The Dead Man's Brother

by Zelazny, Roger

  "That office boy set up the system?"

  "He discovered it on his doorstep one day, a weak, red-faced, squalling thing. He developed an affection for it, fed it on demand, educated it and brought it to responsible maturity."

  "Then he undertook the task of conversion from its diversions?"

  "Aptly put. Yes, this occurred when he realized that his offspring had fallen in with low companions."

  "The movement? It was financed this way?"

  "Mainly, yes."

  "I find it difficult to believe that the office boy was the only one involved."

  "I never meant to imply that. He was the technician. He had considerable support among the directorate. Bassenrut would be the number one economic entity in the new country."

  "The federal government never got suspicious?"

  "We produced elegant financial reports and paid our taxes, which is more than can be said for some. Also, civil servants, like politicians, are eminently amenable to largesse. The ultimate objectives of Bassenrut were never suspect. No one ever guessed at a connection with the movement."

  "Then what?"

  "A big section of Matto Grasso was to have become a protectorate, and the Indians our wards. In the meantime, they were supposed to be well cared for. I learned only recently that this was not being done. Further investigation led me to the conclusion that there was no intention ever to do this. The promise was just a carrot for a single individual."

  "So you decided to smash both Bassenrut and the movement?"

  "Correct."

  "So why not take the whole story to the federal government?"

  He shook his head.

  "Bassenrut is too powerful in this country. They can put pressure on a man, or possibly remove him. The only greater source of pressure I know of would be from the outside. If the United States felt its Brazilian interests were jeopardized by the movement and by Bassenrut, something would be done. That, I decided, is the best avenue of attack."

  "I see," I said. "What had the Vatican to do with all this?"

  He dropped his eyes quickly and was silent for a time.

  Then, "How much do you know?" he asked.

  "I know that the amount your brother was able to authorize for shaky propositions in this country came to about three million dollars. I know they involved you on this end. I am curious how much he knew as to what was really going on."

  "He was all for the underdog, too," he said, "the poor Indian. Only his motives may to a large extent have been determined by a growing dissatisfaction with the Church. The Church’s record in Brazil is somewhat notorious, and since it would not be the first time it had lost money in business dealings, I believe that he felt it was a way of making reparation."

  "That’s an awful lot of reparation for those who are no longer around to be made whole."

  He shrugged.

  "The effects of the initial wrongdoings are very much present today," he said. "Since my brother, also, is no longer around, I find it equally useless to dwell upon the motives for his actions."

  "But their effects, also, are very much present today."

  "True," he said, smiling. "But that is now an affair between Rome and myself. I intend to see their—loan— eventually repaid. Possibly with interest. There are oil-rich Indians in your country. This area is rich in other resources. If it must be exploited, the benefits should go to the natural owners—who are an honest sort. If the Vatican’s money is dumped into yet another bucket and from there is poured out in form of development loans, they will repay it when they are able. By the way, would you be interested in becoming the U.S. representative for native artwork from this area?"

  "Possibly," I said, considering it.

  "It is really quite good. I must show you some before you leave. Ah—here’s your breakfast."

  The hanging was pushed aside, and Jom entered bearing a tray containing several fish and a variety of fruits. He placed it on the bench, nodded, smiled and left. It looked good and smelled good.

  "Aren’t you having any?" I asked.

  "No, I’ve already eaten," he said. "Go ahead."

  He checked the coffee, decided it was ready and poured two cups. The food was good, and I was quite hungry. I fell to it.

  When I was finished, I sighed and pushed the tray away. He had not spoken the entire while I was eating.

  "Thanks," I said, rising.

  I crossed the room and helped myself to another cup of coffee. I refilled his, also.

  I reseated myself then and lit another cigarette. I decided to wait and let him speak next. I wondered where Morales and his bunch were at that moment. I was engaged in a complicated internal debate as to whether or not I should warn Emil.

  "Now you know why he is willing to act against his employer, his comrades and his country," he said, after a time.

  "Yes," I said. "It tends to make things somewhat more clear. You indicated, however, that all of this was but preamble to your naming a price for the materials. Are you ready to go into that now?"

  He nodded.

  "First," he said, "I want immunity from prosecution by my own government."

  "I’m afraid I’m in no position to make you such a guarantee."

  "Nonsense," he replied. "Your people will be dictating all sorts of things to them on the basis of the information I provide. They can as easily add that."

  "What I mean to say is that I cannot speak for my superiors in something like this. I’m not authorized to."

  "Then I want your word that you will inform them that that was one of my terms for surrendering the material. There will be no compelling reason for them not to honor it, since they will have obtained what they want."

  "Very well. You have my word that I will recite your request and add my personal recommendation that it be met."

  "Sufficient," he said. "Second, since my government will have Bassenrut in a very uncomfortable position, I want them to use some of that leverage to persuade the organization not to make any sort of reprisal against me, legal or otherwise."

  "That matter would seem to be strictly between your government and Bassenrut."

  "Don’t be naïve. If they can be pressured into one thing, they can be prodded into another."

  "My word again, on this one? That I’ll try?"

  "That’s the best you can give me right now. I’ll have to settle for it."

  "You have it, then. What about your fellow travelers?"

  "Since there is nothing you can do on that count, I’ll have to make my own terms with them. That’s my problem."

  "Agreed. Is there anything else?"

  "Yes. I also want to be sure that another group leave me alone."

  "Which group is that?"

  "Your own agency. If they want further explanations, clarifications, explications, too bad. This is not included. I don’t want to be hounded by them on matters of detail. Or any other matters."

  "Are your records sufficiently clear for them to do without you?"

  "Everything they will need is there. Some of it will take some digging, but enough information is provided."

  "That sounds fair. Since their main interest will be in seeing the movement broken, you are also counting on this taking care of your comrades."

  "Of course I am hoping this will remove all of them. Some will doubtless get by, though. As I said, that’s my problem."

  "This leaves you with the money you have already appropriated and a margin of safety dependent upon the adequacy of the purge and the sufficiency of your government’s word to mine—should it be given."

  "That is the best I can hope for. It will have to do."

  "I still would not want to be in your place," I said. "Actually, it strikes me that you have little choice but to surrender the materials to my government."

  "Perceptive of you," he noted.

  "Which renders your bargaining position pretty much fictitious," I said.

  "There are two major caveats on the other side of the globe," he said, "if y
ou stop to think about it for a moment. I might either enhance my position with the present regime by turning my records over to it, or perhaps suppress them and abet the revolutionaries. The new nation would be duly grateful, I am certain.

  "However," he continued, "I find these alternatives distasteful and offer them only in rebuttal to your flat statement that I have no other course to follow. It is all academic now. I trust you are a man of your word. In that case, our agreement had already been concluded."

  "I am, and I consider it so."

  He rose then and crossed the room. From the packing case, he withdrew a hand trowel. Moving to his small cooking fire, he set the coffee pot aside, then used the tool to flip the grill away. He began shoveling out the embers, pausing to relight his pipe with one. I was apprehensive at that point and wishing he would hurry. I did not like thinking about Morales and his men skulking about in the woods, searching for this place, finding it. I had resolved to warm Emil, but not until I had the records. After all, I had given my word that I would try to see him protected, and as I saw it, the promise was already in effect. Still, I wanted the papers before I said anything. That was part of the deal, too. I was sure that enough of my jungle instinct remained so that I could find my way back to the highway unescorted, if it came to that. But that would raise more problems than it would solve. Especially Maria.

  He turned his attention to his hearth once more, and I rose and began pacing slowly.

  "Where is Maria—the girl who was with me?" I asked.

  He began digging into soil, now he had cleared the embers.

  "Nearby," he said. "I thought it best for her to rest while we talked. It was a long walk, a sleepless night, and our conversation of a tedious, technical nature. She is well taken care of and you will be reunited on the way back. I did not expect you to bring a female companion."

  "Neither did I. You mean she is elsewhere in this village?"

  "Nearby," he repeated, scraping something with the point of his tool as I paused near the doorway. "You say her name is Maria?"

  The outline of a leather case appeared in the dirt at his feet.

  "I brought her with me from Rome," I said. "She was—a friend—of your brother’s."

  "Oh, she is that Maria," he said. "Yes, he had spoken of her. What is she doing here?"

  "It is a long and complicated story," I said, "but basically, she wants revenge against whoever killed Claude. She has the notion that I will eventually locate the person or persons responsible."

  "Why would she believe this?"

  "Because she knew me years ago and thinks I can."

  "What did you do years ago?"

  "I was a criminal," I replied. "Which gives rise to a question. Is there anything you can tell me concerning his death that might be of help?"

  He removed the leather case from the excavation and began dusting it with a blue bandana he withdrew from his hip pocket.

  "I’ve no solid facts," he said, "but you can have my speculations for whatever they’re worth. I think he somehow got mixed up with Maria’s employer."

  "The Sign of the Fish? Bruno? How…?"

  "Either he caught on to their operations, or they fancied that he had and might do something about them. Neither had any way of knowing that they were both serving the same master. Had I only thought of it, I could have protected him."

  His face had a hard, cold look to it then, and it seemed he assailed the briefcase with an unnecessary violence.

  "I’m afraid that you have lost me," I said.

  "You disappoint me," he stated. "I would have thought your outfit aware of them by now. Well, perhaps they are and you are simply not privy to it. The Sign of the Fish has galleries in seventeen countries, engaged primarily in legitimate art dealings. They also enjoy an under-the-counter relationship with Bassenrut. They provide a ready avenue for the transfer of foreign funds to this country. It is done, basically, by means of converting funds from Bassenrut’s undercover foreign investments into artwork in the host country, underevaluating it when shipping it here, then disposing of it for a truer price. Customs officials are hardly art critics.

  "You’ll find much of the story in here," he finished, slapping the side of the briefcase.

  I could not but speculate for a moment as to whether this was the route taken by some of the pieces with which I had been associated. Fascinating. To consider that I might have been within a brief distance of some of them once again, all unawares. Would it not be a jest if I were to…

  I shook off the daydream.

  "And your brother?" I said. "How did he fit into all that?"

  "It is the only thing I can see. I told you it was just a guess," he said. "But there is a connection there. The girl—Maria. If they thought, right or wrong, that he had learned of their operations from her and was planning either to blackmail them or go to the authorities, they would have acted to assure his silence."

  "Maria was aware of what was going on?"

  "I would imagine she knew that not all of their operations were normal. She must be an intelligent girl. My brother would not have had anything to do with her were she not."

  "Why should they have assumed he was about to jeopardize their operations?"

  "Because of his peculiar actions there near the end, culminating in his flight," he said. "They had no way of knowing that he was growing progressively concerned over the investigation of his accounts at the Vatican. He was exceedingly furtive and suspicious during those final weeks—I could tell that just talking to him on the telephone. This, together with his liaison with an employee over whom they kept watch—they watch them all—must have made them apprehensive enough to pursue him and destroy him when he fled."

  "What did you talk about in those telephone conversations?"

  "The investigation, mainly, and what he should do about it. We agreed that since it was only a matter of time until a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, his best course of action lay in fleeing the country and coming here. I could shelter him. It is easy to obtain false papers in Portugal, and it is easy to get from Portugal to Brazil. That is why he went to Lisbon."

  "At around the same time you were having second feelings about your own situation here?"

  "Yes. Everything seems to happen at once, doesn’t it?" he said, rising and moving to his writing table, where he deposited the briefcase.

  "Here they are. All the answers you could possibly want," he announced, "and lots more."

  "So you believe your brother was killed by Bruno’s people?" I insisted.

  "As I said, it is only a guess. But it seems to make some sense," he stated, fumbling to light his pipe once more.

  I saw Martinson lying there dead in his villa, and the face of the man I had killed. I remembered lunch with Bruno, and the art leads he had furnished me, calculated to make me a tiny sum. He had seemed suspicious of something. Had this been a bribe, an attempt to satisfy me and steer me away from his business? Was it he who then had me followed to the home of our security officer, followed by men authorized to commit murder if it seemed I was betraying a fancied trust? If so, why should he have assumed I possessed inside information as to his activities? It did not make sense. And then his death. Perhaps because he had failed? Or done the wrong thing?

  And what was Maria’s real role in all this, then?

  "Are you planning on doing anything about it?" I asked.

  "There is not really anything that I can do," he said, "as I’ve no real information to offer the investigators. Besides, he was a religious man, who never advocated vengeance and believed mors janua vitae. In other words—"

  "Sod cucullus non facit monachum," I interrupted, "et ignoti nulla cupido. I understand, though. You will do nothing."

  "Damn it!" he said. "I am not insensitive to my own brother’s death! It is just that there is nothing that I can do. I doubt that his killer will ever be found. Did you come here just to bait me on that?"

  "No," I said. "Sorry. It is just that I had grown very int
erested in the case. It was near to the point where I came in."

  "I see," he said. "Don’t throw any more Latin at me. I’m allergic to it. You have everything that I’m going to give you now."

  He glanced out the window. The storm had turned into a light, misty rainfall, and bits of sunlight were beginning to sneak by it.

  "You are doubtless somewhat fatigued," he said, "but I would recommend your starting the return trip as quickly as possible. If you travel all day, camp out tonight and hike most of tomorrow, it will get you to a station on the highway other than the one you started from. From there you will be able to get transportation in either direction: Brasilia, or São Paulo or Rio. The tribesmen know the way. Promptness is all. The sooner those papers reach your superiors, the sooner my insurance goes into effect."

  "Yes," I said. "I’m anxious to get rid of them already."

  "Which way did you plan on heading, toward Disneyland or back to the south?"

  "South," I said. "I know my way around a little better down there."

  "Good," he said, nodding. "Tell me, do you think you could find your way back here?"

  "Yes."

  "I had a feeling that you might be able to," he said. "If, after delivering this bundle, you should feel inclined to make a return visit—alone or accompanied—you will find that I no longer reside here and that my whereabouts are unknown."

  "Thanks for the advice."

  "Just thought I’d save you a possible disappointment. I plan on moving out in a few hours, as a matter of fact."

  "That, of course, leaves us with no way of advising you as to the effectuation of your requests."

  "I’ll find out for—"

  The sound of gunfire, breaking his sentence, dictated my next move also. I had been pacing where I was pacing for a reason.

  I swung his rifle down from the peg and had a shell in the chamber before he could draw his pistol. He refrained from doing it then, because I was pointing the rifle at him. Damn Morales anyway! He must have been following closely enough to have us in sight when I ditched the transmitter. I had just lost my lead, not to mention Emil’s confidence—and I had to clear out fast and take the briefcase with me. Time was burning.