Their greetings, said from a distance, were drowned out by the roar of the water. The mayor walked closer, but even when he was a foot away, he had to shout to be heard. Schwindt and Stobert stretched out their hands. He was sweating nervously, in spite of the cold.
“Please, I’ve done no harm to anyone! My life, my family, everything will be ruined if my past comes to light! I’m a respectable man!”
“Do you have the list?”
“Yes, I have it right here, just like you asked.”
“Why did you keep it?”
“To be honest, I don’t know! I didn’t take it to the party; all that shit about mystical cults was just nonsense! Your uncle was a Mason and deserved to die! But I never felt like throwing away these stupid parchments! My wife has asked me about them several times when she was tidying up, but just the mention of them makes me angry!”
Schwindt and Stobert looked through them. Their former chief patted them on the back out of camaraderie. As one, they grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him over to the railings.
“No, no! What are you doing? I did what you asked! No, no!”
The body fell into the foam at the bottom, the scream swallowed up by the noise from the sluice gates. Every trace of him had disappeared by the time he hit the bottom. The two comrades got into the Shark to look through the pages. They found their answer in some notes in the margins.
“This is what your uncle wasn’t counting on. Look: peasants, day laborers, nobodies. But after the breakup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, there was a major migratory movement across Europe—entire villages set out for America. He wrote something down here when he went to look for vessels: nobody was left.”
Like so many things in life in which one places great expectations, the moth-eaten page was a disappointment to Stobert. It contained just five names; he’d been expecting dozens. “Do you know how we’ll find them?”
“I know little more than you. I barely know the terms of the ritual. You need to mix the bloodlines and then test each girl in her dreams until you find one that is sufficiently receptive for the transition to occur naturally.”
“Why a girl? What about the boys?”
Schwindt was surprised by the question. “The boys? Do you really not remember anything about Vienna?”
“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The mansion burned down to its foundations. I can’t remember how the fire began; it was all too chaotic. Your uncle brandished a weapon and called us ruffians, fools, and bandits. Our section chief fired at him, and you tried to help him, but he grabbed on to you like a leech and said something I couldn’t hear, making gestures I didn’t understand. Both of you fell into a trance, as though you were asleep, but just for a few minutes. When you woke up, he was dead. Also . . . ,” he stammered, “we weren’t alone. I saw someone else, a translucent figure. Oh God, there was a girl there with us, something like the ghost of a girl. I can’t explain why, but I know it will only work with a girl.”
The meeting with Caimão was set for midafternoon in the town park, a green area with a row of trees that provided shady privacy for their meeting. It was to take place in a paved circle similar to a map of the world with a ring of stone benches around it. The gray sky suggested that a storm was coming; dark clouds prowled around like packs of fantastical animals. A tall, imposing-looking young man was sitting on one of the benches looking at his iPhone. His hair was shaved into graffiti-like symbols. He wore a tight-fitting sleeveless vest that showed off his swollen pecs, designer pants, and sneakers. He clearly took care of himself, adopting an aesthetic made famous by soccer players. When he saw them come into the park, he narrowed his eyes like a hunter and met them with a smile and impeccable English.
“Welcome. I’m Caimão. No one told me that my clients would be so pretty. I was expecting a pair of pale gringos.”
Ari spat into the sand in disdain before speaking. “I guess it’s only to be expected. You just assume that your clients are going to be white men. You weren’t expecting a Latina and a black woman. Are you racist, man? Because my father was a Latino, so I’m no good to you there either. If it bothers you, we can go.”
Ari’s skin gleamed dark and tough in the sunlight while her curly hair cascaded down over her shoulders, bouncy and chaotic. Her nicely featured face, with its spread eyes and fleshy lips, was similar enough to Michelle’s to suggest that Ethan had a type. She wasn’t tall, but her legs were athletic, long, and strong, making her look bigger. Her body was tough and toned, her breasts small, and her abdominals were naturally well defined. Everything about her screamed warrior.
Caimão laughed with forced joviality. “Don’t be like that, honey. I was just glad to see how pretty you are. White women are soft and brittle—their flesh is spongy, and they move like puppets. It’s a pleasure for me to deal with such pretty clients. Once the job is done, I’d love to show you the beaches of this lovely state.”
“We came to do business, but obviously that’s not going to happen,” Ari said to Michelle, turning around.
Caimão blocked their path, amused. “Where are you going? Don’t be so sensitive. Let’s sit down. Or would you rather go for a drink someplace nice? Everyone around here knows me. I have friends in all the right places. I get free drinks wherever I go. It’s because of the music. I’m friends with a lot of musicians, you know. Famous ones. Or we can talk in the park. It’s dangerous here—people get mugged. But you won’t have anything to worry about with me. It’s all under control.”
Ari began to feel the aggression building up inside of her. “I’m shaking in my boots, you bastard.”
He towered over her. “You should be. This isn’t a safe place for a pair of pussycats.”
Michelle tried to come between them, and just the feel of her thumb on his bicep magically seemed to calm him down. He was a textbook ladies’ man. She bet that this alpha male’s aura was navy blue fading to black. The darkness put her off.
“Excuse me; I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name is Michelle, and this is Ari. What an ox!” Her laugh was an octave higher than usual. “Forgive me—it’s Caimão, isn’t it? I don’t know if I’m pronouncing it properly.”
“You pronounce it like a forest nymph.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, you. Honey, you haven’t even given us a chance to introduce ourselves. You’re too aggressive.” She wrinkled her nose in a childish way.
Caimão laughed with pride. “I’m warm blooded.”
“We’ve come a long way, and this is very important to us.” She stifled another patently false sigh.
Caimão blushed. “OK, you’re right. So much beauty all at once drives me crazy. But you have to promise me that you’ll let me show you all the most beautiful places in Santa Catarina.”
Michelle went to sit down next to him while Ari stayed standing.
“I hear you want to steal something from some Mennonites.”
“Mennonites? No, they stole something from us.”
“They’re not Mennonites. They worked with the dictatorship. They’re very dangerous,” Ari interjected.
Caimão winked and frowned. “That changes things. What is it you want to get back?”
“I’ll take care of that. I need you to get me inside and then provide the usual backup. I’d like to get hold of some long-range weapons—is that possible?”
Caimão slapped his knee, as though she’d told a good joke, and said, “You’re coming in with us?”
“Us?”
“I don’t know you, and if we’re going into a compound that had something to do with the dictatorship, I’m not going alone. I already have the guy in mind: 4:20.” He winked at Michelle. “He’s nuts, but you’ll love him. He collects weapons. You won’t find more firepower outside the gangs. He’s got an AK-47 with a GP-25, a grenade launcher. Just in case we have to knock down any walls. I’ll give him a call, and the four of us will meet up tonight. I’m going to take you to some very pretty plac
es.”
Ari and Michelle debated at length over how much they should put up with in exchange for help. Michelle shared Ari’s frustration and had no problem with the way she’d treated Caimão, but she was still willing to accept his help. Really, she said, it wasn’t so different from what she’d experienced her whole life. She even offered to go to the “meeting” alone. She’d been caught in worse traps. Ari was exasperated by her sanguine reaction and ended up accompanying her to a tropical bar on what seemed to all intents and purposes to be a double date. Caimão was constantly showing off, saying hello to every girl in the bar who passed by, especially the more provocatively dressed ones.
“See, my dear? I’m not interested in white women. They’re nothing to me.”
4:20 was much shorter than his friend but just as muscled and spoke the same tourist-oriented English. In spite of his moniker, the drug he offered “to make the night memorable” was cocaine, and although Ari managed to get them to guarantee that they’d be a part of the raid on the colony and that they’d be supplied an assault rifle each, as well as the grenade launcher (he showed them photographs and videos as though it were a baby), he seemed just as uninterested in the mission as Caimão, whose only goal appeared to be to get Michelle to dance with him.
“What you need is to dance. You’ve never danced like this before. We’re the best dancers in the world. You can’t imagine how good 4:20 is at dancing; he can dance with your stuck-up friend all night. He’ll wear her out.”
Michelle continued playing the bimbo role but turned down every offer. The evening soon split into two separate conversations as each would-be lothario focused on his assigned target. The music and lights had their numbing effect. Caimão and 4:20 tried as hard as they could to buy the drinks, but Michelle insisted on going to the bar herself, where she bought sodas for the women. Ari made it clear that she wanted to leave, but the two comrades-in-arms worked hard to keep the evening going for as long they could. 4:20 was more friendly and relaxed than Caimão, and his conversation wasn’t so self-centered. In fact, it was almost pleasant, but he started to go to the bathroom, and every time he came back, he grew more rude and arrogant. Ari knew very well why that was, and when he came back from his third trip, she made sure to keep a healthy distance between them. She looked to Michelle for support, but she was busy putting up with Caimão’s self-aggrandizing bluster. Then 4:20 appeared with a nonalcoholic drink for her. He seemed to have noticed her efforts to stay away and was trying to make up ground. The music continued to bore into her skull. Caimão put his hand on Michelle’s thigh, telling her how sexy she was. The bass was shaking the table to the beat. 4:20 smiled, surrounded by pools of magenta and yellow in the darkness. He held the glass out to Ari, who took it, grateful for the change in his demeanor. He modestly called for a toast. The drums banged in her ears. Michelle was looking at them. Ari lifted the glass, but a woman’s hand knocked it away, spilling some of it. Michelle’s expression had turned wild.
“Ari! Did you get that drink?”
“It’s not alcoholic!” 4:20 quickly interjected.
Ari saw what Michelle was saying and pushed 4:20. “What did you put in it, you son of a bitch?”
4:20 gaped and giggled a little. Caimão observed them from a distance while the tables around them went silent.
Ari pointed to the glass. “Drink it!”
4:20 blushed. “What do you mean?”
Ari held it out under his nose, and he took it as though he were accepting a challenge.
“I will!” But instead of doing so, he put it down. “I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe we should get out of here.”
Ari couldn’t tell whether he was guilty, but her blood was pumping. Before 4:20 realized what was happening, she’d hit him with the reverse of her elbow, knocking the table to the floor with a huge crash. 4:20 brought his hands to his bleeding nose but was then knocked off balance by a knee. He stumbled back into another drinker, who pushed him away angrily. Caimão then stepped over to punch the new guy, sending him all the way back to the wall. Ari and 4:20 were lifted up by a trio of bouncers, who unceremoniously ejected them from the bar. Caimão apologized to another while Michelle ran after Ari. The other group also came outside, their blood boiling, but Michelle, thinking very quickly, stood in front of a taxi, opened it, and pushed the disoriented Ari inside. 4:20 furiously started to shout insults while Caimão came out to prevent him from following them.
The Jackal stepped out of the plane. He didn’t like the airport, he didn’t like the country, and he didn’t like the climate. He was awaited by Thiago, one of the Bloodhound’s former assistants.
“We don’t have any news as yet. Their administration guy is beating around the bush. I think they’re going through some upheaval.”
“The old man must still be in control. I remember how afraid my father and grandfather were of him. Let’s get a team of top mercenaries together. Four SUVs full, just in case.”
Thiago smiled. “So there’s going to be some fireworks, boss?”
“No, but it’s a cult, and you need to be careful with cults. Double or triple the bribes: the bosses, the guards, everyone that can be bought—however much it takes. There aren’t many left. And keep them under surveillance. I don’t want so much as a bicycle getting out without knowing who’s riding it and where they’re going. I want them to hand over the granddad, not a bloodbath.”
The next morning, Michelle told Ari that Henrique had sent her a message and she was going to meet him. Ari didn’t worry about her safety; Henrique didn’t pose a threat. In fact, Ari didn’t say a word—she just drank her coffee, upset that she’d ruined their only option. Michelle looked her in the eye and said, “You did the right thing. They’re pigs.”
Ari didn’t answer. Depressed, she wandered around the small apartment, trying to think where they could go from there. She thought about going out for a walk. Then she started flicking through the television channels and ended up writing to Ethan to find out how he was doing. Ethan asked her about their progress and when they’d make the raid. His recovery was going well, and he still wanted to be a part of it. She told him about their unsuccessful encounter with the mercenaries. Like Michelle he told her that she was right, praising her actions. But he didn’t offer up any new ideas, and his support wasn’t a comfort to Ari. After they’d said goodbye, she just felt emptier and more of a failure. Finally, she found an answer. It wasn’t about being right: it was about owning up to one’s flaws. The only thing she’d ever known how to do.
Michelle came to a motel consisting of three floors in a U shape around a parking lot. The shabby rooms led off a main outdoor corridor. You had to climb up a fire escape to reach the upper floors. The facade was cracked, damp, and stained with urine and vomit. The halls were lit by a bare light bulb, and the general atmosphere was one of unhealthy neglect. Henrique lived among rooms belonging to prostitutes and drug addicts on the ground floor. His door had been left ajar. Michelle rapped on it with her knuckles and pushed it open. “Hello?”
A short corridor led to a bathroom and then a kitchenette with a table, two chairs, and an old television. Behind them was an opening onto a single cot in the shadows. Sitting on the table, Henrique was waiting with a man of a similar age but who looked in much better shape, both physically and economically. Henrique smiled at Michelle sweetly. Nothing about him reminded her of the playboy who had lit up her world when she was a teenager.
“Let me introduce you to my friend Santiago. He has helped me a lot over the past few years.”
Ari returned to the same park, where the same large figure awaited her, although this time he wasn’t playing with his phone. He gave her a welcoming smile. Without getting up, he got straight to the point.
“You called me. Here I am. You didn’t bring your friend.”
“And you didn’t bring your 4:20.”
“You said you wanted to talk. It’ll be easier this way.”
“I still need your gun
s and your help. I don’t know if you have another reliable contact, but I don’t have anyone else to go to.”
Caimão sneered. This time, he was the one to spit. “You’ve got balls, no doubt about that. I saw your moves. Muay Thai?”
“And Kajukenbo, among others.”
“And you know how to shoot, of course. You’re some kind of Amazon?”
“If I were a man, I wouldn’t have had to prove it to you. You would take my word for it.”
Caimão shrugged. “I’m not passing you on to anyone else. I’m willing to continue working with you. The price stays the same. 4:20 comes with us and charges the same as me. They’re his weapons.”
“How can I trust him after what happened last night?”
“After the way you turned on him, I think you’re the one who can’t be trusted. Is that clear?”
“I don’t know if we’re going to make a good team.”
“4:20 and I do, and that’s good enough for me. Take it or leave it. I can start to check out the place right away. What you said about the dictatorship gave me an idea. A lot of those people have connections to martial arts; I can get information.”
“And you can also sell me out for double what I’m paying you.”
Caimão gave her an ambiguous smile. “I hadn’t thought of that. It would be a good deal.”
Ari didn’t smile. Caimão reached behind his back and took out a small Walther P99. He held it out by the barrel so she could take the handle. Ari took it with her finger on the trigger.
Caimão continued to smile. “It’s loaded. It’s yours. You decide whether I can be trusted or not.”
He let it go, and Ari pointed it at him.
Shadows Across America Page 43
