At security, you notice two pictures posted by the screening monitors. The first is a shot of Viktor Lucio de Ocampo, the man you haven’t seen since he gave you the slip-up on the Christ the Redeemer statue. The second is the sketch artist’s rendition of the mysterious man you saw at the crime scene. The drawing still doesn’t capture the intensity of those blue eyes, which still seem seared onto your retina, the way the sun leaves an impression after you stare at it for even the briefest moment.
After the security line is a table with pamphlets and program schedules. You’re looking through one when you hear a familiar voice. When you look up, you see Ambassador Mays coming down the adjoining hall talking with Agent Howard, the lead investigator on the replacement team.
“Have you been in touch with Agent X?” the Ambassador asks Howard.
“Romeo Papa is in place, Colonel.”
When they spot you, Agent Howard says, “The cooperating witness.”
“Ah, yes!” the Ambassador says, putting his hand out for you to shake. “On behalf of your country, let me thank you very much for all you’ve done. It’s been an enormous help, I’m sure.”
You shoot a look at Agent Howard. “Happy to do my part.”
“What brings you to the Energy Summit?” Howard asks.
“Oh, just a love of science.”
“Fantastic! We need more people with an interest in new energy. It’s the future, you know,” the Ambassador says, his politician’s grin shining brightly.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Agent Howard says before shepherding the Ambassador away.
You nod and watch as they continue down the hallway.
Something else catches your attention. Even though you were expecting him, you’re shocked that he’s actually here. You rub your eyes, but there he is, in the flesh—the man with the shimmering, gunmetal-blue eyes.
The suspect doesn’t see you just yet. When he spots Ambassador Mays, though, hatred fills his eyes. He slips his backpack off one shoulder and reaches into it—
“Look out!” you cry.
Howard and Ambassador Mays turn back to you as the suspect removes a small metal grapefruit-sized object from his backpack. He twists the device, clicking it into place, then throws it underhand straight at the Ambassador.
“Bomb!” Howard shouts, rushing to protect his boss.
The mystery man turns and sprints around the next corner while the DSS agent tries to shield the diplomat. The device flashes and rearranges itself like an automated Rubik’s Cube before it finally detonates. But rather than exploding, it implodes. The bomb sucks the air from the hallway like a black hole, and the change in pressure cracks and nearly brings down the ceiling.
Oxygen is ripped from your lungs and you fall to the floor like you’ve just been gut-punched. After an instant, you gulp air back in with the ferocity of a skindiver just returning from a record descent. You push off the floor on your hands and knees and move toward the Ambassador.
The devastation is immense; it’s likely many of the people in the hall are dead. You’re lucky you were so far away from the bomb—you’re all lucky that the hallway was open; otherwise there’d be no air to breathe after the initial blast.
The suspect reappears briefly, to see if his bomb did the job. Upon seeing that you are up and able, he turns and runs. Without thinking, you grab Agent Howard’s handgun from him as you go by and chase after the suspect, who flies down the hallway toward the emergency exit. You don’t have enough energy to pursue him.
The hallway is clear.
• Shoot him in the back.
• Watch him go, then see if you can help the wounded men.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Escaped
The blue-eyed man outruns you, flees from the scene, and is never heard from again. The deadly assassination attempt was a failure and the Ambassador is still alive, but Jane Nightingale’s killer will never be brought to justice.
You’ll often think back, later in life, on that moment when you almost caught a killer.
THE END
Escape from Rio
You run back into the road, hoping you didn’t lose much ground, but hoping in vain. As gunshots erupt, echoing off the brick and concrete around you, you turn back and see Viktor fire his AK-47 haphazardly at an Elite Squad policeman—sending the man diving for cover.
But you’re not out of the woods yet. The assassin, the Man in Black who’s been following you, is on a rooftop in this favela. You don’t recognize him at first when you start shooting blindly at him, but then your brain recalls his creepy, independently-moving eyes as you escape around the next corner.
“Come on!” Viktor shouts. “We’ve got to bed down. We find Jane tomorrow!”
• Follow Viktor to a safe house.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Even the Odds
Catching your breath, you take a seat next to Viktor. Both of you watch out the bus window, waiting until the vehicle has passed safely out of view of the would-be assassin. You’ve escaped, for now.
“Who was that?” you ask.
Viktor shakes his head. “He must have been following us, waiting until we were alone and exposed.”
“But he didn’t look like a cop or an agent. He didn’t even look Brazilian.”
“I don’t think he was.” Viktor takes off his glasses and uses a handkerchief to wipe the lenses, fogged from sweat. “That man has the look of a professional hitman.”
You’re not sure how many “hitmen” Viktor has met, but you can’t argue; the description is spot-on. Something about that terrifying man reeked of death and destruction.
“So what do we do?”
“What can we do? Dodge bullets and look over our shoulder—or we can fight back. I had hoped to do this like Sherlock Holmes, with brain over brawn, but it appears as if they see me as Jack the Ripper, so that is who I will become. That man, whoever he is, was hired to kill us, which means our enemy is afraid. Now is the time to push back.”
“What enemy? Who is it that you think killed Jane?”
Viktor looks around the bus, but no one is paying attention to your conversation. Still, he remains tight-lipped. “I’ll explain later, I promise.”
You sigh. “Okay, what did you have in mind for the meantime?”
For the first time in a long time, Viktor smiles.
* * *
You stand before a storage garage in one of the more neglected parts of town. Viktor opens the padlock and rolls up the metal door to his unit, allowing sunlight into the dark recesses of the storage room.
It’s a science lab. You’d expected some sort of weapons cache after the way he just talked about “pushing back,” but no, instead, this is where he keeps his experiments. It kind of looks like a meth lab, maybe something out of Breaking Bad.
“We’re gonna mix chemicals and try to blind the guy? Make pipe bombs?”
He huffs. “Ha! Not exactly.”
Viktor steps into the unit, reaches beneath a workbench, and slides a small trunk out along the dusty concrete. He crouches to work the combination of the padlock. When he opens up the trunk, you see it’s filled with…spheres.
Six spheres, packed in foam, fill the box from corner to corner.
“What the hell are those?” you say.
He reaches in and presents a sphere to you. It’s a metal ball about the size of a grapefruit. It’s mechanical, looking much like a tiny “Death Star” from Star Wars, but you’ve never seen anything quite like it.
“This is my own little ‘Manhattan Project,’” he says. “I don’t want to use it, but if things go badly…”
“It’s a bomb?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But unlike a bomb, there is no explosion here. This device creates a rapid chemical reaction that consumes all oxygen, endothermically and not exothermically, essentially sucking the air out of a room. It minimizes damage to property, thus making for a rather clean kill.”
“You… invented this?”
; “More like discovered, but yes. Every new weapon was once a scientific discovery: metallurgy, gunpowder, even splitting the atom. I recognized the potential in militarizing this discovery, but I want to help people, not kill them. Well, maybe kill a few, specific people…”
You shake your head. “How about—I don’t know—a gun?”
He nods. “Of course, but these can do in a pinch. In order to activate the weapon, you must rotate the top section, see? Left, right, then left once more. Remember that, okay? We’ll buy guns in the favela tomorrow, but it’s getting late and we don’t want to go in there after dark. I’ve got something better in store for tonight.”
Viktor packs a backpack full of the mystery objects.
* * *
After leaving the storage unit, you hike up to a secluded hilltop: a private clearing with a view of the city. The aureate clouds billow brightly in preparation for the dusky setting sun.
“What is this?” you ask.
“Something palate-uh—” he says, trying to find the word. “Something pleasing after such a bestial day. You are a tourist, yes? I don’t want you associating my city with depressing sights. You won’t find this spot on your map.”
There’s a naturally smooth and level stone, still warmed by the day’s sun. It’s perfect for sitting and enjoying the view. From your perch on the rock, your hand reaches into a crevice and your middle finger catches the lip of something. It’s a rolled-up note!
“Viktor—look,” you say, pulling it free and discovering the clue:
From the source of love to the source of hate. Come and find me, before it’s too late.
“What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he confesses with a grimace. “Jane must have left this here in case anything happened to her….”
“Maybe it’s time to fill me in. I can’t help you if I’m kept in the dark.”
“Maybe it is, only… once you cross this line, you can’t go back. They want me dead for what I know; that’s my burden, not yours. If I fill you in, as you say, the only way out is through evidence and the press. Otherwise, you help me as much as you can, but you’re wearing a parachute of deniability should they take us in. What do you say?”
• “Enough cloak-and-dagger stuff; I’m ready!”
• “Keep it to yourself. Your reasons are your own.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Evident
Viktor and Jane review several scanned documents on the laptop. As a layperson, it’s hard to make out exactly what you’re looking at, but from what you can tell, it appears to be official correspondence. If they’ve got the Ambassador’s signature approving elicit dealings, and can reliably prove they weren’t forgeries, Colonel Mays is in a tight spot.
“Couldn’t he just claim you faked these documents?” you ask.
Jane smiles. “He ordered the originals destroyed, but they never were. I have them in a safe-deposit box.”
“Smart,” you say.
Viktor kisses her on the cheek. You’re back in Rio before sunset and presently look out the window towards Rio’s enormous crowds forming for Carnaval and the Energy Summit.
Viktor turns to you and says, “This is it, Tourist. The grand finale. Thanks to André, the police are looking for him rather than myself, and they think Jane here is dead, so we should be able to sneak in undetected.”
“What about me?” you ask.
“You’re still anonymous. After tonight, win or lose, the world will know who you are.”
“Unless…” Jane says.
You look from Viktor to Jane and back again.
“Unless you’re ready to retire,” Viktor says. “You’ve done so much for us. This—tonight—is our fight. You don’t need to risk your life any further.”
“Look for us on the news,” Jane says. “There should be live coverage. I’m going to upload the evidence onto the Energy Summit computer system and project it on the main screen during the opening ceremonies. Then Viktor will arrive on stage, proclaim his innocence, and condemn these two evil Kings while everyone is there to see it.”
• “Okay… Good luck. I’ll want to meet for champagne after you’re successful.”
• “Seriously? So close to the finish line? No way you’re leaving me here!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Facts & Food
“Ever have churrasco?” Agent Bertram asks when he picks you up. Before you can answer, he adds, “There’s a great place near here.”
Flames leap out from the kitchen, kissing the meat as the chefs rotate each skewer, trying to keep in as much of the juices as they can. You’re in the Churrascaria now, a high-end restaurant dedicated to Brazilian beef. Churrasco is synonymous with barbeque in this country, and they have a specialized way of cooking it. The sizzling spit from the grill and the smell coming from the kitchen is intoxicating and on an empty stomach, you start to salivate.
“You’re in for a treat, Hotshot. Good luck looking the same at steak back in the US ever again.”
“Is that all they serve here?” you ask.
“What more do you need? You’re an American, goddammit. Eat some red meat.”
The server arrives wearing gaucho attire: wide pants tapered into boots, a flowing blouse beneath a tight vest, a red scarf about the neck, and a broad, flat-brimmed hat. Bertram banters with him in Portuguese and then orders for the two of you. Over a glass of red wine, you share the details of your respective oil company interviews.
“If anything, they’re excited by the prospect of new energy—not threatened by the possible disappearance of fossil fuels at all,” you say.
“Ditto,” Bertram sighs. “I really thought we might be on to something with the Big Oil idea. I’m half-tempted to cancel with Volkswagen, but we’ve come all this way….”
“When do we see them?”
“First thing in the morning. I’m going to check in with good ol’ Stewie Danly and see if he’s got any better leads.”
Agent Bertram starts thumbing away at his smart phone, leaving you with your thoughts. Feeling buzzed on red wine, you admire one of the folk paintings nearby. They’ve certainly done a good job romanticizing the gaucho South American cowboy.
“Jesus.” He looks up from the phone. “He’s going into the slums on a night Op. I may not like the guy, but that takes balls.”
“To what end?”
“He doesn’t say. He—” the phone buzzes in his hand and he looks down. “Sneaky bastard… Looks like our friend Viktor’s been busy.”
You take another sip of wine, waiting for him to continue.
After he finishes scrolling, he looks up. “Our guys on the background team double-checked his history. Pretty standard on high-profile cases to run it again, but this time certain facts have gone missing. The son of a bitch is erasing himself! Trying to delete his online presence so it’s harder to find him.”
“What’s gone?”
“His university profile, gone. His employment history and resume, gone. If you look now, it’s as if he was never on the Energy Summit lineup. Goddamned hobgoblin—no wonder we can’t find any pictures of the guy; who knows how long he’s been at it! I bet he’s been holed up somewhere with a laptop for the last two days trying to cover his trail. It’s not enough to physically disappear these days; now you have to hide from the Internet too.
“All right. Talk to me no more of murder,” he says as the food arrives. “Tomorrow we’re back on the case with VW—tonight? Bon appetit!”
* * *
After a night in a hotel much less posh than Rio’s Copacabana Palace, you’re up early for the meeting with Volkswagen. The drive to the plant is a long one. The hotel breakfast was traditional Brazilian: meat, cheese and bread, and coffee. São Bernardo do Campo is just outside of São Paulo, and once you free yourself from the city traffic, the distance between the two cities is not great.
Before you enter the front doors of—you guessed it—a skyscraper, Bertram says, “I want you to take lead
on this one. I’d like to try and evaluate from the sidelines, see if I can increase my powers of perception. Think you can handle that, Hotshot?”
You say yes and proceed inside. The man who greets you is a middle-aged European with wireframe glasses. His head is shaved bald and he wears an expensive suit. With an accent befitting the German automaker, the man introduces himself as Heinrich Renfield.
“Renfield….Is that English?” Bertram asks.
“Indeed! My father is an expatriate, but my mother is full German.”
“Convenient background for working at a multinational corporation.”
“As you say, sir. How may I help you?”
Bertram nods to you.
“Your company was specifically mentioned by the Energy Summit chairman,” you say. “Can you tell us why that is?”
“Ah, we have quite the reputation in Brazil,” he replies with a proud smile. “The people here are pioneers of ethanol, and we’re often credited with that breakthrough. Without a boring history lesson, let me simply say: Alcohol-powered vehicles were not very practical for city driving, as they took time to ‘warm up.’ In 2003, we developed the first practical flex-fuel engine and ethanol was finally able to take off. 85 percent of cars on the road in São Paulo are now flex-fuel and since álcool is cheaper than gas here, most go straight for the ethanol.
“Boring enough for you?” he chuckles.
“So you must be familiar with the work of Doctor Viktor Lucio de Ocampo?” you ask.
“Of course! We helped him with some of his energy grants in Deutschland.”
“Oh? Please go on.”
“I can talk your ear off on the science he was working on, truly.”
• “Skip it. Why was he important? Why was he banned?”
• “If it’s relevant to the Energy Summit, we’d like to hear it.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2) Page 11
