Forever (70 page)

Rio de Janeiro • Ilha da Borboleta

'I'll miss you,' Eduardo said, kissing her
on the sidewalk while the chauffeur popped open the trunk and
handed the doorman her weekend bags. 'I hope you have a good flight
to Si'tto da Veiga.' He gave her another kiss on the mouth, and
climbed back inside the Mercedes, and shut the door and waved.

She watched the big car nose out of the
semi-circular drive and merge into the traffic on the Avenida
Atlantica.

When she got upstairs, Barbie opened the
front door and hugged her like a long-lost friend. 'Girl!' she
exclaimed, 'are you ever a sight for sore eyes! I was going crazy
here without having anyone to speak English with!'

'Now, now,' Stephanie laughed, 'you'd better
not let Waldo hear that.'

As if on cue, from outside on the terrace
came Waldo's squawking: 'Steph! Steph! I love you, Steph!'

'God, but does that bird's shrieking ever
travel! Did you know, you can hear him all the way down on the
streetV Barbie sighed dramatically. 'Doesn't he ever shut up?'

'Never!' Stephanie replied cheerfully, and
hurried into the living room and out to the terrace. Yes, she
thought, it feels damn good to be back - even if it's only for a
night!

Waldo was climbing excitedly all around the
inside of the big cage, and when he saw her, he hung there
upside-down, blurting, 'I love you, Steph! Hi! Hi! Waldo wants a
crack-ER!'

Stephanie made the cooing sounds which Waldo
loved to hear and stroked his head gently with the tip of an index
finger. He immediately settled down, half closing his eyes and
ruffling his chest feathers, the parrot equivalent of purring like
a cat.

Barbie's voice drifted down from above.
'Now, why isn't he sweet and quiet like that with me?'

Stephanie glanced up at the stepped-back
bedroom terrace. 'That's because you haven't learned how to talk to
him yet, that's all.' Stephanie smiled at Waldo. 'Right, Big
Guy?'

'Oh, by the way,' Barbie said. 'Lia Cardoso
called yesterday to tell me what you'd be needing for your trip to
the Amazon. You won't be needing much. I already packed everything
she suggested in the one suitcase. I left it open for you to tuck
any odds and ends into.'

'Thank you,' Stephanie said, marvelling at
how the efficient Astrid had been replaced by the just-as-efficient
Barbie. Two paragon housekeepers in a row seemed almost too good to
be true.

Barbie had one last question. 'Are you gonna
go out for dinner, or you wanna eat in tonight?'

'In,' Stephanie replied without hesitation.
'I want to make it an early night.'

'How does vodka chicken and mashed potatoes
sound? Say in an hour and a half?'

Vodka chicken?

'That sounds just fine,' Stephanie said
faintly. At least, she thought, it gives me plenty of time to go to
the Teleij and call Uncle Sammy before we. . . taste. . . what was
it? Vodka chicken?

After giving the woman behind the desk
Sammy's number in New York, Stephanie was directed to booth number
seven. Once there, she picked up the telephone receiver and
waited.

'
Hel
- lo!'

'Uncle Sammy?' Stephanie said.

'Girlie!' he exclaimed in pure delight,
before his voice became reproachful. 'Do you realise how long it's
been since you last checked in with your poor old Uncle Sammy?'

Stephanie laughed. 'Poor old Uncle Sammy
indeed! It has only been a few days,' she said.

'Humpf! More than a month is what it feels
like to me. But tell me, how is your health?'

'Mine is fine. And yours?'

He sighed.
'Comme ci, comme ca
- when
one gets to be my age, one thanks God for every little ache and
pain, as they prove one is still marginally alive, if not
necessarily kicking. So tell me, my angel, what mischief have you
been up to since we talked last?'

Stephanie gave him a complete rundown of her
week-end, and he digested it in silence.

'I don't like the sound of it,' he said once
she had finished. 'Why would the sweet old lady suddenly try to
warn you off? If I understand correctly, you previously told me
that she had taken quite a shine to you.'

'Yes, but don't you see? Maybe that's why
she took it upon herself to warn me,' Stephanie replied. 'For my
own good.'

He thought that over for a moment.
'Perhaps,' he conceded. 'But I still don't like it, my darling. If
you ask me, which I know you aren't, so I will have to tell you
anyway, I think you should pack your bags and split.'

'Uncle Sammy!' she protested. 'You know I
can't do that! Not when I'm this close -'

'Girlie, Girlie: he said mournfully. 'I wish
you would listen to reason.'

'I'd like to, Uncle Sammy, really I would!
But right now I've got to follow my gut instincts.'

'Her gut instincts! So now, heaven help us,
she listens to her gut instincts instead of to her poor old Uncle
Sammy! What has the youth of this world come to?'

She had to smile. ' 'Bye, Uncle Sammy,' she
said gently. 'I'll call you again next week. Kiss kiss.'

'Gir -'

'Byeeeee . . .'

Stephanie quickly hung up.

The man who had followed her on foot from
her building to the Telerj looked about forty and was a sharp
dresser. He had on a single-breasted, beige-and-cream woven linen
suit from Armani, a tan linen shirt and a blue silk tie. He easily
had two thousand dollars on his back - not counting the big gold
Rolex on his wrist.

He was over six feet tall with virile good
looks. Jet hair, black eyebrows, penetrating dark eyes, hollow
cheekbones, and a tan to die for. His grooming almost, but not
quite, hid the hardness of his face.

He had the aura of a man only a fool would
think of crossing

While Stephanie made her call, he waited
just inside the Telerj, ostensibly reading a folded-over
Jornal
do Brasil
. But the moment she left, he tossed the paper aside
and approached the operator who'd placed her call.

'
Policia
,' he said, snapping open a
leather wallet to display his badge.'
Inspetor
da Silva.'

If the female operator wondered how a public
servant could afford such expensive clothes, she gave no
indication. Brazil's police were notorious for receiving payoffs
and being involved in all sorts of racketeering.

'The woman who just left booth number
seven,' he said. 'Who did she call?'

The operator knew better than to withhold
the information. She consulted her records and read off the number,
which he duly wrote down in an ostrich-covered notebook with a gold
pen.

'I need to use a telephone,' he said.
'Official business.'

'I'll need the number you wish to call.'

He gave it to her. It was long distance, but
within the State of Rio de Janeiro.

'Booth number seven,' she said.

The same one Ms Williams had used. He smiled
wryly. How appropriate, he thought.

In his command centre on Ilha da Borboleta,
Colonel Valerio lounged back in his swivel chair, his boots on his
desk.

'Thank you,
Inspetor
,' he was saying,
staring at an eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy of Monica
Williams's face. "ITie money will be delivered to you via our usual
channels.'

'Obrigado
, Colonel.'

Colonel Valerio hung up and smiled.

The Telerj: your third and final mistake, Ms
Williams.

He snapped his fingers, and the technician
on duty jumped up from where he was sitting, hurried over to the
desk, and snapped to attention, barking, 'Sir!'

Colonel Valerio tossed him the photo. 'Feed
this face into the computer and have it change her hair colour and
hair style. I want a printout of every conceivable
combination.'

'Sir! The technician hurried off.

Colonel Valerio lowered his feet from the
desk and picked up the notepad on which he'd jotted down the phone
number which Monica Williams had called.

New York City, he thought. How convenient.
Just so happens one of-my best ex-operatives opened a private
detective agency there.

Twenty minutes later, he had the man on the
phone. 'Listen, old buddy, I've got a job for you. I'm going to fax
you a stack of computer-generated mug shots of a woman in various
disguises.

She goes by the name of Monica Williams, but
I think it's an alias. She's been calling this number in Manhattan
... got a pen and paper handy? Okay. It's area code 212 . . .'

Stephanie was just letting herself in the
door when the telephone rang. 'I'll get it, Barbie,' she called
out, and snatched up the foyer extension. 'Hello?' she said
breathlessly.

The silence hummed.

'Hello? Hello?' she said again, feeling the
first stirrings of fear, is anybody there?'

'Die!' a voice suddenly hissed into her
ear.

'Who is this?' she whispered.

'Die!' the voice hissed. 'Die, die die!'

She slammed down the receiver and recoiled.
Her hands were shaking and her heart was thundering. She took a
series of deep breaths to try and calm herself. Maybe Uncle Sammy
was right, she thought. Maybe I should pack my bags and take the
next flight out:

At that moment, Barbie came bustling out
from the kitchen. Wiping her hands on her apron, she announced
brightly, 'Dinner's ready! Get set for the best chicken south of
the equator!'

Rio de Janeiro • Si'tto da Veiga, Brazil • New York
City

The Grumman Gulfstream IV, Stephanie thought
to herself as her driver pulled the car up beside it, trod the fine
line between good taste and bad quite nicely; it was showy but not
too showy; large but not huge. It didn't exactly whisper, but it
didn't shout, either.

An attractive cabin attendant waited at the
top of the fold-down steps. 'Bom dia, Ms Williams,' she greeted,
stepping aside. 'Welcome aboard. My name is Gilda.'

'Bom dia
.' Stephanie returned with a
smile.

Inside, the jet was plush, plush, plush. All
creamy leather, olive ashwood, gleaming brass. And wide,
hedonistically wide window seats facing each other across rounded
macassar tables.

'Why don't you sit up front here?' Gilda
suggested. 'You will get less engine noise that way, and be less
distracted. We will take off the instant the ambulances
arrive.'

'Ambulances!' exclaimed Stephanie, looking
startled.

'Didn't you know?'

'Didn't I know what?'

'That this is a Fairy Godmother flight!'
Seeing Stephanie's puzzled expression, Gilda explained. 'This
aircraft is in the Fairy Godmother Programme. It works like this.
When we know we are going to fly a certain route and we have seats
available, we call up a central number and give them our flight
plan. They then check their computers to see if there is a child in
medical need who has to be flown to a hospital that we can take
along. If there is, the child and its guardians fly there for
free.'

'Why, that's wonderful!' Stephanie
exclaimed.

'Yes.' Gilda smiled. 'We are quite proud of
being part of the Fairy Godmother Programme.'

'Then there's a medical facility at Sitto da
Veiga, I take it?'

Gilda nodded. 'Quite a good one, from what I
am told.'

'You wouldn't happen to know who started the
Fairy Godmother Programme, would you?'

'Why, yes. It's run by CRY. You know -
Children's Relief Year-Round? Any child who is not infected with a
highly communicable disease and who requires urgent medical
transportation is eligible for help under this programme.' Glancing
out of the window, she saw three ambulances pulling up. 'There they
are now. We have three today. If you will excuse me?'

Stephanie looked out through the large round
window and watched. From the first ambulance climbed a woman with a
pinched face. She was holding a beautiful little girl clutching a
doll. She appeared to be around three years old. From the second
came a young couple with a slightly older boy on a stretcher. He
was hooked up to an IV. And from the third, a uniformed nurse
carried a Lucite box containing a terribly emaciated newborn
baby.

In no time at all, Gilda had them inside and
settled and then the jet taxied to its takeoff position, hurtled
down the runway, and climbed steeply up through the clouds like a
silver bird on a mission. Stephanie couldn't help but feel oddly
disquieted, as if something wasn't quite right. And then she knew
what it was.

Normally, the presence of children meant
laughter and shouting and playing and crying. But these children
were uncharacteristically subdued, abnormally quiet.

Their silence struck a chord deep inside
her. Suffer the little children, she thought. And these children
are suffering. Terribly . . .

After the seatbelt sign went off, she got up
and went aft to visit them. The little boy just lay there, so weak
all he could do was stare. The baby, obviously a newborn, seemed
awfully small. And the little girl with the doll smiled bravely at
her.

'Lourdes esta doente
,' she declared,
holding up her doll for Stephanie's inspection.
'Esta de cabega
quebrada
.'

'What is she saying?' Stephanie asked
Gilda.

'Rosa says her doll, Lourdes, is ill. That
she has a broken head.'

Stephanie smiled vacantly.

'You see, the child needs brain surgery, and
she . . .' Gilda looked quickly away to hide the tears in her
eyes.

Stephanie said, 'She's transferring her
illness to the doll!'

Gilda nodded.