The name, he said, meant “black gold’ in Portuguese, and the town was once the capital of Brazil’s gold rush— black because the precious metal had been coated with iron oxide. We quickly checked in at our hotel, and then Graham led me up and down the cobbled streets, spinning tales about Galanga, an African tribal leader in the Congo sold as a slave, who became known as Chico Rei. Hiding gold flakes on his hair and body, Chico Rei bought his freedom, then his son’s, and then grew rich enough to buy a mine and purchase the freedom of others. Graham took me out to the Chapel of the Third Order of Saint Francis of Assisi, where Aleijadinho, “Little Cripple,’ the son of a Portuguese architect and a black slave, sculpted bas-reliefs while coping with leprosy.
Here was a town where our distant brothers and sisters had worked their fingers raw and bloody but let the world know they’d been here.
“My family had a distant relative brought to Ouro Prêto in the early 1700s,’ said Graham. “We’re pretty sure he worked in the Encardideira mine—the same one that Chico Rei eventually bought. An aunt of mine has a cameo portrait of him, so he must have made it out somehow and climbed the social ladder.’
“For all you know, maybe Chico Rei helped get him out.’
He smiled. “It’s a nice thought. I like to believe that happened.’
I threw my arms around him and kissed him hard. I was touched he wanted to share this with me, that he put the thought into bringing me here instead of just saying, hey, baby, let’s hit the beach. He knew this location would resonate with me, and it did. I was grateful for this precious glimpse of a piece of our diaspora. I wondered if Isaac knew of this place. Probably, but if he didn’t, I would tell him.
The next day Graham was playing mystery man again, driving us out of the Barra suburb past a university, a grim aluminum plant, and along a road that gave way to gravel. Lurching and bouncing from the bumps in the road, I started to believe the Beetle was indestructible. He kept laughing away. “You’re trying so hard to be a good sport and not whine.’
“You’re right,’ I said.
And then he asked me if I knew how to ride a horse.
“I know a place—twenty American for a half-day.’
“You’re joking, cowboy. I’m a city girl.’
“Well, I guess we hike the last bit.’
But it was worth it. Because he brought me to this quiet waterfall he told me was called Moinho. It was like the rocks formed a staircase for the water, a pool for bathing below. “We didn’t bring suits!’ I complained.
He started to undress me. “What makes you think I want them? It’s off-season, and the Chapada waterfall gets most of the traffic. Come on!’
We splashed and played in the water, which we had all to ourselves, and then lay on the bank of the waterfall. There is something luxuriously freeing, something magical, about making love in the outdoors. Sunshine poured down on us, and we smelled the earth and leaves, and it was like our bodies were set against a Panavision backdrop. I sat in Graham’s lap, him inside me, arms linked around his neck as he fondled my breasts, and we crushed our mouths together.
Shifting positions, I was overwhelmed by the tickle of grass blades crushed in my hands, sun warm on my back, and I wanted to get dirty with him, feel release in loud wails and the grains of sand and mud that pasted onto our legs and backs. I gobbled his cock into my mouth and sucked him, my fingers holding his balls, finding the sweet spot just underneath them, my tongue lapping a spidery vein on his shaft. My fingers playing along his ribs. He was thick in my mouth, hard and twitching as my nail dug into the soft skin behind his testicles. He warned me he was about to come, and I let him shoot in a geyser stream over my breasts and belly.
We washed ourselves, and still we couldn’t get enough of each other. We were primitives here, reveling in the theater of the landscape. He took me from behind, palm cupping one of my dangling tits, cock ramming me hard, and I heard myself mewl, fingering my clit as he thrust in and out of me, my knees buckling as I came. He fell on top of me, staying all the way in, and I felt the sensation of my vagina clamping him tight, holding him fast.
“Oh, God,’ he moaned. Coming.
♦
As I lay on the grass, I felt dizzy, the earth spinning as I experienced a smaller but still powerful orgasm. I shut my eyes and made a low whimper. “Don’t you dare move,’ I told him. Still hard inside me. I smelled the earth and heard the gurgling water, my peripheral vision opening up so that I could see a tree line in the distance. Still hard, ohhhh, feeling him on top of me, the sensation of his hips and his chest on my back, my ass warm under him…We were like that together for a long quiet moment. And then we held each other and fell asleep.
A new day, and I was giggling and clapping my hands—no, not over the orgasms, though sometimes I’m tempted to do that, too. This was later. It was over the latest wonder Graham showed me as tour guide.
We had driven out to a town not far away called Tiradentes. It had the feel of a hermetically sealed wing of the Museum of London, with its quaint horse-drawn carriages and its souvenir shops, but he hadn’t brought me here for all that.
“Got to buy our tickets,’ said Graham, knowing I’d be thinking: Tickets for what? Again enjoying his air of mystery. And then we were on a platform to board a train.
A steam train.
We’re talking the funny little engine at the front like the Lionel toy locomotives my brother used to play with. (Well, Isaac and our father, who would walk into the living room, fetch a second transformer and engine, and declare in the true spirit of such pleasures, “Let’s have a crash!’) This thing was life-size with antique passenger cars, and while it only went at twenty kilometers an hour to nearby São João del Rei, it had been operating since 1881. We got on board one of the rustred painted passenger cars, conspicuous as a couple among tired parents and excited kids.
“I swear this goes faster than the Northern Line,’ quipped Graham.
We were enjoying ourselves, watching the scenery, me nestled into his chest with his arms wrapped around me. Having a good time right up to the moment when the grim figures took the seats opposite ours and across the aisle.
“Oil Tudo bem?’
Open-necked dress shirts and Polos, designer sunglasses, khaki trousers, and linen jackets. Jackets that had noticeable bulges—guns. Why is it thugs still look like thugs in suits or in casual dress? Ferreira. Andrade. And a set of bookending testosterone cases to keep us well behaved. Too many children close by anyway to start a scene.
Graham sighed as if we weren’t in danger, as if we had just been interrupted by a couple of crashing boors.
“I guess it doesn’t matter how you found us,’ he drawled. “But I am curious.’
“Haskell,’ I said, and I surprised even Graham. “You guys keep capacitors in your cell phones so the head office can always find you, right?’
The reason why I ditched my cell in Oxford Street, that day I had sex with Todd in HMV.
Graham nodded, understanding immediately. As a last act of spite, Haskell had sent Graham’s GPS coordinates to the gang leader.
Ferreira—large head, broken nose, and the livid knife scar on his neck—was like a bust of a gargoyle under the Minas sunshine. He leered at me and scratched a tuft of white chest hairs through the open V of his shirt. Andrade was equally grotesque, his casual clothes somehow unfitting for the lawyer. He looked like he never relaxed in his life. Weasel.
“We really spoiled your fun, didn’t we?’ I said to Ferreira. “After all, this whole thing was your big scheme. Most people would assume Orpheocon dreamed it up and then recruited you, but you brought the idea to them, didn’t you?’
I wasn’t sure if Andrade was translating Ferreira’s words or voicing his own question. “How did you figure it out?’
“I’d like to know as well,’ said Graham. God, he was calm. Like there was no doubt at all we’d get out of this fix. It gave me strength.
“Tell me something first,’ I said, poi
nting to Ferreira. “When did you decide Luis Antunes had to die? When did you order Marinho to kill him? Marinho must have come to London on some errand to meet with Haskell for you, right? To brief him on the plan’s progress, maybe?’
I got a wolfish grin and a nod over this one.
“So Marinho must have thought it would look good to drop in and see Luis in his office in Canary Wharf. A social call paid to the head of Silky Pictures in London. And he found Luis furious. But Luis didn’t know that much yet, did he? He was angry over the new documentary division in Brazil, and he was baffled by the idea of Marinho green-lighting a documentary about Islam. I saw them arguing.’
Andrade looked to his boss, and they traded more smiles. “His pride was wounded,’ sneered the lawyer. “Yes, Marinho told us about the argument with Antunes. Pa thetic! The man’s ego was hurt that he was left out of doing silly little nonfiction films. Mr. Bailey, you will please stop shuffling about.’
Graham had sat forward in his seat, trying not to be obvious as he readied himself for any opening. Other passengers were around, yes, but we couldn’t just sit there and ride our way quietly to our deaths.
“Just trying to get comfortable,’ Graham said pleasantly. “You know you’re missing a great view?’
Andrade ignored him, looking to me. “As I was saying: No, Antunes didn’t have a clue why there was footage of mosques.’
“Not then, but he got curious, didn’t he?’ I said. “He figured it out. This documentary on Muslims didn’t make sense. Meanwhile, Luis was getting wise to Duncan with the hard-core nasty films, and then he made his break with Marinho over a poor girl kept as a slave in Richmond. A girl Marinho was happy to suggest he use in porn. He sent an e-mail severing all ties with the parent corporation in Rio. But the idea of the Muslim documentary really annoyed him. Let me guess. Luis, after all, was a director. I’ll bet Luis realized that the slow pans away from the mosques, all those clever shots, were unnecessary and didn’t make sense for a movie—they must be for something else, for reconnaissance footage.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Graham shifting his weight again in his seat. I did my best to keep Ferreira and Andrade enthralled by my powers of deduction.
“Luis knew something terrible was about to happen, especially with Marinho involved. Something so big he couldn’t count on the Federal Police figuring it out and stopping it in time. So he approached you as Marinho’s main rival. It was only when he checked out the Ladrão DVDs that he saw Andrade, and he found out who the yacht belonged to. He realized this whole scheme was yours.’
“We had a feeling Antunes would soon figure out everything after he came to us,’ said Andrade. “And as you discovered, we were correct. He had to die. He knew it was our scheme. Which brings us back to how you realized it.’
Whatever Graham was planning, he was poised in his seat, ready to spring. I tried to keep eye contact with Ferreira, fix him still.
“I read a few items before I came to see you in prison,’ I replied. “Before your career as a criminal, you were an engineer. Your specialty was hydraulics, and your very first job was at the Itaipu Dam. Who else would have the grand vision for a scheme to get at the Guarani Aquifer?’
All at once, Ferreira’s meaty fist shot out and punched Graham in the mouth. I jumped, startled, and before I could react, Andrade whispered: “Don’t.’
The other thugs snapped to attention, ready to move in. Element of surprise gone. Ferreira’s hand shot out and grabbed Graham’s wrist, turning it over. He confiscated the small knife Graham had slipped out of some hiding place.
Graham’s eyes narrowed, clearly seething inside as he felt his lip, but he kept up his cheerful tone. “Can’t blame me for trying.’
Ferreira barked in Portuguese at one of his thugs, pointed at Graham, and barked some more at the gangster for failing to pat him down for weapons. Children were giggling loudly and carrying on in other seats. No one had noticed the brief commotion.
Then Ferreira looked to me. “Por favor, continue. Isso é revelador.’
“ ‘Please go on,’ ‘ Andrade translated. “ ‘This is very enlightening.’ ‘
I looked to Graham, lifting my hand to his cheek, but he nodded that he was okay and gave my hand a squeeze. Nothing left to do but keep up this brave, happy chat with Ferreira and Andrade. Graham’s eyes told me another chance would come. Somehow.
“You were saying, Miss Knight?’ prompted Andrade. “About Mr. Ferreira’s grand vision.’
“Right…’
“Please go ahead.’
“You were brilliant at anticipating everybody,’ I said, watching Ferreira. “Nice touch—the angle that the mosque bombing could be interfaith bad blood. You were once contracted to help build a hydroelectric plant—in Syria. Maybe you didn’t mix too often with the ordinary people over there, but I’m sure you picked up a couple of insights. After all, you were so good at manipulating the political infighting at MI6. And I’m right, aren’t I? That you met Bassam Qabbani there? When he got into the illegal arms trade in Brazil, he was perfect to help you manipulate Beatriz. Hell, you manipulated almost everyone—me, the gangs in Brazil with your phony feud, British intelligence.’
Ferreira made a short little bow. The atmosphere on the train was surreal and macabre. We were warmed by the bright sunshine, listening to the anachronistic chugga-chugga as children laughed and chattered in the background.
“I’ll bet you couldn’t stand Haskell personally,’ I went on. “He’s just the type who would take credit for your work with Orpheocon. And of course, I’m sure you were annoyed that he wouldn’t let you kill Graham immediately. We know he must have dissuaded you, because Haskell approached him in the street later and made an offer.’
Andrade and Ferreira laughed. “We heard you shot him in the knee!’
“Yes, I did,’ said Graham pleasantly, a shared laugh with the wolves. The knife episode a minute ago dealt with and forgotten.
“He really is—how do you say?’ Andrade glanced at Ferreira, looked to us to check the word. “He is an enormous prick!’
“Yes.’ Graham nodded. “Yes, he is. Now he’ll limp for the rest of his life.’
“We never like him. We want to thank you for that.’
“My pleasure.’
The trip to São João del Rei took forty minutes. We were trapped in here, and when we reached the end, we’d be escorted someplace secluded and quiet for our executions. Graham gave my hand a squeeze. We’re all right. We’ll be all right.
“So you’re here to kill us mainly because we ruined your masterpiece,’ I said to Ferreira. “You’re here because we hurt your ego. No one will ever know how brilliant you were—and how you were the great brain behind Orpheocon’s plan.’
Andrade’s voice was a singsong. “You should have left Brazil, gringa.’ He made his little fox grin at Graham. “Desculpa, Bailey, I think she is smarter than you.’
Graham shrugged. “Yeah, it’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with her.’
I looked at him. “This is new.’
“I was waiting for the right moment. Something memorable.’
“Excuse me, the waterfall? Ouro Prêto? What about—’
“No, no, no,’ said Graham, keeping the banter up as we both tried to think of a way out. “I’m old-fashioned. Scenic waterfalls are fine, but I think a declaration of love needs a collection of gangland homicidal maniacs as witnesses. It’s how dear ol’ Dad got Mum.’
“You’re not funny,’ said Andrade in a clipped, tight voice. “Neither of you is funny.’
“Haskell said that too,’ muttered Graham.
“Right before you shot him in the leg,’ I put in.
“Well, that part wasn’t funny—’
“No—’
“Mr. Bailey, you will come with us now, please.’
“Oh, no, thank you, they only serve snacks in the dining car. We’ve got to wait until we reach São João del Rei to get a decent lunch.’
Ferreira growled something in Portuguese. Andrade didn’t need to translate, and it prompted Graham to say: “You’re right. I really don’t know what they’re serving in the dining car.’
They wanted to split us up because they saw Graham as the greater threat, the one to make another bid to fight back or to escape. I might be escorted off the train quietly when it pulled in, but they couldn’t guarantee Graham wouldn’t start something again here.
Graham kissed me on the lips as if leaving the house for work. “See you soon, darling.’
He stood up to go with three of Ferreira’s men. There were still four left to keep me in line, and that didn’t even include Andrade and his boss.
Ferreira was saying something. “ ‘Your bravado makes me want to puke,’ ‘ Andrade translated. “ ‘We take away your knife, and you still act like a big man. Don’t lie to your bitch, you fool! Face your death and make an honest goodbye to her.’ ‘
Graham rolled his eyes and looked at me. His expression said: They just don’t get it, do they? He would be back.
Truth? Even I started to doubt it. I had no idea what they would do to him, but I expected it would involve a muffled shot, probably timed with the whistle blast coming up at the next bend. I was stuck in my seat, unable to do a thing to help him.
15
The engine chugged along as two men led the way out, Graham in the middle, one behind. Tactically smart. If Graham tried to break through the guy behind him, he’d only run into Ferreira’s henchmen with me. The two guys in front dissuaded any run forward. Doors slid and rattled, and they were out of the car. I was left in the empty pause with Ferreira and his pet solicitor, while the tourists enjoyed the charming ride.
The train navigated its long, winding bend.
Up ahead, I could see a town. São João del Rei. Must be.
I waited for the whistle.
I strained to hear the crack of a shot, and when it came, I tasted acid rising in my throat, and I shut my eyes for a moment. No. Something else had happened. Something else must happen.
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