The ten minutes ticked slowly past. It was fifteen before Cordelia called back.
Nelson listened quickly and grinned. "He's agreed," he said. "He's taking a mobile phone so Cordelia can stay in touch with him."
We were out of the city now, and heading up into the hills. After a half hour we reached an empty stretch of road about twenty kilometers from Sao Jose. We stopped in a lane just off the road, with a clear view down a hill to a gas station, bearing the by now familiar
orange and green insignia of Petrobras. Cordelia would instruct Francisco to park on the forecourt and wait for a further message. The two men working the pumps had been paid to see nothing.
We hauled the junior Francisco out of the trunk of the car, gave him some water, gagged him, bound his hands, and then stuffed him back in.
His cheek was swollen where he had bumped it on the steering wheel of the Renault when we had snatched him, but his mouth had long ago stopped bleeding. His eyes were wide with fear, and he babbled pleas in Portuguese. I felt sorry for the kid. It wasn't really his fault that Francisco was his father. But if all went well, he would be released soon.
We waited. Ronaldo smoked endless cigarettes, and Nelson borrowed a couple from him.
"I didn't realize you smoked/' I said.
"I don't," he replied.
Cordelia called to say that Francisco was two kilometers away. She had delayed saying exactly where he was to stop until she knew he was almost there.
Nelson pulled out his binoculars and trained them on the gas station.
Within five minutes a blue car pulled up. It parked on the forecourt, and sent the gas attendant away. No one got out, but I could see there was only one occupant. We waited another ten minutes to make sure Francisco was unaccompanied, and then Nelson started the engine and drove the car down the hill.
As we neared the gas station we could see Francisco in the front seat of his car, looking at his watch and then at us. Nelson swung in, and we parked right next to him.
Nelson and I got out of the car, as did Francisco. He was hot, beads of sweat oiled his bald brow, giving it a
grimy shine. He had never seen Nelson before, but he recognized me. He was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He still didn't know how much we knew.
"Thank you for com.ing," I said. "Do you mind if we search you and your car?"
"Yes, I do!" protested Francisco, but Nelson flung the heavier man against the car and frisked him. Francisco struggled briefly, but then held still. I bent down and quickly searched the car. There was a gun in the glove compartment, which I handed to Ronaldo.
When Nelson finished his search, Francisco turned and glowered at us. "Where's my son?" he demanded.
Nelson beckoned to him to follow him around to the back of our car and unlocked the trunk. Francisco junior was writhing and grunting, but when he saw his father he stopped, his eyes full of alarm.
"You can't keep him there! Let him out!" growled Francisco.
"We will," I said. "In good time. But first come with us. We'll take your car."
I sat in the back with Francisco, and waited while Nelson quickly handed the gas attendant some bank notes to add to those he had given him earlier. Then he climbed into the driver's seat and drove off. Behind us were Ronaldo and Euclides, with Francisco junior still in the trunk.
We drove back the way we and Francisco had come, and after a few kilometers turned left toward Sao Jose. Francisco watched the road ahead grimly, his thin lips pursed, his brow and shirt damp. He didn't say anything.
As we made our way farther into the hills, the sky became grayer and the sun disappeared. We were driving up a broad valley, with a river rushing down its center. There was farmland on either side, and every few kilo-
meters we came across a village. Farther up the hillsides were dense trees. I was reminded of my night blundering through the Tijuca Forest.
We soon reached Sao Jose, and turned left up the narrow road Euclides had shown us the day before. We drove past the second farm and stopped. Above us, about a quarter of a mile away at the end of the road, was the farmhouse where Isabel was being kept. Above that, pasture turned into trees and rock face, as the valley melted into the mountainside.
I opened the door of the car and motioned for Francisco to get out.
It was cooler up here. The grass and poorly paved road were glistening with moisture. A stream tumbled down under a small bridge a few feet in front of us, carrying the recent rain on its steep journey down to the Atlantic. There was little sound, the straining of a truck's engine from the road up to Sao Jose below us, the urgent rushing of the water, and the occasional bleating from a group of bedraggled sheep farther up the hill. The farmhouse behind us was quiet, and we couldn't see any signs of life in the building above. Two large black ravenlike birds circled over it, almost as though they were reconnoitering it for us.
''Isabel Pereira is being held in that farmhouse up there," I said. "We want you to release her."
Francisco, who had been silent since we had set off from the gas station, chose this moment to protest.
"I told you, I know nothing about her kidnapping! I can't release her. Just give me my son back. Now!"
"No, Francisco," I said, trying hard to keep my patience. "I want you to walk up to the house, and explain to those men that they should let Isabel go free. We will have your son down here. As soon as she begins to walk down the hill to us, we'll send him up. We give
you our word that we won't inform the police about any of this. You and whoever is up there with Isabel can go unharnaed."
''You don't listen to me!" cried Francisco. "I don't know anything about this!"
I interrupted him. "I'm sure you'll think of something to persuade them to let her go. We'll be waiting. Oh, and by the way, if Isabel isn't making her way down that hill in ten minutes, we leave. With your
son."
"What will you do with him then?"
"We'll leave that to Isabel's father to decide when he returns. I don't think he likes you very much. I doubt he'll be sympathetic. Now go!"
I pushed Francisco along the road toward the farmhouse.
He walked quickly up the hill, his arms swinging on either side of his ample backside. As he reached the house the door opened, and he disappeared inside.
That was a good sign. It meant that whoever was in there knew him. Although I hadn't really believed Francisco's protests, at the back of my mind I had been worried that perhaps he really had had nothing to do with Isabel's kidnapping, and we had made some horrible mistake.
Nelson pulled Francisco filho out of the tnmk, and stood him upright in the middle of the road facing up toward the farmhouse.
We waited, Ronaldo, Nelson, me, and the scared boy.
The two big black birds were joined by a couple more. A tractor drove up the road toward us from the village, but turned off into the first farm below. We were exposed here, exposed to local curiosity, and also to any reinforcements the kidnappers might call up.
My eyes never left the door of the farmhouse. The
walls were partially covered in white paint, which was peeling to reveal concrete underneath. I wondered what it would be like to be cooped up for two months in there. A red pickup truck was parked next to it, presumably the one Euclides had hitched a ride in.
My nerves jangled. It wasn't just the obvious fear that Isabel wouldn't make it, though that was bad enough. After all this time, now that there was a good chance I would actually see her, I was nervous. What would she be like after so long in captivity? Would she be all right physically? Would she have suffered psychological damage? And what about me? How would she feel about seeing me again? Would she care? It was a selfish thought, but I realized that part of what scared me was the fear that after all my efforts to set her free, I would discover that I meant nothing to her.
Where was she? I checked my watch. The ten minutes was up. It had taken Francisco a few of them to puff his way up the hill, but
even so, he should have sent her out by now.
I glanced at Nelson next to me.
"What do you think?"
He looked at his watch. "We can give him a bit more time. Maybe they're having some kind of discussion. But we can't risk staying here too long. We don't want to meet the rest of the gang on the way down."
I glanced anxiously down toward the road to Sao Jose. The traffic was infrequent, but the odd car did pass. We had no way of knowing if one was driven by the kidnappers' friends. But if they were coming all the way from Rio, and it was a good guess that they were, it would take them a while.
A quarter of an hour. Still no sign of her. Why hadn't we told Francisco to take his mobile phone with him so
we could talk to him and find out what was going on Stupid!
I began to think about what we would do if we were forced to leave without Isabel. All would not be lost. We'd still have Francisco/i/Zio, and while we held him Isabel should be safe. But a long standoff would be difficult to sustain, and not just emotionally. Francisco and his men knew who we were. They'd be looking for us and looking for the boy, and they would be willing to use more ruthless methods than we to get him back. No, we had to avoid that if at all possible.
I glanced again at Nelson. He shrugged. Francisco filho was biting his lip. He was just as anxious as us.
Then his eyes widened. I looked up the hill to see the door of the farmhouse open. A figure was pushed out. Slight, long hair blown over her face. Isabel!
She straightened up and began to walk down the hill slowly.
I looked across to Nelson, who gave Francisco ^i/Zio a rough shove. He stumbled up the hill toward her.
I would guess it was about four hundred yards between us and the farmhouse. Despite the fact he was going uphill, Francisco filho was covering more distance, and he was soon farther away from us than she was from them.
Suddenly a figure broke out of the farmhouse and began to run down the hill. He was tall, lithe, fit. Francisco followed, shouting.
"Run, Isabel!" I screamed.
She looked up, turned to see the man bearing dov/n on her, and only then began to hurry. Francisco/J/Zio was quicker off the mark. He broke into a run straightaway.
Damn! I couldn't shoot the boy, but if I let him go, we'd lose our chance to free Isabel. I'd have to catch
him before he reached the kidnapper who was hurtling down the hill toward him.
I sprinted.
I heard two shots behind me, as Nelson fired at the kid, and saw dirt leaping away to his left. Nelson was firing to miss, and was only scaring the kid into running faster.
But not as fast as me. I had some distance to make up, but I was closing on him, the gim in the waistband of my trousers biting into my groin with every stride. He had no power in his long legs, and he was finding the gradient difficult. His hands were still bound and his gag must have made it difficult to breathe. Above me, the man had caught up with Isabel, throwing her to the ground. As they struggled to their feet only a few yards ahead, I dived and grabbed for the boy's ankle. He tripped, and I was on him, gun out, to his temple. I flicked the safety catch off.
He lay still, scared, his chest heaving. With the gim pressed to his head, I looked up at Isabel. She was on her feet now. A man was holding her around her neck with his left arm, pointing a gim at her head with his right. He was breathing heavily. Her brown eyes stared at me wide with fear. I caught them for a second, trying to give her reassurance, tell her she could still be free. Then she was yanked backward up the hill by the man. He was in his thirties, wiry and capable-looking.
"Stop!'' I shouted. ''We can still make the exchange."
"No! I take her!" He pulled Isabel up the hill with him.
The voice was deep and authoritative, and I would have recognized it anywhere. Zico!
I pulled Francisco filho to his feet. "Let her go!" I shouted. "We'll let you escape."
"How do I know that? Perhaps the police wait for us. No, Isabel goes with me!"
He dragged her up the hill. I followed with the boy. At the top I could see Francisco and another man, who looked little more than a kid. A fellow kidnapper, presumably.
We were nearing the farmhouse and a red pickup truck.
"Stop!" I said. "Or FU shoot him!"
"No!" cried Francisco.
Zico laughed. "Go ahead. Shoot him. I don't care. He's not my son." |
He looked into my eyes, mocking me. Of course I j wasn't going to shoot the boy. I released my grip on the j kid, and let my gun fall to my side. He ran up the hill to J meet his father. ?
Zico dragged Isabel toward the pickup truck. She i looked back at me, her eyes helpless, pleading with me i to do something.
There she was, just a few feet away. The elation that I j had felt seeing her walk out of the farmhouse had turned to almost unbearable anxiety. I was so close to ! freeing her and now Zico was simply going to drive away right under my nose. I couldn't try to shoot him. i He'd kill her first, and probably me too. The only expe- ] rience I'd had with a handgun was the five minutes Nelson had taken to show me how^ it fired. Now it felt ^ heavy and useless in my hand.
I saw movement some distance behind the pickup. Thin black limbs scurried across the ground to a water drum. A moment later a head and a short gray barrel | peeked out from behind it. Euclides! And he had the i gun Nelson had given him! Where did he get that? ; He must have hidden it on himself somehow. Oh, shit! ] The last thing I wanted was some cockeyed heroics i from a twelve-year-old. Someone would get killed, and j it would most likely be Isabel. i
Zico glanced at me as he neared the truck, and I quickly switched my eyes back to him, not wanting him to realize I had seen something. I moved slowly closer.
"Keep away!" he shouted.
I stopped.
Behind him, Euclides ran from the drum toward the pickup truck. I still don't know what he was trying to do. Hide in there probably, and surprise Zico later on. But he trod on some old corrugated iron that gave out a sharp clatter. Zico spun around. Euclides stopped in his tracks, caught in the open. He shifted his gun toward Zico and hesitated, presumably afraid of hitting Isabel. Zico whipped his weapon away from Isabel's temple and pointed it at Euclides. Two shots rang out, and Euclides uttered a sharp cry.
I had no time to think. Instinct made me raise my arm. I looked down the short barrel straight into Isabel's terrified eyes. I jerked my arm to the left and pulled the trigger in one motion as Zico turned back toward me. I hit him in the right shoulder, throwing his arm back. His gun went spinning to the ground.
He let go of Isabel and bent down to pick it up. I ran toward him. There was another shot, Zico's head jerked sharply to one side, and he fell.
Euclides lay on the ground, gun pointing toward the crumpled figure of Zico, a broad smile on his face. There was a dark patch on the grass around his chest.
I ran to Isabel, who was squatting on the ground, sobbing.
"Are you OK?"
She looked up, and a smile broke across her tear-stained face, the smile I had played through my mind so many times over the last few weeks. She nodded.
I turned and ran over to where Euclides had fallen.
He was lying in a pool of blood, which grew in front of my eyes. It was pumping out from somewhere underneath him. I hesitated, unsure what to do. Euclides was ] struggling to keep his eyes open. His lips moved. I bent | down to listen. j
" I hit him, meester," he whispered. f
"Yes, you did," I said. |
I turned his small body over and tried to use his | flimsy shirt to stanch the flow of blood from the hole in his chest. It was hopeless. Within a minute life had J drained away into the damp grass. 1
29
Isabel was slumped in the other comer of the backseat of the car, watching the road ahead absently. Ronaldo was driving us back to Rio, leaving Nelson to clear up the mess we had left behind.
And there was quite a mess. Nelson and I had decided to let Francisc
o and his son go. We had after all promised as much to him when we had set up the exchange for Isabel, and he had kept his part of the bargain. It was Zico who had run after Isabel at the last minute. And implicating Francisco with the kidnapping would involve prolonged wrangling with the authorities. We thought it was better to wrap things up as quietly as possible. Nelson had, however, promised to bring back Euclides's body for a proper burial.
Isabel didn't look too bad after her ordeal. She was thin, but then she'd always been thin. Her skin was paler than it had been, after so many weeks away from the sun, I supposed. And there was a sort of fragility to her. But basically she looked unharmed.
"Are you OK? "I asked.
She looked at me and smiled, reaching out her hand for mine.
"I'm OK," she said. "I'm just so glad to be free."
There was so much to say, so much to ask her, but 11 wanted to do it at her pace, so I kept silent. |
" Where's my father? " she asked. |
"In London." I
" In London? " She raised her eyebrows. |
"Yes, it's a long story. But Cordelia's waiting at his ■ apartment."
"How is she? I mean ..."
I smiled. "Don't worry, she's fine. She's growing big- ; ger every day." j
Isabel smiled. "Good." Then after a moment. "Did he ) pay a ransom?" i
"That's a long story too." |
"Tell me."
"I can tell you later, when you've had some rest."
"No, tell me now. That's all I've been thinking about j over the last two months. What's been happening at j -home. Tell me." j
So I told her everything. About the initial ransom de- ] mands, about the long silence after the failed police I raid, and then about the renewed demands once I had J suggested Bloomfield Weiss take over Dekker. I told j her how Ricardo and Eduardo must have been in league j with Francisco first of all to have Martin Beldecos mur- ; dered, and then to have her and me kidnapped to pre- vent the discovery of Francisco's money-laundering : operations. And finally I described how we had snatched Francisco's son to force an exchange.
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