by Susan Lewis
Chambers’s sharp, intelligent eyes were taking in the chaos. His expression was grim. ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea,’ he answered. ‘Thanks for coming. I’m just sorry you had to walk into this. It wasn’t like it when we spoke yesterday. It’s got to have happened overnight.’
‘You said you know where Cavan is,’ Michael reminded him.
Chambers nodded and walked further into the room. Then, lifting his head, he fixed Michael with a stare that drew a pause in Michael’s heartbeat. ‘Your brother’s being held by a man called Pedro Pastillano,’ he said bluntly. ‘I got the call a couple of hours ago, informing me that if I don’t hand over certain depositions by noon tomorrow, then Cavan won’t be coming back.’
Michael’s insides were turning to liquid. ‘What depositions?’ he said. ‘Cavan said something about Michelle collecting some kind of evidence …’
Chambers was nodding. ‘She’s been working with a bunch of teenage kids – street kids – detailing the kind of abuse and torture Pastillano goes in for at his private prison – they call it the Inferno, by the way – and the arbitrary executions his personal death squad are allowed to carry out with virtual impunity.’
Michael’s astonishment was edged with horror as he registered the words abuse, torture, death squad and, almost worst of all, impunity. ‘And he’s holding Cavan?’ he murmured. ‘Who the hell is he?’
‘Ex-military who’s gone into business here in Rio and is about to run for governor. The elections are a couple of weeks away and with the way things stand he’s likely to get in.’
Michael stared at him, then, mentally wresting himself from the shock he said, ‘So what about these depositions? Where are they?’
Chambers’s eyebrows went up. ‘The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,’ he responded, looking around at the wreckage. ‘Obviously they weren’t here, or I wouldn’t have got the call.’
Michael’s eyes were wide with horror. ‘Are you saying you don’t know where they are?’ he cried.
‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Chambers confirmed. ‘I assumed Michelle had them, or would at least know where they were, but if she does, she’s obviously not telling.’
Michael’s confusion was inflaming his temper even further. ‘Have you seen her?’ he asked. ‘Did you ask her?’
‘She’s still in jail,’ Chambers replied, ‘and so far they’re refusing to let me see her. That should change pretty soon now though, because the New York Times and London Times ran the story I filed yesterday on her arrest, which is as big a guarantee as we’re going to get that she’ll be kept alive. Obviously they can’t kill her while there’s an international spotlight on her, especially not when both papers ran my allegations of a frame-up. As far as I know the Brits over at the Consulate are sorting her out a lawyer, so there’s going to be some big-time pressure coming down any day now for the police to substantiate their charges, which, incidently, won’t be hard for them to do. But provided we get our hands on the depositions there shouldn’t be too much problem. Frankly, my concern is that she doesn’t actually know where they are.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Michael muttered. ‘Someone’s got to know where they are, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Oh sure, someone does,’ Chambers agreed. ‘It’s locating that person that could prove difficult. I’ve just come from the hospital where Carlos Camillo’s wife is about to give birth. He’s the public prosecutor who’s been working with us. His office was torched last night and his apartment’s in much the same state as this one. The guy’s in bad shape. Always thought, as a public figure, he’d be safer than most, but I guess he’s learning the hard way that no one is.’
‘Well what about the kids who gave the depositions?’ Michael said. ‘Have you tried asking them?’
‘Yeah, I asked them,’ Chambers answered evenly, ‘but they’re all in witness protection and there’s just no way the depositions would stay with them. Marcelo, their gang leader, is still out on the streets. I’ve put the word out I want to see him, but he hasn’t shown up yet. Not that I’m expecting him to know where the statements are, but he might be able to help us with the whereabouts of the street educator who was working with Michelle. His name’s Antônio. He disappeared within hours of Michelle’s arrest. It could be he’s taken himself and the statements into hiding, or – and we’ve got to hope this isn’t the case – it could be that he’s been arrested too and the police have neglected to inform us.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Michael muttered. ‘What kind of country is this?’
‘You’re about to find out,’ Chambers responded, looking past Michael to the old woman as she started to speak.
When she’d finished Chambers translated. ‘She says the cops could be here any minute,’ he said. ‘It’ll probably turn out to be the same assholes as did the place over, so unless we want to start getting involved in a robbery charge I suggest we get ourselves out of here.’
Fifteen minutes later they were back at the Rio Palace Hotel, taking drinks from the minibar in Michael’s room. Throughout the journey Chambers had been on his cellphone, speaking only in Portuguese, so Michael had been unable to understand what he was saying, or to discuss any more about the unholy mess Cavan and Michelle were in.
‘Did you wire Cavan the money he called you about?’ Chambers asked, flipping open a can of Pepsi.
Michael nodded.
‘Then we’ll stop by the bank later and see if we can pick it up.’
Michael’s eyes were fixed on him hard as he tried to assimilate everything he had learned in the past hour. But it had come at him so fast he could barely comprehend it. Though he knew it was what else he had on his mind that was preventing him from getting a real grip on it all and though he dreaded asking the next question, there was just no way he could put it off any longer. So waiting for Chambers to finish drinking, he braced himself for the worst and said, ‘When Michelle was arrested, what happened to …?’ He stopped as Chambers’s head came up.
‘Oh, shit, I’m sorry, man,’ Chambers groaned. ‘I was forgetting. But listen, it’s OK. You’ve got my word on it, the boy’s safe.’
Michael just looked at him.
‘I swear it,’ Chambers said.
‘So where is he?’ Michael said.
‘Still in Rio, with people who can make sure no harm comes to him. I took him there myself the minute I heard they’d picked up Michelle. Cara, the Sarajevan woman who was living with her, and her two kids are with him. And I swear, as soon as this is over I’ll take you straight there.’
‘Take me there now,’ Michael said.
Chambers shook his head. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘As far as we know no one’s aware he’s Michelle’s son, so if we go there and we’re followed …’
Michael was so tense he felt his bones would snap. He knew what Chambers was saying made sense, but it was so damned hard to accept.
Chambers watched him and realizing that the only way to get him past this was to refocus his mind he said, ‘Listen, right now our main concern is Cavan and working out how the hell we’re going to lay our hands on the depositions.’
Michael remained silent.
‘One of the calls I just made,’ Chambers said, ‘was to someone way up in the judiciary here. They told me there’s a chance – not a good one, but still a chance – that one of us might get to see Michelle. If it comes through I think you should be the one to go. I’ll arrange for someone to go with you, it’ll probably be Jasper Klein from the Herald Tribune, or possibly Elaine Mayle from CNN. You’ll need someone along to help with the language if nothing else.’
Michael nodded. ‘And what if it turns out that Michelle doesn’t know where the depositions are?’ he asked.
Chambers was shaking his head. ‘She has to,’ he responded. ‘The more I think about it, the more I realize what’s going down with her – she cares a lot about the kids who are risking their lives to give us what we need on Pastillano. They’ve put their
trust in her and I’ve seen her in action before she’ll put her own life on the line before she even thinks about doing anything that’s in any way going to harm them.’
Michael’s expression revealed very little of what he was thinking, even though the emotions simmering inside him were fierce. ‘So what happens in the event we do get the depositions?’ he said.
Chambers sighed. ‘Good question,’ he responded, ‘but I guess we’re not really going to know the answer to that until the time comes.’
Getting to his feet Michael walked over to the window and stared down at the beach. What was happening was so incredible, so beyond anything he’d ever experienced, or even expected to experience, he hardly knew what to say or do. In the end, turning back to Chambers he said, ‘You mentioned this Pastillano character has some kind of prison. Do you suppose it’s where they’re holding Cavan?’
‘Most likely,’ Chambers replied. ‘But if you’re going to ask me where the prison is, then all I can say is I wish to God I knew. Marcelo, the gang leader, is still working on finding out, because the boys in witness protection don’t have a clue.’
Michael didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, but pushing himself on he said, ‘At the risk of sounding foolish, I suppose going to the police is out of the question?’
‘Totally,’ Chambers confirmed. ‘According to the information the boys have given us so far, Pastillano’s death squad is staffed almost entirely by active policemen.’
‘From all ranks?’
Chambers nodded.
Michael swallowed hard, then, forcing himself to voice the fear that was now uppermost in his mind he said, ‘There’s not much chance of us getting him back alive, is there?’
Chambers’s steely grey eyes held firmly to his and as Michael’s blood turned cold he tried not to think what this was going to do to his mother. ‘You understand why, don’t you?’ Chambers said.
‘I think so,’ Michael responded. ‘They’ll have no way of knowing if we’ve made any copies of the statements before we hand them over and my guess is that’s exactly what you intend to do – presuming we find them, of course.’
Chambers nodded.
‘So framing this man is more important to you than Cavan’s life?’ Michael said coldly.
‘If we hand them over, keeping nothing for ourselves,’ Chambers responded, ‘then everything, including the lives already lost, will have been for nothing. Pastillano will carry on the way he’s going and all the kids who made those statements – and their families – will be dead inside a week. The other side of the coin is they could hold on to Cavan even after we hand the depositions over, as insurance against us ever going public.’
Michael’s face was showing his strain. ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ he asked.
‘I think there’s a pretty good chance, yes,’ Chambers answered.
‘Then it seems to me we should be concentrating on finding out where that prison is, rather than where the statements are,’ Michael said.
Chambers’s eyes narrowed.
‘Well, if neither of us has any faith the statements are going to get him back alive, then there doesn’t seem much point in wasting our efforts trying to track them down, does there?’ Michael snapped.
Chambers got to his feet, dropped his empty drink can in the bin and took his car keys from the table. ‘I want you to sit tight,’ he said, pulling aside a curtain and peering down into the street. ‘Word is probably out by now that you’re here in Rio, so someone might try to make contact.’
‘You mean like Pastillano?’
‘Never the man himself, but possibly someone who works for him. Or maybe someone giving the go-ahead for a visit to Michelle.’ He turned back into the room. ‘I know the people at the bank, so I’m going to try and pick up the money you wired over. Then I’m going to put in a call to the US Embassy in Brasilia. I’ve got a contact there who might come up with something useful.’
Michael watched him walk to the door, then, almost without thinking he said, ‘I’ve never seen him, you know?’
Chambers turned back and the two men looked at each other across the room.
‘He’s a great kid,’ Chambers said.
Michael swallowed. ‘If anything happens to him …’
‘It won’t,’ Chambers cut in firmly. ‘I swear it. He’s safe.’
Michael’s eyes were glassy with all the pent-up pain. ‘Does Michelle know where he is?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Chambers answered. ‘And take it from me, right now it’s better she doesn’t.’ Then, realizing how rough this had to be for Michael he softened his tone. ‘Don’t be too hard on her,’ he said, ‘as mothers go, she’s one of the better ones.’
Michael’s answering laugh was bitter. ‘And as fathers go, where would you put me?’ he challenged. ‘I told her I never wanted to see her again. When she was pregnant and she told me she was leaving, I told her if she went then she was never to think of the child as mine, because I sure as hell wouldn’t. So what kind of father does that make me?’
‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ Chambers responded.
Michael looked at him.
‘I think that answers the question,’ Chambers said and pulling open the door, he walked out of the room.
As the door to the main office opened Sandy dropped her pen and spun round in her chair. ‘Nesta!’ she cried. ‘Just the person.’
‘That’s me,’ Nesta confirmed, hauling in half a dozen Harvey Nichols carrier bags.
Sandy grinned. ‘Your timing’s perfect,’ she declared. ‘Come and sit down, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Where’re Harry and Craig?’ Nesta asked, dumping her bags on the floor.
‘At lunch,’ Sandy answered. ‘And Michael’s in Rio.’
Nesta screwed up her nose and sat down heavily in the chair opposite Sandy’s. ‘Rio?’ she echoed. ‘I thought he was in Barbados with Ellen.’
‘He was. But he’s now in Rio with Michelle.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How do you think I know?’
Nesta’s eyes narrowed and her smile finally started to reflect the triumph in Sandy’s. ‘Jesus Christ, I can’t believe how easily this is all coming together,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s like the man wants to give it all away. Where’s Ellen, do you know?’
‘Back in LA.’
Nesta laughed. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she cried, clapping her hands together. ‘It’s so perfect it’s scary. All we need now is for her to withdraw her resignation from ATI and I’m going to start believing you’re doing deals with Him Up Above, or Him Down Below, because no one, just no one, gets this kind of luck on their own.’
Sandy’s eyes moved to the Tiffany paperweights on Craig’s and Harry’s desks. They should have been one for her and one for Michael, but he had rejected her gift, just like he had rejected her.
‘Well, you know who we call now,’ Nesta said.
Instantly Sandy’s eyes started to shine. ‘I was just waiting for you to get here,’ she said, looking at her watch – and picking up the phone she started to dial.
Chapter 25
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS HAD now passed since Michael had arrived in Rio, and though plenty had seemed to be happening they were still no closer to tracking down the depositions, or to locating the Inferno. Probably the most frustrating aspect of it all was not having the police to turn to, when that was something every British or American person took for granted. Two more calls had come from Cavan’s kidnappers, Chambers had taken both and had negotiated a deadline of forty-eight hours for them to come up with the depositions. Now they were both back in Michael’s hotel room waiting for news from a dozen different sources.
It had been a while since either of them had spoken, except for the brief phone call Michael had taken from London when he had told Zelda he needed the line free and would call her back when he could. Hearing Zelda’s voice had, for some reason, made him think of Ellen and, with a horrible sinking sensation
, the way he had walked out on her in Barbados. He guessed she would be back in LA by now, but when or even if he would be in touch with her again was impossible to say. If Michelle ever got out of this mess and he could persuade her to go home with him, then it would be all over for him and Ellen – according to her, it already was. The way that made him feel wasn’t something he could deal with right now, so putting it aside he looked over at Chambers and fought the near overwhelming urge to ask more about his son.
He was right on the verge of speaking when Chambers, who had a stack of paperwork scattered across the bed, suddenly got to his feet. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘If we …’ He stopped as the phone started to ring.
Michael was there first. ‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver.
‘Am I speaking to Senhor Michael McCann?’ a soft, male voice enquired in accented English.
Michael’s heart started to thud through his ears. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Tell me something about your brother no one else would know,’ the voice responded.
Michael’s eyes flew to Chambers. ‘Who is this?’ he repeated.
‘Is there a certain birth mark on his left testicle?’ the voice said.
Michael froze. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Not for long, there isn’t,’ the voice told him. ‘Get those depositions by sundown tomorrow,’ and the line went dead.
Michael put down the receiver and fought the nauseous fear churning in his gut. He’d tried everything he could to persuade himself that being British, Cavan wouldn’t be subjected to the kind of brutality the street kids suffered, but the phone call had completely blown that.
‘Don’t go with it,’ Chambers told him when Michael related the conversation. ‘You’ll drive yourself crazy and there’s every chance they’re bluffing.’
Michael walked over to the open French windows. His throat was dry, his hands were shaking and the terror burning in his heart was blotting out everything beyond the ordeal his brother was enduring.
Chambers stood watching him for a while, then took a couple of beers from the minibar and opened them, handing one to Michael. ‘Do you want to change your mind about going public on the kidnap?’ he said.