“Where is he?’
But Ferreira ignored the question, and before I could react, he raised his gun. I jumped for cover behind the Beetle, but he wasn’t firing at me.
A red splotch bloomed in the middle of Marinho’s forehead, and he fell down dead. My bargaining chip gone.
“No!’ I yelled. I had nothing now, nothing. And I stared at Andrade and Ferreira in my stupid shock.
“O Ferreira diz que o Marinho é um babaca incompetente.’
“Mr. Ferreira says Marinho was an incompetent jackass,’ offered Andrade. And with the slightest smile, he added for explanation: “He was in charge of Mr. Ferreira’s security after his release from prison.’
Ferreira was laughing. Laughing at me. “Aqui tá seu ho -men, pelo menos um pedaço dele.’
“ ‘Here is your man for you,’ ‘ translated Andrade. “ ‘At least a piece of him.’ ‘
Ferreira tossed me a small white box with a pink bow, the kind you’d use to gift-wrap a watch. Coordination took over as my hand reached out and caught it.
“Go ahead, open it.’
He wasn’t about to shoot me. None of his men would shoot me. They wanted to enjoy this.
My mind flashed back to a horrible day at a special lo cation in New York, a place I doubt I could ever bring myself to visit again. Someone had defeated me there too. No, please, not again, don’t let me lose again to a sociopath who’s—
I opened it. I had to.
And then I threw up beside the car.
“ ‘I thought you would like to have them as keepsakes,’ ‘ Andrade translated. “ ‘Personally, I believe yours were always bigger than his.’ ‘
I wiped my mouth, and Ferreira could read what was in my eyes, his gun lifting again, every gun aimed and ready to fire in case I moved out from behind the Beetle.
“You know I wanted you dead, Knight, but this is so much better.’
“I am going to kill you,’ I said. “That’s a promise.’
Ferreira made a duckbill of his hand, flapping it to tell me I was all talk. In English, he said, “I—am busy—bitch.’
He stepped backwards one, two, three steps, before turning his back and heading for the Porsche. His bodyguards knew better than to show me the same contempt.
But they were safe enough as long as I was near the favela. Our final showdown had to be someplace to my advantage, and the only thing going for me so far was this cretin still couldn’t respect a woman as an opponent.
If I made him change his mind in the last five seconds of his life, that would be long enough for me.
♦
I was inconsolable, eyes brimming with tears, only half bothering to check whether I had tails following me. It didn’t hit me for twenty minutes that I had been played. Graham was still alive.
There were two reasons for thinking this. First, I don’t want to get gross here, but as much as a severed body part looks different from attached and alive, I’d been intimate with Graham, and those things in the box didn’t belong to him. Shock had blinded me to the obvious for a couple of minutes. And there was another reason, one I couldn’t be sure of, but it was enough for me to hope.
Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t doubt Ferreira wanted Graham dead. He wanted me dead, too—he’d just said it. And he could have killed me minutes ago, as easily as he’d executed Marinho. He wasn’t the type to leave enemies alive. But I suspected the gangster couldn’t indulge himself yet.
Why not? Well, I realized we’d proved only this afternoon that Ferreira was working with somebody inside MI6. The satellite footage of Beatriz’s safe house confirmed it. And I hadn’t forgotten Mr. Widow’s Peak, the Big Spy—the creep I took pictures of with my digital camera. He was somebody important, someone Marinho—and therefore Ferreira—had wanted to stay on good terms with. My guess was Big Spy wouldn’t look too kindly on Ferreira killing a British agent, even one like Graham who was not supposed to know what was really going on. That might make life inconvenient and raise alarms back in London.
Ferreira could have shot Graham right in front of me in Ipanema. He could have gotten the same reaction from me as when he tossed me his sick “gift.’ He didn’t.
So a poor anonymous victim had been castrated for the sake of a diversion.
Ferreira wanted me grieving and scheming revenge, but temporarily out of his way as plans went ahead over Foz do Iguaçu—the terrible something that he would allow to happen, that Beatriz would help set in motion.
If I was right, Graham still didn’t have long to live in Ferreira’s clutches. I steered my way back to the safe house in Copacabana because I had nowhere else to go. I needed to mull.
I unlocked the door and nearly jumped out of my skin. A familiar and condescending voice ordered, “Be sure to lock it, please.’
Desmond Hodd sat on the sofa, his agent minions checking Graham’s computer. “It’s time we had another chat, Miss Knight.’
12
I stayed by the door. “I don’t have time for this bullshit,’ I said. “You sent your man to fetch me, and he’s in trouble. He’s the only decent man in this whole mess, and how he can work for you psychopathic corrupt bastards is beyond me. Now if you don’t mind, I need to find him before José Ferreira puts a bullet in his head.’
One of the silent members of the entourage took a step forward. I think he was ready to slam the door shut as I went to reopen it.
I looked at him, my voice adopting a tone I had never used anywhere before, but it was heartfelt and genuine and so help me, I meant it. “Your boss here only wants to detain me. That means you won’t use lethal force. But I’m not bothered at all about killing you if you get in my fucking way! Now is he paying you enough to risk your throat crushed? Just because I want to open a door?’
Guy didn’t move, eyes appealing to Hodd.
“Miss Knight,’ sighed the man on the sofa. “I didn’t send Graham Bailey after you.’
That got my attention.
I saw text script on an Instant Messenger in my head, a warning from Simon. Think H Betrayed Me. I had asked which H, never sure who he meant, but Hodd had topped my list. Until recently.
I pulled out my digital camera and flipped through the camera images. I stopped at one of Mr. Widow’s Peak.
“He’s yours, isn’t he?’ I asked.
Hodd sighed and looked to his agents.
“Hodd. Damn it, I am running out of time for Bailey.’
“Bailey will be fine,’ he answered and, knowing I would push, he added: “We know the place he’ll be taken to. My men are nearly there and about to reacquire him.’
“Fine, give me the location, and I’ll say goodbye—’
“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. You want to know more, and now is the moment—we’ll never get a better one. And trust me, you need to know more right away. All of it this time, I promise.’
I held up the camera image of Widow’s Peak. “Start with him. He’s MI6.’
Hodd offered one of his infinitesimal nods, resigned that I had “stumbled,’ as he would put it, onto the truth. “I take it you didn’t get this information from Graham Bailey but from another source you trust.’
“One I trust more than you,’ I snapped. “Who is this guy?’
“His name is Cameron Haskell. Yes, he’s one of ours—in fact, his position is on a par with mine.’
“Something tells me that’s being somewhat generous to yourself.’
“Very well,’ replied Hodd irritably. “In the greater hierarchy, yes, he’s superior to me, and that’s how all the trouble started. Ferreira is Haskell’s creature. In situations where we seek out and groom an ally in a field of operations, there is always the risk that we’ve backed the wrong horse. That they will tell us whatever we want to hear and line their own pockets.’
“I’ve read John Le Carré and Graham Greene, thanks. Get to the point. Are you saying Luis Antunes was Haskell’s man in London?’
“No, he wasn’t,’ said Hodd. “You do
n’t understand. That stubborn bastard Haskell wouldn’t listen to the intelligence reports. We knew José Ferreira wasn’t a common malleable thug like ordinary informants in Brazil—he’d built a huge drug empire and then merged his operation with Marinho’s sex-slavery ring. The only way to end the farce would be irrefutable proof that the hard-core sex videos had found their way to the streets of Manchester and Newcastle.’
The pieces started to fit. “You came to me because you couldn’t get one of your own camp into Antunes’s operation. Not without tipping your rival off. You wanted me to get proof of the hard-core nasty stuff coming in so you could take it to your superiors. Show them the whole thing was a cock-up.’
“Correct,’ said Hodd.
“That’s why you never tried to turn Luis,’ I went on. “You couldn’t. If Luis is Henrique Marinho’s man and Marinho is supposed to be already working with Ferreira and Haskell, what would be the point of approaching Luis? He could tip off Ferreira and Haskell.’
“Essentially correct, yes,’ said Hodd. “I promise you: You were not framed by us. Not by the people I count on. Ferreira is politically sophisticated. He knows there are divisions in the ranks of MI6. And he knows Haskell sees Muslim terrorists hiding under every bed. Haskell believes fundamentalists in Africa and the Middle East are now working with ones in Brazil. When you happened along, Ferreira saw a golden opportunity.’
“I don’t follow.’
“Don’t you see? If one’s an enemy of Marinho and Ferreira, well, one must be an enemy of Britain! That’s the twisted logic for intelligence people who use the Ferreiras of the world for allies. You’ve caused trouble in Sudan and Nigeria, you’re big on letting Africans decide what’s best for Africa. Forty years ago, they’d brand you a Communist— now the bogeyman label is Islamic fundamentalist. Haskell was quite ready to believe an agent of terrorism was assigned to fight back on the Silky Pictures front. Haskell will believe whatever Ferreira tells him.’
Hodd let out another exasperated sigh. “I made a terrible mistake. I never considered the possibility that Antunes might be clean. As you discovered, Luis Antunes was trying to break free. Ferreira and Marinho decided he could be useful in one last way. They eliminate him while accusing you. Haskell learns about your politics, and he sees what he wants to see. It comes down to Haskell needing Ferreira and Marinho for something—something big, we don’t know what yet. And Ferreira told Haskell that you were in the way.’
“Who planted the bomb blueprints and the Qur’an in my flat?’ I asked.
“Haskell’s people, Marinho’s thugs—it hardly matters. These things might not have been planted at all. An agent could have simply written in his report that blueprints were found, and it’s suddenly ‘true.’ He wants to keep his boss happy. He knows how to play to the biases of his superior. They listened to Ferreira and Marinho and needed it to be true—so they made it true. Your friends were told blueprints were found when they were questioned, but I doubt any one of them was ever shown these items as proof.’
“Oh, wonderful, like weapons of mass destruction.’ I had to sit down. “Oh, my God. My whole life got ripped apart because of your fucking bureaucratic infighting?’
“Miss Knight, listen to me,’ said Hodd. There was a note of defensive irritation in his voice but shame there, too. This time he glanced away because he had good reason not to look me in the face. “The stakes are larger: How do we fight our enemies? Who can we count on and who should we recruit to help us?’
“You idiots never learn!’ I said, shaking my head in despair. “Divide and conquer, and you prop up dictators and gangsters and then wonder why it all comes back and bites you in the ass! There are reasons why nobody picks on Sweden or—’
“Try telling that to people in Bali,’ snapped Hodd. “Remember their terrorist attack? They were minding their own business, weren’t they?’
I didn’t have an argument for that one.
The surveillance team on me in the streets of London. It wasn’t Hodd’s people at all. It was Haskell’s team—buying this fantasy that I was a terrorist and could lead them to my evil network of accomplices. Then they were the ones who kept Nicole at Silky Pictures from talking to the police—they couldn’t afford to have Marinho’s presence discovered, or for that matter, the knowledge that he was the real murderer.
Hodd paused a moment to brush his comb-over and said more gently, “You are preaching to the choir, Miss Knight. I didn’t want any of this. And by the way, my people intervened at risk to their own careers to let you skip out of France. When you foolishly rendezvoused with Inspector Norton in Paris, it didn’t take much to cross-reference black women who took the Eurostar out of London with those flying to Brazil out of Europe.’
No wonder Graham’s female operative could plant her tracking device on me at the Rio airport. Everybody and his brother could find out when I was getting in. I just happened to catch a break because Haskell had assigned my capture to Graham, a guy with a conscience.
“I didn’t rendezvous with Carl Norton, I merely left him a package at the café‘s front—’
“Oh, please,’ Hodd interjected. “You’ve worked as a courier—you know you wouldn’t have to leave it for him there. I am quite sure you have the connections for someone to hand-deliver your plaster casts and such right to his office at the police station. You saw him in person. You needn’t worry—no disciplinary action has been taken against him, and right now the wheels are turning to introduce that evidence and clear your name.’
“You wave your magic wand and ‘all better’?’
“I deeply regret what has happened,’ said Hodd. “Your name was never released to the public. We prevented that much. Two of your neighbors tried to sell it to the papers, but we slapped them down hard and fast with the Official Secrets Act.’
“You could have taken my calls,’ I pointed out.
“There is absolutely no way I could speak to you or deal with you directly while Haskell lowered the boom. The frame was well staged, and if I had come out and declared you as a freelance contractor, Haskell would simply turn that around and destroy the credibility of our operation.’
“You mean your credibility. You cut me loose.’
“No,’ insisted Hodd. “This is a business that requires vast amounts of patience.’
“Let’s tear your life apart and see how patient you stay!’
“We did what we could to help you leave Britain. We distracted Haskell’s agents with decoys at Heathrow and on the Eurostar. You got most of your funds out of the UK, and any sane person would have fled to where there’s no threat of extradition.’ He stood up, nervously pacing the small room. “Haskell sent the orders down for Bailey to bring you back. The rumor mill says he was furious his team lost you in London. I flew into Rio not even knowing you were here! I wanted to persuade Bailey to take down Ferreira instead. I guess you convinced him in better ways than I could.’
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t in the mood for innuendo.
“Hold on,’ I said. “Graham didn’t know that Henrique Marinho was secretly working for Ferreira. But you did.’
“I was wondering myself, Miss Knight, how you figured out the connection,’ replied Hodd.
I explained about going through the corporate documents for Lemos and Silky Pictures. Then I remembered I’d left the DVD of the yacht orgy here in the safe house, and now I slipped it into the drive of Graham’s computer. “Luis Antunes came across the footage from one of the hard-core videos. It frightened him badly. It took me a while to capture what he saw in the frame, but I finally got it. He recognized Ferreira’s lawyer, Andrade, on that ship. And he knew right then that Marinho and Ferreira were working together. I think Luis knew more, but I haven’t been able to figure out how.’
“It’s on this footage, right out in the open,’ said Hodd.
“What do you mean?’
“Did Antunes ever mention sailing?’ asked Hodd. “He apparently liked to sail.’
�
�Yes—yes, he did,’ I said. “He also said he was the son of a fisherman back in the Algarve.’
“Then I suspect he might have taken the initiative to check a few records just like you, such as who’s the registered owner in Brazil for that yacht. See the name? How’s your knowledge of Greek mythology?’
Eurydice. The yacht was called the Eurydice.
“I’m sure you’re going to delight in telling me, Hodd, no matter how obscure this reference is.’
“Eurydice was the wife of Orpheus.’
Ladrão Films, ladrdo meaning thief. Lemos, a reference to an explorer. And Eurydice, wife of Orpheus. Everyone just had to be clever with the names.
“Orpheocon,’ I said. “Damn it! The bloody boat belongs to Orpheocon!’
Orpheocon. The octopus. The conglomerate that’s pillaged my ancestral home of Sudan. The company that was a leader in oil spills off the coasts of Nigeria, and yes, the firm that liked to employ ruthless mercenaries and even gave them their own corporate division. I had history with these bastards. And I kept running into their dirty little ventures.
“Correct,’ said Hodd. “You must have noticed all the girls are mixed race, all look Brazilian. All of their clients are white males—’
“And a couple of northern and Midland accents on the audio,’ I said.
“Every single one of those men is either a British or white South African operative for Orpheocon’s black ops division,’ explained Hodd. “I recognize at least five myself there, and I’m sure we could identify most of the others after a while. The yacht is one of the company’s treasures, just like its corporate luxury suites in Mayfair. I guess Orpheocon decided to treat its agents to a party. Marinho supplied the entertainment—and decided to maximize this meeting of worlds by taping his girls’ customers.’
And Luis Antunes found out who owned the yacht and realized something terrible was going on, bigger than even crime lords in Rio.
“This is not just bureaucratic infighting, Miss Knight. I told you the stakes are larger, and I am fighting in my own quiet, low-key way for the ideological soul of the British intelligence community.’
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