by Susan Lewis
After that, with the exception of the driver getting out of the car, nothing had happened. He knew his companion was still there, he could hear him breathing; the only other sound was that of frantic bird life and of rushing water, coming from a short distance away. At a guess, he would say they were in some kind of tunnel, or a garage, or perhaps a sort of heavy-duty container. He doubted it was the last, as the driver’s footsteps had sounded as though they were on stone.
Several minutes ticked silently by. His mind was racing as he tried to fathom all the possible scenarios that could unfold from here. He liked not a single one of them, but each was dealable with, providing Cavan was still alive.
The sound of footsteps returning cut through his barrage of thought. All his senses were alert now, adrenalin was pumping through his veins as fear hammered in his heart. The electronic whirr of the car window going down preceded a short, angry exchange in Portuguese, then came the sound of metal, like a chain, being unravelled.
‘Put arms behind back,’ his companion instructed.
Michael did as he was told and was promptly dragged forward on to his knees.
‘Arms behind back,’ the man barked again.
Once again Michael did as he was told and felt the cold, hard bracelets of handcuffs being clasped round his wrists.
‘OK, now you look,’ the man said and wrenched off the blindfold.
Getting up from the floor, Michael sat back in the seat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, all he could see through the glass partition ahead was a small, sunlit clearing, surrounded by dense foliage. Either side of him were only drab, empty walls.
‘Turn,’ his companion barked.
Michael turned slowly, dragging his eyes from the man, then looked out through the rear window. There were three men standing several feet behind the car, all partially hidden by shadow. It was impossible to make out who any of them were, until the middle man’s head was suddenly wrenched back and Cavan’s brutally beaten face was exposed to the light. Michael spun round, ready to leap from the car, but the man beside him had a gun pointed right at him.
‘See, he alive,’ the man said. ‘Now you look again.’
Michael turned back and as another figure stepped out of the shadows it was as though a silent explosion was tearing his senses apart. A terrible tightness closed around his skull, his heart was thudding, his ears were pounding, his vision was blurring and clearing. The shock was so great, the fear so intense that everything in him ceased to function. Though he’d never seen his son, he was in little doubt who the child now being held up to the light was, and with a sudden roar of denial and fury he lunged at the man in the car, knocking him senseless with a head blow to the face and almost managing to pick up the gun. But the car door was torn open and he was immediately halted by the frantic pressure of a barrel against his temple.
‘You! You bring the depositions,’ he was told. ‘You bring them here, tonight, or you no see the boy again. You hear?’
Wanting only to kill, Michael somehow forced himself to nod.
‘No tricks, you hear? You no make copies, because we keep your brother. OK? We keep him for good long time. But you bring the depositions tonight, you get the boy.’
He was thrown back against the floor, while the other man’s body was dragged free, then the door slammed shut and the engine started up. They were already pulling away when the door was wrenched open again and another man leapt in, gun in hand, and ordered him to put the blindfold back on. Remembering he was hancuffed, the man picked up the blindfold, wrapped it round Michael’s eyes, then shouted for the driver to move.
The journey back seemed endless, until finally they stopped a few blocks from the Rio Palace, where he was untied and told he would be contacted in one hour. By then he’d better have the depositions.
The sun was starting to go down as he ran out on to the Avenue Atlantico and into the hotel.
‘Seu Michael, Seu Michael,’ Franco called out as he raced past.
Michael swung round.
‘I have message for you,’ Franco told him coming out from behind the desk. ‘Seu Tom, he say you must call him right away.’
By the time Michael reached his room he was in a frenzy of panic. All he could think about was that brief glimpse of his son, with a wedge of thick black tape across his mouth and his small, fragile body clasped in the hulking arms of a madman.
He didn’t have chance to pick up the phone before it rang and Chambers’s voice came down the line.
‘Where are you?’ Michael barked.
‘Where the hell are you?’ Chambers barked back.
‘At the hotel. I’ve got to see you. They’ve got Robbie. At least I think it’s him …’
‘It is,’ Chambers confirmed grimly. ‘I got a call from Judge da Silva. He was snatched from her car a couple of hours ago. Did you see him? Is he OK?’
For a moment Michael was unable to speak. Even though his every instinct had told him this child was Robbie, having it confirmed was almost impossible to deal with. ‘They’ve got him gagged, but he looked OK,’ he finally managed. Then anger took over. ‘How did it happen?’ he demanded. ‘You gave me your word he was safe.’
‘I’d have staked my life on it,’ Chambers responded.
‘Then you’d be fucking well dead!’ Michael shouted, almost incoherent with rage.
‘OK, get a grip,’ Chambers said. ‘There was a leak the judge’s end. There’s nothing we can do about it now. The boy’s been snatched and we’re going to get him back. Tell me about Cavan. Did you see him?’
‘Cavan’s there. He’s badly beaten up, but alive.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘No. Have you got the depositions? They’re calling me in an hour.’
‘The depositions are here,’ Chambers answered. ‘The Ferrantes are with me too. We caught up with the ex-death squad guy. Unless he’s lying we now know where the Inferno is.’
‘Are you serious?’ Michael cried, a sudden emotion tightening his throat. ‘Did he say it was in the mountains? In the forest …’
‘You got it!’ Chambers cried. ‘Marcelo is here with half a dozen of his guys, we’re just going over the map. Better still … Listen, better still, this guy’s drawing up a detailed plan of the prison, right down to where he reckons Cavan’s being held. He wants ten grand for all this, by the way, I told him it was his.’
‘Pay him whatever he wants,’ Michael replied. Then, catching his breath he said, ‘Christ, this is just the break we need.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Chambers responded. He went off the line for a moment, speaking to someone his end, then, coming back he said, ‘Rita Ferrante’s just leaving, she’s on her way over to brief you.’
‘Is she bringing the depositions?’ Michael asked. ‘I’m going to need them.’
‘Yeah, she’s got them. She’ll go with you to hand them over. The rest of us are going to come separately. Did they take your gun away?’
‘Yes,’ Michael answered.
‘She’ll bring a spare. Marcelo’s got a fucking arsenal over here.’
Alarm bells were starting to sound in Michael’s head. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ he said to Chambers. ‘I mean, if we’re all going in armed and it turns into some kind of shoot-out, which it’s bound to, then Robbie and Cavan are going to get hit first.’
Chambers’s reassurance wasn’t good. ‘By the time we get there we’re going to know our way around that place pretty well,’ he said. ‘It’s got to help. But if you can think of a better way I want to hear it, ’cos I’m no happier than you are going in like this.’
‘We could try trusting them,’ Michael answered. ‘They said they’d hand Robbie back tonight if I give them the depositions.’
‘What about Cavan?’
Michael’s heart sank. ‘They’re planning to keep him,’ he said.
Chambers’s silence was brief. ‘So as of right now we don’t have much alternative?’ he said.
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br /> ‘It doesn’t look like it,’ Michael conceded.
Chambers spoke to someone else for a moment, then, coming back, he said, ‘I’m gonna have to cut this short now, but as soon as you hear anything call me. We need to know where you’re making the exchange.’
‘OK.’
‘Hang on,’ Chambers said. ‘You heard about Michelle, did you? She’s been released.’
‘Oh shit!’ Michael swore, his hand going to his head as he closed his eyes in frustration. ‘I’d forgotten. Do you know where she is? Does she know about Robbie?’
‘I thought it best not to tell her,’ Chambers answered. ‘I think we should keep it that way.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Michael said drily. ‘But I’ll have to speak to her.’
‘She was on her way home when she called,’ Chambers answered. ‘That was a couple of hours ago.’
‘Do you have the number?’ Michael asked.
Chambers gave it to him, then, telling him to get in touch the moment he heard anything he rang off.
Michael hit the connectors to get a new line, but after dialling Michelle’s number he abruptly cut himself off. Everything was happening so fast now, things were getting so crazy that there was a very real danger they were going to get out of hand. He felt sick, shaken and so ludicrously hyped up it was dangerous. He needed to calm down, to think things through as rationally as he could and to prepare himself for the exchange. He could only be thankful Rita Ferrante was on her way, at least she had been through this kind of crisis before, whereas for him it was like he had stepped straight off the edge of reality into a nightmare of epic proportions.
He walked over to the balcony and began taking deep, controlling breaths. They barely helped. He was so caught up in the ordeal his son and brother were facing he couldn’t let it go. But he had to. Somehow he had to find it in himself to cut out the emotion and go into this as level-headedly as possible. If he didn’t, there was every chance he would lose his son before he ever got to hold him. The very thought of it caused a rage to gust through him like a storm, but he forced it back. To be angry with himself or Michelle right now would get him nowhere, for no amount of fury, accusations or recriminations was going to give him back the time he had lost with Robbie. He must concentrate on the future now and what he was going to do to get him back – and where they would go from there. He just hoped to God he wasn’t going to have to fight Michelle, but if it came to it he would, for there was just no way he was going to tolerate him being in this kind of danger again.
Glancing at his watch to check how much time was left, he started to pace the room. So what was the answer? That Michelle returned to England too? She was Robbie’s mother, they should be together, but could they really go back to the way things had once been? Was it what either of them wanted? He thought of Ellen and his heart twisted inside him, for the idea of giving her up was suddenly as painful as knowing he had to.
An urgent knocking on the door brought an abrupt halt to his dilemma and moving swiftly across the room he went to answer it.
‘Rita Ferrante,’ the short, wiry woman with a stack of frizzy red hair announced.
As she entered the phone started to ring.
Michael ran back across the room and snatched it up.
‘Michael! Oh, thank God,’ Michelle gasped. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for hours. I was so worried. I spoke to Tom and he said you might have gone to see Cavan.’
‘I did,’ Michael confirmed, shaking his head briefly at Rita to let her know it wasn’t the call they were expecting.
‘So what happened?’ Michelle urged. ‘Did they let you see him? Is he all right?’
‘He’s OK,’ Michael lied.
‘Are they going to hand him back in return for the depositions? Tom says you’ve got them.’
‘Yes,’ Michael said. ‘I’m waiting for a call now to tell me where to take them, so I’ll have to get off the line.’
‘OK, I understand. But when this is over, Michael …’
‘Not now,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ll call you when there’s any news,’ and he rang off.
‘OK?’ Rita said, as he continued to stand there looking at the phone.
He nodded, then turned to look at her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Did you bring the depositions?’
She held up the envelope she was carrying. ‘So let’s get started on how we’re going to handle this,’ she said, dropping her linen jacket on a chair and sitting down cross-legged on the bed. ‘We don’t have a lot to go on right now, but there are a few basic rules I should familiarize you with, that could well end up saving your, and your son’s, lives.’
Michael stared at her with wide, tormented eyes. ‘And Cavan’s?’ he said.
Her eyelids dropped for an instant, then, looking at him again she said, ‘Of course, Cavan’s too.’
Chapter 27
THE SUN WAS disappearing fast as Tom Chambers and Carmelo Ferrante walked out on to the dusty veranda of an elegant old villa wedged into the hillside of Santa Teresa. In the shadowy room behind them Antônio, Marcelo, the ex-death squad bozo and half a dozen others were pouring over the map Marcelo and Ferrante had marked up to show the various routes they were to take to the Inferno. For the moment there was no more they could do; they were waiting on a call from Michael to tell them he was on his way to deliver the depositions.
As the warm evening air stirred the surrounding palms and the ocean glittered like burnt silver on the horizon, Ferrante began speaking to Chambers in low, casual tones. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said, resting his hands on the wrought-iron balustrade and gazing out at the view.
Chambers leaned against a chalky pillar and folded his arms. The impression they were giving, should anyone inside look out, was of two men idly passing the time.
‘Those guys in there are after a revenge killing,’ Ferrante continued, ‘which means, if we take them along, a lot of people are going to die. The hostages included.’
Chambers lowered his gaze to where a yellow streetcar was trundling past below. ‘Michael’s thinking the same way,’ he said. ‘So what do we do? I don’t see how we’re gonna shake them now.’
Ferrante scratched his head and affected a yawn as someone came out on to the veranda behind them. ‘So what’s she like, this Michelle broad?’ he asked.
Chambers frowned. ‘What do you mean, what’s she like?’ he said as one of Marcelo’s sidekicks planted himself a couple of feet away and began urinating over the railings into a window-box.
Ferrante shrugged. ‘She good-looking or … what’s she like?’ he said.
Chambers inhaled slowly as he considered his answer. ‘She’s as beautiful as any woman you’ll ever see,’ he said finally.
Ferrante’s eyebrow was cocked as he looked at him. ‘So you and her got something going?’ he wanted to know.
‘Me?’ Chambers laughed incredulously.
‘Why not? A good-looking guy like you …’
‘Hey, strictly solo,’ Chambers cut in. ‘Besides she’s taken.’
Growing bored with the conversation, the slick-haired teenager, with tattoos up his arms and gold loops in his ears zipped himself up and wandered back inside.
‘So what do we do?’ Chambers repeated, picking up where they had left off.
‘Well,’ Ferrante responded, ‘if their information’s to be trusted – and I don’t think we’ve got much choice but to go with it – then we’re ahead on the Inferno’s location, and we’re pretty au fait with the layout of the place. So what we do is, you go back in there and tell them you just spoke to Michael on the phone – which you’re gonna do the minute I finish speaking – to remind him of something that didn’t occur to any one of us before now, which is there’s every chance he’s not gonna know where he’s being taken, because Pastillano will probably send a car, just like he did earlier. So we, you and me, are gonna take ourselves over there to watch the hotel and as soon as Michael and Rita hit the road we’ll call these guys to give them
the green light. Except of course we won’t, because it’s gonna be too dangerous having them around.’
Chambers was already taking out his phone and dialling the Rio Palace Hotel. Ferrante looked at him as he asked to be put through and covering the mouthpiece Chambers said, ‘Let me get this straight. We are going over there, but as soon as Michael and Rita take off to deliver the depositions and pick up Robbie, we’re heading straight for the mountains to get Cavan. Could be we’re all going the same way, we’ll find out when we get there.’
Ferrante nodded and picking a splinter of wood from the post beside him, began cleaning his teeth.
Chambers waited as the phone in Michael’s room continued to ring. He looked at Ferrante and felt his adrenalin starting to pump. ‘No reply,’ he said.
Ferrante’s eyes were instantly alert. ‘Then something’s wrong,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t have left without calling.’
Chambers disconnected the call and quickly dialled again.
‘What are you doing?’ Ferrante asked.
‘Checking with Franco if he saw them leave.’
‘Sim, Seu Tom,’ Franco responded. ‘He go out five minutes ago with one lady and two men. They go in big old car, like a Ford.’
Chambers thanked him, cut the call and put the phone back in his pocket while relaying the information to Ferrante.
‘OK,’ Ferrante replied, after taking a moment to think, ‘go back in there and do like I said, then you and I are heading straight for the mountains. We can call these guys when the party’s over.’
Night was settling firmly over the city as the car that had come for Michael and Rita sped north along the Avenida Brasil towards Baixada Fluminense. The fact that they had forgotten to alert Chambers and Ferrante that they were on their way was a blunder neither could even guess the consequences to, but it had happened and there was no point fixating on it now. They just had to be thankful that they had reacted fast enough when the unexpected knock had come on the hotel room door so that Rita had taken the depositions and a loaded gun into the bathroom before Michael answered. If they hadn’t, there was every chance the depositions would now be on their way to Pastillano with Michael’s body lying bloodied and bullet-ridden on the hotel room floor.