Blue Labyrinth

34

In a dun-colored room on the top floor of the U.S. consulate in Rio de Janeiro, Special Agent Pendergast paced restlessly. The room was small and spartan, containing only a single desk, a few chairs, and the obligatory photos of the president, vice president, and secretary of state, all lined up neatly on one of the walls. The air conditioner wheezed and shuddered in the window. The flight from New York, and the rushed arrangements that made it possible, had tired him, and now and then he paused to grasp the back of a chair and take a few deep breaths. Then he would resume his pacing, occasionally glancing out the room’s single window, which looked down upon a hillside crowded with uncountable ramshackle structures, their roofs an identical beige but the walls a riot of conflicting colors, bright in the morning sun. Beyond lay the glittering waters of Guanabara Bay and, beyond that, Sugarloaf.

The door opened and two figures walked in. The first was the man he recognized as the CIA agent from Sector Y, wearing a muted business suit. He was accompanied by a shorter, heavyset man wearing a uniform sporting a variety of epaulets, badges, and medals.

The CIA agent gave no appearance of ever having met Pendergast before. He walked up to him, hand extended. “I’m Charles Smith, assistant to the consul-general, and this is Colonel Azevedo of ABIN, the Brazilian Intelligence Agency.”

Pendergast shook both their hands, then the men all took seats. Pendergast had not offered his own credentials. He apparently did not need to. He observed Smith glancing over the desktop as if he was unfamiliar with it. He may well have been; he wondered how long ago the man had taken this undercover assignment.

“Being somewhat familiar with your situation,” Smith said, “I asked Colonel Azevedo to kindly put himself at our disposal.”

Pendergast nodded his thanks. “I am here,” Pendergast told them, “concerning Operation Wildfire.”

“Of course,” Smith said. “Perhaps you might fill in Colonel Azevedo on the details.”

Pendergast turned to the colonel. “The purpose of Operation Wildfire was to use both American and foreign assets to watch for any sign of the reemergence of a person of interest to Langley — and to myself personally — who disappeared in the Brazilian jungle eighteen months ago.”

Azevedo nodded.

“The murdered corpse of this same person appeared two weeks ago on my doorstep in New York. A message had been sent. I’m here to find out who sent the message, why it was sent, and what the message is.”

Azevedo looked surprised; Smith did not.

“This man flew from Rio to New York, using a false passport issued by Brazil, on June fourth,” Pendergast continued. “He was using the name of Tapanes Landberg. Is that name familiar to you, Colonel?”

The man indicated it was not.

“I need to trace his movements here over the last year and a half.” Pendergast passed the back of a hand across his forehead. “Many man-hours, and a great detail of classified technology, went into the search for this person. And yet Operation Wildfire scored no hits — not one. How is such a thing possible? How could this man have evaded detection here in Brazil over the course of eighteen months — or at least for the time he was here?”

Colonel Azevedo finally spoke. “Such a thing is possible.” Considering his brawn, the man’s voice was mild, almost soft, and he spoke perfect, almost accent-less English. “If we assume this man has been in Brazil — a likely possibility, given what you say — there are only two places he could have hidden: the jungle… or a favela.”

“Favela,” Pendergast repeated.

“Yes, Senhor Pendergast. You have heard of them? They are one of our great social problems. Or rather, social plagues. Fortified slums, run by drug dealers and sealed off from the rest of the city. They pirate water and electricity from the grid, make their own laws, enforce their own iron discipline, protect their borders, kill rival gang members, oppress their occupants. They are like corrupt, petty fiefdoms, states within a state. In a favela, there are no police, no security cameras. A man who needed to could disappear in there — and many men have. Until a few years ago, there were countless favelas scattered around Rio. But now, with the Olympics coming, the government has begun to act. BOPE and the Unidade de Polícia Pacificadora have begun invading the favelas, and — one by one — are pacifying them. This work will continue until all the favelas have been dealt with.” Azevedo paused. “All but one, that is — one that neither the military nor the UPP will touch. It is named Cidade dos Anjos — City of Angels.”

“And why will it receive special treatment?”

The colonel smiled grimly “It is the largest, most violent, and most powerful of all the favelas. The drug lords who lead it are ruthless and fearless. More to the point: the year before last, they invaded a military base and made off with thousands of weapons and ammunition. Fifty-caliber machine guns, grenades, RPGs, mortars, rocket launchers — even surface-to-air missiles.”

Pendergast frowned. “That would seem all the more reason to clear it out.”

“You are looking on the situation as an outsider. The favelas only make war on each other — not on the general populace. To invade the Cidade dos Anjos now would be a bloody, bloody business, with great loss of life to our military and police. No other favela will challenge them. And in time, all the other favelas will be gone. So why disturb the natural order of things? Better the enemy that you know than the enemy you don’t.”

“This person of interest vanished into the jungle eighteen months ago,” Pendergast said. “But I doubt he would have stayed there long.”

“Well then, Mr. Pendergast,” the CIA agent said. “It appears we have one possible answer to how your Mr. Tapanes Landberg maintained his invisibility.” This was followed by a faint smile.

Pendergast rose from his chair. “Thank you both.”

Colonel Azevedo looked at him appraisingly. “Senhor Pendergast, I fear to speculate what your next move will be.”

“My diplomatic brief disallows me from accompanying you,” the CIA agent said.

To this, Pendergast simply nodded, then turned toward the door.

“If it were any other place, we would assign you a military escort,” the colonel said. “But not if you go in there. All I can offer you is advice: settle your affairs before you enter.”