Leighton Gage - Dying Gasp

“I understand them perfectly well. Consider the alternative.”

“You’re a bastard, Silva.”

“And you, Deputado, are a sanctimonious hypocrite. But you’re a powerful man in this country, and from now on you’re going to be our sanctimonious hypocrite.”

Malan didn’t react to the insult. Worse things had been said to him, even worse of him. “Sampaio know about this?” “No.”

“Who else does?”

“Only two of my trusted subordinates.”

“And I have your word it will go no further?”

“You have my word.”

Malan reached forward and swept up both sheaves of paper. “I’ll keep these,” he said.

“The names of the other Brazilians have been excised,” Silva said.

“I had no intention of-”

“Of course you did.”

Malan looked offended.

“And those are only copies,” Silva continued Malan narrowed his eyes. “The originals,” the deputado said, “will only be of use to you as long as they, like this conversation, are kept in the strictest confidence. We have a deal. Now, get the hell out of my office.”

Silva called the director from the airport.

“I just got off the phone with Malan,” Sampaio said. “What, in heaven’s name, did you say to him?”

“I reasoned with him, Director, pointed out the error of his ways.”

“He said he’s not only going to support our budget request, he’s going to push for an increase of twenty percent.”

“Yes, he mentioned that.”

“And he’s no longer calling for your resignation.”

“He mentioned that too.”

“What do you have on him, Mario?”

“Have on him?” Silva asked innocently.

Hector and Arnaldo were waiting when Silva got back to Manaus.

“We found The Goat’s boat,” Hector said. “The girls, and a henchman of his by the name of Osvaldo, were on board, but The Goat managed to get away.”

“How?”

“They were anchored off a sandy beach. He went ashore to swim. When he spotted the patrol boat he hightailed it over to the other side of the island and took off in an inflatable. Osvaldo said he had it stashed over there in case of emergencies.”

“Any idea about where he might have gone?”

“Roselia says he didn’t take much money with him, so he can’t afford to run far.”

“A man like that has money stashed somewhere. You can count on it. So Roselia’s still being cooperative, is she?”

“She wants him caught as much as we do. She was the only one who knew where he was, and he’ll hurt her if we don’t pick him up.”

“Five will get you ten,” Arnaldo said, “that he’s pissed at Claudia as well.”

“No bet,” Silva said. “And speaking of Claudia…”

“No sign of her. God knows how she does it, but she’s dropped out of sight again.”

“Her boat?”

“Hasn’t turned up. There are all these tributaries with overhanging trees. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

“Get one of those heat-sensitive video devices. Put it in a chopper.”

“We’ve got one,” Hector said. “It doesn’t work well in this climate. Not with all of those trees. Claudia’s got a scientific background. She probably knows that. And, if she does, she will have chosen a place where the canopy is thick.”

“The boat is still her best bet to get out of here. Maintain aerial surveillance all night long. Maybe she’ll stick her nose out of her hole.”

“I can’t believe that bitch got away again,” Arnaldo said.

“She didn’t,” Silva said. “Not yet.”

Hans Hauser pulled the visor of his blue cap low over his dark glasses and struck a pose in front of the mirror.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Claudia said.

“Into town. I’m going stir-crazy on this fucking boat.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Claudia said.

“Hell,” Hans said. “It’s dangerous just sitting here.”

He was right about that. By now, she must have heard the helicopter a half dozen times, flying around in circles up there like some demented insect. One of those times it had passed directly overhead. She’d sat on her bunk, her palms sweating, until the sound of the motor had vanished in the distance.

“Besides,” he said, “it isn’t like I’m leaving you without protection. Otto’s gonna be here.”

“Yeah,” Otto chipped in. “We got it covered. Tonight it’s him, tomorrow me. We decided.”

The boat was moored to two trees, in a minor tributary, some thirty kilometers east of the city. The location was decked over by a canopy of vegetation that made it invisible from the air.

“I don’t think you get it,” she said, looking from one to the other. “I don’t want either of you going anywhere.”

Hans reached for a bottle of cheap cologne. “Stop wasting your breath,” he said. “I’m going.”

“And I’m going tomorrow,” Otto said.

“I pay you to-”

Hans didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t pay us at all,” he snarled, catching her eye in the mirror. “Once you start dishing out the money, you can start giving orders again.”

“I told you,” she said. “I have the money. I just don’t want to run the risk of going to get it. I promise-”

“Your promise,” Hans snarled, “is the only reason we’re still here.”

He splashed some aftershave into one armpit of his shirt. The stuff smelled like cloves.

“You could at least make an attempt to change your appearance,” she insisted. “Cut your hair. Shave off that moustache.”

Hans splashed the other armpit.

“I like my moustache,” he said.

And he left.

The hull heeled and began to rock as someone climbed aboard the boat. Claudia awoke with a start. Footsteps sounded on the deck overhead. She grabbed her pistol and pointed it at the door.

“Who’s there?” she said, when the footsteps reached the main cabin.

“Who the fuck do you think?”

Hans’s voice. He sounded drunk.

She glanced at her watch. It was six-thirty in the morning, time to get up. Claudia had always been an early riser. She climbed out of bed and unlocked the door to her cabin. There he was, standing in the saloon, smelling of cachaca, staring at her out of a pair of bloodshot eyes. His hat was turned around, the visor projecting over the back of his neck.

“Point that gun somewhere else,” he said.

She lowered the Glock, put it on the table and started making coffee. Otto, who slept in the saloon, sat up in his bunk, rubbed his eyes, and yawned.

“What time is it?” he said.

“Six-thirty,” Claudia told him. “Time to get your fat ass out of bed.”

An early riser, yes, but not a morning person.

“I thought the first bus was at eight,” Otto said, sleepily.

Claudia saw Hans’ eyes flick toward her pistol. She made a grab for it, but wasn’t fast enough. Hans snatched it up, took a step backward, and pointed it at her chest.

“The Goat was looking for us,” Hans said, talking to Otto, not to Claudia. “He had two capangas with him. Get some rope.”

“The Goat? Jesus Christ! He must be pissed,” Otto said.

“He is pissed.”

“What did he say?”

“Get the fucking rope, and I’ll tell you.”

The goat showed up an hour later. He was alone.

The first thing he did was to rip off the tape they’d put over Claudia’s mouth.

It stung like hell. She licked her lips and tasted blood.

“You got any idea what you did to my life, you lying bitch?”

“It wasn’t me,” she said. “It was that prick, Silva. He’s the one to blame, not me.”

“I don’t see it that way. What you did with all those people in Sao Paulo, that was just sick.”