Brazil

by Ross Kemp

  ‘You know what happens to spies, don’t you?’ The gang leader leaned in closer. ‘They get put in the microwave…’

  ‘No!’ Luiz gasped. ‘Please! I’m not a spy! You have to believe me!’

  As the gang leader produced a small hacksaw from his belt, Luiz tried to writhe free, but his muscles felt as weak as a baby’s. He was utterly helpless. When he felt the saw bite into his legs, he started screaming…

  Luiz awoke with a start, springing bolt upright in bed. A nightmare. It had felt so real. He was panting and his chest was drenched with sweat. He rubbed his face with his hands and waited for his breathing to calm down.

  Luiz hopped out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt and went in search of a glass of water. As he padded barefoot outside his room, he saw that the warehouse spotlights had been dimmed and the cavernous building was deserted. The only sound was the whirring of computer processors. Lights blinked on digital maps like fireflies.

  Luiz was making his way to the canteen when he heard the sound of voices coming from a conference room, one of which was the rich, unmistakable baritone of Darius Jordan. Luiz had never seen inside the conference room before, but now the door was slightly open, a crack of light spilling out into the warehouse. Keeping tight to the wall, Luiz crept over to the door and pressed his ear against it.

  ‘So,’ he heard Jordan say, ‘give me a progress report. How’s our boy shaping up?’

  ‘Better than expected,’ Richard Madison replied. ‘He was a bit shell-shocked at first, but he’s got spirit. Asks sensible questions and picks things up quickly. And you were right about cars, Darius. I set it up so he had a chance to give my Corvette the once-over and he didn’t need a second invitation. Put him behind the wheel and he turns into Lewis bloody Hamilton. We have to use this. If Luiz walks up to the Comando Negro and says he wants to be a soldier, they’ll laugh at him. And then probably shoot him. If they need a driver, on the other hand…’

  ‘What about you, Valerie?’

  There was a pause, then Singer replied. ‘Another couple of months’ training and maybe he’s OK. You send in him now and he won’t last a day. Luiz simply isn’t tough enough yet.’

  ‘You starting to get all maternal towards the lad?’ Madison asked slyly.

  There was an icy pause.

  ‘I don’t like waste,’ replied Valerie.

  ‘Ready or not, now’s the time,’ another man said. He sounded local, speaking English with a thick Portuguese accent. ‘I came here tonight because we’ve got a contact Luiz can use. But that’s not the point.’

  ‘Then what is?’ asked Jordan.

  ‘Darius, you know how much I respect you,’ the local man continued. ‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise. But whether you start tomorrow or in a month’s time, this mission is still insane! Do you have any idea what you’re sending that kid into? What sort of danger he’s in?’

  ‘I am aware of what we’re asking him,’ Jordan replied calmly.

  ‘I’ve been up against the favela gangs for twenty years now,’ the new man continued, ‘but I haven’t seen anything like the Comando Negro before. They’re organized, well financed and utterly ruthless. It’s a nasty combination, Darius.’

  ‘I know. That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘But he’s just a kid!’

  ‘If I could go in there, I would,’ Jordan replied. ‘But a forty-five-year-old American isn’t exactly going to blend in. We’ve talked about this, Juan. This is the only way we can stop these gangs.’

  ‘I still say it’s crazy.’

  Luiz had heard enough. He pushed the door open and strode into the room. Jordan, Madison, Singer and another man were sitting around a circular table. On the back of the wall was a large map of Santa Marta favela. As Luiz entered the room, three of them looked up, startled. Only Jordan seemed unsurprised.

  ‘Anyone want to know what I think?’ Luiz said.

  Jordan pressed the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully. ‘Seems only fair. After all, you’ve heard what we think. Do you need more time for training? Or are you ready to go into Santa Marta now?’

  ‘My sister’s sitting in a prison cell and she’s not going anywhere until I do this mission for you.’ Luiz glanced defiantly at Valerie Singer. ‘You’re damn right I’m ready to go in.’

  ‘Well, then, I guess you’d better sit down.’

  As Luiz pulled up a chair, Jordan gestured at the new man. ‘This is Juan Oliveira. He’s a policeman here in Rio. Trojan uses him as an outside consultant. No one knows the favelas better than him.’

  Oliveira must have been about the same age as Jordan. He was a large man with tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing a leather jacket over a white T-shirt. Luiz looked at him mistrustfully. Even in the middle-class suburbs of Rio, policemen tended to be treated with suspicion. There were rumours of corruption, brutality, kidnappings – even murders.

  ‘You can trust him,’ Richard Madison said quickly. ‘Juan’s one of the good guys.’

  ‘A rare breed, I know,’ Oliveira said. ‘Good to meet you, Luiz.’

  ‘Juan came here tonight because he’s got a tip-off that we can use.’

  Oliveira passed a photograph across the table to Luiz. It was a mugshot of a heavy-set teenager staring dully into the camera.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Goes by the name of MC Livio. He’s a baile-funk legend in Santa Marta.’

  Luiz nodded. Though he hadn’t heard of Livio, he knew all about baile funk – dance music with thick, looping basslines and harsh beats. Riotous baile-funk parties were held in halls and warehouses across the favelas, attracting kids from all over Rio in search of late-night fun.

  ‘As far as I know,’ Oliveira said, ‘Livio’s a recent recruit to the Comando Negro. He’s a popular guy up in Santa Marta and he knows everyone in the favela. If anyone can get you into the gang, it’s this kid. And it just so happens that we arrested him earlier tonight. He’s sitting in a downtown jail cell, just waiting for you to introduce yourself.’

  Jordan leaned forward. ‘The more the Comando Negro build a name for themselves, the more territory they control, the more bodies they rack up, the harder the other gangs are going to come after them. They’re going to need numbers sooner rather than later. Make a good impression on Livio and you’ve got a shot at infiltrating the Comando Negro. Make that happen and you can give us the information we need. Who’s in charge of these guys, how they operate.’ He paused. ‘How we can bring them down.’

  Luiz snorted. ‘That’s all?’

  ‘That’s the deal. That’s what it’ll take to get Ana out.’

  ‘And I start with this guy Livio? Any idea how I make a good impression on him?’

  Jordoan smiled grimly. ‘Leave that to us.’

  6. First Contact

  Early the next morning an unmarked police car entered the industrial complex and headed towards Trojan Industries’ warehouse. Although the sun had only just begun to climb in the sky, it was already baking hot, a warm breeze whipping across the concrete. It was going to be a sweltering day.

  Standing waiting in the warehouse doorway, Luiz bounced up and down on his toes like a boxer before a title fight. Too wired to sleep after his conversation with Jordan, he had spent the rest of the night pacing up and down in his room. With the adrenalin still coursing through his system, Luiz felt more awake and alert than ever.

  Beside him, Richard Madison smiled.

  ‘Take it easy, lad. Don’t want to tire yourself out before you get there.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ Luiz replied. ‘I’m buzzing.’

  As the police car came to a halt beside them, the British man clasped Luiz’s hand warmly and patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have this.’

  Madison pressed a small, golden crucifix on a chain into Luiz’s hands.

  ‘Thanks,’ Luiz said. ‘I’m going to need it.’

  ‘In more ways than you know. This crucifix has got a GPS tracker
inside it. Wherever you go, we’ll be able to follow you. Also, if you press the ends of both arms together, it’ll send out an electronic distress signal. The cavalry will get there as soon as they can.’

  ‘Let’s hope I’m still alive by the time they arrive,’ Luiz said gloomily.

  Madison laughed. ‘Take care of yourself out there. You’ll do us proud, I know it.’

  Looking at the affable Brit, Luiz realized that he was going to miss him.

  ‘Leaving without saying goodbye?’

  Which was not something Luiz could say about Valerie Singer. The Israeli woman had stolen up soundlessly behind him and was eyeing him with arch amusement through a large pair of sunglasses.

  ‘Didn’t think you’d miss me,’ he replied in a surly tone of voice.

  ‘No, maybe not,’ agreed Valerie. ‘But I’m coming with you anyway. I have some business in town.’

  She sat down in the front passenger seat and promptly lit another cigarette. Luiz clambered into the back, where Juan Oliveira gave him a sombre nod. The policeman didn’t seem any happier than he had at the meeting the night before. As the car pulled away, Luiz saw Madison wave farewell and then move back inside the warehouse. Of Trojan’s head, Darius Jordan, there was no sign.

  At this time of the morning, the coastal road was quiet and the journey south back into the centre of Rio didn’t take long. As they entered the heart of the city, Oliveira turned to Luiz.

  ‘OK, so remember what we discussed last night. The plan is for you and Livio to get out in two days – I’ll give you the signal when we’re ready to go. This is pretty risky stuff and I want to make sure everything’s in place before we run through it. You’ve got until then to get to know Livio. A word of advice: don’t push it. Don’t ask too many questions. These kids spend so much time smoking dope that they’re all pretty paranoid. He needs to be sure you’re his kind of guy.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ muttered Luiz.

  ‘It might not be as difficult as you think.’ The policeman smiled. ‘Remember, you’ve done a very bad thing and angered an important man…’

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ Valerie rapped from the front seat. ‘Cuff him.’

  ‘What?’ Luiz said, startled.

  ‘It’s going to look a bit strange if you walk into the police station like minor royalty. Better off you look like a proper gang member.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in the front-seat ashtray. ‘It starts here, Luiz. Time to go to work.’

  As the car stopped outside a police station in the Zona Sul, Oliveira produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them around Luiz’s wrists, the metal biting into his skin. The policeman hauled Luiz out of the back and pushed him up the steps, all traces of amiability gone. Valerie Singer followed them through the glass entrance-way and into the cool hall beyond. Even though it was dark inside, she kept her sunglasses on.

  ‘Got another VIP for the penthouse,’ Oliveira called out to a policeman at the reception desk, clipping Luiz round the back of the head. ‘Need someone to take him down to the cells.’

  ‘Before you do,’ Valerie cut in, ‘there’s something I need to show him. You can stay here.’

  Without waiting for Oliveira’s reply, she pushed Luiz past reception, taking him down a long, straight corridor. The room at the end was narrow and dark, dominated by a floor-length window that ran across one wall and looked out on to a second, brighter room. Through the window, Luiz saw a girl sitting at a table.

  It was Ana.

  Luiz’s sister looked pale and drawn. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her clothes were grimy and her long hair was tangled, but Luiz was relieved to see that there were no marks or bruises on her skin. He banged on the window, calling out her name. Ana didn’t turn round.

  ‘She won’t see or hear you,’ Valerie said in his ear. ‘It’s a two-way mirror and the room’s sound-proofed.’

  ‘Let me go in and see her!’

  Valerie shook her head. ‘Not possible yet, I’m afraid. Perhaps in a couple of days. After you’ve spent some time in Santa Marta.’

  ‘If I can’t talk to her, why did you bring me here?’ Luiz asked, between clenched teeth.

  ‘Consider it a gentle reminder – just in case you were having second thoughts about the mission. We’re doing all we can for Ana, but until you fulfil your side of the bargain, she’s going nowhere.’

  ‘You’re a bitch,’ Luiz spat.

  ‘I’ve been called worse,’ Valerie replied calmly. ‘Livio’s in one of the cells on the other side of the building. A guard will come and take you there in a few minutes. You can watch your sister until then.’ She tucked a packet of cigarettes and a lighter into the breast pocket of Luiz’s shirt and tapped his cheek.

  ‘For making friends,’ she said.

  Valerie walked out of the observation room and locked the door behind her. Luiz hammered on the window, shouting until he was hoarse, but Ana didn’t respond. At one point she turned and looked right at him, forlornly trying to rearrange her hair in the mirror, but there was no sign of recognition in her eyes.

  He was still raging with frustration when the door was unlocked and a guard entered the room. If the man knew Luiz wasn’t a real criminal, he hid it well. He roughly manhandled Luiz down to the basement, taking him to the end of a dingy row of cells, where a boy was stretched out on a bench, hands crossed behind his head.

  MC Livio was dark-skinned with a pudgy face, clad in a voluminous basketball shirt that nearly reached his knees. A black baseball cap was set casually on his head. He looked up warily through heavy-lidded eyes as the guard unlocked Luiz’s handcuffs and shoved him inside the cell. The cell door closed with a bang behind him.

  ‘Bastards!’ Luiz screamed, kicking one of the walls. His nostrils were flooded with a stench of sweat and urine.

  ‘Quit yelling!’ growled Livio. ‘They like it if you do that. And you’ll give me a headache.’ The MC looked over at Luiz menacingly. ‘Sit down and shut up.’

  Luiz glared back, unwilling to give way too easily. Then he slammed his fist against the wall and slumped to the floor. Shaking his head, Livio lay back down on the bench, where he promptly dozed for hours, his chest rising and falling with every snore. There was a faint smell of marijuana among the acrid odours in the cell – Luiz guessed that the MC had been stoned when he was picked up and was now sleeping off the after-effects. As the morning dragged on into the afternoon and then the evening, Luiz remembered Oliveira’s advice and sat in silence, waiting patiently for his moment. There was no way he was going to speak first.

  When night fell, the harsh strip lights in the cell suddenly flicked off without the two boys exchanging another word.

  As morning broke over the police station, Luiz woke up with his joints stiff from the hard floor. He stood up and stretched, to find Livio staring at him, as though the MC was weighing something up. Eventually Livio nodded at him.

  ‘So where you from, then?’

  Luiz shrugged. ‘Around.’

  ‘Around? What’s that mean? You gotta be from somewhere, man.’

  ‘Last place I was in was Rocinha. Before that Borel. Before that, somewhere else. I don’t stick around places very long. What about you?’

  Livio leaned back on his bench. ‘Santa Marta,’ he said, casually tapping his black baseball cap. ‘I run with the Comando Negro.’

  ‘Really?’ Luiz raised an eyebrow. ‘I heard about them. Fierce reputation.’

  ‘Better believe it,’ Livio replied meaningfully.

  The MC seemed more inclined to talk now and the two boys began a cautious exchange. It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to football and to Luiz’s relief he discovered that they were both fans of the same club: Botafogo. The boys commiserated with one another over their poor season and the recent defeat by arch-rivals Fluminense. Slowly, Livio’s hostile manner began to soften, giving Luiz a glimpse of a more open character beneath the bluster.

  Midway through the morning, th
ey were interrupted by a commotion in the corridor outside. Juan Oliveira was marching a handcuffed prisoner past their cage. At the sight of Luiz, the man’s eyes bulged and he broke away towards them.

  ‘You little shit!’ he screamed. ‘I heard what you did! I’m going to kill you! You’re a marked man!’

  As the man ranted and raged at Luiz, the police guard struggled to wrestle him away from the cell. Finally the angry prisoner was led away down the corridor, leaving a trail of abuse behind him as he went.

  ‘Hey, I know that guy!’ Livio said, scrambling to his feet and peering through the bars. ‘He’s the dono of a gang down in Rocinha! What the hell did you do to him?’

  ‘I borrowed his car,’ Luiz replied matter-of-factly. ‘Had a little accident in it. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You stole a dono’s car? What make was it?’

  ‘BMW convertible.’

  Livio let out a low whistle. ‘No wonder he’s pissed. Why didn’t you just run for it when you crashed the car?’

  ‘There was a problem,’ said Luiz. ‘I crashed into a police car.’

  Livio stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. The MC reached across and slapped Luiz on the back.

  ‘I’d have loved to see the look on those bastards’ faces! Almost worth ending up in here for.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Luiz. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘The usual bullshit.’ Livio scratched his crotch, not bothering to explain further. ‘I gotta go to court tomorrow. With my record, I’m screwed. Man, I could do with a smoke.’

  Luiz produced the cigarette packet and lighter Valerie had given him and offered the MC one. He glanced up with surprise.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Keep the packet.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m trying to quit,’ Luiz replied.

  The MC snorted with amusement, secreting the cigarette packet within the folds of his basketball shirt. The day passed more quickly after that. Luiz wasn’t sure if he had managed to gain Livio’s trust, but at least the MC no longer looked like he wanted to punch him. Livio might have been a bit flabby, but Luiz wouldn’t have wanted to get into a fight with him.