MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2)

by James Schannep

  • You’re wearing scientist credentials. Use that name badge to your advantage.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Surprise Attack

  You lean hard into the doorway, take aim, and see a lone Elite Squad member charging toward you. The policeman wears protective body armor and is clad in black, much like the US SWAT teams.

  Once he’s lined up in your sights, you fire. With a controlled burst, the man goes down in the street. You can’t be sure if your shots went through all that bulletproof padding, but either way, he’s incapacitated.

  “Got him!” You call to Viktor, stepping out into the street.

  Viktor follows you out and looks down at the felled policeman, only to collapse to the concrete under a barrage of bullets himself. You look up at the rooftop just in time to see the assassin who’s been following you. One of his pistols smokes from shooting Viktor, and the other pistol is trained on you—he watches Viktor with one eye, and keeps one eye focused on you.

  He fires.

  THE END

  Sympathy is for Suckers

  She conveys your message and Falador —the mouth—opens wide and laughs. He responds to her, using his hands in dramatic gestures, and laughs again before waving you off and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Well?” you ask.

  “He says of course he lost someone; who hasn’t? Then he goes on about ‘you think you know pain’ and ends with ‘just because you lose someone, doesn’t mean you have to be a pussy.’”

  This is going well….Maybe they call him “The Mouth” because he likes to shoot his off?

  “What now?” Irma says. “We don’t have long to waste.”

  Time to try a new tactic.

  • “Ask him again, only this time, more forcefully.”

  • “Tell him, ‘In America, we reward our informants.’ Tell him I can make him a rich man.”

  • “We’re wasting our time. Let’s go back to Agent Danly.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Synching Up

  The São Paulo consulate is very different from the one in Rio. Palm trees whisper secrets in the warm breeze while purple flowers invite bees with their fragrant smell. Rio was downtown, nestled amongst skyscrapers, but this consulate stretches out over a large swath of land, surrounded by trees and green lawns. Where Rio went up, the Paulistas built theirs out. It’s still in town, but it’s not competing for attention. Across the street sits a quiet café, waiting for those on break.

  The inside has a relaxed atmosphere as well. People still scurry about, working hard, but you get the impression they like working here. Agent Bertram leaves you in a conference room with a promise to return shortly. There’s not much of a view outside the window, but it’s shaping up to be a warm, sunny day.

  Once he returns, Bertram closes the blinds and dims the lights. He sets up a video teleconference, takes off his suit jacket, and within a few minutes, Agent Danly is on the screen, larger than life. “Are we live? Hello?”

  “Good to go,” Bertram replies. “Catch the guy yet?”

  “Actually, I did have a major breakthrough last night, when I was visiting the favelas. We found—”

  “Glad you’re still alive, by the way.”

  Agent Danly’s face frowns with impatience. “As I was saying. We found a drug trafficker who claims his gang was the one to kill Jane Nightingale.”

  “Whoa, really? You make an arrest?”

  “Not yet. The interesting thing is, they say she wasn’t involved in drugs, even after what we found at her apartment. It looks like they were paid to kill her, plain and simple. It looks like…a hit. And—get this—I think I saw your ’merc; the Man in Black. I think he was tailing me.”

  “The same guy, are you sure? Think he was the one who pulled the trigger?”

  Danly shakes his head. “The traffickers have their own hit-men. I talked with Elite Squad, and they recognized the guy. They call him Jamanta.”

  “As in—The Devil Ray?”

  “The same,” Danly says. “A ridiculous urban legend, but apparently he’s a platinum-level assassin, way too big-budget for this kind of thing.”

  “Fuck me,” Bertram says. “The kind of budget you might have behind you if you were a rock-star scientist. I think the fiance might’ve hired himself some protection, and if you saw the muscle, that means we’re getting close.”

  “Who is the Jamanta?” you say. “I’d like to hear the legend.”

  Bertram looks to make sure the door is secure, then leans in. In a low voice, he says, “Raymond Panoptes, AKA, ‘Devil’ Ray Panoptes, AKA, ‘The Devil Ray’, AKA, ‘O Jamanta.’ He’s supposedly an ex-DSS agent.”

  “Bullshit, it’s just an urban legend,” Danly says, waving the suggestion away.

  “He started off as a helicopter pilot, and that’s how you’ll recognize him; he has those wonky eyes.”

  You scowl, so Danly elaborates. “Apache pilots’ helmets have a monocle resting in front of their right eye that feeds them flight and weapon information. The other eye looks outside the cockpit, scanning for threats and watching the terrain, so the pilots develop the ability to use their eyes independently. That much is true.”

  “Right!” Bertram says. “I’ve even heard about some guys who can read two different books at once, so shooting at two targets is child’s play for somebody like this.”

  “Apache pilots are real, and maybe he is one, but the Devil Ray doesn’t exist,” Danly says.

  Bertram continues, “Supposedly, after he got out of the service, he joined the DSS. Many of our recruits are vets, so that much isn’t farfetched. Legend has it, he was an agent back in the early ’90s, when Ambassador Mays was an RSO, right here in Brazil, but Raymond had to be cut loose. He got a taste for killing and couldn’t give it up. He would shoot a ’perp when he could have simply arrested the guy, and he would take the law into his own hands when he couldn’t get a warrant. One day, when he was supposed to be tried for his illegal vigilantism, he just disappeared.”

  Bertram waves his hands back and forth, his fingers waggling, as he says the final word.

  “And… bullshit,” Danly coughs. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground on this Man in Black character, but he’s an effect, not a cause. Let’s stay focused on the case and the crime-world angle. I’ve got a real tangible lead here after last night.”

  “So who ordered the hit?” you ask.

  “That’s the million-dollar question, Rookie. He mentioned that it was backed with ‘sugar money.’ As in, the sugarcane mafia.”

  Bertram pops out of his chair. “Jesus, we’re slurping on the same spaghetti noodle here.”

  “What do you mean?” Agent Danly presses.

  “As in, if we get any closer, we’ll be kissing.”

  “No, what, goddammit, you know what I mean—what did you find?”

  “Dr. Viktor, he’s made some discoveries that could put sugarcane out of business. And sugarcane is in big business.” Bertram scratches his beard. “Maybe our friend the good doctor made an illegal deal with the Sugar King, Nightingale got word of it, and he had to silence her before she reported him to the ol’ U-S of A.”

  “Bingo,” Danly says. “He plants the drug evidence in her apartment—he’s no criminal, so it looks wrong—and the sugar lords agree to help silence his girlfriend. They hire drug traffickers to kill her, to keep the ruse, but they spend the real money on protection.”

  “So you’re back on Team Fiancé?” Bertram asks.

  “I’ve always been on Team Evidence,” Danly says gruffly.

  “And what we’re seeing, is that everything’s connected,” you say.

  Bertram puts his jacket back on. “There’s a gigantic sugarcane plantation between us and you. If he made an allegiance for money, it’s most likely there. That’s what we’ll check out.”

  Danly nods. “Be careful. I’m going to the Embassy in Brasilia to put to bed this whole drug thing once and for all, and to share what we’ve found with the
Ambassador. He’ll want to hear this.”

  “Perfecto, Dano. Bertram out.” He severs the connection, then looks to you. “You may want to stay here. This is not the ‘jungle tour’—I’m prepared for these gangsters to come for me, and come hard.”

  “Suppose the guy I saw at the crime scene is a ‘sugar lord’? I’m ready for this,” you say.

  “Okay…” he sighs. “The way I figure, we can take a riverboat—that’s the common method and they won’t see us coming—or we can take a helicopter. You still have that business card, right? I’m gonna go get geared up, so you think about it.”

  Bertram leaves. Your two options, as you see it, are stealth or speed. A boat will take a while but you’ll get the drop on them, and be able to sneak in and out. Maybe access some files, who knows what? OR… You can swoop in on a helicopter, kicking in the front door. You could always pretend to be some kind of investor or something. Bertram can play your bodyguard, maybe. Hmmm…

  Your thoughts are disrupted when the agent returns. He’s in olive-drab cargo pants, US-issue combat boots, and a navy-blue polo shirt with a bullet-proof vest and a tactical belt, both in matching tan. In addition to his sidearm, he now carries an assault rifle. The look is completed by something out of the Wild West—a badge pinned to his vest.

  “You ready for this?”

  • “Riverboat. Stealth is the underdog’s greatest ally.”

  • “Well, if it isn’t my private security! Care to escort me as I ’chopper in’?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Team America

  “You know what, Hotshot? I knew you were good people. Old Stewie didn’t believe me, but—”

  “Oh, shut the hell up,” Danly says.

  Both agents laugh. It’s good to see them getting along, even if it’s only under the threat of a common enemy.

  “Order it up, just none of that sugarcane stuff. Gives a wicked hangover. Or get whatever you want! You’re buying. But seriously.”

  Left with that cryptic message, you go order a round from the bar, pay, and return to the table. There’s a moment of silence as the three of you wait for your drinks. One of those inevitable conversational pauses where no one quite has anything to say until one person finally tosses out a new topic.

  “I’m really sorry you guys got knocked off the case,” you say. “I know it doesn’t affect me as much, but it sure would’ve made your careers if we would have solved it before the replacements came in.”

  “Fuck off, ass hat,” Bertram says.

  “Yeah, what the hell? You think that’s all we care about? This isn’t about our careers, this is about a dead American,” Danly says.

  “Sorry….” you mutter. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “You’re buying the next round too,” Bertram says, shaking his head.

  Now there’s a reason for the silence: you and your sudden onset of foot-in-mouth disease. Out of sheer embarrassment, you look away. The next round of drinks finally arrives and Agent Danly takes the black stirring straw from his empty glass and adds it to the fresh one.

  Noticing your eyes on him, he explains, “It’s so I remember how many I’ve had.”

  You go back to drinking in silence. There’s not much in the bar to capture your attention, save for a few TVs, so you idly watch the Brazilian programming up on the tube.

  On now is a hidden camera prank show, and while the volume is set too low for you to hear, you can read the English subtitles and follow along fairly easily. The current prank involves a fake job interview where applicants come into a fake office building and are shown into a fake elevator. Then, as the elevator doors close and the ‘lift’ prepares to rise, the power goes out, leaving the unsuspecting victim in complete darkness.

  Through a night-vision camera the audience witnesses a hidden panel open, where a young girl made-up to look like a ghost sneaks into the elevator. She’s pale with disheveled hair, wearing an old-fashioned nightgown and clutching an antique doll. Once she’s in place, the lights flicker back on and the ‘ghost’ screams like a banshee while the frightened victim wets themselves and/or has a heart attack for the audience’s amusement.

  The program cuts back to the show’s host, who howls with masochistic laughter. You could pinch yourself with disbelief, but…you recognize him. Dear God, it’s Dr. Viktor Lucio de Ocampo, the man who met you up on the Cristo Redentor statue before giving you the slip.

  Jane Nightingale’s fiance is on Brazilian television hosting a hidden camera show.

  “What the…?” you say dumbly. “It—it’s him.”

  Both agents look up at the TV just in time to see the man in question before the camera cuts to another victim climbing aboard the sham elevator.

  “Was that…?” Agent Danly asks, stunned.

  “Yes!” you shout, pounding your fists on the table and rattling the drinks.

  “There’s no fucking way,” Bertram says.

  After the ghost-girl screams and the Brazilian woman in the elevator falls to the corner, crying and crossing herself in timorous prayer, the show brings us back to Viktor’s grinning face.

  “How the hell does a doctor who’s wanted for murder have a reality TV prank show?” Bertram asks.

  “Because he doesn’t,” Danly says. “While he was busy erasing himself online, the real Viktor hired an actor to portray himself in the real world. That’s how he’s given us the slip.”

  “Yeah, that does make more sense,” Bertram says.

  You look up at “Viktor” on the TV, and it’s almost as if his maniacal laughter is directed at you. In a way, it is. This guy has just pulled the ultimate prank, and you’re the unwitting victim. A flush of anger wells up within you.

  Leaping from your chair, you shout, “So they’re looking for the wrong guy!”

  Agent Danly jumps to his feet as well, pulls out his cell phone, and rushes over to the bar. He grabs the bartender by the shirt and pulls him forward.

  “What’s the name of this show?” he demands.

  “P-programa Pegadinha,” the man stutters.

  Now Bertram is up and dialing his phone. “Bertram here, where’s the RSO? Well, try to bring him up anyway. We’ve got the wrong guy! Activate the crisis center. I’ll dial back with ID.”

  “This is Agent Danly, US Diplomatic Security. I need Detective Irma Dos Santos,” he pauses, waiting to be transferred. “Detective? Turn on Programa Pegadinha. I need an ID on the host. We’ve been spoofed—Doctor Viktor Lucio de Ocampo hired an actor to portray himself. I’d bet anything the real Viktor is the guy our witness spooked at the warehouse. Get the sketch artist’s rendition out with a BOLO alert.”

  He hangs up, then turns to Bertram, who says, “I got somebody back at the consulate, but everyone’s at the Energy Summit and they can’t get a hold of anyone.”

  “The Energy Summit!” you shout. “Disgruntled scientist gives us the slip and masks his appearance—where do you want to bet he’ll show up next?”

  “Let’s go! The conference grounds are only a few blocks from here. We’ll have to run; the streets are shut down for Carnaval,” Danly says.

  Bertram shrugs. “I’m just drunk enough to where that sounds like a good idea.”

  * * *

  The three of you sprint through the crowded Rio streets, weaving through costumed dancers and shoving drunken revelers out of the way. Carnaval is often referred to as “The Biggest Party on Earth,” and they might be right. Picture Mardi Gras on steroids, except no beads are required—nearly one out of every three women wears bodypaint in lieu of a shirt, or nothing at all.

  Even in your panicked state, it’s hard not to stare. It’s such a foreign concept for an American. Gorgeous, topless women with their bare breasts, in public, swaying in tune to the music. The men are distracting as well with their bare, hairless chests, sculpted abdomens, and anatomically-correct speedos. This is the reason people exercise in Brazil; to show off their bodies during Carnaval.

  You shake your h
ead and focus on the agents up ahead. Not a hundred yards further awaits the enormous Energy Summit conference grounds. When you arrive, you find Detective Irma Dos Santos at the entry, a manila folder in hand.

  “His name is André Nascimiento da Silveira, host of Programa Pegadinha. Theater actor by trade, he took the hidden camera variety show after a painful divorce wiped out his bank account.”

  “The kind of guy desperate enough to do anything for money,” Bertram growls. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Let’s go,” Danly says. “We need to find who’s in charge, activate emergency plans, alert host nation personnel, and see about a mobile security deployment.”

  The four of you push through the front door and into the massive building’s lobby. The entrance is cordoned off by a security line, complete with metal detectors and bomb dogs. Danly and Bertram show their badges.

  “These two are with us,” Bertram says, indicating the detective and you.

  Irma shakes her head. “I’m going to monitor the exits.”

  • Stick with Detective Dos Santos.

  • Stick with Agent Danly.

  • Stick with Agent Bertram.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Team Bertram

  The two of you rush down to the lower cog station, but when Bertram questions the witnesses in Portuguese, he finds nothing but frustration in their answers. He makes a quick phone call with his cellular phone, then comes back over to you, shaking his head.

  “Our guy jumped out of the train about a mile back, up where it goes through a neighborhood. He’s definitely gone by now. C’mon.”

  The two of you get into the SUV and drive away from the rail station.

  “Good call on splitting up, by the way,” Bertram says. “That asshole is so goddamn annoying.”

  You just nod. “What’s first?”

  “I put in an address request and a background check for one Viktor Lucio de Ocampo. The address should be in shortly, but the background check could take a couple of days. Maybe faster; murder makes it priority one.”