by Luke Murphy
Calvin didn’t question the zookeeper. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to dress in disguise to get a job done.
He stripped, squeezed his clothes into one of the duffel bags, and put on the overalls and hat. His nostrils flared from the smell.
“Throw bags in.” Henrique handed Calvin three large, empty, white burlap sacks, almost twice the size of the duffel bags. Calvin obeyed and set the duffel bags inside.
Henrique turned and pulled three identical bags across the floor, only these bags were filled to the brim with a dark, twisted tubular substance.
“Dump these into white bags. Cover up black bags.”
Calvin picked up the full bags, dumping them into the empty ones, spilling excess on the floor, his hands and feet.
“What is this? It stinks.” Calvin picked up the overflow.
“Panther shit. It’s old and dry now, but no one will look through it.”
Calvin finished dumping the bags, making sure the duffels couldn’t be seen. He then rubbed his hands on his overalls and exposed skin.
Henrique grabbed one of the bags and heaved it awkwardly with great effort. “Come. This way.”
Calvin slung the other two bags over his shoulders and followed the Brazilian. They entered the next room of the little shed and exited through a back door. An old white pickup truck was parked in wait. They threw the bags into the truck and got in when a shout from behind stopped them.
Calvin turned and saw a young, dark Brazilian man in green army gear holding a rifle on them. He yelled something in Portuguese. Henrique answered back.
The soldier approached them, still pointing the gun. He spoke in Portuguese again, this time pointing at the bags in the back of the truck. He had black untrimmed hair and the belt around his waist was pulled and attached to the last hole.
Henrique jumped into the back of the pickup and opened the bags, leaning them over so the man could look inside. Henrique again said something in Portuguese.
The guard stuck his naked hand into the bag, but not deep, and mixed it around. Calvin could see Henrique’s forehead pelted with sweat and wondered if the zookeeper would crack or if it was only due to the humidity.
The guard pulled out some of the manure and sniffed it, breaking the dry crust in his hands, the dust spilling into the back of the truck. He looked at Calvin, pointed with his gun and spoke to Henrique. A brief discussion ensued, an exchange of words, and then the man turned and left.
“Get in,” Henrique said to Calvin.
As they pulled away, Calvin said, “What was that all about?”
“Nothing I’m not used to. The military is strict around here. You’ll learn in a hurry.”
They drove for about fifteen minutes. No words were spoken and Henrique was still sweating, looking more nervous than ever. He stopped and parked the truck behind the building of the first bus stop they found. Henrique got out of the truck, looked around and threw the three bags on the ground.
“We say goodbye here.”
“Thanks for your help.”
Henrique nodded and got back into the truck. Through the open window he said. “Tell Mike, even now.”
♣
Calvin got off the bus and asked the driver, as best he could with the language barrier, for directions. He walked towards the hotel where Dale had reserved a room for him.
Earlier, back at the bus depot, Calvin had quickly disposed of the manure bags before changing and washing up as much as possible in the terminal bathroom. He realized that he still had some of the zoo smell clinging to his clothes and skin, which helped to keep many of the bus passengers away from him.
He opened the map he’d purchased at the station and checked his location. Calvin was grateful that he’d talked Dale into flying him into Manaus instead of Iquitos, since it was the most populated city in the Brazilian Amazon. It would be easy to stay under the radar and disappear if needed. Even though Iquitos was said to be a much “safer” city to enter.
He found his hotel, pushed through the front glass doors, crossed the marble floor and approached the counter where a large floral arrangement with beautiful purple flowers gave off a distinct fragrance.
A pretty, young Brazilian woman gave him a full smile. She wore a matching hotel-issued blue skirt and jacket with a tight white blouse. Half-moon glasses rested on a thin, straight nose framed by sandy hair.
He realized that his current smell and look probably didn’t make him the typical prototype to frequent such distinguished hotels, so he’d have to use the charm that Rachel said he sometimes possessed.
The lady behind the counter said something to him in Portuguese.
Calvin smiled. “Sorry, English.”
“My apologies, sir. Welcome to Quality Hotel Manaus.” Her language switch was impressive.
“Beautiful flowers,” Calvin motioned towards the bouquet.
“Those are Cattleya Labiata, the National Flower of Brazil. Do you have a reservation this evening, sir?”
“Yes, under Watters.”
The woman typed on the computer and waited. She looked back up. “Yes, Mr. Watters. That’s for a seven-night stay?”
He nodded.
If Calvin stuck to the plan, then he’d only be at the hotel in Manaus for one night. The rest of the time would be spent in the Amazon jungle tracking Sanders. Then he’d return here with Sanders.
The woman typed some more. “And how will you be paying?”
Shawn Grant, Calvin thought. But instead he said, “Credit card.” He handed one over to her.
She accepted the card and processed his payment. She handed him an electronic key card with the room number printed on the outside envelope.
“Could I see some ID, please?”
Calvin handed her his state driver’s license.
“Ah, Las Vegas. Very nice city.” She handed it back. “Can I do anything else for you tonight, Mr. Watters?” She smiled and almost batted her eyelashes.
He looked into her eyes, and wondered if he was dreaming that she was flirting with him. He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
He turned and headed to the elevators when he changed his mind. He went back to the counter and looked at the woman’s nametag.
“Gabriela, I was wondering if you could give me directions to the Porão do Alemão.”
Gabriela laughed, obviously at Calvin’s poor pronunciation. She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Excellent choice, Mr. Watters.”
She grabbed a local map from the counter top and used a pen to circle locations, draw arrows and indicate the directions.
“Thank you, Gabriela.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Watters. I’m also going there tonight. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
Calvin smiled. “Maybe.”
Chapter 11
Calvin got off the elevator feeling refreshed from a shower and change of clothes. The dirt that washed off him had almost made him sick. He was only just feeling the effects of jet lag, and looked forward to a good meal and cold beverage.
Gabriela was no longer at the counter, so Calvin headed straight outside.
While in his hotel room, he’d gone through the duffel bags to make sure everything was there—and it was, as no surprise. Mike Armstrong had come through, again.
Calvin had never asked Mike how he’d become what he was: a computer super-genius and a “utility” man, someone who could get anything for anyone. Calvin had no idea how Mike made those “shady” contacts or how he’d fallen into that role, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that Mike trusted him, because Calvin had helped Mike’s nephew get out of a few jams in college. Mike felt that he owed Calvin. That was good enough.
Calvin called Dale to update him on his status. Dale had nothing new on Ace Sanders or Shawn Grant.
When Dale had passed the phone to Rachel, and Calvin heard her voice, he felt slightly less concerned knowing that she was okay, especially after the incident at the airport. Being away from her started to set
in, feel real, and he missed her. But he had work to do, and couldn’t focus on that.
Although the Brazilian bar was a few miles from the hotel, the rain held off so Calvin decided to walk. The exercise would help loosen up his knee and wake up his legs. And the fresh air, even with its humidity, would be soothing. The evening had cut into the humidity a bit, but it was still ever-present.
It was dinner time when he entered the busy Manaus streets, seemingly thousands of people jammed into the tiny sector. Downtown bustled with a mixed crowd, a combination of locals and tourists. Because the only access to the city was primarily through boat or plane, it had a free port and an international airport.
Manaus was a well-built city, and the first things Calvin noticed as he stepped out onto one of the main city streets, were the landscape, architecture and scenery. The cleanliness of this section of the city impressed.
The bar was located at the end of Avenue Praia da Ponta Negra, a major strip in the city for the Manaus nightlife. Calvin had never been a fan of large crowds, especially when they moved at a snail’s pace.
As he slowly followed, Calvin could see why the flow was at a near standstill. The Avenue Praia da Ponta Negra was a major tourist attraction street. He walked past the Manaus City Hall and a Catholic Church that looked to be hundreds of years old.
He wasn’t there for a sightseeing tour, so at the first connecting street, Calvin exited the main drag, turned the corner, and joined a sparsely occupied side street. He followed the lightly-trafficked R. Praia Do Futuro, which ran parallel with Av. Praia da Ponta Negra.
He couldn’t believe the transition when he headed down an alley and got onto the back road. It was as if someone had turned down the volume on a stereo system. The bare sidewalks made traveling that much quicker and easier.
The back streets weren’t as glamourous as the main drag, almost grunge-like. The street was littered with garbage, bins were flung on their side and a few of the overhead lights had been knocked out.
Manaus was like any other major city. For all of the glitz and glamour, there were also poverty-stricken sections not talked about. Vegas was the same, as Calvin knew, because most of his former work took place in the red-light districts you don’t read about or see on TV.
As Calvin crossed the street, his internal alarm went off. Working in the red-light district of Vegas for the last four years had given him a “street” radar. Calvin could sense danger, and had learned to detect the slightest thing out of sync.
He saw a woman at an ATM, punching in her code and waiting to withdraw money. Calvin picked out two suspicious-looking, grimy-clothed men approaching her from either side. One guy had his hand in his pocket and another behind his back. It was the way they moved, almost slithering, that caught Calvin’s attention. They didn’t take their eyes off the woman.
He knew he had an important job in this city, was here for a specific reason and any run-ins outside that task would not only slow him down, but risk blowing his cover. But it wasn’t Calvin’s style to ignore and walk away from a possible attack on an innocent person. Time for a pre-emptive strike.
He sighted them as he stepped closer, sizing them up. One guy wore a faded white t-shirt with an illegible logo. The other one, with the handle-bar mustache, had on a Kansas City Royals ball cap barely covering a butterfly bandage on his eyebrow.
Calvin knew that Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu had originated in Manaus, and many of the locals probably trained in the art, including these two thugs. He’d have to be careful and tread cautiously, but he wasn’t ready to back down.
Calvin didn’t hesitate, double-timing his stride, he wasn’t thinking about what he would do or the consequences of his actions.
He hurried across the street, moving behind an illegally parked car at the curb. Looking over the trunk, Calvin rounded the car and reached the woman at the same time as the thugs.
The men pulled their hands out of their pockets. One had a knife, the other held a gun. One guy started to say something to the woman in Portuguese, but didn’t get a chance to finish.
The gun had to go first. Calvin struck.
He jab-kicked at the side of the gunman’s leg, at the patella, where the quad connects with the tibia. It bent awkwardly, and he immediately went down to one knee. Calvin grabbed the thief’s wrist, wrestling the gun away, as it fell and clanked on the pavement.
Calvin whipped an elbow into the bridge of the man’s nose. Blood spurted out. The thief screamed, wincing and grabbing at the gushing blood. The big American then kicked him in the midsection and when the man fell to both knees, hit him flush on the jaw with his right fist. The man went down and did not move.
The thug holding the knife had been watching, almost dumb struck, but was quick to grab the woman. He said something in Portuguese to Calvin, spit flying violently from his mouth as he pressed the knife to the woman’s throat, drawing blood.
Calvin raised his hand, his jaw tightening. “Hold on, Buddy. Don’t do anything stupid.” He walked cautiously towards him.
By now, a half-dozen people had gathered to watch, but no one dared get involved.
“Stupid fucking American. Big mistake.”
Aggressively, the man threw the woman to the concrete sidewalk and thrust the knife towards Calvin’s abdomen.
Calvin twisted his body and caught the man’s wrist, flipping it back. He heard the bone snap. The guy released a blood-curdling scream. The knife fell to the ground and the man’s arm hung limply in Calvin’s hand.
But the man didn’t quit. He threw a punch with his good hand. Calvin ducked out of the way and threw a quick right-hand to the man’s side. The thug winced and brought down his arm instinctively, opening up a free jaw-jab from Calvin.
The man fell to the ground, but had the wherewithal to pick up the knife. From his knees, he jabbed the weapon at Calvin’s thigh, but the beating he’d already taken slowed his reflexes. Calvin easily dodged the stab-thrust.
Grabbing the man’s weak wrist, Calvin rendered it useless. With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of the guy’s hair, and pulled his head forward, as Calvin brought up his knee. The effects of the impact caused an explosion of blood from the man’s nose as he went down, writhing and coughing on the geyser.
The men didn’t move.
Calvin kicked away the gun and knife and went to the woman, still on the ground. Her dress had been ripped and her knees scratched and bloodied. Calvin helped her into a sitting position.
He checked her neck. The cut was superficial, the slice shallow, but there was some blood. He pulled a bottle of water from the woman’s purse, and sprinkled a little on a tissue from his pocket. He gently placed the wet tissue on the woman’s cuts, wiping up the moist blood. The woman twitched as he touched the wounds, and placed her hands on his to slow the motion.
He pulled out another tissue and wiped her mascara-stained cheeks.
She smiled, putting her hands on Calvin’s face. “Obrigado,” her voice almost a whisper.
Calvin nodded.
He heard sirens approaching, blaring insistently. This was the last thing he needed, any kind of attention or public awareness. He didn’t want to be seen there or get involved in a police report or investigation. There would be questions, and he didn’t have the answers to give. No one needed to know why he was in Brazil.
Calvin waved a couple of young women over who’d been watching. He gave them the wet Kleenex and had them kneel next to the woman. With the thugs at bay, more people grew brave, and a few more approached to make sure the woman was okay.
He used the crowd to slip out and just escaped the huddle around the woman when a cop walked past him staring, looking directly into his face. Calvin put his head down and hustled away, just as another Brazilian police car stopped at the edge of the curb.
Calvin rounded the corner and walked away. So much for staying under the radar.
♣
Dale set down his desk phone and turned to Jimmy. “That was the warden. He stil
l hasn’t heard from Steve Sullivan. That means Sullivan is the only guard on duty the night Sanders escaped who hasn’t come forward.”
“Did he have an excuse?” Jimmy asked.
“Sullivan’s two-week holidays started the day after the escape. Booked last minute. He said Sullivan could have gone somewhere on vacation. No one is answering the phone at his home.”
“Could be a coincidence.”
They’d been reviewing all of the former investigations concerning Vladimir Alexandrov. Going over notes, photos, and summations of witness interviews, post mortem reports, 911 calls, and forensic and ballistics reports.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, but I don’t discard them either.” Dale scratched his head and buried it in his hands. His eyes were tired and he rubbed them hard. “Any names pop out?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Sanders’ visitors list isn’t exactly long or recognizable. I don’t think I know any of these people. We’ll have to plug their names into the database to make sure we’re not missing something major.”
“Let’s move on the Sullivan angle for now. We can always come back to the visitor’s list if nothing comes of that.”
“Should we go knock on Sullivan’s door?”
“Not yet. Let’s do a background on him first, see what comes up. I’ll go talk to the sarge to get some warrants drafted. While I’m gone, contact our local Fusion Center, Southern Nevada Counter-Terrorism Center. They have federal partners that can assist with that area of our investigation. Find out if there’s been any passport activity from Sullivan, or a family member, since the escape.”
The Fusion Center housed representatives from local first responders to federal partners. It was a center that sought to facilitate the streamlining of information sharing and cooperating in investigations.
Dale hurried across the lobby to his sergeant’s office. He knocked and entered.
The sergeant looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “What’s up?”
“Working the Sanders’ escape. I like the rogue-guard scenario. Someone had to be helping Sanders from the inside for him to get out without detection.”
