? I wouldn't be surprised," muttered Luis.
"I think he's working together with Ricardo and Ed-uardo Ross. I don't know who's calling the shots, but my best guess is that between the three of them they had Martin Beldecos murdered, and Isabel kidnapped."
"But why?" asked Luis.
"I think Dekker Ward is laundering drug money for Francisco. He approached Dekker through his sister Luciana, who is of course Ricardo's wife."
Luis nodded, and I continued. "Francisco set up accounts at Dekker Trust in the Cayman Islands with the help of an American attorney in Miami named Tony Hempel. They're both under investigation by the American E>rug Enforcement Agency. Martin Beldecos was on the point of uncovering this arrangement, so he was murdered in Caracas. I might have been attacked for the same reason." I paused and looked out of the window toward Ipanema beach and the sea. The stretch of sand where I had been knifed was just out of view. "Over there."
The four of them were listening to my words closely.
"OK, but what has Isabel's kidnapping to do with this?" Luis asked.
"I can't be sure, exactly. At first it looked like a standard Rio kidnapping. For money. We all assumed that Isabel was kidnapped so that you would have to pay a
ransom."
Luis nodded.
''But now it looks as though that wasn't the real motive. The kidnappers seem more interested in protecting Dekker than in extorting money."
"So why did they kidnap her in the first place?"
I had given this much thought on the plane journey down, and I believed I had an answer. "Well, it wasn't just her that was snatched. They took me as well. Perhaps they thought that I had some knowledge about Martin or Francisco that would compromise them. They wanted me out of the way. Even when I escaped, they kept me distracted by launching into negotiations for Isabel's ransom, and of course I left Dekker soon after I returned to England."
"So why didn't they just kill her, like they did Martin Beldecos?" asked Nelson.
"Good question. I don't know the answer." Actually, I could guess at why Isabel hadn't been killed, especially if Ricardo was involved in the operation in some way. But I didn't want to tell Luis about his daughter's affair with Ricardo if I could help it. I knew she wouldn't want me to. "For some reason they wanted us to believe she was dead. That's why they dropped the ransom so suddenly, and didn't respond to the proof-of-life question. But they obviously decided to keep her alive. Thank God."
"Do you have proof of all this?" asked Nelson. "No, I don't, but it all adds up. What do you think,
Luis?"
Luis rubbed his chin. "I think you might be right.
What you say makes sense."
"Do you know him?"
"Francisco? No. I mean I've met him once or twice. But we've never done business together."
''What does he do? All I know is he's some kind of financier."
"His father is a senator, and so was his grandfather. His elder brother runs a contracting company that makes good profits from government contracts. But in Brazil that's normal."
"And Francisco himself?"
"He made a lot of money in the eighties through offshore investment companies. It was easy, and very profitable. A lot of people did it. It involved currency speculation against the various government exchange-rate programs. It had to be offshore to avoid exchange controls."
"By offshore, do you mean Panama?" I asked. I remembered Tony Hempel and International Trading and Transport (Panama) Ltd.
"Panama, certainly. And the Cayman Islands, the Bahamas, even Miami. People made a lot of money. Then many of them lost it all."
"How?"
"The Real Plan. It was introduced in 1994, and linked the new currency, the real, to the dollar. Interest rates were high, and for the first time inflation was under control. The easy money was over. Banks and finance companies went bankrupt all over the place."
" But not Francisco? "
Luis shrugged. "Not as far as I've heard. It looks as if he diversified into real estate and commodities trading. And he is supposed to deal with the narco-traffickers. If they bankrolled him, he would be OK."
Luis paused. His mouth tightened. "If that bastard has harmed my daughter, I'll kill him," he whispered.
"So what do we do now?" asked Cordelia.
"Tell him to give my daughter back!" growled Luis. It was as though the anger he had felt at the loss of his
daughter was emerging now that he had someone to direct it against.
"What will you say to him?" asked Nelson.
"ITl tell him he's the son of a whore/' said Luis, reddening. "ITl tell him that if he doesn't give my daughter back, I will tear off his"—^he searched for the English word—"testicles and shove them down his throat." Luis's chest was heaving as he said this. The control he had shown over the last few weeks was finally in danger of breaking down.
"I don't think that will work," said Nelson, quietly.
"Why not?" Luis glared at him.
"Because Francisco will deny he has Isabel," said Nelson. "And we have no proof. So he won't let her go, and we won't know where she is. On the other hand, it will warn him that we have figured out what he's up to, and he and whoever are his accomplices will be able to cover their tracks."
Luis stood up from his chair and began pacing. We all watched him in silence. He was breathing heavily, trying to regain control. Eventually he stopped and turned to Nelson. He took a deep breath.
"You're right. I'm sorry. This is not the time for anger. This is the time to be clearheaded. So what can we do?"
"Find out a bit more about Francisco," I suggested. "What he's up to now. Who he deals with. If he does deal with drug gangs, which ones."
"I can check up on that," said Luis.
"I'll ask my police contacts," said Nelson. "If he is close to these guys, they will know."
"And what about the kid who stabbed me?" I asked. "If that was organized by a drug gang, might there be nmiors in the favelas?"
"Possibly," said Nelson. "I can ask about that as well."
"So can I," Cordelia said. "My kids run all over the city. Normally I'd hate to ask them those kinds of questions, but in this case..."
Luis looked at us over his glasses, his face finely balanced between desperation and hope. "Well, at least we can do something now."
Luis and I sat out on the balcony overlooking the bay. I was drinking a beer, he was drinking water.
"I shouldn't have lost my temper this morning," he said.
"It's understandable."
He sighed. "This has been hard." His deep voice was heavy with the fatigue of waiting and hoping. "I always believed she was alive, but it was fantastic to hear from Zico again. I'm just worried that if we don't get her out by next Wednesday..."
"We'U find her."
"That soon?"
I cleared my throat. Now was the time to try out my idea. "There is a way that we might be able to buy ourselves more time."
"Oh, yes?"
"You remember that you said Banco Horizonte was beginning to think about expanding overseas? "
"Did I say that?"
"Yes, I think so. Is it true?"
"Well, yes. We're thinking about setting up operations in the other Mercosul countries, perhaps Argentina or Uruguay."
"What about Dekker?"
" Buying Dekker Ward, you mean? "
"Yes."
Luis creased his forehead. "It's an idea. But no Brazilian bank has bought a major European firm before."
''You could probably afford it. Bloomfield Weiss is only offering Kerton ten million pounds."
"Yes, we could afford it," he said carefully. "And it would be a great strategic fit. We'd become th
e premier investment bank in South America. But the problem is the bond portfolio. From what you've told me, it's huge and it's heavily underwater. You'd need to be a Bloom-field Weiss to trade your way out of that. We just don't have the capital."
I was disappointed. "So you couldn't make a bid, just to delay things?"
Luis hesitated. "We could, but I don't think Lord Kerton would listen. It wouldn't be credible. He'd know we couldn't take on the bond positions. He'd think we were just playing for time, and accept the Bloomfield Weiss bid instead."
My heart sank. "Well, anyway, let me get some of the information on Dekker, and see what you think."
I disappeared inside and returned with my copies of the Bloomfield Weiss documents on Dekker.
"I'm not sure you should be letting me see these," Luis said.
"Why not? If there's any way they can help save Isabel, I'll use them. And I'm not impressed by rules made up by one shark to help it swallow another."
Luis grinned and studied the papers. I looked out over the bay. It was almost the middle of the Brazilian winter, and there was a soft coolness to the air as it blew in from the sea. Although it was a Saturday, the beach wasn't crowded. But there were still the games of volleyball, beach football, and that skillful hybrid of the two that so fascinated me. Toward the horizon the familiar cluster of half-domed islands lurked low in the sea, which shimmered in the weakening late-afternoon sunlight.
"You know, there is a way," he said at last.
"What's that?"
"KBN, the big Dutch bank. They're the people who I introduced to Humberto Alves to resurrect the favela deal. They're one of the biggest players in the emerging bond markets. They could handle the Etekker bond portfolio."
"So you'd suggest that they buy Dekker Ward."
Luis smiled. "Oh, no. I want to buy Dekker Ward. But they can take on the bond portfolio."
"Would they do that?"
"We could structure it to make it worth their while."
The market maker Page 26