• Wake up in a cold sweat.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Not so Sweet
If that man is the devil, she’s ready to look in his face.
The main house of the plantation isn’t opulent or gaudy. There is no parlor where you’ll be served cognac. No great dining hall, no feast beside your host. This isn’t where this man lives; this is simply where he conducts business. It’s almost disappointing. Part of you wanted to see something out of The Godfather or Scarface, but you’ll have to settle for substance instead of style.
A private security guard greets you: a thin, older man who requests that you leave your weapons and cell phones at a secure room in the front. The fact that he’s not surprised in the least that you’re armed serves as a not-so-subtle reminder that you’re dealing with a man on a different tier than a mere farm manager. Maybe this will be interesting after all.
You give up the shotgun (not like it was yours to begin with), and Maria hands over a revolver, but Bertram refuses to leave his weapons at the front room. He shows the man at the security booth his badge, but the guy doesn’t seem to care. He demands Bertram disarm, but the federal agent doesn’t budge.
A pair of security guards arrive to settle the commotion and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Bertram’s right hand hovers ominously over his gun holster.
“Well, well, an American federal agent,” a voice booms out from behind. “You three are a bit far from home, yes?”
You turn and see a large, middle-aged Brazilian man. Neither tall nor fat per se, but thick-limbed and possessing a sort of magnetic gravity you can’t quite place. His full face is clean-shaven and has deep creases where a stark smile now finds perch. His eyes are dark brown, with an intense intelligence.
The man wears tight blue jeans tucked into black cowboy boots, dusty and grey with age. He wears a blue workshirt and an orange scarf tied loosely about his neck. Not exactly how you’d picture a billionaire. His short, jet-black hair is slicked back and neatly arranged in such a way that you can be certain he has a comb tucked in his pocket.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks.
You’re about to speak when Maria steps forward. “I have a message from my father,” she says.
The man’s smile disappears, and he glances at his security. She’s already given up the revolver, so the thin man nods to his boss. The Sugar King makes ready to speak, but Maria delivers the message before he has the chance.
There was a second revolver, you suddenly remember, and in an instant she empties all six chambers into the man.
The security men rush forward, but Bertram already has her covered. He raises his assault rifle and shouts at the men in Portuguese, then adds in English, “He’s not paying your checks anymore. You don’t want to die for a corpse.”
Slowly, the men turn and then run out the front door.
Maria drops the revolver atop the dead Sugar King’s chest. She turns and offers her hands to Agent Bertram to be cuffed.
“Your father didn’t take your family from the jungle, did he?” Bertram says.
Her mouth pursed in a sad smile, she looks at the ground and shakes her head slightly.
“You know, it’s funny,” she says. “I hadn’t planned on killing him. I only wanted to look in his face. But when I saw him, I only saw my father, and I couldn’t abide that. Do you understand?”
“I could have stopped you,” is Bertram’s only reply.
She nods. “Now what?”
“I have to arrest you.”
• “Do you have to? Can’t you just ‘phone it in’ and say she escaped?”
• “A small price to pay for justice. Maria, you’ve just changed history. I’ll never forget you, as long as I live.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Not White but Golden
You stand stock-still, shotgun raised and ready to pull the trigger. But instead of men charging in, you’re met with a group of golden lion tamarins. The smallish monkeys screech in surprise at your presence, swerve around you, and continue fleeing into the sugarcane like a stampede of overgrown squirrels.
“They run from the fire,” Maria explains. “Animals like this are endangered because over 85 percent of their forests have been destroyed.”
You swallow, lower your shotgun, and take a deep breath. You’re not sure what the bigger threat is: the bandits behind you or the burning jungle before you. The sun has now fully set, but there’s an eerie red glow in the clouds above the sugarcane from the fires.
A new sound arrives—thunder—and with it rain, in a sudden and immediate cloudburst. The sugarcane canopy provides some protection, but if the storm doesn’t break, you’ll soon be drenched.
“Do these storms last long?” you ask.
“It’s the start of the rainy season,” Bertram says. “This storm could last for days. With any luck, the grileiros will abandon the search and seek shelter.”
Maybe it’s the constant brush with death, or simply the soaking rain, but you overflow with sarcasm. “Right, because that’s what you do in a storm. Not, you know, hide out in some sugarcane field where jungle animals flee from an encroaching fire.”
Bertram scowls. “Cool your jets, Hotshot. Let me check the GPS, see where we are exactly.”
You sit in silence, heavy raindrops pounding down on your head. Maria sits close by, trying to stay warm. Bertram turns the waterproof GPS screen around so you can see.
“Here’s us, here’s the plantation. It’s a bit of a hike.”
“What’s this smaller building here?” Maria asks.
“Most likely a storage shed. Could be barracks for the men, though.”
• “Barracks? Sigh. Let’s sleep out here.”
• “It’s worth checking out. Who wants to sleep in the rain?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Now What?
The next morning, you’re greeted with warm surprise once your friends realize you’ve rejoined them. They want to hear all about it, but first, breakfast. You head downstairs, all sunshine and laughter, but your face drops when you see the two agents waiting for you downstairs.
“Hey, guys. Is everything okay?”
“Just fine,” the slim Agent Danly says.
“May we join you for breakfast?” Agent Bertram asks.
You turn to your friends and say, “I’ll catch up.”
The hostel transforms its bar into a continental breakfast in the morning, the highlight being the fresh fruit. You serve yourself up a plateful, then stake out a table on the outside patio. The agents join you with a cup of coffee each, Bertram with a Danish as well. Your friends take a table indoors and, save for the occasional outburst of laughter on their end, you cannot hear one another’s conversation.
“So, what’s up?” you ask.
Bertram says, “It’s been confirmed. Our Jane Doe is now Jane Nightingale, an Office Management Specialist at the Rio consulate. I didn’t know her.”
Danly shakes his head; neither did he.
Agent Bertram continues, “She didn’t hold a significant position—they’re the ones that do the secretarial work—so we don’t think the killing was politically motivated, but we won’t rule out a terrorist attack until we know for sure.”
“Most likely she was separated from the crowd, just like you, and it was a mugging turned sour. Who knows, you may owe the woman your life. It could have been you in there.”
“It’s even possible this is a serial killer—he’s the right demographic, based on that sketch you provided—and you probably interrupted him during his rituals,” Bertram says.
“I doubt it,” Danly says. “Serial killers are extremely rare.”
“In America, maybe. But with no extradition laws, Brazil is like a retirement community for criminals.”
“And this guy has come out of retirement?” you ask.
“I don’t buy it,” Agent Danly says. “This was a first-time job, too sloppy to be a pro. Regardless, this is going
to be a total shitstorm. We haven’t had an American murdered in the Foreign Service since the Sixties, and that was at the hands of a coworker. So an American killed outside the line of duty by a foreign national? Shitstorm. Within 48 hours, a team will be dispatched by HQ, and in a couple of days this place will be crawling with feds from Arlington.”
“But we know the first 48 hours are the most important, and we’ve been cleared to start the investigation.”
“What about the local police?” you ask.
“It’s their job,” Danly says. “We’re just going to do it for them.”
Agent Bertram spreads his arms magnanimously. “Look, we’re just going to do what we can before the trail goes cold, and the reason we’re telling you is because we want your help. You’re the only one who knows what the suspect looks like.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Come with us and ID the subject. Help us find the goddamn murderer,” Agent Danly says, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest.
• “Uh, no thanks. I’m here on vacation… I don’t want to drag you guys down. Good luck.”
• “I’m in. Do I get a gun and a badge? Or a pipe and a magnifying glass, at least?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Off the Case
“Agent Danly!” you shout, waving your hands into the air. Detective Irma Dos Santos has already disappeared into the shadows.
The two Elite Squad members swing around, rifles pointed at you. You freeze. Agent Danly stops them just in time and they lower their weapons. With a smile, you jog toward him.
“Rookie?” he says in disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
You start to explain, to tell him all you’ve seen tonight, but he cuts you off. “That’s the last straw. You’ve helped your country enough. Please detain my former Cooperating Witness, boys.”
“Wh-What?” you stammer as one of the Elite Squad members zip-ties your hands behind your back. The other gags you and slips a bag over your head.
You squeal in protest and Danly says, “You have the right to remain silent.”
There will be no charges levied against you the next morning, but you’re quickly deported back to the USA.
THE END
Old and Experienced
The RSO smiles. “That’s the spirit! See that, boys? You could learn something.”
As he leaves, you turn to Agent Bertram. He smiles as well. “Welcome to the fold, Hotshot.”
You follow the agent out and through the halls of the consulate. There’s a private room set aside so Bertram can talk with the woman already waiting there.
“It’s Karen, right?” he says, entering the room and finding a seat.
“That’s me,” says the woman across the table from Agent Bertram. Another Office Management Specialist; this one is a veteran secretary. Mrs. Karen Atwood has been through dozens of these question sessions over the years, although, admittedly, never as part of a murder investigation before. From what you can see on the surface, she’s not touched by emotion in the least.
Her hair is a raised bramble of black and grey. Coarse, spindly strands escape her bobby pins by the dozen. She wears a blouse of deep lavender, coated in white floral patterns. She’s bespectacled, though if you had to cast her in your own noir mystery, she’d be wearing cat’s-eye glasses. Her voice has the husky rasp of a smoker, and her impatient air suggests she’d like to light up right now. She most likely would be, if it weren’t for the regulations.
Her eyes, rheumy from decades spent under fluorescent lights staring at standardized forms and computer screens, flicker from his face to yours before resting back on Agent Bertram.
“Did you know Jane personally?” he asks.
“Only professionally. Nice enough girl, about as hardworking as the rest of ’em.”
“Did she ever talk to you about her personal life?”
“No, sir.” The “sir” is dragged out, making the statement one less of respect and more akin to “this is a waste of time.”
“So you wouldn’t know if she was having personal problems?”
The woman’s eyebrows rise over the rim of her glasses and her mouth tucks back in a frown. She raises her hands as if to say, “I’ve got nothing.”
“I see. Well then, professionally, did Jane have any problems at work? Any discipline issues?”
“As I said, she was a good worker.”
“Did she ever seem tired or distant? Did you notice any changes in her behavior over the last few months, weeks, days?”
“No, sir,” she says, with the same exaggeration.
“Anything you think can think of to help us?”
She shakes her head, mouth still in a frown.
Bertram, getting frustrated, says, “You know the woman was murdered, right?”
She sighs, pausing for a moment.
Then Mrs. Atwood says, “If I think about Jane, my biggest memory is that she requested to be at the Embassy most of the last year. We all cycle through the different consulates and sometimes the Embassy. People will ask to transfer to a different country, but usually the girls just go with the flow from consulate to consulate. Still, her request wasn’t that odd. Embassy work is better for your résumé than consulate work. She asked for a transfer back to Rio almost a month ago, but again, it’s not that strange. Carnival is pretty popular among the younger girls.”
She says “Carnival” the American way, not Carnaval. The way Texans call the Rio Grande the “Rio Grand.”
“Thanks, Karen.”
• Meet back up with Agent Danly.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
On the Road
The unmistakable sound of a chugging engine greets you as you approach the Sugar Highway. Bertram nods, raising his rifle. You and Maria get ready to do battle as you exit the sugarcane.
There, standing next to an idling jeep, a man holds a machete. He’s clothed head to toe in gray cloth, like a padded ninja, a turtleneck pulled up over his face and a boonie hat pulled so low that only his eyes are visible. They’re open wide, frightened at the sight of Agent Bertram’s assault rifle.
The man in the driver’s seat considers fleeing, but Bertram’s persuasive Portuguese convinces him to stay.
“These are workers, normal men, not criminals,” Maria says.
“They can take us to the plantation. Let’s move, Hotshot,” Bertram says.
As he’s loading up into the jeep, Agent Bertram’s satellite phone rings. You share a concerned look with Maria.
“Damn. They know I’m in the field; they wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.” Then, opening the phone, he answers the call. “Agent Bertram… Negative, I’m still on scene.”
Maria turns to you with eyes wide as the caller speaks. You can’t hear the words, but you can hear the angry tone.
“Sir, all due respect, that’s bullshit. I haven’t even—”
He grits his teeth.
“Yes, sir… yes, sir.” He hangs up and says, “We’ve got to go back.”
“What? Why?”
“The official investigation team landed this morning. We’re off the case.”
“But we haven’t even—” you start to say. His glare silences you.
Agent Bertram speaks to the men in Portuguese, but they shake their heads. He tries to emphasize his point by chambering a round in his pistol. The click of the slide springing into action sends a chill into your bones, but the men continue shaking their heads.
“Goddammit,” Bertram growls.
You gesture for him to elaborate.
“I told them—just bluffing, mind you—that I’d kill them if they took us there. Didn’t matter. I can only imagine what they’re afraid of. The standard crime lord threat seems to be ‘I’ll kill your family,’ but they might do something even worse than that.”
“He’s here in person? The Sugar King?” Maria asks, a mix of excitement and fear in her voice.
“Apparently,” Bertram says.
; * * *
You half-expected something out of the pre-Civil War Southern states, like a giant manor from Gone With the Wind, but you’re greeted with a much more utilitarian structure. This isn’t a place where people live, it’s a place where people work.
Still, it’s a massive set of buildings. A cafeteria, several barracks for workers, washing and refining stations, and of course, the main house of the plantation.
“Hang on,” Bertram says to you. “Do you think Maria should come? This man has done terrible things to her family.”
“I can hear you, and I’m coming,” she says firmly.
“Hmmm. I don’t know….” you say, considering.
“No, I’m coming. This man is the devil.”
• “Okay… Just so long as you’re ready to meet him.”
• “Which is why I don’t want to put you through hell. I’m sorry, but I agree. We’ll take care of it; you stay here.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
On the Run
Claiming Danly’s pistol for your own, you offer a quick promise to the fallen agent that you’ll nail the bastard, then sprint down the hallway of the Energy Summit in pursuit of the real Viktor Lucio de Ocampo.
You round the corner just in time to see the suspect dash out the emergency exit, with Agent Bertram hot on his heels. Flying down the hallway, you slip through the door and into the warm summer night in pursuit. Samba and humidity weigh heavily upon you and you can just barely spot Bertram in the crowd.
Seemingly from nowhere, a barrage of gunfire erupts and the crowd scatters, leaving Agent Bertram on the ground. The body of a costumed devil lies just beyond him. Before you have time to process this image, you see Viktor look back.
MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2) Page 26
