“The girl you saw on my sex movie—you didn’t recognize her, which is a good thing. The same girl was in a British Airways flight attendant uniform when you deplaned in Rio. She jostled you for all of two seconds when you went to Customs.’
“And?’
“She planted a tiny Radio Frequency Identification tag on your handbag strap.’
“What?’
“Well, come on, a spy’s got to have a few gadgets,’ he laughed. “What bothers you more? The tag or that you finally ran into somebody good at tailing and surveillance?’
“This isn’t funny! Where the hell is the thing? Where is it?’ I started frantically searching my handbag, inspecting every mark, checking for tiny foreign objects.
“Teresa, calm down,’ said Graham. “I’ll show you where it is later—’
“Let me guess. And plant a new one.’
He groaned and made an appealing look to the heavens. “Teresa! It was my assignment to track you. My job. I wasn’t sure what scenario to use with the sex tape, but because it didn’t make me look very good, we decided it was believable. When you went on your little excursion, I saw my chance and took it—got ahead of you and broke into the office first. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to resist finding out who else was in there. You’re a detective. Much better that you think you discovered me than me coming along and bursting in on you.’
That smarted—him anticipating my moves. And his girl operative planting that device! Errgggh.
“Well, this tag didn’t help you very much to protect your cover,’ I said. “If you’ve been tracking me, why didn’t you know I’d turn up at the storage shed with Beatriz?’
“It’s Radio Frequency Identification,’ he reminded me. “I get a fantastic range on the thing, but it was never meant to deal with the obstacle course of the favelas. Once you went in there your signal went dead—like trying to pick up music on an AM frequency under a bridge. You get nothing in that honeycomb. You know the movies where the good guy taps away at a laptop, and some big satellite above pinpoints your movements? Yeah, we got stuff like that, but as notorious as you are, babe, they don’t deem you worthy for the major hardware. And I do work on a budget.’
I watched the road, and after a moment, he offered, “Yes, it’s a shitty thing to do, tracking you with the RFID. It was necessary. I didn’t know who I was dealing with.’
“So I guess your bosses finally woke up and accepted my evidence,’ I ventured.
“Evidence?’
“The plaster casts, the inverted foot blow to Luis’s head, the—’
I didn’t finish because his face was blank, not at all understanding my reference to the material I had given Carl Norton.
“I don’t know anything about that,’ said Graham.
“Then why are you …?’
His ignorance completely threw me. How could he not know about the evidence I’d offered Carl? If our run-in at Silky Pictures in the middle of the night was just to arrange his introduction, maybe he wasn’t sent to haul me back to Britain—at least not yet. Maybe he couldn’t afford to at the moment.
“This is your back garden, isn’t it? You’re stationed here. If you move me out, it will create a fuss and bring you unwanted attention.’
He watched the road, smiling as if the whole situation had collapsed into farce. “You’re wrong, darling—it’s a good guess, but no. I’ve been to Brazil a few times, but I hardly know it better than you. I was sent here to track you and eventually take you back to London—I got this errand because of my language skills. I trained for Angola, never learned Portuguese for here. I’m a Deputy Chief of Oper ations for West and Southern Africa.’
“West and Southern Africa? Pretty large brief.’
“You know how it is—it’s Africa. We’re never a priority until the next time someone has a crisis over oil, diamonds, Coltan. Lately it’s chocolate. Now suddenly people care about child slaves used to get the cocoa. Well, better late than never, I suppose. Here in Brazil it’s all debt slavery on ranches, or Marinho’s girls used in brothels and porn.’
“Right,’ I said. “You found me quick enough, but you haven’t tried to put me on a plane.’
“Yet.’
“You obviously don’t want to. Why the delay?’
“You are trouble,’ he laughed.
“Come on. Why the delay?’
“Did anyone ever mention you’re persistent?’
“No, they say relentless. Give.’
“But it’s more fun this way, making you guess.’
“It’s childish,’ I sang, looking out my window.
The beach and the sparkling water beyond were, as ever, beautiful. He finally relented, laughing because I was clearly stubborn and didn’t want to play his game. “Okay, okay…’
He shook his head slightly, trying to choose his words. He looked vaguely troubled.
“Listen. With all the satellite and thermal-imaging software, the pin bugs for surveillance and other hi-tech rubbish, this job still comes down to human judgment.’ He took a deep breath and added, “You saved that girl in Richmond-upon-Thames. What was her name?’
“Matilde. So? I fled. They still had their bogus evidence against me.’
“But you saved her,’ he said, his voice growing intense, as if I were missing a crucial point, something very precious to him. “I asked for and got the interrogation notes for Helê Antunes—relax, they can’t touch her, she’s done nothing wrong. They’ll probably grant Matilde a stay on humanitarian grounds. Anyway, I read the accounts. My superiors at MI6 are so convinced you’re an Islamic extremist—an assassin. And yet you rush off and save this girl kept in a basement while the police are hunting for you.’
“I couldn’t just leave her there.’
“No, you couldn’t. A fanatic would. Somebody who really does have bomb blueprints in their flat would.’
“So you know those were planted. Who did it? Marinho and his thugs?’
“I can’t be sure, not yet,’ he said, watching the road. “They’re not the subtle types.’
As he felt my eyes weigh on him, he added, “I honestly don’t know, Teresa. I’m telling you all of this didn’t track. I certainly didn’t like the fact that my higher-ups refused to share the news about Matilde with Scotland Yard’s Homicide detectives.’
Whoa. I sat there, astonished. It never occurred to me to mention saving Matilde to Carl Norton when I saw him in Paris. After all, it wasn’t relevant to the evidence I’d tried to gather to clear myself. I honestly wasn’t interested in how it looked, I just wanted to get the girl out of that dungeon. Carl didn’t mention it either. Because he didn’t know.
“Teresa, it doesn’t take an expert in psychology to figure out you’re innocent—that you couldn’t murder a man in cold blood.’
“Well, you could always be wrong.’
“Oh, I don’t think so. Beatriz was bitching and complaining for several minutes about how you insisted on taking that child to the hospital. I know her. She has fanatical tendencies. She’s running around, trying to take potshots at Marinho. And Antunes when he was here. Yes, I got involved with her briefly. I had this stupid romantic notion I was saving her or protecting her. Sexist, I know—little girl, big rifle! Then when I woke up and saw she didn’t need my protection, I thought, here’s a smart, sassy woman I can collaborate with, who’s been through the wars and can help us do some good. Now I work with her only when I have to. We’re not nearly as well networked here as operations in Africa.’
“What happened?’
“She’s a loon!’ His hands lifted briefly off the steering wheel to shake them in frustration. “Last time I was here, I tried to get to the bottom of these sinister connections we’ve found between South America and Africa. Nothing we can put our finger on, but I managed to hook up with these Angolan expats. Very dangerous guys tied in with the parallel powers here and hoping to stoke old political fires back home. Then Beatriz blows my cover. Not deliberately, mind
you, but she comes in, guns blazing, with a few of her favela vigilante types, and she ‘rescues’ me in front of the villains. It’s ‘Hello, baby, aren’t you lucky I’m here?’ and I’m burned in two countries. The creeps can send an e-mail to warn their mates in Luanda.’
I was incredulous. “How can you walk around Rio safely if your cover’s blown?’
“Oh, I had to get out fast when it happened, believe me! But things cooled down after six months, and it’s a huge city. All concerned now have bigger fish to fry than me. Everyone expects a war to start soon between Marinho and José Ferreira.’
“They’re wrong,’ I said.
“You just got here a few days ago. How can you know they’re wrong?’
I went over what I’d found in the corporate documents.
“This is not good,’ he said grimly. “Ohhh, this is not good at all. Marinho works for Ferreira?’
I nodded.
“Not good,’ he muttered again. “Whatever’s going on, we don’t have a clue what’s at stake. I have a terrible feeling that Beatriz walking up and blasting Marinho or Ferreira won’t make it go away. I’ve tried before to get her off her vigilante kick, but no joy.’
“I think she’s in love with you,’ I said gently.
He shook his head, annoyed. “She’s insane. I’ll watch her back if we storm through a door together, and I’ll gladly free more of the sex slaves, but the personal… She’s headstrong, reckless to the point of suicidal, and I think the only reason she keeps jumping into my arms and hoping I’ll take her back is…’
He didn’t finish the thought. So I offered to end it.
“You’re a lifeline to the outside world for her. Even if she met a regular guy from a nice neighborhood in Rio, there’d be class and baggage and other nonsense. You come and go, Graham, and she hopes one day you’ll take her with you.’
I paused before I added, “But you know all this. You feel guilty about it. It’s why you do still come charging in to help her, isn’t it?’
He nodded, checked the traffic. He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought maybe I had embarrassed him. I could imagine his position. Whatever he had needed from Beatriz, he probably hadn’t promised her tomorrow, but his very presence, everything he was, suggested to this woman who lived day by day that there could be hope. With him.
All this sunshine, and yet the mood had gotten pretty dark in the car.
“Umm, I know I’ve crashed the party in terms of all this intrigue and gang stuff,’ I said. “You don’t begrudge me making Ferreira or Marinho’s life uncomfortable, do you?’
“Oh, these guys are maggots!’ he sneered. “As soon as I learned about the storage shed, I was on my way. Marinho already knows who I am—which means Ferreira does, too.’
“If that’s your position, let’s have some fun.’
“What’s the idea?’
I had him find me a public telephone. I rang Henrique Marinho’s house, asked for him by name and listened as a servant brought the cordless receiver out to the boss. A splash told me he was still in the pool.
“Olá.’
“Marinho. Can you guess who this is?’
There was a slight pause, and I knew he was shocked I had the nerve to call him directly.
Then the low voice became calm, doing its best not to give anything away. “Gringa. You are such a fool to come here—a clown bumbling into the furniture. You got out of England, woman, and you should have found yourself a comfortable spot to pass your years in exile.’
I kept my tone breezy and taunting. “Oh, but all the fun’s here! By the way, Beatriz and I just emancipated some of your victims from their garage hotel. It’s a small start, but I’m sure I can dream up more headaches for you.’
“You…? You …’
“Marinho? Hello? I’m sorry—did you swallow some pool water? I didn’t catch that.’
Another pause of one, two seconds, as he understood that yes, I had seen his home, I had been watching him.
“You little cunt!’ he barked. For the first time, losing his temper in front of me, the ice cracking. “Okay. Okay, you cost me money. Well done. But Brazil is full of tight, young pussy waiting to be turned out—I’ll make it all back. And I’ll make some more off your ass! When I catch you, bitch, I will have a line around the block and my camera crews ready! You better run.’
“Marinho, I don’t think you fully get the picture. Is your boss there?’
“I don’t have a boss, you stupid cow.’
“Oh, we both know better, don’t we?’
Long pause.
He pulled the receiver away from his mouth, but I could still hear exchanges of rapid Portuguese, a small group deciding what to do. After a second, I heard a deep growl on the line: “Ferreira.’
There was the telltale click of someone picking up an extension—Andrade coming on to help translate.
“So, Miss Knight, we are supposed to congratulate you on being so clever? To us, it seems it took you a long time to know anything useful.’
“Oh, it takes me a while, but I do get to the truth. You don’t have to come after me, boys. The way I see it, I owe you big for killing a friend of mine and framing me for his murder. I’m not running anymore. I’m going to do a little hunting of my own. And Ferreira, guess who plays the scared little bunny?’
“If you’re so clever you know who my friends are, gringa. I am untouchable.’
I Spy, Simon had typed on the Instant Messaging. I Spy Big. I still had that piece of the puzzle to figure out.
“Oh, Ferreira,’ I said with the pitiful tone you give the village idiot. “Just remember: If they couldn’t stop me getting out of England …’
Andrade translated, his voice impatient now: “Yes—yes, yes.’
“What makes you think they can possibly stop me when I put a gun barrel to your head? Tchau.’
I hung up.
Graham had leaned against the phone booth, covering his mouth when he had to laugh. Now he was throwing his head back and guffawing openly. “Oooooh, very Under world Kate Beckinsale!’
“Seems to be the only thing these sexist Neanderthals understand. And stop grinning at me—I’m still cross with you.’
“No, you’re not,’ he said, and waved to the Beetle.
He was right. I wasn’t. Damn. He shouldn’t know me so quickly after so little time.
He gunned the engine and said we ought to hit the shops to buy me a couple more outfits to wear.
♦
MI6 does not keep active operations staff full-time in Brazil. Their operatives are based in another country in South America, and no, I can’t tell you, but take a look at the headlines and you can guess where. As a result, all Graham had to work with in Rio was a few sleeper agents (Jeez, and they actually call them that) and informants.
He hadn’t lied to me about the hotel apartment he rented in Botafogo, about the size of my flat far away in Earl’s Court. He said his employers selected the spot for agents because it had a little-known service lift perfect for quick escapes. But he loved the district for its cafés and cinemas, its touches of 1940s architecture.
I was glad he had injected a bit of personality into his temporary home. The spotlessly clean but sterile décor was heavy on brown and red pillow accents, with a banal framed watercolor of Ipanema Beach. But on a glass coffee table, Graham kept what he called his “airport art’—really the term they used for the kitschier trinkets you buy at the Futungo Market south of Luanda. Wherever he traveled, he spread these out in a convenient spot in the room. Hung on the wall was an unrolled print, its corners trying to lift like shirt collar wings after so many rumpled journeys. It was a print of a beautiful abstract called Ritual by the South African artist Lucky Sibiya. Man had taste.
He mixed a couple of caipirosca. “Here you are.’
“Thanks. We’re drinking a bit early, aren’t we?’
“After that little misadventure, you bet,’ he said, raising his own glass. He sipped and put i
t down, declaring, “I am going for a shower. See you in a couple of minutes, make yourself at home—’
“Oh, no, you don’t! Don’t you have a sister?’
“I have three.’
“Then you know to let girls go first. I’ve been running like mad through the favela, and I’m a mess!’
“I’m the host, I have to be presentable.’ He started walking in the direction of the bathroom.
I grabbed his arm. “You’re the host, so you’re supposed to offer.’
“Want to share it?’
“Presumptuous.’
“Oh, no,’ he said innocently. “Practical, ever practical.’ And he leaned in to kiss me.
I met his tongue with mine, and then he was gathering me into his arms, hopefully not suspecting I had steered our bodies in a semicircle. “Oh, no, you don’t!’ he laughed, as our mouths parted for a second, and I let out a happy squeal as he held me fast around the small of my back. I jumped into his arms, locking my legs around his back, and he grunted as if I were too heavy. That got him a playful slap on the back of the head. He offered a deep kiss apology, and I slid down.
“Guest!’ I said, scampering to the bathroom.
“Host!’
But I made it there first. I could see he hadn’t been back long. The maid had left a bundle of paper-wrapped soaps in a dish and, thankfully, there was a shower cap. I was humming and lathering away when I heard the door open, and he walked in naked, not taking no for an answer.
He got in, and I began soaping his broad chest, losing track of what I was doing while he was kissing me, but the cascade of water was heaven. Pretty much done, I washed his back and enjoyed the delicious sight of his muscles flexing as he pushed his face into the spray, arms coming up in a beautiful pose to rub his eyes and blink away the water. Tall nude black man, soaking and looking like a waterfall had carved him out of its droplets. He cupped my breasts in his large hands, and his cock was half erect the whole time, pointing up accusingly as if I’d been neglectful. Well, we’d do something about that. We toweled off, and I knew where we were going.
Scenarium had been a passionate rush, now it was time for exploration. For minutes on end, we just lay on the bed, his face in my hands as we kissed, his fingers playing with my nipples, working the orbits of my areolae in slow, massaging circles. Kissing him with my neck back, him cradling me from behind in his arms. His mouth fluttering down my spine as his thumbs pushed into my buttocks, his right hand doing something… Oh, God, I thought only Fitz knew that trick. His lips making a butterfly capricious trip to my hip, sliding up to kiss me as he lay on his side. Feeling somehow torn from gravity as three cupped fingers, four, were inside my vagina, finding my spot… finding my spot, and kiss me, kiss me please as shudders racked me now, Graham patiently, so expertly using his hand, my nails digging a little into his back.
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