‘I think that Ricardo is the Argentinian and Eduardo the Venezuelan. From what I understand, their mother wanted Eduardo to be educated in Venezuela. Ricardo never lived there as an adult, but Eduardo spent a lot of time there. The flashy clothes, the cars, the speedboats, the girls, the apartments in Miami. He’s a typical Venezuelan rich kid.’
‘That’s quite a car he owns,’ I said.
‘What, the “Testosterone”? The amount of times he’s tried to get me into that thing!’
I grinned. I couldn’t really blame him.
‘Anyway,’ Isabel continued, ‘Ricardo’s father drank. In the early eighties his businesses fell apart when the oil price crashed, and he tried to drink his way out of it. He died at the age of sixty-two. Ricardo was twenty-seven.
‘You know how seriously Ricardo takes things. I think he saw it as his responsibility to look after his mother and his brother. Especially his brother. Eduardo was getting himself into all sorts of trouble with drugs. Ricardo found the money for some fancy detox clinic in America and persuaded Eduardo to go.’
‘So Ricardo has always helped Eduardo out?’
‘It’s a two-way thing. They both owe each other a lot of favours. I’m not sure they even like each other. Eduardo thinks Ricardo’s too squeamish, and a control freak. But he’s jealous of Ricardo’s success and wants to be a part of it. Ricardo thinks Eduardo has no self-discipline and is a danger to himself as well as other people. They’re both right, of course. But as a result they both think they have to be around to help the other out.’
‘So they need each other?’
‘That’s what they think. I think they’d both be better off having nothing to do with each other.’
She swung out of bed, and walked, naked, to the window. I followed her with my eyes.
‘Oh, look,’ she said. ‘I think you’re going to see a classic Rio rainstorm.’
I joined her, and wrapped my arms round her. A thick line of black lurked on the horizon. As we watched, it grew, gathering itself into a dark blanket that moved swiftly over the sky towards us. The breeze, blowing in through the open window, became softer, heavier. The city, still in sunshine for a few moments more, cowered in front of the enveloping clouds. Then the blanket reached us, blacking out the sky and dropping itself upon us in a torrent of water. We let the giant drops splash into the room through the open window. Below us, the courtyard erupted into thousands of tiny fountains as the rain struck it, and the surface of the swimming pool was shattered into a myriad of angry whirlpools.
‘God, what a sight,’ I said.
‘We’d better get going. The traffic in Rio becomes a nightmare in a storm like this.’
We showered, dressed, and then scurried to a taxi beneath one of the hotel’s white umbrellas. As I scrambled into the back seat after Isabel, I thought I caught sight of someone I recognized. I turned to look as we pulled off.
‘What is it?’ she asked, a drop of water dangling appealingly from her nose.
‘I thought I recognized the driver of the car behind. I could have sworn he was waiting for someone at the airport this morning.’
‘Where?’ She turned to look behind us.
The rain fell heavily on the rear window and created a curtain of water behind us.
‘I can’t see him now. Or his car. It was a Fiat, I think. Blue.’
We both strained to see through the rainstorm. Nothing.
‘Are you sure?’ Isabel asked.
‘To be honest, no. I might just be imagining it.’
She squeezed my hand. ‘You’re getting jumpy after what happened last time. Rio isn’t that dangerous, you know.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I said, but nevertheless I did check behind every now and again. I didn’t see anything.
We were meeting Luís at the Rio Yacht Club. The journey took about three-quarters of an hour. The traffic slowed to a crawl. Torrents of water gushed down any small incline, often reaching up to the tops of the struggling cars’ wheels.
It was dark by the time we reached the Yacht Club. Luís was already there, and gave Isabel a huge hug, which she returned warmly. He seemed genuinely happy to see me too, which pleased me. The club was, of course, next to a small marina, and we could just make out the sailing boats, bobbing in the rain-lashed sea. Eventually, the downpour softened to a more recognizable rain, and it was possible to see the buildings of Botafogo across the bay, and the imposing shape of Sugar Loaf mountain, looming high up above us.
I drank the compulsory caipirinhas – I was beginning to realize that no foreigner could avoid them in Brazil – and ate some glorious fish whose name I didn’t quite catch. Luís and Isabel both did a good job of avoiding any difficult subjects, and I didn’t witness a single argument. Isabel seemed happy, very much alive, and she glowed in the attention of her father and me.
‘So, you didn’t want to spend the weekend in São Paulo, Nick?’ Luís asked, with a smile.
‘Isabel didn’t seem very keen on the idea.’
‘Where did you take him?’ he asked Isabel.
‘The Point,’ she said.
‘Ah, very good. Did you like the view, Nick?’
‘Oh,Papai!’
I grinned. ‘One of our poets once said, “Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”’
This Luís seemed to find very funny. Isabel just looked cross.
‘Well, I’m glad you found a few minutes to spend with your old father,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry I’m not staying with you tonight,’ Isabel said, ‘but we’re leaving for the airport tomorrow morning, and I knew you were in Petrópolis today, and we are leaving very early, so I thought it made sense to stay at the hotel with Nick. So I can show him to the airport.’
This explanation was all a bit breathless. It sounded forced to me. I think it did to Luís, to judge by the way he glanced at me. I pretended not to notice.
But then he shrugged. ‘No matter. I quite understand. You often stay at the Copacabana Palace when you’re here on business. It’s just nice to see you for dinner.’
Isabel blushed becomingly and concentrated on her food.
‘I’m very sorry about your Favela Bairro deal,’ Luís said.
‘Yes, I know. The whole scandal was set up by Ricardo. All that stuff linking the drug gangs to the deal was ridiculous. Ricardo just wanted to make sure Bloomfield Weiss didn’t steal the mandate.’
‘I thought it must be something like that. I never believe what Oswaldo’s papers say. Not that I ever read them.’
‘Still, we have another chance. São Paulo are very interested in doing a similar deal.’
‘Good. Well, good luck with that. So you’re going back there tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ said Isabel.
‘Well, remember Nick, in São Paulo you can breathe out but don’t breathe in.’
I laughed. ‘I’ll remember.’
Finally, at twelve, we left. The rain was steady now, and had clearly set in for the night.
‘Would you like a lift back in my car?’ Luís asked.
‘Oh, no,’ Isabel said. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi to meet us from the hotel. It’s probably been waiting for us half the night. We’d better take it.’
Another suspicious glance from Luís, which I ignored.
‘Oh, well, see you soon, my dear.’ He bent down to kiss his daughter. Then he straightened up and shook my hand. I met his eye, which I was relieved to see was still friendly. ‘Nice to see you again, Nick. Please drop in and see me when you are next in Rio.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I will.’
He ran through the rain to his chauffeur-driven car, and we jumped into the taxi.
‘Why didn’t we go with him?’ I asked.
‘I suppose we could have. It’s just I would have felt pretty bad having him drop us off together at the hotel.’
‘I think he suspects something,’ I said.
‘Do you?’ Isabel fell back in the seat. ‘Oh, well, nev
er mind. I think he likes you.’
‘I like him.’
Isabel smiled, and rested her head on my shoulder. ‘I’m so tired.’
With the drink and the fatigue, my eyes stared ahead without focusing properly. The road was empty apart from the car in front, which was driving slowly. Suddenly it stopped.
Our driver swore under his breath, and braked also. He hit the horn. Just then there was movement in the windows all around us. The driver saw it, and hit the button by his shoulder. The central-locking system clicked in all the doors. He slammed the gears into reverse, and there was a crash as he hit something behind us. I turned. Another car had driven up to block our escape. The taxi leaped forward and hit the vehicle in front as the driver tried to shunt out. Then his window shattered in an explosion of broken glass. A gun pointed in, and a voice behind it shouted urgently. The driver took his hands off the wheel and pushed up the lock to his door.
Isabel screamed.
I turned to my door, which was flung open. A gun was thrust in my face. A man in a Balaclava shouted at me in Portuguese. I can still remember his eyes. They were brown, the pupils huge, and they stared in frightened panic. I could see bushy eyebrows beneath the Balaclava, and the remains of a couple of spots between his eyes. The mask was dripping with water. The gun was silver. It was the same style as a Colt .45. The fist that held it was clenched so tight it was shaking. It was a miracle the trigger finger hadn’t pulled already.
This guy was as jumpy as hell.
The shout turned to a scream. I kept perfectly still and stammered, ‘Não entendo.’ The man kept screaming. I felt a kick in my back as Isabel was dragged out of the car, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the gun.
Then he reached into the car and grabbed my jacket, still shouting. I let him pull me out into the rain. He pushed me towards the rearmost car. I could hear Isabel screaming behind me as she was dragged towards the vehicle in front.
Swift panicky hands pushed me down into the well between the back and front seats, but I didn’t fit. Then the front seat lurched forward, and my face was shoved down on to the floor. It smelt of dust and cigarettes. One of them sat in the seat beside me, I heard the car door slam, and felt the cold barrel push into the nape of my neck. It was wet, and drops of water dribbled down my back.
Someone shouted something in Portuguese, and we lurched off. The car screeched round some tight bends, and then seemed to reach straight road. We were moving fast and steadily, in what direction I had no idea.
17
I began to think through what had happened. We’d been kidnapped, that much was obvious. I hoped Isabel was OK. I wondered where they would take us, what they would do with us. If they’d kidnapped us, they would want to keep us alive. Remember that. Help them. Keep them happy.
But who would pay our ransom? Luís would pay Isabel’s. Would Dekker pay mine? God, I hoped so. Ricardo had a reputation of looking after his own. Thank God he had no idea I was about to resign.
How long would the process take? Maybe Isabel would know. I had heard kidnappings were pretty common in Rio, so she probably knew something about them.
I was in a very uncomfortable position, with my back twisted and my face jammed down into the floor. I tried to move, but this prompted a shout and the gun barrel jabbed hard into the back of my neck. So I decided to stay exactly where I was.
Suddenly the car slowed, and turned off whatever road we were on. We were moving more slowly now, stopping and starting. After a few more minutes we began to climb, turning left and right up a steep hillside.
We drove like this for half an hour, or maybe an hour, it was hard to tell. Then we made another turn and the car began to bump and judder. A dirt track. My cheek was driven into the car floor at each jolt. We drove up an even steeper incline, which eventually levelled off. Finally, we came to a stop.
My back and shoulders ached like hell. I tried to move, but the gun jabbed my back again, and I stayed still. Then some black fabric was tied round my eyes, and I couldn’t see.
I heard voices, car doors opening and shutting. A hand grabbed my collar and tugged. Willingly I pulled myself up out of the well, and allowed myself to be dragged from the car. I stood up straight and stretched.
I could see nothing through the blindfold. It had stopped raining. And the air was filled with noise: the sound of crickets, cicadas, frogs, and all kinds of night creatures. It made quite a din.
‘Isabel?’
‘Yes!’
‘Cale a boca!’ screamed a voice in my right ear.
I felt a gun jab my ribs. But at least I knew she was alive and with me.
There was some heated discussion around me. I heard four voices. Rope was tied round my hands until it bit into my wrists. Then I felt a push behind me, and an order in Portuguese that I took to mean ‘Move!’
The ground was wet and muddy underfoot. Soon we were moving up a steep hill along a narrow path. I could tell that because of the vegetation brushing at my ankles. Behind and below I heard the two cars driving off. With the blindfold on I couldn’t protect myself from the branches and tendrils that brushed my face. Pushing through an unknown jungle blindfolded raised all kinds of primeval fears about snakes, and unseen precipices. I tried to move slowly and carefully, but a hard metal object jabbed me in the back whenever I hesitated.
I heard movement ahead and behind. I didn’t call out for Isabel this time. I didn’t want to push my luck.
After an hour or so, the ground began to level off, and the going became much easier. Ten more minutes, and I heard the command ‘Pare!’ and then ‘Stop!’
With relief, I stopped. I stood up straight, and the blindfold was removed.
We were in a very small clearing in a forest. It was still night, but after the blindfold it almost seemed like daylight. A canvas tent had been rigged up between three trees, and there was another, ten yards away from it. I could see Isabel, and two men. Both of them wore Balaclava-type masks. The one who had taken off my blindfold was standing a few feet away, with the gun pointed straight at me. Dark suspicious eyes peered at me through the mask. The other man was taking off Isabel’s blindfold.
She looked round for me and caught my eye. She seemed OK, although when I looked closer, what I thought was a shadow turned out to be a bruise on her cheek. The bastards had hit her.
One man pulled out some handcuffs and a chain from a sack on the ground, while the other man covered us with the gun. Without blindfolds, we had a few seconds of relative freedom before being chained to something, although of course our hands were still tied. And a gun was pointing at us.
Isabel must have seen the opportunity, because as the man stood up with the handcuffs, she kicked him hard in the groin.
The other man immediately jerked his gun towards Isabel.
‘No!’ I shouted, and leaped at him.
He hesitated before pulling the trigger. Perhaps he didn’t want to shoot a woman in cold blood, I don’t know. I chopped down hard on his gun arm, and he dropped the weapon. His hands were nearer to it than mine, and I just managed to kick it into the undergrowth, before he could reach it.
‘Run!’ I shouted to Isabel.
There were two paths out of the clearing, one leading in from the way we came, and the other heading downhill on the opposite side. Isabel chose that path, and I followed her. One of our captors was still clasping his groin, moaning, and the other was scrabbling about in the undergrowth for the gun.
The path led sharply downhill, and we half slid, half ran down it. It was difficult keeping balance with our hands tied, and we both kept falling, and landing awkwardly. I rolled, hopped and jumped down the hill, but Isabel was slower. I paused to wait for her. She tumbled down a steep slope towards me, but was suddenly pulled up short. She had snagged her tied hands in a bush. I scrambled up the hill to help her.
There was a crashing above us as one of the men slid down the hill. It was the one Isabel had kicked in the groin; he didn’t appear to have a gun
.
Isabel’s hands were wedged tight into the branches of the bush. The rope and wood were slippery with the wet, and I couldn’t free them.
‘Run, Nick!’ she shouted.
I took no notice, and scrabbled frantically at the rope.
‘Nick. Run! Leave me!’
I stood up to see one of our captors only a few feet above us. Then I heard a shout from his friend behind him, and the sharp crack of a pistol.
I glanced at Isabel. Her eyes pleaded with me to run. Should I stay with her? Would I be better able to free her if I was with her or if I escaped?
God only knew.
‘For God’s sake, go!’ she screamed.
I ran.
I tumbled further down the path, and glanced back. I could see both men had stopped by the bush where Isabel had snagged her hands. I prayed she’d be all right.
I ran on, scratching myself on branches and stones, following the faint path downwards. After about ten minutes I paused to listen.
I couldn’t hear anything above the nocturnal din of the forest. I wasn’t being followed. I slumped down by a tree trunk and caught my breath.
Above me, tall trees obscured the night sky, vines dangling down from their thin branches. The floor of the forest was dark, murky and damp, with all kinds of mysterious vegetation crammed thickly together. There was no question of venturing off the path. I couldn’t go far with my hands tied like this. But if I followed the path to its end, perhaps where it spilled out on to a road, wouldn’t they just be waiting for me? I had no choice. I had to press on before they got themselves organized.
I was relieved to see that the path continued downhill. I knew that if you became lost walking in the Scottish Highlands, the thing to do was head downhill. Eventually you would reach civilization that way. The theory should hold in the Brazilian forest, shouldn’t it?
I was pretty sure we must be in the Tijuca forest, a swath of Atlantic rain-forest to the west of Rio. It couldn’t be that big. I must hit a settlement at some point. Mustn’t I?
After about half an hour, I came to a gully. It was strewn with huge looming boulders, through which ran a stream. The rocks were the product of some earlier flood. No wonder there were powerful floods with rains like those I had witnessed the evening before. That was just what I needed now, a flash flood.
The Marketmaker Page 18
