by Robin Mahle
“Are they being trafficked?” He pressed on.
“No,” the voice replied. “They are not alive.”
“Where are they?” Sosa insisted. “Where can I find them? Is it all of them?”
“I cannot say how many, and I cannot say where you will find them. But this is no turf war, no trafficking expedition.”
“Please, tell me who I am looking for because it sounds as though you are certain.”
“I only know what I have heard from others inside Rocinha. Investigator Sosa, if you want answers, you need to speak to the Americans.”
The line went dead and Sosa peered at the receiver. “Wait! Who are you? What Americans?” But it was too late. The caller was gone.
“Droga!” “Damn it!” he slammed down the receiver and walked out of the booth. Sosa surveyed the area in the event he was being watched—or followed. That could never be taken for granted here. He walked back to his car and began to leave, considering what the caller said. “Americans. What do they have to do with this?”
It seemed outside the realm of possibility the AdA or any other organization would allow an American crime syndicate entry into the favela—not without substantial payment. But the caller insisted this was not the AdA, which left him with one conclusion. Only one place to go where the Americans had any law enforcement in his country. “Brasilia.”
3
Contacting the FBI’s international operations in Brasilia was a bold move that would have to be carefully calculated. It was one that could bring Pedro Sosa a great deal of attention. So before he could consider this move at the behest of an anonymous source, Sosa needed something substantial on the Adriana Santos investigation. Something that would make it worthwhile for the FBI and at least allude to the notion that an American was involved.
He hesitated to include Inspector Varela for the time being. Their conversation with the Amigos dos Amigos was cordial but that was only on the surface. These were not accommodating people. Sosa’s plan, then, was to focus on Adriana Santos and where she was last seen the night of her disappearance.
Rather than return to the station, Sosa opted to make a visit to the woman who had decidedly changed his outlook on what had become a sad state of affairs in his beloved city. He drove to the woman’s home deep inside the favela where it would be all too easy for him to go missing within a blink of an eye. Killing a civilian officer meant nothing to the gangs who had a stranglehold on Rocinha. He knocked on the door as nightfall surrounded him.
The middle-aged woman, wearing a long dress in bare feet slowly opened the door. “Sim?” she asked.
“Eu gostaria de lhe fazer algumas perguntas sobre sua filha.” “I would like to ask you some questions about your daughter.” Sosa could already see her apprehension. It was difficult to trust anyone here, let alone the police.
“Do you have news of her?” Her eyes widened with a glint of hope.
“I am sorry. No. May I come in?”
She opened the door and allowed Sosa inside her home that was no bigger than a motel room. The walls had cracks running through them. The concrete floor was adorned only with small and shabby rugs. “Why are you here then?”
“I need to know who Adriana was with the night she disappeared and where she was last seen. Do you know?”
“Her best friend, Gabrielle, was with her. They went to a night club as she usually did on a Friday night.”
Sosa continued inside, eyeing the structure that hardly seemed fit for habitation. “Do you know the name of this night club or where I might find Gabrielle?”
“You will have to speak with Gabrielle’s mother. I have not heard from her. And yes, I know where she preferred to go. It was in Gávea. A place called Casa da Praia.”
“I am familiar with this place. Do you have a number so that I might contact the family of Gabrielle?”
The woman jotted down the number and handed it to Sosa. “I pray she has not disappeared like my Adriana.”
“So do I, Senhora. I will speak to you again as soon as I know something. But I do ask that you keep this visit between us. As I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Sim.” She showed him to the door. “Obrigado, senhor.” “Thank you, sir.”
“Adeus.” “Goodbye.” Sosa stepped outside as the sun vanished behind the steep hills and shadows engulfed the narrow streets. The day was at its end, but there was one place he could go. First, a call would have to be made.
As Sosa drove away from the home of Adriana Santos, he made the call to Inspector Varela from his flip phone. “Yes, sir. I ran into some trouble with my wife’s car. I apologize I have not returned.”
Varela laughed. “No need to apologize. She is a woman! What can you expect? Go. Do what you have to do and I will see you in the morning, Pedro. “Adeus.”
Sosa brushed off Varela’s comments regarding his wife because she could outsmart him on just about any occasion. However, he opted to leave that out of the conversation. He’d been given a pass and it was time to use it to his benefit.
Gávea was only a few miles away and he would be there as the club was opening for the night. It was a Monday, but in Rio, every night was a weekend night. Tourists flocked to the city this time of year, most times of the year, in actuality. It was hard to believe a paradise such as this could have a stain so large and yet utterly ignored by those who came to visit. He would be among the prosperous very soon as Gávea was flush with money.
The nightclub was along a popular block of bars and other clubs where guests spilled out onto the streets. It was a sort of Mardi Gras every night. Had he been young and rich, it would have been a place for him to be seen, but he was neither and a cop showing up here would be looked down upon and disregarded. Money bought a lot of things, including freedom to break as many laws as one wished.
With a photograph of Adriana in his hand, Sosa made his way inside the nightclub where only a few people were inside, most of whom appeared to be staff setting up for the night. The flashing lights were on and the music played loudly in the empty space.
He approached the bar. “Desculpe.” “Excuse me.”
The young man with coiffed hair, a chiseled jaw line and a slim build turned to him. “Olá. What can I do for you officer?”
Sosa held up the photo of Adriana. “Do you remember seeing this young woman in here two nights ago?”
The bartender gazed upward as if reflecting on the night in question before again studying the picture. He shook his head. “No, senhor. I cannot recall seeing this beautiful young woman. I would have remembered her.”
“Are you sure? Please, have another look. It is very important.” Sosa pushed the photo closer.
“I am sorry, but no. Is she in trouble?”
“She’s missing. Like many others.”
“Sim.” The bartender nodded.
“What about an American? Do you recall seeing an American in here that night?”
“Senhor, we see many Americans.”
“Of course.” Sosa wanted to leave a card for him in the event he managed any recollection, but that could backfire were the wrong people to ask about this visit or if he spoke about it. “Thank you for your time.” He began to leave, but not before taking note of the area. The entrance points, exits. Cameras. Someone had to have seen her. And if he could not locate Gabrielle, and it was looking like she might have suffered the same fate as her friend, then he would need to find out if any of the others on that wall had been here. Maybe then he could begin to understand what happened to them.
It was a rare occasion when Kate would find herself sitting alone at a bar, but here she was, nursing a glass of chardonnay. The exception this time was that she was waiting for a friend. This was an old friend who had seen her through some of the toughest times she had experienced as an agent, and she couldn’t wait for him to arrive. It had been too long since they had seen each other. When the tap on her shoulder came, her wait was over.
“Dwight.” With a smile as bri
ght and wide as ever, she was greeted with a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s so good to see you, Kate.” Dwight Jameson, a stocky, square-shouldered man, had been part of her Washington Field Office days and had become as close to her as a brother. “Mind if I sit?”
“Please.” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. It was like being home. “It’s been too long.”
“It has. How are you?” He sat down and captured her gaze. “You look beautiful as ever.”
“You’re too kind. I am well, thank you. And you? How are you and how is Abby?”
“Same ol’ same ol’ for me. Abby is doing great. In fact, we’re engaged.”
“That’s fantastic, Dwight! When’s the big day?”
“It’s just going to be a small ceremony and of course, you and Nick had better be there. We’re looking to have it in September.”
“Oh, that’s not too far away. Just a few months to plan it.”
“I leave that up to my fiancé. She’s incredibly organized and I feel as though I would get in the way.”
“Well, I just can’t believe it. Finally. I’m thrilled for you both. And things at WFO? How is Vasquez?”
“She’s becoming a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.”
“She always did have that spark about her. I really need to call and check in on her.”
Dwight cocked his head. He still wore his hair high and tight. He had a solid build on the outside, but he was a Teddy bear on the inside, unless one chose to cross him. “How’s Nick doing?”
His tone turned serious and Kate knew why. “He’s okay. He’s doing what he needs to be doing to stay sober.”
“Good. So tell me then, and don’t get me wrong I’m happy to see you, but why am I here and he’s not?”
Kate reached for his hand. “I miss you guys so much. Things are different at Quantico. I’m getting to know the team and they’re great, most of them, but it isn’t the same as when it was just the four of us.”
“Why are you skirting the issue? What’s going on?” Dwight was never one to mince words.
She was holding back and he had picked up on it. “Things went bad on a case in Boston several weeks ago. It’s been resolved now, but we lost someone. An agent who was young, talented, and just got into a bad situation he couldn’t see his way out of. Nick took it pretty hard. We all did.”
“You said he’s staying sober, so what is it? Are you afraid he’ll slip because of this incident?”
“No. I don’t think so. He’s going to AA meetings and I do believe he may finally have it under control.”
“Then what?” Dwight turned to the bartender. “Bud light. Thanks.”
“Someone on our team. I’m pretty sure he knows about Nick’s struggles and he’s dangling it over my head to get something.”
“From you?”
“Yeah. Offering to keep quiet and make sure no one else discovers that Nick’s a recovering alcoholic.”
“Wait a minute, are you being blackmailed, Kate? Who the hell is this guy?”
“I guess I hadn’t really considered it as blackmail, but by definition, it seems to be. It doesn’t matter who he is. It matters that I agreed to give him what he wants in exchange for him to keep his mouth shut about Nick.”
“No. This is bullshit.” Dwight shifted in his seat. “Whatever you agreed to—get out of it. If word does get out about Nick, it won’t be the end of his career. I’ll vouch for him. ASAC Campbell, even with their past relationship, you know he’ll vouch for him. This doesn’t make sense. You can’t…”
“Hang on, Dwight. Just please, just calm down. It’s done. I get what you’re saying and maybe you’re right. But with what happened in Boston, what happened back when Nick was censured. All of that mess will come up and this too? I can’t risk it. I won’t risk it. And the reason I asked you here is because I want your help.”
“Name it. Anything.”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t ask any of my team for this, but I want to know how he figured it out—about Nick, I mean.”
“Well, I’m gonna need a name, Kate.”
“First, I need you to agree that none of this will ever see the light of day.”
“Fine. I won’t tell anyone you and Nick are being blackmailed. What do you need me to do?”
“His name is Noah Quinn.”
“Your boss? He’s the one doing this? Jesus.”
“I know. But look, he wants to publish a paper and he wants to root around in my head about Hendrickson, Shalot, hell, probably a whole host of other cases I’ve worked. He’s going to use that because he thinks he’ll get some sort of breakthrough on investigative techniques or something. I don’t know. I tried to tell him it was pointless, but he’s insisting. So, I agreed that if he keeps his mouth shut about what he knows, then I’d spill my guts to him—for whatever that’s worth.”
Dwight nodded. “You want me to find out how he came to get the dirt on Nick?”
“Yes. I don’t know if he was following him or us to an AA meeting, or if he overheard something, but I suspect it’s the former. He’s incredibly resourceful. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a bug somewhere or at the very least, have a tail on me or Nick.”
“Well, you’d better believe I’ll find out. And when I do, that son of a bitch is going down.”
“That’s not what I want, Dwight. I want to know how he found out, yes. But I’ll be the first to admit that he’s the best profiler I’ve ever come across, even better than Georgia Myers and that’s saying something. I can’t afford to lose that training. What I want is to prove to him he can’t back me into a corner and get away with it. He won’t do anything to jeopardize his career so whatever you find, he’ll want to keep under wraps. So, I guess I’m looking to do to him what he’s trying to do to me.”
“What’s the end-game, here?”
“Zero-sum.”
“Consider it done.” Dwight tossed back his beer before peering at Kate with a smile. “Now that we got that out of the way, onto happier topics.”
Investigator Pedro Sosa had no luck at the nightclub, which didn’t come as a surprise. People were hesitant to talk to the cops given their penchant for intimidation and corruption. He returned to the station this morning in hopes of continuing his efforts to discover where these other young women had gone missing. And not all of the missing persons were young women. There were some on the wall who were older women, and some men as well. While they deserved the same justice, he had to narrow down this field and focus on the young women. They were likely to remain the most vulnerable in Rocinha. If he could crack this case, then perhaps it would open doors to finding the others. Either that, or he would be killed for his efforts.
He removed six of the photos, ones he believed were most closely related to Adriana Santos and pulled the files on each one. The scant information was embarrassing. But if he could establish a last known location of each woman, that would go a long way to building a theory about the suspect, or suspects.
“Pedro, what are you working on?” Inspector Gustavo Varela emerged from his office.
“I was looking into the other similar cases to Adriana Santos, sir. I believe if I can establish a timeline…”
“Are you sure this is the route you wish to take?”
“Why wouldn’t that be, sir?”
“You understand what it could mean, should you proceed without the permission of those who issue it.” Varela wouldn’t even speak the name of the syndicate out of fear of reprisal in his own station.
“I am willing to accept the risk. Something must change, sir. Maybe I am the one to see that change happen.”
Varela carefully regarded him. “I am not absent a heart, Pedro. Things we do here are things we must do in the current environment.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“I’m not sure that you do, but you will soon enough.” He relaxed his stance. “That being said, come into my office. We can work on this together.” Varela
looked around. “Away from prying eyes.”
Sosa appeared pleased and followed Varela to his office. “Thank you, sir.”
“Close the door.” Varela took a seat at his desk. “Show me what you have so far.”
Sosa handed Varela the photos. “I believe it’s possible these young women may have gone to a nightclub in Gávea. I must prove this before I move on.”
Varela examined the photos. “What makes you think they were at a nightclub?”
Sosa sat down. “Sir, I must confess to you, I lied yesterday. I went to see Mrs. Santos, Adriana’s mother. I asked her and she said Adriana frequented a particular night club and that her friend, Gabrielle went with her. I haven’t been able to reach Gabrielle’s parents…”
“You lied to me, Pedro? Why?”
“I thought it best to keep you from any involvement should consequences arise from my actions.”
“I see. You were looking out for me?”
“Yes, senhor.”
Varela returned his sights to the photos. “Have you yet spoken to the families of these women?”
“I believe that should be our first step.”
“Then what?”
Sosa hesitated to tell him about the phone call and the warning about an American connection. But if he couldn’t trust Gustavo Varela at this point, then he could trust no one and would not last long on this investigation. He was going to have to jump in with both feet, as the Americans say. “Sir, there is something I hesitated to mention.”
“More lies, Pedro?”
“Not exactly. More like an omission.”
“Go on.”
“Yesterday, I received a message with a phone number on it. I called that number from a pay phone well away from here. I do know how the eyes and ears around here are numerous. What I was told by this cryptic caller was that this could be the work of an American or Americans.”
“Is that so? This caller told you this?”
“He said we were looking in the wrong place and we should be talking to the Americans.”
