by T. H. Moore
“Shale, do as they say,” Charles ordered.
The girl climbed off the bed to join Charles, placing herself in the line of fire between the officer and her Papa. She raised her hands high so her palms intercepted the path of the red dot.
“Put your hands on your head and interlock your fingers,” the officer ordered.
The smile remained on Charles’s face, and before the officer could speak again, the muzzles of two assault rifles flashed from the bedroom’s shadowy back corners amid an unholy roar. The girl flinched as bullet casings crashed and echoed off the heated marble floor. The officers’ bodies jerked forward and blood sprayed, then both fell forward, limp, dead.
The remaining members of the task force in the living room made their way toward the bedroom, crouching to find cover.
“Mr. Gravo, to the panic room!” came the voice of his security commander.
Charles grabbed the girl and pushed her ahead of him as they ran to the back corner of the bedroom. His mercenaries engaged the task force in a fierce gun battle as Charles and the girl ducked through a hidden barricaded door and slammed it shut behind them. Charles placed his shaking palm on a scanner.
“Lockdown sequence initiated,” a soft, robotic feminine voice recited, followed by the sounds of mechanical dead bolts locking into place. Everything worked exactly as designed. This wasn’t the first time Charles Gravo had been forced to escape a raid.
Inside the panic room, he and the girl hurried to the shelves where spare clothes lay waiting. Charles grabbed a black sweat suit and sneakers and pulled them on without underwear or socks. He tossed a similar but smaller sweat suit to his shale. She caught the clothes and dropped them at her feet to begin removing that night’s costume.
Charles watched her. The air-conditioned room caused goose pimples to form on the skin around her nipples and down her arms. He grew hard as she flung the schoolgirl costume to the floor, twisted her long black hair into a tight bun, and slipped into the small sweat suit.
He wanted to fuck her right there, despite the continued gunfire just outside his secure walls. He pushed the urge away and dashed over to the padded wall mounted with semiautomatic weapons. He grabbed a truncated AR assault rifle and extra ammunition clips, and quickly locked and loaded the weapon before tossing it to her. She caught it, almost dropping it, then readied herself to aim and fire it as she’d been trained to do by Charles’s mercenaries. Charles grabbed a Beretta ARX rifle and extra ammunition clips, locked and loaded his weapon, and nodded to signal it was time to exit the panic room.
He slid back a secret panel in the room to reveal another infrared palm scanner. Seconds later, a door on the other side of the panic room opened to reveal a fifteen-foot corridor with a one-way mirror at the end. From inside the corridor, Charles could see his emergency exit route flooded with task force police in a gunfight with what remained of Charles’s security detail.
He pulled his young companion in front of him to use as a shield. When she crouched in fear, he placed his hand on her thin shoulder and bent down to whisper into her ear. He could feel her trembling.
“The brave endure while cowards die alone.” He kissed her cheek just before pressing a button that caused the one-way bulletproof mirror to slide halfway into the floor, giving them a cover from which to fire upon their enemies. He nodded at her and pulled her up.
They both opened fire at the back of the nearest officer. He went down, and two of his fellow officers spun around instantly and returned fire.
Charles and the shale took cover again behind the half-raised bulletproof glass, waiting for a break in the return fire. The moment the officers stopped to reload, Charles and the girl stood again, and another officer fell dead.
Charles thought the tide was turning in his favor. Two officers sprawled in bloody pools near their exit. The few remaining UTA officers and Charles’s security team continued to exchange fire. Another UTA officer flung out his arms and went down.
“Go!” Charles yelled.
The girl stepped over the cover of the glass and moved in a crouching run toward the exit with Charles close behind. Now the remaining UTA officers were taking fire from both sides.
“Keep moving forward,” Charles told the girl.
They were only a few feet away from the flight of stairs that would serve as their exit. Before they reached that safe haven, a single bullet breached the large windows behind them and exploded the skull of Charles’s teenage human shield. She toppled to the floor, her head and face covered in blood and pinkish-gray brain matter.
Charles turned to look out the large window to see muzzle flashes from a hovering helicopter just as another bullet pierced the glass, sending large shards down onto two of his remaining security men.
“Advance!” screamed one of the UTA officers into his shoulder mic. “Yäbälay identified!”
Within seconds, another wave of officers stormed up the escape stairwell. One peered over the top of the stairs and fired two shots at Charles before the officer behind him body-checked him into the stairwell wall.
“Idiot!” barked the second officer, who had a captain’s epaulet on his shoulder. “He’s to be taken alive!”
Tin canisters hit the floor behind Charles and exploded, releasing a shock wave that sent him stumbling to the floor. Several officers rushed in to surround, disarm, and place him in restraints while others emerged from the stairwell and concentrated their firepower on what was left of Charles’s security detail, eliminating them one after another with surgical precision.
The clicking and tight grip of the metal handcuffs around Charles’s wrists infuriated him.
The UTA captain spoke into his shoulder mic. “We have the target in custody. I repeat, we have Yäbälay in custody.”
The radio crackled. “Acknowledged. Proceed with extraction plan omega, and we will meet you at the safe house.”
“You’re all dead men,” Charles said quietly before a black hood was thrown over his head from behind. He tried to shake it off, though he knew it was hopeless. Then he felt the sting of a needle in his upper arm. His legs buckled, and he slumped forward. Inside the hood, he fought to keep his eyes open. He failed.
Chapter 2
THE DOORBELL DISRUPTED ELAINA SOUZA’S morning prayers. Like all her prayers in the last month, these hung on the hopes that her latest visit to her fertility clinic would yield good news. She rushed through the last few words before she rose from her knees.
She made her way through the long hallway of the ranch-style home toward the front door. Even in yoga pants and one of her husband’s T-shirts, Elaina was stunning, the petite, curly-haired Brazilian brunette was the object of every man’s desire. Despite her looks, Elaina felt deeply lacking.
Elaina was a few feet away from the door when the mail fell through the slot. She rushed to wish the mailman a good day, but he was gone.
She scooped the post off the floor, sifted through the junk, noted the usual bills, and was about to throw the stack on the side table when she spotted the manila envelope. Just like the others, it was addressed to her but had no return address. Her breathing quickened.
She dropped all the other pieces of mail onto the floor and steadied herself before continuing to the kitchen. She ripped open the dreaded envelope. Just like the two previous times, the packet contained several photos of her husband holding hands, embracing, and kissing another woman.
A hot flash washed over her, and her heart rose into her throat. She looked closer at the picture, then dashed into the living room and pawed through a pile of fashion magazines until she located the recent issue of Claudia. The face of the woman from the surveillance pictures stared back at her.
She tore through the pages to the feature story, a profile of the former Miss Brazil. Apparently, she had relinquished her crown for self-described personal reasons.
Elaina sank back onto
the sofa. She forced herself to look at the photo in her shaking hands. The photo captured her husband’s face buried between the former Ms. Brazil’s thin, toned thighs. She recalled recent moments of intimacy and his inability to maintain his erection.
When she noticed the fresh time stamp on the photo, her shame twisted into rage. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to use his tongue to pleasure her. It had been at least a year.
Tears poured down her cheeks. She slammed the remaining photos face down on the coffee table. On the back of the last photograph was a typed address, 1411 Rua Visconde de Piraja. Like the other mysterious packages she had received, the address of the woman accented the photographic proof of a secret relationship.
Elaina had not confronted her husband about the two previous packages. She had always believed that a love as pure and enduring as theirs was impervious to pain, to suffering, that fate had brought them together.
She recalled every moment of the magical day that Carlos had introduced himself to her. A moment before he did, Gabriel, his twin brother, had darted across the worn grass of the school’s quad and thrown himself at Elaina’s feet.
“Never have I seen a girl as beautiful as you! Before everyone here, I declare my love for you. Tell me, what is it I must do to win your affection?”
Gabriel’s scene had attracted onlookers, and from the small crowd came another voice. “You know I have feelings for her,” Carlos fumed. “You’re selfish, and only doing this to get everyone’s attention.”
Carlos made his way to the front of the crowd, and Elaina realized she was looking upon two of the same face. He slammed Gabriel into the ground. Gabriel pushed himself up and struck Carlos. Carlos retaliated until his brother’s blows became stronger. The students had cheered on one brother or the other until no one could tell which brother the bloodied face belonged to.
“Stop it, Gabriel,” Carlos demanded. “You know you don’t care for her as I do.”
Elaina watched as Carlos restrained himself from finishing his brother off while dodging the onslaught of punches, until Gabriel landed a blow that toppled Carlos and opened up the skin on his temple.
“Oh my God, stop it, the both of you!” Elaina pleaded as she tore through the crowd of onlookers to come to the aid of the fallen brother.
“Why are you running to him?” Gabriel snarled. “I won the fight!” He was breathing so heavily that he could barely speak.
“You won because he didn’t fight you back!” she screamed while pressing her scarf against Carlos’s wound. “Are you okay?”
He smiled. “I will be once I know your name.”
“Elaina Almeida.”
“I’m Carlos Souza,” he declared with pride. “One day, I’ll call myself your husband.”
She smiled that day, and every day afterward. A decade later, after they had graduated from the federal university, Carlos kept true to his word.
Despite their tumultuous beginning, the three were a formidable team. Gabriel became a rising star with strong political aspirations, while Carlos grew into a successful businessman. Elaina entered politics as a campaign manager in their home country of Brazil. With endless political savvy, she managed several winning campaigns, culminating in Gabriel’s election as president of Brazil.
After the election, Elaina declined a place in Gabriel’s cabinet and set her sights on starting a family. She had been yearning to bring a child into the world as a beautiful testament to the love she and Carlos shared.
For two years, they tried, with no success. Their doctor suggested alternative methods. They readily agreed. She never expected Carlos to take this suggestion to mean that he should try alternate women.
As she stared at the newest chronicle of her husband’s infidelity, she realized that this package had come with a handwritten note. This one is pregnant. How long will you be your husband’s fool?
That question flipped a switch in her. She did deserve better.
~~~
As she’d done the previous two times, Elaina visited the address to confront her husband’s newest strumpet.
She parked across the street from the woman’s home in Ipanema, an exclusive neighborhood in Rio. She sneered at the manicured lawn and the dwarf mango tree in its front yard. She easily identified two peacekeepers down the street by their yellow uniforms and matching baseball caps. When they spotted her, they smiled, raised their hands, and brought them to their hearts. Elaina smiled back and returned the international gesture of peace, but the rage boiled inside her.
After the peacekeepers passed, Elaina marched to the woman’s door and knocked. The golden-skinned former beauty queen was adorned with a flowing, sheer nightgown and five-inch platform heels as she opened the door.
“Querido, meu amor!”1 she proclaimed before noticing Elaina.
Elaina gasped at the exact pet name Carlos had used for her. “Não! Eu sou seu único querida, puta!”2 Elaina cursed.
She peered at the woman’s exposed belly pushing through the sheer gown. The woman looked past Elaina and onto the street before returning her gaze and making a smug face. The sight of the mistress leaning on a cane disrupted Elaina’s anger.
The beauty queen seemed to notice the hesitation, and threw the cane to the floor. Her weakened legs tremored in the expensive Italian heels. “O que você está fazendo aqui, puta!”3 she shouted as she placed one hand on her belly and rubbed it.
Seeing this woman pet herself sent Elaina’s reason into a swan dive off the cliff of sanity. She slammed open the door hard enough to knock her husband’s mistress backward and sliding down the wall. Then she pulled out a .38-caliber handgun from her bag and aimed it at the mistress’s beautifully symmetrical face. Elaina had easily run two previous mistresses off, but this one offered only defiance. The paramour struggled to stand tall but appeared unafraid of Elaina’s gun. It only made her flash a bigger smile.
Elaina kicked the door behind her closed and butted the gun’s nozzle against the woman’s left eye so she could feel its cold steel.
“Você não vai fazer isso, sua puta!”4 the beauty queen said. “Vocę năo vai atirar em mim. Uma mãe doente e esperando. Ele obviamente me prefere por você, então você não o merece. Ponha seu brinquedo e vá embora, eu não quero que ele o veja aqui e arruine nosso dia juntos.”5 She threw back her shoulders, challenging Elaina to strike her down.
Elaina’s anger left her unable to keep her hand steady. This woman was calling her a whore? This woman felt that she was the one who should give Carlos a son?
Her vision blurred. Her body felt light. She was no longer able to feel the weight of the gun. All that remained was the disappointment of her marriage.
“Let Eloah’s will be done,” the mistress whispered as she looked toward the heavens.
Elaina steadied her arm with her other hand and squeezed the trigger. She lost count of the number of bullets she unloaded. In a matter of seconds, she had dismantled everything about the woman: the infidelity, the fear, and the shame building inside over the last two years.
~~~
Within twenty-four hours of Elaina’s arrest, the intimate details of the murders had become common knowledge. Pictures of Elaina’s and Miss Brazil’s gorgeous faces plastered every news outlet in the city. Stories about the dead woman’s suffering from an aggressive form of multiple sclerosis, crime scene photos, and the sequence of events filled the tabloids. The evening news created computer-generated simulations that reenacted Elaina murdering the mistress and lying in wait for her adulterous husband. The enactment depicted Carlos opening the door with his own key before Elaina fired a single shot to the back of his head. He was dead before he even realized there was a threat.
The police found Elaina sitting on the cream-colored couch, saturated in blood. She cradled a tiny fetus in one hand and chain smoked with the other. One of the officers barked commands. She
gazed at the Brazilian soap opera on the television until the officer dared to touch her shoulder. She looked at the officer, tossed the fetus aside, and ran her bloodstained hands through her curly black hair.
Then she surrendered.
An autopsy of the unborn baby revealed that Elaina had been extinguishing cigarette butts on its cheek. Crime scene photos documented Carlos’s body, gutted from genitals to sternum with a kitchen carving knife. His intestines were looped about his neck, and the carving knife poked from his pubic bone, where his penis once was. For a final touch, Elaina had removed his tongue.
Elaina’s attorney used an insanity defense. The prosecutor responded by calling the previous two mistresses that Elaina had stalked to demonstrate that Elaina’s act of murder was a natural and calculated culmination of her violent nature.
The trial lasted barely a week. Elaina’s lack of remorse in the courtroom expedited her conviction and sentencing. Katingal City would be her home now.
Chapter 3
IN A DIM BASEMENT, THREE muscular military men huddled in silence around a small television. Behind them sat Charles Gravo, battered and chained to a metal chair. Soaked pants clung to his legs, and water dripped from the ends of his black hair. His torn shirt revealed an abstract tattoo over his heart. Thick white towels soaked in water from a dripping sink lay near the captive.
In the corner behind a plume of cigar smoke, the man overseeing this interrogation kept a steady gaze on Charles.
“We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to bring you breaking news from the president of the United Territories of Africa,” the news anchor from United Territory TV (UTTV) announced before a shot of the president appeared in the screen.
“Good evening,” the president began, speaking in the calm, well-modulated voice that was so well known. “Tonight, I can report to the citizens of the United Territories of Africa and the world that, in conjunction with WICC special operations forces, we have captured Charles Gravo, also known as Yäbälay. As you may know, Gravo runs Duenno, the world’s most notorious human trafficking network responsible for the abduction of an estimated half-million innocent children. He has been a dark shadow that challenged our light.
