Brazil was a good choice as well after I returned with the box, because it’s very easy (as you may have now seen) to blend in. To go unnoticed. The unanswered questions I left Tibet with gave me cause to lie low, although my friend never mentioned explicitly that I would find trouble in keeping the dragons.
And, I feel compelled to add, trouble never came my way. If anyone was ever looking for the dragons, they did not turn up at my door. I will say that I did not make myself easy to find.
So here you are, at last. I truly wish I could have been there to see your face when you immersed yourself into the city and beyond when you arrived. I wonder if you experienced (and perhaps are still experiencing) the same wondrous thrill I did. That I do, every time I return. That you have found this box means that you remember details from my former letter, and I applaud you for your fortitude.
This box, while a relic from Tibet, is not the box that housed the dragons. Once I knew I did not have long for this world, I made my plans for you and returned to Brazil. At one time, I expected to be buried here, and arranged a final resting place in a prominent, lovely cemetery located in town. There is a wall that surrounds the headstones and mausoleums in São João Batista, a wall of square crypts that depict the deceased’s name and sometimes likeness. They are not large spaces, perhaps twelve inches by twelve inches, just large enough for a vase full of ashes.
My ashes do not reside there, as you know.
Beneath this box, you will find a small key taped to the bottom. Take the key and use it.
More than anything, my dearest granddaughter, enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells along the way.
With much love,
Walcot
Madalina reread the note. Clearly her grandfather wanted her to explore the crypt. She had to admit it sounded like a good place to stash something that you didn’t want found, be it a dragon or a note with sensitive information. How many people would think to check a cemetery?
She thought of Walcot’s ashes, sitting in an urn in her mother’s house. Far from the original place he’d thought to be interred. A knot took shape in her throat when she realized he’d come home to California to be near her and her mother at the end, rather than be cremated half a world away. He’d wanted to be near family for his final days, days that would forever remain special in her memories and her heart.
Little had she known then what plans Walcot had in store.
Cole wasn’t sure what to think of Walcot hiding the dragon—or dragons—in a crypt. That’s exactly what it appeared the old man had done, based on the contents of the letter, which was either a stroke of genius or a bit of paranoia, maybe both. Either way it was a delay, one he was anxious to resolve. Every minute Brandon spent with the agents was another minute he might be subjected to ill treatment.
He watched Madalina turn the box over. Sure enough, a small key was taped to the bottom. After she pried it loose and peeled the tape away, she met his eyes.
“I had no idea he would go to this much trouble,” she said, setting the empty box on the table. She had the letter in one hand, the key in the other.
“He’s more wily—or imaginative—than we gave him credit for. Come on. If there isn’t anything else you want to do here, we should go.” Cole set a hand on Madalina’s shoulder and squeezed. He didn’t want to rush her too much. After all, it hadn’t been that long since her grandfather had passed. As much as he wanted his brother free, he understood that she might be reliving fond memories and, in a sense, saying good-bye all over again. In other circumstances, Cole would have relished the puzzle and mystery Walcot laid out before them.
“No, I’m done here. Let’s go.” Madalina cast a look around the room and stepped away from the table. She didn’t get too far, however, before she leaned back to snatch up the box.
“I’ll put it in the duffel bag. There’s room.” Cole gently extracted the box from her fingers. He stowed it in the duffel bag, which he’d brought inside with them in case the taxi driver got impatient and drove off. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he followed Madalina from the room. After she locked the door and folded the paper into her pocket, he escorted her down the narrow staircase to the waiting taxi. The driver, engaged in a game of kickball with local children, ran over and got behind the wheel.
“São João Batista cemetery,” Cole said, stashing the bag between his feet on the floor. He glanced aside, gauging Madalina’s mood. She looked thoughtful, bemused. Setting a palm on her shapely thigh, he let her know through touch that he understood what she was feeling. That he commiserated. Despite the situation—visiting dead grandparents’ homes, knowing that a stone dragon stood between Brandon and safety—she didn’t exude vulnerability or fear. At least not on the surface. If anything, she seemed determined to see the events through to the end. It made him love her that much more to know she was dedicated to seeing his brother freed from his “hosts.”
A spate of sudden Portuguese snapped Cole’s attention to the driver. The young man shouted at the windshield, gesturing to a car that had blocked the intersection. Kids ran to and fro in the street and on the sidewalks, heedless of traffic. A faded soccer ball flew over the hood of the taxi, followed by a flock of children who streamed around the vehicle in pursuit, raising a ruckus in the process. Shacks rose on either side of the road, a colorful tapestry that appeared to Cole like a house of cards, one built atop and beside the other. He imagined that if one came down, it would pull the entire hillside of homes down with it.
Without warning a car slammed into their bumper. The taxi jolted forward, now lodged between two vehicles. Instinct surged to the fore; Cole grabbed Madalina’s hand and opened his door.
“Go, go, go!” He pulled her free of the taxi just as four men exited the car behind, faces intent and focused. In periphery, Cole saw two more bodies get out of the car ahead, the one that had purposely blocked the road.
It was a setup.
“Run. Get lost in the houses, Madalina. Meet me at the cemetery.” Cole wouldn’t take no for an answer. He pushed her toward the sidewalk and the houses beyond. For a moment she balked, a wordless noise of protest rising to her lips.
He backstepped to the sidewalk, attention split between the two sets of oncoming men and the need to find a weapon. One man darted forward, pushing the startled kids aside, heading for Madalina.
“Go!” he shouted, spinning to his left to block the running man. He felt more than saw Madalina dash into a narrow pathway between homes, already lost to sight. The structures were so tightly packed together that it should be easy for her to find a place to hide.
Taking the running man head-on, Cole paused a beat just as the man reached him, switching the momentum to his favor. Grasping the runner by the nape of his shirt, Cole shoved the man into a low brick wall lining the sidewalk. More assailants were coming, of course, he knew without looking.
Spinning again he snatched up a four-foot broomstick one of the boys had been using in a game and swung the stick out at shoulder level, cracking one of the oncoming men in the neck. The assailant went straight to the ground, groaning in pain. With no time to think, Cole reacted on an animal level, pure instinct guiding the following kick-strike-punch he threw to two other men. The stick became an extension of his hands and arms, flying up and around, taking out another pursuer. Invariably it made sense that at least one of the assailants would be as well versed in self-defense as he was. The next man caught the stick and shoved back, forcing the wood to crack across Cole’s nose.
He tasted blood, but it didn’t pause or halt his assault.
Two men did slip past him during the distraction, however, darting down the same pathway Madalina had taken. Cole cursed under his breath as he kicked toward the attacking assailant’s knee, satisfied to hear the man shout in pain and stagger backward. Cole wrenched the broomstick out of the man’s hands just as another, recovering from the fight, charged again
.
At least, he thought as he faced off with the man, he’d given Madalina a decent head start.
CHAPTER SEVEN
With adrenaline coursing through her system, Madalina ran through the maze of narrow pathways. She heard Cole engage the men as she took a left turn, then a right, nearly tripping over a child’s toy left in the lane. Her foot slapped hard on the ground as she struggled to regain her balance. By the fourth turn, all she heard were the sounds of life in a densely populated urban development: the clink of a pot, a mother shouting at rowdy children, the flap of material from clothes hung out to dry. She passed other alleys that led between clusters of rickety homes, some with stairs winding out of sight. Jumping a tipped-over tricycle, she veered into a passage so skinny that her shoulders brushed the grimy walls on each side.
Her main objective was to put as much distance between herself and the accident as possible, to create a gaping separation from the men she knew would pursue her if they got past Cole.
How had the men found them? Cole had kept a close eye out during the entire trip, from boarding the airplane in Los Angeles, through the airport in Rio, and into the taxi. He’d said nothing about being followed, nor did he suspect someone might be on their tail.
What made matters worse, she thought, was that the men who’d attacked them looked nothing like the men who’d been after her before. These assailants were not of Asian descent. They were Americans or Europeans, which simply made no sense in Madalina’s mind. No one else knew about the letter or her grandfather’s connection to the dragons. Maybe the agents hired someone else to come after me. To throw me off. She couldn’t deny the possibility.
Breathless, she shot out from between two structures, landing on a street where three cyclists swerved to miss her.
The sound of running feet drew her attention back to the pathway, where one man, then another, barreled into view at the far end.
They’d found her. It probably hadn’t been hard, considering so many residents had stared after her as she fled.
Crossing the small road at a run, she bolted down a narrow path, once more taking hard left and right turns, hoping to throw the men off. People seemed to be everywhere, some squatting near the base of the buildings, others toting water or laundry. Kids were prevalent, some even making a game out of pacing her.
Which did not help at all.
She had the idea to pay the kids a few coins to misdirect her followers, but couldn’t speak enough Portuguese to get her point across.
Arriving at a cross-juncture of paths, she paused, put her hands together in a prayerlike gesture, and said, “Please. Please tell the men I went that way.” She gestured toward the out-of-sight men, then toward the opposite lane.
Madalina didn’t wait to see if the children understood or would help her. She ran down the road and took the first left turn into the maze of structures that she came to.
No matter what else, she had to stay out of their reach.
When ten minutes went by with no sign of the pursuers, she guessed the kids had helped, after all, directing the men the wrong way.
Pausing next to a potted plant, she set her hands on her knees and gasped for air. Although she was headed downhill, it was still exhausting and strenuous. The muscles of her thighs ached in protest.
Recognizing that one of the main thoroughfares should sit on the other side of the block, she caught her breath and zigzagged her way across a winding lane, dodging kids and a basketball game. She emerged onto the busy street, immediately hailing a beat-up car with Taxi graffiti-sprayed on the side. Clearly a resident looking to supplement their income. All Madalina cared about was that the car took her farther away from here.
The taxi stopped, and a young man got out, smiling and gesturing. Madalina drew a few bills from her pocket and gave the name of the cemetery, relieved to see the man bob his head enthusiastically in agreement.
Climbing into the backseat, she closed the door and glanced back the way she’d come.
No sign of the pursuers.
As the taxi surged forward, Madalina sent up a little prayer that Cole would be waiting for her at the graveyard.
This wasn’t the time or place for an interrogation. Cole regretted that he couldn’t pin one of the men down for a question-and-answer session, but his concern for Madalina and the growing group of residents watching his every move made him cut the altercation short. Leaving bodies alive but unconscious on the ground, he dropped the broomstick and climbed into the battered taxi.
The quick-thinking driver hadn’t been idle during the fight; after gathering a few buddies, he’d pushed the car in front out of the way. A hefty tip for his foresight was motivation enough for the driver to take drastic action. His taxi was damaged, but not so much that he couldn’t drive on.
Cole handed a few extra bills over the front seat for the driver’s effort and asked him to reach the cemetery as soon as possible. Raking a hand through his hair, he cursed under his breath at the turn of events and finally brought up the hem of his shirt to dab at the blood on his upper lip. There were red splatters on the material, too, which meant he needed to change before putting himself in a public place or getting on a plane.
Stripping out of the shirt, he dabbed at his nose again and rolled up the garment. Stuffing it into a corner of the duffel bag, which still sat on the floorboard, he withdrew another T-shirt, this one bluish-green, and yanked it over his head.
As the driver caromed through the city streets, taking them out of the slums into more affluent parts of town, Cole withdrew his phone to check for messages.
Nothing. No texts from Madalina, no voice mails from Thaddeus.
He glanced out the window briefly, then sent off a quick text to his brother. Thaddeus couldn’t do much halfway across the world, but he wanted to alert his sibling to trouble. Someone other than the Chinese agents had knowledge of the dragons.
When the cab came to a stop, Cole added another few bills to the extra he’d given the driver and exited the car. Bag in hand, he made his way from the street to a sidewalk leading toward the cemetery. Flanked by foothills on one side and buildings on another, the cemetery covered an enormous amount of acreage and was roughly three times the size Cole had expected it to be. He had no trouble locating the wall mentioned in Walcot’s letter and resisted the urge to break into a jog. The last thing he wanted to do was bring more attention his way.
Rounding a corner, he passed beneath a row of overhanging tree limbs and scoured the area for Madalina. If she had escaped the pursuers, she should be somewhere nearby. Several pedestrians were visiting crypts in the wall, some bearing flowers, others simply there to run their fingers lovingly over a carved depiction of a loved one.
A fresh bout of tension snaked down his spine when he came to the end of the wall with no sign of Madalina. He didn’t want to think that she’d been caught before ever arriving by the men who’d pursued her.
Cursing under his breath, he turned to pace back the way he’d come, scanning the grassy area beyond the trees and the row of benches one more time. He began calculating how long he would wait before turning to plan B. Lingering too long would give the assailants time to get away with Madalina—if they’d caught her. Not lingering long enough might mean missing Madalina if she showed up late.
Tension twitched through his muscles as a hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped around, prepared to do battle right here next to the cemetery. The assailants would be lucky if he didn’t send them to join the rest of the dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s me.” Madalina could feel the volatility bleeding off Cole, see the battle readiness in his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to call out when she’d finally spotted him, too worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention. Two circuits of the cemetery had led her back here to begin a third search along the wall. This time she found what she was looking for.
P
ulled into Cole’s tight embrace, she hugged him as hard as he hugged her, relief like a drug in her system. The familiar feel and scent of him eased some of her inner turmoil at the necessary separation.
“I was just deciding how long I’d wait for you before tearing this city apart,” he said near her ear.
“I’m glad I found you. I’ve circled the cemetery twice, thinking you might have gone looking for me.” She leaned back and planted a kiss on his lips. He came in for another brief brush of mouths, the gold flecks in his green eyes glinting in the sunlight.
“I hated to send you on the run by yourself, but I wasn’t sure I could take on six men and win, and wanted you to get a head start. You didn’t have any trouble losing them, did you?” he asked, breaking eye contact to look around the area. Ever on alert.
“No, no. Don’t worry. I was fine. They almost caught up to me once, but some of the local kids helped me out. You look like you’ve been in a prizefight. We should get some ice for your nose.” She examined the swollen bridge of Cole’s nose, detecting small streaks of blood that he’d apparently tried to wipe away.
“Forget the ice. Let’s find the crypt. We don’t have time to waste.” Cole squeezed her once, caught her hand, and led her closer to the wall. “I have no idea where to start. There are hundreds of crypts here.”
Madalina trotted at his side, hand enveloped in his. She scanned the many squares in the wall, looking for names rather than pictures. Somehow she doubted that her grandfather would have spent the money to have his likeness carved into the stone. “I know. I think we should look at all the ones without flowers and letters stuck to the front. It’ll be the plainest one here.” She paused, then added, “We can split up; you take one half of the wall, I’ll take the other. We’ll cover more—”
Rendezvous in Rio Page 7
