The Marketmaker

28

We drove up a steep, winding road, Luís’s car shuddering over the cobbles. On either side, behind wrought-iron gates and walls dripping with flowers and greenery, stood colonial mansions, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Behind us stretched Guanabara Bay, above us hovered the statue of Christ, brushed by wisps of cloud.

‘These houses must have cost a bit,’ I said.

‘You’re right,’ said Luís. ‘Santa Teresa is one of the most expensive areas of Rio. It’s where the ambassadors’ residences used to be when Rio was the capital of Brazil. Francisco must have done well for himself.’

There were four of us, Luís, his driver, Nelson and me. Nelson’s associate had told us Francisco was at home, so we had driven straight there. We passed a shabby Toyota parked at the corner of a side-road, and Nelson got out to join his friend. His anonymity was important to him professionally, so he didn’t want to meet Francisco face to face.

Fifty yards further along the road, we pulled up outside some iron gates. Luís’s driver spoke into an intercom in the wall. We were told to wait.

It took several minutes. An old yellow tram clattered down the road behind us, brown bodies spilling out from all sides.

Finally, the intercom crackled, a motor whirred and the gates swung open. We drove into a walled courtyard in front of a newly painted white colonial house with tall, elegant windows and ornate trimmings. As we emerged from the cool of the air-conditioned car into the warmth of the afternoon, I was almost overwhelmed by the scent of the blossom all around us, purple, blue, orange and white flowers draped over the walls and urns. Delicate blue and black butterflies skipped and danced beside our feet.

A butler opened the door and ushered us into a hallway, cool once again. As we followed him to a door at the far end, a boy of about seventeen scurried down the stairs, and rushed past us out of the house, giving us barely a glance. He was tall, gangly, and dressed designer-casual.

We entered a large, airy sitting room. In one half of the room was a big dark-wood desk, and some of the paraphernalia of modern office technology, and in the other was a suite of sofas and chairs. Behind them was a small garden and a stunning view over the city to the bay.

A moment after the butler disappeared with our coffee requests, Francisco entered. He and Luís spoke quickly in Portuguese. I was impressed by Luís. He had controlled his anger completely. He was relaxed and urbane, as though this were simply a social visit with an old friend. As they exchanged pleasantries I was unable to understand, I watched Francisco. He was about forty, a bit below average height, bald and heavy. I could see the family resemblance to Luciana. But the genes that had given her a voluptuous figure had made him merely fat. His eyes were almost black, like hers, and they were hard. He had her flashing white smile, but between his thin lips it looked more like a snarl.

I heard my name and the words ‘Dekker Ward’, as Luís nodded towards me.

‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Francisco in good English. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Luís and I sat down next to each other on a low sofa. Francisco sat opposite. ‘How can I help you?’ he asked, opening his hands in a friendly gesture.

‘Well, Francisco, my daughter has been kidnapped.’ Luís managed to say this as casually as if he were telling him Isabel had caught a cold.

Francisco put on an expression of polite shock. ‘Oh, no! That is terrible. One hears of these things in Rio, of course, but to have it happen to you is horrible. Have you heard from the kidnappers?’

Certainly, I had expected Francisco to feign astonishment, but it was all I could do to fight back the anger when I saw his response. He wasn’t a good actor. I knew then for sure that he had organized Isabel’s kidnap.

Luís kept his cool. ‘Yes, we have, as a matter of fact. Indeed they made a rather unusual demand.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yes. They wanted Nick here to try to prevent the takeover of Dekker Ward by an American investment bank. Nick had instigated the takeover, and I suppose the kidnappers thought he might be able to stop it.’

‘How extraordinary.’

‘Yes, it is strange, isn’t it? But there’s nothing Nick can do. The American investment bank won’t listen to him. So we have another idea.’

‘I don’t see what all this has to do with me,’ said Francisco. But he was listening.

Luís ignored his interruption and continued. ‘As you know, I run Banco Horizonte. We intend to put in an offer today for Dekker Ward. You see, Dekker is about to go bankrupt. If my bank were to take it over, we would ensure that any investors or depositors were protected. I don’t just mean that they would get their money back, but that their identity would remain confidential, should there be an investigation. That is, of course, as long as my daughter is released.’

Francisco wore a slight frown, as though he were puzzled at why Luís was telling him all this. But he let Luís continue.

‘So, if Isabel is released, Banco Horizonte will take over Dekker Ward, and shy investors will be protected.’ He stopped and fixed Francisco with a calm gaze.

Francisco shifted in his chair. ‘That is an interesting idea, but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.’

Luís stayed silent, never moving his gaze.

Francisco blundered into the uncomfortable silence, eager to maintain the fiction of a normal conversation. ‘OK, Ricardo Ross is my brother-in-law, of course. But we don’t do business together. I have nothing to do with Dekker Ward. We have different outlooks.’ Francisco leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. ‘Dekker Ward is, you know, a little aggressive for me. I prefer more conservative institutions.’

I was taking a sip of coffee as Francisco said this, and almost choked on it. Francisco ignored me.

Luís stood up. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Francisco. No doubt I will hear from the kidnappers soon as to whether this would be acceptable.’

Francisco stood up. He was clearly confused, not knowing what response was expected of him. In the end he settled for a concerned tone. ‘I still don’t quite understand why you wanted to tell me about this. But I’m very sorry about your daughter, Luís. I hope she is released safely soon.’

‘So do I, Francisco, so do I.’ For the first time there was an edge to Luís’s voice.

As Francisco led us out through the hallway, I paused to ask a question. ‘Oh, by the way, Senhor Aragão, was that your son I saw earlier?’

‘Yes. Francisco filho. He’s in his last year at high school.’

‘Ah.’ I smiled, and Luís and I left Francisco a truly puzzled man.

‘He’s definitely got Isabel,’ I said, as soon as the car was safely out of sight of Francisco’s property, and we had picked up Nelson.

‘Yes, he has,’ growled Luís. ‘It was all I could do not to strangle the man. Sitting there, smiling like that, when he has my daughter!’

‘Do you think he’ll go for it?’

‘I hope so. He was certainly listening. But who knows if he is really the one calling the shots? Perhaps it’s up to the Ross brothers. They wouldn’t want Dekker taken over by Banco Horizonte, even with guarantees of anonymity for investors.’

‘Although Francisco might act unilaterally if he thinks that’s the best hope to protect himself,’ Nelson said. ‘I mean, release Isabel, let you take over Dekker, take his money and run.’

‘That’s what we have to hope,’ said Luís. ‘I’d love to turn him in to the authorities,’ he muttered.

So would I. And I was beginning to realize that this was the true weakness of my plan, although I hadn’t mentioned it to Luís. Francisco would have to rely essentially on Luís’s good faith not to turn over Dekker account records to the authorities if Isabel was released. Perhaps he would judge he was better off forcing us to find a way to delay and then overturn the takeover. And if Dekker was taken over, and he didn’t trust us, why keep Isabel alive? Francisco looked as if he wouldn’t lose sleep over killing her.

Luís’s driver dropped him off at the bank, and took Nelson and me back to the apartment. Luís returned after a couple of hours. We were all waiting for him.

‘Well, I spoke to Lord Kerton,’ he said. ‘He says that he might entertain our bid. But he wants to see me in person, plus a senior representative from KBN, on Wednesday, so that he can decide whether to take us seriously.’

‘So are you going?’ asked Cordelia.

Luís sighed. ‘I’ll have to. I’d like to stay here, and wait for a response from Francisco. But I can do more in London. Our best hope now is to buy Dekker and persuade Francisco that we will lose the evidence of his investments.’

Luís packed hurriedly to catch the flight to London that night. Just before he was about to leave for the airport, the phone rang. Luís picked it up.

Zico.

Nelson listened in. I watched. Their faces became graver and graver. Luís protested. Then the conversation was over.

‘What did he say?’ I asked the second the phone was down.

‘He said that there was to be absolutely no change in the kidnappers’ terms. If anyone takes over Dekker, that’s either Banco Horizonte or Bloomfield Weiss, then they’ll kill her.’

My heart sank. ‘Did they say when they would release her?’

He shook his head. ‘They said they’ll keep her as long as there’s any danger of Dekker being taken over.’

‘Did they mention Francisco?’

‘No. I asked about him, but Zico said he had never heard of him.’

We stood looking at each other in silence. Cordelia bit her lip, trying not to cry.

‘So he didn’t go for it,’ I said.

Luís gave me a thin smile. ‘It was worth a try, Nick.’

I summoned a smile back. Yeah, but it didn’t work, I thought.

Luís sighed. ‘So, what now?’ he asked Nelson.

Nelson shrugged. ‘Well, you should still go to London. That, at least, will delay things for a few more days.’

‘You’re right.’ Then his eyes passed from Nelson to Cordelia to me. ‘For God’s sake, find her,’ he said.

None of us had the confidence to answer him.

Luís left us, and flew to London. More waiting, more tension. Tuesday passed, and still no news of Isabel. Cordelia and Nelson joined me on Wednesday morning. We knew Luís was meeting Lord Kerton for a working lunch.

The phone rang. I answered it. It was Luís.

‘Well, we’re in with a chance,’ he said. ‘I offered twenty million pounds, subject to due diligence. He was interested. But he said he wanted to give Bloomfield Weiss an opportunity to come up with a better offer. So he wants to hold an auction. Sealed bids from ourselves and Bloomfield Weiss.’

‘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.

Luís shrugged. ‘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 on quite well. How are you doing?’

‘Nothing yet.’

‘Nothing!’ Luís was disappointed, but his voice held a tinge of anger too.

‘Sorry, Luís. We’re trying. No one seems to know anything.’

‘Merda!’ 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 the favela. It was a grey 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 two months 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 grey moist air. We knocked on the door, and Cordelia met us.

‘Follow me,’ she said, and led us to a small store room, 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 towards 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 footballer. Very skilful, 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 ‘Não.’

‘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 towards me. Nelson asked the question. Euclides glanced guiltily at Cordelia and shrugged.

‘Does he have a sister?’

‘Yes,’ Cordelia answered. ‘She’s here.’

‘No, 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 store room. He handed it to Euclides. Cordelia and I looked on, shocked.

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

Friday disappeared, and the weekend dragged on. Luís 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. Luís is in London.’ Luís 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 sell 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 Luís’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 half an 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. 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 on to 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. Euclides had quite a reputation as a train-surfer.’

‘But will he find Isabel?’

‘I think he’ll 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 US 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 got 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 we had seen him in 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 pick-up 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 was 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 northwards, 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, nestling 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 metalled 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 surprise.’

‘But they won’t have surprise, will they? Some little 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 Luís 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 Luís 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.

I thought of Ricardo and Eduardo and felt a surge of anger. They were responsible for this. Together with Francisco. He was a father. How would he feel if it were his son in that farmhouse, with only a day or two to live?

Of course!

‘Nelson, I have an idea.’

He sighed. ‘Another one. We’re running out of time for ideas.’

‘No, listen. This one will work.’