by Robin Mahle
“The actor. I’m sure his people thought you were paparazzi,” Walsh added.
“It’s possible. I hope that’s all it was.” Kate turned to Duncan. “Did you get any pictures?”
She held up her phone. “I did.”
Quinn spotted the headlights approach. “Finally.” He unlocked the front door and stood with it open as the others stepped out of the car. “Looks like they’re all in one piece.”
“Then luck was on our side tonight.” Fisher stood next to Quinn when he spotted Duncan. “Glad you’re all back and in one piece.”
“The one piece thing being the key phrase.” Duncan walked inside. “We’re fine. When did you and Scarborough arrive?”
“Twenty minutes ago, maybe. Not long.”
“I see you’re still holding onto our guest.” Duncan nodded to Varela.
“Things didn’t go as we planned, thanks to him.”
Quinn closed the door after Walsh entered and the rest were inside. “Well?”
Varela remained stone-faced. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I promise you. They got spooked and it went badly from there.”
“Who’s they?” Walsh asked.
“He tells us the government.” Scarborough placed his hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Everything okay?”
She nodded.
“Local? National? Who wants us gone and why if we’re in search of an American?” Walsh added.
“Too much attention, according to this one.” Fisher thumbed to Varela. “No one expected to find a burial ground with Rocinha women inside. No one knew what to expect and now they’re afraid.”
“But afraid of what? We have no authority here,” Scarborough insisted. “Even if it’s one of our citizens, it would be up to Brazil to decide to prosecute. Something isn’t adding up. And the time’s come for you to talk.”
Varela appeared defeated. “As I’ve already told you, it’s the government. Rio government. They were afraid the gangs would use you, maybe take you hostage and then that would mean America’s law enforcement would intervene.”
“But you said an agreement was reached with the gangs,” Quinn began. “That Scarborough and Fisher all but solidified it the other night. I don’t think that’s the real reason.” He marched toward Varela. “And if you don’t get to the truth, there’s a whole lot we can do to make all of this go away. Including you.”
“That’s enough,” Scarborough held Quinn off.
“I was almost killed today. And you sure as hell don’t seem to give a shit. Maybe it’s what you want, huh? Get me out of the way?”
“Quinn, what’s going on with you?” Fisher asked. “Are you insane? None of us wants anything to happen to you or any member of this team.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he replied. “Maybe you should talk to Reid.”
“What?” Scarborough moved closer with menacing intent. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just tired of this shit and we need to leave this crooked city.”
“If anyone cares, Duncan and I have something that might interest you,” Kate held up her damaged cell phone.
“What happened?” Scarborough asked.
“They were watching us,” she began. “Duncan was at one end of the club and I stood at the other. Some guy ran into me when I started taking picture of a person of interest. I dropped my phone. He smashed it with his foot. It was no accident.”
“What happened with you?” Fisher asked Duncan.
“I’m fine. Things didn’t go quite as we had planned. But my phone survived and we found a man who could be a possible match to Sosa’s description.” She showed him the pictures.
“It’s tough to see in the low light, but I suppose I can see some similarities,” Fisher replied.
“It was dark inside and I had my flash off.” Duncan turned to Kate. “We think they knew who we were and that we were taking pictures.”
“I keep hearing a lot of ‘they.’ Who exactly are they?” Scarborough said.
“It’s possible the folks the ladies were photographing thought they were paparazzi. It was some actor, right?” Cain asked.
“Yep. We weren’t taking pictures of him, but a man next to him. He was the one who resembled the description.” Duncan pointed to the screen. “He was talking to the actor and that’s when things went to shit and we left.”
“An American actor?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. I don’t know who the guy was he was talking to. An assistant maybe? But we weren’t as covert as we should’ve been. But I still think it’s worth looking into this guy. Otherwise, we were out there for nothing,” Duncan replied.
“What about you? Did you get the samples?” Kate asked Scarborough.
“The bodies were gone.” He glanced to Varela. “And we’re pretty sure he told someone we were coming. So we got absolutely nothing. No evidence. No bodies.”
“We do have a head.” Kate turned to Quinn. “Samples from it, anyway.”
“The question is, how are going to get those samples out of here and to our labs?” Walsh asked. “If what Varela says is true and the local government is keeping tabs on us, I’m not sure we’re going to get anything out of this country. Maybe not even ourselves.”
“Did you destroy it?” Scott asked the man who approached him.
“Yes. She won’t get anything off of it. Not without some serious tech.” Turned out, the man who slammed into Kate wasn’t drunk after all. He stood next to Scott. “Who were they?”
“No one you should be concerned with. I’ll handle things from here. You can leave.” He turned away from the man and approached his employer. “Mason? We should leave. You have an early flight.”
“If I must.” He leaned in to whisper into a young woman’s ear. “Until next time.” And with a smile and a wink he followed Scott outside to the valet. “The reporter, Ms. Ortiz?”
“Taken care of. Regardless, trouble is following you. It’s the right call to pack up and head home until this settles down.”
“I won’t argue with you this time.” Mason smoothed his button-down shirt and clasped his hands at his front.
The Tesla arrived alongside the curb and the valet handed the keys to Scott. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”
Mason slipped into the passenger seat while Scott made his way behind the wheel. “The jet will be ready to leave by 5am. It’s best we depart before daylight breaks. The airport will be quieter no doubt.” He pulled away from the club and started toward the mansion.
“Will you be coming with me?”
“That was the plan, unless you feel I should remain here to keep an eye on things?”
“No. We should go home together,” Wylder said. “We have enough people on the payroll to monitor things from here.”
Scott made his way to the lavish home and pulled onto the large circular driveway. “You go in. I’ll pull the car into the garage.”
Wylder stepped out, a noticeable stagger in his step, and walked toward the house.
When the boss was out of sight, Scott pulled in the car and then walked around to the back of the home. A small guest house lay just over the boardwalk near the beachfront. He had left something of value inside and needed to make sure it was still there. He inserted the key and opened the door. “Good. You’re still here.”
Rosella Ortiz, the reporter who had interviewed Wylder a day earlier was handcuffed to the railing between the living room and kitchen. Her mouth was covered with duct tape and her shoes removed. She moaned beneath the tape as he approached.
With a swift yank, Scott pulled the tape from her lips. “I don’t want you to scream. I saved your life. Now you’re going to do me a favor. But should any word of our agreement see the light of day, you won’t survive. Do I make myself clear?”
Her hair was mangled and her eyes puffy with black lines running down her cheeks. She nodded.
“Glad to hear it.” He unlocked her cuffs and helped her to the sofa. “I had hoped
it wouldn’t come to this, but my employer gets a little paranoid.”
“I don’t know anything. I swear it. Please, let me go,” Rosella said.
“Not until we hash this out. There are people here who don’t belong. People who work for my government.”
“Why are they here?” she asked, wiping away her tears.
“They are under the impression. Well, let’s just say they were asked to come by those I understood were loyal. But I was wrong. No worries, though, that particular problem has been solved. Now is the time to give these US government officials reason to leave Rio because what they know, or what they think they know, could be incredibly damaging to my employer. Much like this conversation.”
“What am I supposed to do? I have no power.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You have the power of the pen, or more accurately, the keyboard. You’re going to let everyone know that these people, these American law enforcement people have been working to place blame for a series of murders at the feet of the Rio civil police. Given the reputation of your police, that would be an easy sell. The real problem is the attention. And it will get world-wide attention. That is what will upset many powerful people here. People who help to protect me and more importantly, my boss.”
“You want me to write an article? That’s it?”
“It has to be tonight. Word has to be leaked before they leave because I need a diversion. I need the focus of the police to be on them and not me. If you do this, we’ll forget any of this every happened and you will be paid well for your efforts.”
“Why can’t you just get these powerful people to stop them from leaving? You clearly have wealth and resources.”
“Because this has to come from an independent source, untraceable to me or my employer. And that source is you.”
“Can I go home to do this?” She asked.
Scott considered the idea of letting her leave. “I’ll have to trust you’ll do as you’re asked. But you’d better believe I will have people posted at your home should you decide not to hold up your end of the deal.”
He stood and helped her up. “So, now that I have helped you, you will help me. And I can promise that you will not be harmed again.”
She pulled on her shoes. “What kind of monster do you work for?”
“The kind that lets nothing stand in his way.” He started toward the door. “I’ll have someone take you home. You will contact me when it’s done. If I don’t hear from you within the next three hours, you will most certainly hear from me.” He turned his back to leave, stopping to speak to the men at the door. “Take her home. Stay there. Call me if there are problems.” Scott started back toward the main house.
Wylder was sprawled out on the sofa when he returned. “What a shock. You passed out.” He made his way to Wylder’s bedroom where a half-packed suitcase lay open on his bed. “Idiot.” He tossed in more clothes and zipped up the bag.
On his return to the living room, he gazed through the window and spotted a car driving away. The reporter was leaving along with his men. The risk was his now and if the plan went astray, Wylder would not let it slide. He’d already demanded the reporter be taken care of, which was a polite way of saying she would be thrown off a cliff somewhere, never to resurface. However, Scott was smarter than Wylder gave him credit for. Killing her would mean the end of Wylder. Why he didn’t see that was a mystery because it would only take someone looking at her schedule to figure out she was with Wylder only a day before. Sometimes Scott questioned why he let Mason make decisions at all, except he didn’t want to see an end to his gravy train, so he would obey like the dog he was, with this one exception. “It’s time to go.” He shook Wylder’s shoulder. “Mason, we need to go to the airport now.”
“What? What time is it?” He pulled up and swayed as he did.
“It’s time we leave. The plane won’t wait.” He leaned down and hoisted up Mason.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“Back to New York?”
“That’s right. Where everything can return to normal.”
14
Daylight would breach the night skies in less than an hour. Tensions flared inside the quiet residence among the team who waited for a solution, who needed a safe way out. It was Agent Elijah Cain who appeared to be the only cool head to prevail as he suggested a plan of action.
“I’m going to need you folks to come back to Brasilia with me. You’ll stay at the consulate so that I can ensure your safe return home.”
“We can’t leave,” Kate began. “There’s a killer out there and we’re getting close.”
“Which is why you have to find safer ground.” Cain peered at the others. “I’ve been here for a long time. I’ve seen this place change from a prosperous and lively city to something along the lines of a third world. The disparity between rich and poor and the sheer corruption has spread like a disease. I thought that if I brought you here, you would find whoever was responsible for killing those women.”
“And that’s what we’re trying to do,” Scarborough replied.
“Yes. But it’s cost more than even I could have imagined. The time’s come to pull the plug before it’s too late.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Quinn said. “We can still work the case from Quantico. If this is an American, it won’t be hard to trace him back here. Reid, you and I could’ve been killed today. Cain’s right. It’s time to cut bait.”
“Maybe the solution is to divide and conquer,” Fisher said.
Scarborough looked on with interest. “In what way?”
“Maybe Quinn is right. He should go home. Duncan, and Walsh should go back too. Three and Three.”
“You want Reid to stay?” Quinn asked.
“Frankly, she has a nose for sniffing out clues and I don’t think I’m the only one who sees that. We need her here. Duncan and Walsh should also return because they’ll need our databases and our resources in order to find out if the American has ties back home, which is an almost certainty. They can use the phone records Varela gave up in order to expedite that effort. Run facial recognition on the photos to get us a name of this person of interest. There could be a way to bring him out of hiding if they can find the right ammunition.”
Scarborough nodded. “And the three of us?”
“We track him down. Whoever it is, Reid, you and me, will do what we do best—track down a killer. We can work to get the only samples we have out of the country and sent back to Quantico where you three can process it with the labs. None of the political maneuvering with local law enforcement. We get down to the business of finding the son of a bitch. And with Cain’s help, he might be able to provide us with the equipment we’ll need. Whether it be arms, vehicles, getting a meeting with the AdA, whatever. He’s got the contacts and we’ll need him for that.” Fisher gauged their reactions. “I think this is our best chance at catching the killer. What do you say?”
“I don’t like it,” Walsh began. “We’re a team and we need to stay that way. This is bullshit.”
“It’s the best option to keep at least some of you out of harm’s way. I won’t disagree.” Cain’s attention was diverted when his cell phone buzzed. He peered at the screen. “I need to take this. Excuse me.” He pulled away from the table and answered the call.
Kate waited for him to step away before beginning, “I won’t argue the point that we do need help back home. If we can get what samples we have out of here, we can get them properly analyzed and that could make all the difference.”
“I feel like we’re abandoning you three and I don’t like it.” Duncan turned to Walsh. “I’m with you.”
“This is a precarious situation and as the head of this team, I’ll make the call.” Scarborough eyed each of them. “We split up, like Fisher said. “We find the son of a bitch, then we go home.”
Cain returned wearing a somber expression. “A local reporter was found dead about an hour ago.”
&
nbsp; “That’s awful, and I don’t mean to sound callous, but how does that concern us?” Kate asked.
“She had just submitted an article to her editor, a short time before. When she was found, she had been tortured and beheaded.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Fisher replied. “Sounds like our killer might have decided to move up the food chain and go after higher profile people.”
“You’d think that would be my primary concern,” Cain continued. “But it isn’t. The article, according to the editor, who was the one to make the call to us, indicated several US FBI officials were in Rio searching for a killer. Except that the article speculates the FBI is here under false pretenses. That they are in fact here to help oust the local Rio government.”
“A coup? We’re here to instigate a coup?” Walsh laughed. “That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard. What are we, the damn CIA?”
“They’re going to believe we had a hand in the reporter’s death,” Kate said. “It’s an attempt to turn the cops here against us, but at whose direction?”
“We can’t split up now. Not a chance,” Walsh added.
Scarborough eyed the team. “Yes, we can. And we will. Starting tonight.”
Inspector Gustavo Varela, the man the team thought could be trusted, stood ready at the plane that would carry half the BAU team back to Brasilia and then back home. It was already 8am and finagling the flight took an act of congress. Or in this case, an act of God. Cain pulled strings and now owed favors to just about everyone in Rio, but that didn’t matter. His people, the FBI’s elite, would get out safely. That was the only thing that mattered. The others who would remain, however, would be even more difficult to protect.
The safety of the entire mission now relied on the editor of the paper whose reporter had been brutally murdered. After some persuasion on Cain’s part, yet another string he pulled, the editor agreed not to publish the article Rosella Ortiz had written that suggested the American FBI was attempting a coup. It took money and a lot of it to convince him, but he reluctantly agreed for the safety of the others, though his anger at whoever killed his reporter could not be doused. There would be reparations, and it was a guarantee Scarborough had no idea if he could fulfill.
