by Nick Thacker
And yet, if there was anything they both took away from the experience, it was the memory of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all; an inside joke between them. Julie knew Ben hated flying for a number of reasons, but even Ben admitted he was in much higher spirits when they traveled together.
She wondered if he’d ever get over his fear of flying. It was a control issue — namely, that he knew he had no control — but she liked to remind him that fears could be overcome.
He always argued back, as was his custom, but Julie secretly loved to see him squirm in his seat as the plane took off and then again as it landed. She thought it made him look cute.
“You’re still thinking three days, right?” she asked.
“Three days for what?”
She shot him a look. “Three days to find whatever we can about Drache Global, then the rest of the time we’re on vacation. Not looking.”
“I thought we said a week — “
“You said a week. We’re spending two weeks there, and I’m not wasting half of it tracking out a mysterious organization.” Julie didn’t push any further; she knew Ben was much more adamant about chasing the nebulous organization that had almost cost them their lives. She wanted to know who they were as much as he did, but she was more than happy to leave the detective work to actual detectives.
Ben didn’t respond at first, but when she didn’t stop staring at him, he finally nodded. “Yeah, right, I know. Three days. But if we find —“
“No, Ben. Three days. That’s it.” She wanted to sound decisive, firm, but the words sounded tired. She was tired — Yellowstone and the debriefing sessions with the government and media in the following months had taken their toll, and she was ready to be done with it. Like her mother always said, “sometimes you don’t get closure, you just move on.”
Ben, however, was not the type of person who could simply “move on.” He was far too stubborn and driven to move on. It was probably the most frustrating thing about the man. Julie loved that she could count on him to finish a project, no matter how large, but she had to balance that with the reality that he tended to focus on nothing else until the project was finished.
She was always afraid that he would eventually find some lead, a small thread of information that might pique his interest in the case once again. She’d even considered not telling him about Paulinho’s call, but she knew he was too smart for that. He’d ask who had called, and he’d know it was something serious, and she would eventually tell him.
So it was with great reluctance that she told Ben about the possible lead in Brazil, put their vacation on hold, and agreed to fly to Brazil with him to dig around for a few days. If everything went as planned, they’d spend a few days with Paulinho and his friend Amanda Meron, checking through her company’s investment documents and funding details, and possibly examining some of the research, then they’d spend another ten days lazing on the beautiful white sand beaches and drinking with the locals.
If everything went as planned.
Chapter 5
Ben massaged his hands, working out the stiffness from white-knuckling the airplane seat’s armrests during their landing a couple of hours ago. He listened as the group shared welcomes and pleasantries, all of them waiting for their drink orders to be delivered. They sat around a circular table at a picturesque Brazilian cafe, an umbrella that stood over them blocking out the most egregious of the sunlight that bathed the city streets. Streams of shoppers and businesspeople moved around them on the walkway, navigating between the cafe’s street-side table.
The man who’d introduced everyone, Paulinho, still stood in front of his chair, a full-width smile on his face. He’d shaken Ben’s hand with a grip that seemed to want to impress, but not quite strong enough to feel useful. Ben couldn’t tell if he liked him or not, but as was his usual custom, he decided that he did not, but would allow the man to change Ben’s mind. The man’s skin was dark, deeply tanned from the Brazilian sun, and as he drew his hand away Ben noticed a small, circular tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He didn’t recognize the design, and couldn’t get a long enough look at it to decipher it further.
To his left sat Julie, who blushed when Paulinho kissed her on each cheek. Ben couldn’t remember if that was supposed to be a European greeting or something the entire world did, but he still thought it was strange to see it in Brazil. Across from Julie, to Ben’s right, sat Dr. Amanda Meron, a young woman who seemed, in Ben’s opinion, better fit for a beach volleyball team than a science laboratory. Her skin was light, but bronzed with a natural glow that only summertime in a place like Brazil could provide. Her hair was short and blond, but long enough to be pulled back in a loose ponytail that rested gently on the back of her neck. She was apparently American or European by birth, and she stood out from the Brazilian natives around them.
Ben tried not to dwell on the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous. When Julie told him about her company, he’d assumed she would be a shriveled old lady, her back hunched from years of sitting over a microscope. Glasses, probably held onto her white lab coat by a long dangling chain she would clip onto her front pocket. He pictured his late grandmother, a wide, tiny woman who had the fierceness of a bull and the shoulders to match. He thought about every other “science-y”-type person he could think of — Bill Nye, Bill Gates, some white lab coat-wearing men and women in stock photographs — all of them nerds, according to Ben.
He realized when he met Amanda Meron that he knew nothing about science.
Stealing another glance, he saw that Dr. Meron sat with her elbows on the table, back straight, her eyes gazing upward at Paulinho. Relaxed, yet on edge. Julie looked over at Ben, and he quickly coughed and nodded once, then looked up at Paulinho.
Julie grinned, her eyes twinkling with a laughter she kept to herself.
Ben wondered if he was blushing.
“Ben, tell me — what is it you do for a living, if I may ask?” Paulinho said, somehow talking with impeccably spaced English while keeping the huge smile plastered on his face.
“Uh, sure,” Ben said. “I’m a park ranger, up in Alaska.”
“Oh? Quite interesting! Is that something you do year-round?”
Ben frowned, trying to interpret the question. If it was anyone else, it would have been a comment related to weather: ’Isn’t it too cold to work in Alaska in the wintertime?’ But he still wasn’t sure about Paulinho. ‘Is that something that pays the bills for you and your girlfriend, or doesn’t she need a better man? Someone like me, perhaps…? ’
“Ben?”
Ben snapped his head up, and Julie — and Paulinho and Amanda — were staring at him.
“Right, oh, sorry,” he said. “Yeah, it’s full-time. Pays the bills, you know…”
Paulinho’s smile, miraculously, got even larger. “Wonderful! Well I’m glad we could all be here. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I assume Dr. Meron has filled you in on the details of her company’s endeavors?”
Julie nodded. “Yes, thank you. And you have been looking for anything related to Drache Global?”
The waiter returned with their drinks. Two light, springy, sparkling juices for Paulinho and Amanda, a Diet Coke for Julie, and a water for Ben.
Paulinho nodded in response to Julie’s question, finally sitting down. “Yes, but it has so far been fruitless. The company seems to want to keep themselves well-hidden.”
“Which means they’re doing something wrong,” Amanda said.
“Not necessarily. Businesses often prefer to operate at arms-length from their local and national governments. Taxes are a hefty burden these days, not to mention the constant threat of lawsuits and bad publicity.”
Everyone around the table nodded, accepting the answer.
“But if they were doing something wrong, you would find it?” Ben asked.
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I work in an office that has access to otherwise private records that businesses must file every year —
that doesn’t mean I will be able to find anything, if it’s there. I’m doing this as a favor to Dr. Meron, and, of course, to you two as well. I’ve also reached out to a friend of mine who’s interested in history. He’s somewhat of an eccentric, but you’ll like him.”
Julie reached over and patted Paulinho’s hand with a concerned look on her face, as if he’d just rescued her nephew’s puppy. Ben took a deep, long sip of his water, trying to ignore the odd way his girlfriend was acting around the strapping, dark-skinned Paulinho. Paulinho just sat, smiling, soaking it all in.
The man’s got swagger, Ben thought. He had to hand it to him. Living in Brazil, educated, wealthy, and good-looking, Ben knew the man wasn’t wanting for attention from the opposite sex. He held himself confidently, his permanent smile lighting up the already sun-bleached day.
“So,” Ben asked. “What’s the next step?”
Amanda shook her head, forming the words. “I’m not sure what’s going on, or why, but I’m glad you’re here — both of you. You need to check into your hotel, and get some rest. We can chat tomorrow. And if there’s anything you can tell me about this organization, I’m all ears.”
Ben stood up, preparing to leave with Julie. “We’re in the dark on this one, but I can tell you this: Drache Global, if they’re really who’s behind this, is not a company you want to mess around with.”
Chapter 6
Juan Ortega pulled up to the tiny house at the end of the block and parked his sedan on the driveway. He made enough money to buy a better vehicle, a larger house, and live just about anywhere in Brazil, but for him it was never about wanting more.
He’d been raised Catholic, by a farmer and a schoolteacher, and frugality had always been a strong master in their home. Juan’s father taught the children — nine total, including Juan — how to garden and grow food, fend for themselves, and take care of a family. His mother taught them the value of a proper education, and instilled in all of them the desire to learn.
As he collected his bag and hung his NARATech ID badge over the rearview mirror, an image of his parents came to mind. His father, smiling with the knowledge that his oldest son was carrying on the family name in a proud, world-benefiting way, and his mother, smug with the look only a satisfied mother can have when watching their grown children. They had both passed away five years ago, within six months of one another, and Juan did his best to remember them well. They had set up a small shrine in the entryway of the house, just inside the front door. He walked toward it, opened the screen door and turned the handle on the larger door behind it, and entered the house.
He passed the shrine, seeing the row of candles and framed image of his parents smiling back at him. He paused for just a moment, hoping to take a minute to honor their memory in silence, but his five- year-old daughter was already rounding the corner.
“Papa!” she yelled, bounding up toward him and jumping into his arms.
“Caroline,” he said, kissing her cheek, “what are you doing home?” Caroline was supposed to have dance class after school today, so he was surprised to see her in the house.
“Mama said I could skip so we could make cookies tonight.”
He smiled. ‘Making cookies’ meant the entire kitchen would be turned upside-down for the remainder of the night, but soon after there would be hundreds of cookies of all shapes, sizes, textures, and flavors to choose from. It was a family tradition his wife and their three daughters — nine, seven, and five years old — all took part in. Juan’s role was ‘official taster.’
“And why are you not helping her now?” he said, tickling her.
She screamed in laughter, then ran out of the room as soon as he put her down. His wife welcomed him in Portuguese, too busy to leave her post in the kitchen, and he responded and walked into the family area adjoined to the kitchen.
Before he could put the briefcase down, his oldest daughter, Gloria, came into the room holding a game. She already had the pouty eyes of a begging child, hoping to get something from her father.
“What, you too are not helping your mother?”
“I am, but we are waiting to be done with this batch,” she responded. “Please?” She held up the small, rectangular box toward Juan.
“I guess,” he said, “if it’s okay with your mother.”
She gave a quick nod, then added, “But if you’re late to the next batch of dough you won’t be allowed to eat any of them.”
The girls laughed, and Gloria dumped out the box onto the rug in the family room. Pega-vereta was a children’s game they’d gotten from his wife’s brother a few weeks ago. The set of colored sticks fell out haphazardly on top of one another, and the game was to try to pick them up without moving any other stick. Each color of stick was worth a different point value. It was a simple game, but Juan enjoyed roleplaying for the girls when they played. Tonight, he would be a crazed surgeon, attempting to fix a patient without causing more damage. He immediately went into character, yelling at the sticks on the floor in an American accent to “clear the room!”
The girls all laughed, and Gloria picked up her first stick.
They played for a few minutes, back-and-forth, until there were only ten sticks left. All of the remaining sticks had fallen on the floor in a similar fashion, their ends overlapping closer to one side of each stick than the other, forming a point at which all of the sticks converged.
Juan tilted his head to one side as he looked at them.
“Papa, it’s your turn,” Gloria said.
He responded in character. “Yes, yes, I am concentrating.”
But as he looked at the remaining sticks, all crossing each other at a single point, he had a realization.
I have to get to the office…
He had to test the theory.
He stood up, apologizing to Gloria. Walking into the kitchen, he grabbed his wife’s hand. “I need to go to the office.”
“The office?” she asked, surprised. “You just came from there.”
“Yes, I apologize. It’s — it’s something urgent.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It is, yes. But I need to get something to Dr. Meron before this evening. Something I forgot at the office.”
She nodded, still confused, but said nothing more. He hated hiding the truth from her, but all of this could still be a ridiculous coincidence. He didn’t want to overhype something and get everyone worked up .
But if I’m right…
He needed to get the data points from the NARATech offices and plot them on a map, then send whatever he found — if he found anything — to Amanda Meron. She hadn’t been herself lately, and he knew it had something to do with this project. He wasn’t sure what sort of pressure she and Dr. Wu were under, and it wasn’t his business to know. But he cared about them; they were his team, his family. If they were feeling any sort of pressure to figure out what this project meant, and the possible ramifications of it, he was going to help in whatever way he could.
It was probably nothing. Probably just another strange recognition that wouldn’t lead anywhere in particular. He would analyze the data — his specialty — and find nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would bring them closer to finding out why there was an anomaly in their system.
But as he turned onto the main highway that would take him north to the office complex, he had an odd feeling.
What if I’m right? What then?
Chapter 7
Ben’s head hadn’t even hit the pillow before Julie came to his side of the bed and started tapping him on the shoulder.
“Ben. Wake up,” she said, her ‘whisper’ louder than her normal speaking voice.
He rubbed his eyes, then sat up, pushing the hotel pillow up against the headboard to support his back. They’d checked in only an hour ago, Julie insistent that they drive around and ‘see the city’ before settling down for the night. They’d done a loop around the small downtown district, then she’d made him pull over at a local soccer stad
ium to take pictures. She told him she’d always been a fan of the sport, and even though she’d never heard of the small club team she was ecstatic to see a ‘real’ stadium. It was getting dark when they’d left the stadium’s parking lot, and Ben knew he’d only get grouchier as the long day wore on, so he made the executive decision — with her permission, of course — to head to the hotel Amanda had told them to stay in.
Julie’s and Ben’s approaches to staying in a hotel could not have been more different. Ben was practical, utilitarian, about it — he wanted nothing more than a clean bed, a dark room, and solid, lockable interior-facing door. Bonus points if the hotel had a bar, and even better if it had a decent happy hour. He didn’t travel a lot, but when he did he enjoyed a quick glass of whiskey in whatever flavor the locals preferred .
Julie, on the other hand, could not care less about the room itself, as long as it was clean. She wanted a hot tub, workout center, and grandiose continental breakfast. Ben loved to remind her that she always forgot her swimsuit, she never used the hotel facilities, and she didn’t eat breakfast, but the few times they’d stayed in a hotel somewhere together, Julie always made sure it had her “preferred” amenities.
When they’d entered the room, Julie immediately tossed her suitcase onto the second bed — another “feature” she preferred in rooms — and let her clothes spill out everywhere. She hadn’t even finished desecrating the second bed before she decided to start in on the bathroom. By the time Ben got in there, a mere two minutes into their stay, the countertop was covered with hygiene products, makeup, and other accoutrements foreign to Ben.
“What is it?” he said. “I wasn’t asleep. Not sure how I was supposed to fall asleep with you pacing around like that. You’re stressing me out.”