The market maker (35 page)

"How long have we got?"

"One week. He's holding the auction next Wednesday"

"Only a week!" I exclaimed. Somehow I had hoped we might get a month. Although with the progress we were making in finding Isabel, a month or a week wouldn't make any difference.

Luis sighed. "He says he needs to have a deal in the bag before the end of the month. The thirtieth of June is a reporting date for the regulators. There will be no hiding from those losses then."'

''Can you mount a bid in a week?" I asked.

"I think so. The market seems to have stabilized, so KBN are more confident in taking on the bond portfolio. We've devised a structure for the transaction that will give them some nice profits if Dekker does well once we've bought it. And I've offered Lord Kerton a seat on the board."

"I bet he liked that."

" I think he did. We got along quite well. How are you doing?"

"Nothing yet."

"Nothing!" Luis was disappointed, but his voice held a tinge of anger too.

"Sorry, Luis. We're trying. No one seems to know anything."

"Merdal" he muttered.

"Something will turn up," I said.

"I hope so, Nick. I really hope so."

And it did. The next day. Cordelia called to say that one of her kids had discovered something. He would agree to talk to us, but it had to be in the shelter.

Nelson drove me to \h.efavela. It was a gray day, and it had rained earlier. We crawled through the damp streets pushing along with the traffic. The tunnels through the mountains formed periodic bottlenecks, which added to the congestion.

At last we made it to the bottom of the hill below the favela where Cordelia worked. We set off up the same path that Isabel and I had climbed before. It had been a hot day then; it was damp and humid now. The air was

heavy with the smell of wet garbage. There were fewer people outside, but kids and young men stared at Nelson and me as we made our slow way up the hill. I felt exposed on that hillside, my back unprotected and vulnerable, a perfect target. Any moment I expected to hear the crack of a gunshot.

Finally we made it to the plateau with the little church and the shelter. The favela brooded beneath us in the gray moist air. We knocked on the door, and Cordelia met us.

"Follow me," she said and led us to a small storeroom, packed high with boxes of school materials and dried food. Sitting on a box was a thin boy of about twelve. I recognized him immediately. Euclides.

"Hallo, meester," he said with a nervous smile.

"Hallo, Euclides."

Cordelia and Nelson sat on the two chairs, and I squatted on the floor. Cordelia introduced Nelson to Euclides, who looked at him with extreme suspicion. He no doubt recognized an ex-policeman when he saw one.

Nelson's voice was firm but kind as he asked Euclides some questions. The boy responded in tough monosyllables, only expanding on his answers when coaxed by Cordelia. Although I couldn't understand a word of what was said, I could see the relationship between the three people. Euclides distrusted Nelson, but he thought the world of Cordelia, although he tried to hide it. The odd glances toward her for approval, and the way he responded to her gentle encouragement, gave his affection away. But the eyes were still hard. This kid understood violence.

"What's he say?" I asked during a pause.

"He says that he knows one of the kids who was in the group that attacked you. It was all planned. There's

a man by the name of O Borboleta who organized it. He runs a gang in one of the favelas near here."

"Have you heard of him?"

"No. But O Borboleta means 'The Butterfly' "

"Why's he called that?"

Nelson turned to Euclides and rattled off a question, which the boy answered.

"He was a soccer player. Very skillful apparently. No one could catch him."

"That could be Zico," I said.

Nelson thought. "Could be. But the real Zico had a lot of admirers. Any soccer fan could have picked that name. And there are many soccer fans in this country."

"Well, does Euclides know whether this Borboleta is holding Isabel?"

Nelson sighed. "He says he doesn't know anything about Isabel."

"Ask him to find out where she is."

Nelson shrugged, and asked the question. Euclides grunted, ''Nao."

"Ask him why not."

Nelson repeated my question in Portuguese, and Euclides mumbled something. "He says his friend might be able to find out. But Euclides doesn't want to ask too many questions. It would be too dangerous."

"Tell him it's Cordelia's sister. Her only sister. He has to help us find her."

Euclides picked up the urgency in my voice and lifted his eyes toward me. Nelson asked the question. Euclides glanced guiltily at Cordelia and shrugged.

"Does he have a sister?"

"Yes," Cordelia answered. "She's here."

"So ask him," I said.

She asked the question and Euclides nodded.

I asked a string of questions, which I insisted that Nelson translate. ''What's her name?"

"Marta."

"How old is she?"

"Eight."

"Do you love her?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Do you like Cordelia? "

Another pause. "Yes."

"Well if you lost your sister, would you do anything you could to help her?"

The boy didn't answer. He looked closely at me. I held his brown eyes. They carried so much for a child of twelve. Bravado, fear, insecurity, but also, somewhere,

warmth.

"Cordelia has saved many children's lives who have come here. Now you can save her sister."

He still didn't answer. But I could see he was wavering.

Then Nelson bent down and took something out of a holster strapped to his ankle. It was a small revolver. The metal gleamed in the dim light of the storeroom. He handed it to Euclides. Cordelia and I looked on, shocked.

The twelve-year-old took the gim and stuffed it into his trouser belt. "OK," he said. "I'll find her for you."

Friday disappeared, and the weekend dragged on. Luis remained in London, supported by reinforcements from Banco Horizonte. We didn't hear from Euclides.

We did, however, hear from Zico. I was alone in the apartment when he called.

"Hallo?" I said.

"Who is that?" the deep voice growled.

"Nick Elliot. Luis is in London." Luis had warned

Zico that I might answer the phone while he was away. Zico, it seemed, spoke some English.

"OK. Is the takeover stopped?" His English was slow and precise, as though he had rehearsed the sentence. His accent was strong. Stopped became stop-ped.

"Not yet," I said. "But Banco Horizonte is still making a bid. We hope to delay things so that Bloomfield Weiss will give up."

"I see. Well, I hope you succeed. Because when someone take over Dekker, Isabel dies. Anyone, you understand? Bloomfield Weiss or Banco Horizonte."

"I understand," I said.

The phone went dead.

I put my head in my hands. Next Wednesday only one of two things would occur. Either Lord Kerton would sell to Bloomfield Weiss, or he would seU to Banco Horizonte. Neither would satisfy Zico.

I shuddered. What was Euclides doing?

Cordelia and her husband had arrived at the apartment on Friday night. They said they would spend much of the weekend with me to keep me company, and to stay near Luis's phone. Fernando brought a copy of Dr. Zhivago in Russian with him, which he had acquired through a friend from the university. I accepted it thankfully. I had read it before, but I could read it again, and I was able to lose myself in it for a half hour at a time, before worry about Isabel brought me back to the present.

"Do you think Euclides just took the gun and ran?" I asked Cordelia during a subdued supper.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't think so. He's a brave boy, and he's proud of his courage. A lot of these kids are."

"People don't seem to care so much about death here," I said.

"You're right. Life is cheap here. Do you know what train surfing is?"

"No."

"It's a big sport for the street children. They leap on trains as they are moving, and climb onto the roofs. The most dangerous part is when the trains go through tunnels. The kids compete with each other to see who is the last to jump off. Dozens die every year doing this. Eu-clides has quite a reputation as a train surfer."

"But will he find Isabel?"

"I think heTl try to look for her for me."

"He's very attached to you."

Cordelia's shoulders sagged. "Yes. So he takes a gun and he risks his life with people who would kill him if they knew what he was doing. He'll use that gun one day, you know."

Fernando put his hand on hers. "You had to give him the gun, minha querida. It is not like the normal world. In the favelas you have to do things for your family that you would not do outside. You know that. You've seen that."

"Yes, I've seen others resort to guns and violence," Cordelia muttered. "But I never believed I would."

After supper, as we drank caipirinhas on the balcony, Cordelia watched me, smiling. It was a bit like her sister's smile, though stronger, more self-confident. But still a reminder of Isabel. It was nice.

"It's funny finally to meet one of Isabel's boyfriends," she said.

"Does she keep them well hidden?"

"She claims there aren't any. Or none since Marcelo anyway."

"That's what she told me." I decided not to mention Ricardo. "What was this Marcelo like?"

"Good-looking. I mean, really good-looking. But he

knew it." Cordelia wrinkled her nose. ''Isabel was completely gone on him. And I think when he was with her, he was in love with her. But then when she went to the U.S., his attention wandered. I knew it would. Isabel took it badly. I think it's good they never got married."

I agreed with that. "Anyway, I don't know if I qualify," I said.

"As a boyfriend?" Cordelia's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure you do, if she's got any sense. And Isabel has sense."

"We'll see."

We talked a lot that weekend, Fernando, Cordelia, and me. I was really beginning to feel part of the Pereira family. Yet Cordelia's words had both encouraged and disquieted me. I sometimes felt I hardly knew Isabel herself. She had already spent more time in captivity than I had known her outside it. If we did get her out alive, would our relationship ever come to anything? Logically I couldn't be sure. But from what I had seen of her, and the way we were together, I had to believe it would amount to something. She had to live so that I could find out.

By Sunday there was still no news from Euclides. We only had three more days.

Cordelia went to the shelter early on Monday morning. She phoned me at the apartment soon after she arrived. Euclides was there, waiting for her. He had found Isabel!

Once more Nelson and I made our way up to the shelter. We met Euclides in the same room as before. This time he was much more talkative, his eyes shining from his adventure. His friend had not known where Isabel was held, but he did know a couple of her captors, and had shown Euclides where they parked their

pickup truck, which was always full of junk. On Sunday, Euclides had hidden in the back, and had been driven up to the hills behind Rio. The truck had eventually passed through a village and up a dirt track to a deserted farmhouse. Euclides had taken note of the name of the village. Fortunately, he hadn't been discovered, although if he had been, he said he had a story ready about how he was trying to hitch a lift out of town. It seemed to me he had taken an absurd risk, but I was very glad he had.

The name of the village w^as Sao Jose.

Euclides agreed to show us the place. We went in Nelson's car, and he stopped on the way to buy a baseball cap for me so that my pale English features would be partly obscured in the car. We drove for an hour and a half northward, through a range of steep green hills of pasture and forest, before coming to the village of Sao Jose.

It was a collection of white-painted houses with orange rooftops and bright blue doors, nestled at the head of a valley. Sheep grazed meadows on either side. Euclides led us out of the village and over a bridge and then told us to stop. A poorly paved road branched off to the right and wound up the hillside, through the sheep pasture. It passed two small farms and seemed to peter out near the top of the hill, at a single small white building.

He pointed to it. "La," he said.

We drove back to Rio in heated discussion.

"We have to go to the police," said Nelson. ''We have no choice. It's Monday today. The final bid for Dekker Ward will be decided on Wednesday. We must free her before then."

"But you know what happened last time," I

protested. "The kidnappers were tipped off! Isabel was almost killed. They will definitely kill her this time."

"There's a risk. I know there's a risk. But the Rio police have a lot of experience."

"Oh, come on. I bet they'll burst in, guns blazing, shoot all the kidnappers, and hope that Isabel is the only one left alive."

"I tell you, Nick, it can work. If they have the element of surprise."

"But they won't, will they? Some policeman will tip the kidnappers off."

"I'll talk to Da Silva. We won't tell the police who it is we're freeing until the last moment. There are a dozen kidnap hostages hidden somewhere in Rio today. If there is a policeman passing on information, he won't know which one we are targeting until it's too late."

We drove on in silence, Euclides in the back, listening closely to the argument even though he didn't understand it.

"Look," said Nelson. "I know how you feel. But if we leave Isabel where she is, she'll probably be killed. If the police go in to get her, she has a better chance of survival. It's as simple as that. We'll talk to Luis when we get back, and then I'll phone Da Silva."

I didn't reply. I knew he was right. Either way there was a good chance that Isabel would die. I couldn't avoid that. All I could do was watch while Luis made the most logical decision: send in the police.

Of course, this had been implicit the whole time we had been looking for Isabel. The unspoken assumption was that we would get her out once we found her. But then the idea of finding her had given us a glimmer of hope. Now that we knew where she was, and a rescue attempt seemed inevitable, all the risks that that involved suddenly became much more apparent.