Robert Browne - The Paradise Prophecy

A naked woman, with flawless, cocoa skin, lay fast asleep atop the mattress, her legs splayed out in front of her, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Spray-painted on the wall above the candles were yet more symbols-a pentagram, Lorraine cross, the now familiar A inside the circle, and others that Callahan wasn’t as familiar with. They hadn’t gotten there by accident, and only confirmed what she had already been told.

De Souza was a practicing Satanist.

But while the presence of these signs was certainly enough to raise her suspicions, it wasn’t proof that he’d had anything to do with Gabriela’s death.

Standing behind and to either side of Callahan were three of de Souza’s teenaged bodyguards, weapons in hand but pointed at the floor.

For now.

De Souza himself sat a few feet away from her, slumped in a battered armchair near the one and only window, which was really nothing more than a ragged rectangular hole in the wall that overlooked the favela and the jumble of high-rises beyond.

“I only agreed to see you out of curiosity,” he said.

He was a lanky guy, much younger than she had expected, with dark, curly hair and a wispy black goatee on his angular face. He wore only bright red boxers, and several nasty knife scars were visible on his chest and abdomen.

“About what?” she asked.

“Why you would assume I know anything about Gabriela Zuada?”

Callahan saw no reason to beat around the bush. “There are people who think you may be responsible for her death.”

His eyebrows raised. “Are you one of these people?”

Callahan shrugged. “Let’s just say I have more questions than answers.”

“I have a question myself. Why is the U.S. State Department so interested in something that happened on Brazilian soil?”

Callahan had brought her credentials with her, just in case, and de Souza’s bodyguards had found them when they searched her backpack. They’d also found her Glock 20 and immediately took possession of it.

She didn’t yet know the answer to de Souza’s question, so she fell back on a reliable lie. “We’re here at the request of the governor of Sao Paulo. The United States is always happy to assist in cases of international importance.”

“International importance?” De Souza shook his head in disgust, then gestured at the television. “I suppose with the world falling apart around us, it shouldn’t surprise me that both of our governments are distracted by the death of a self-righteous demagogue. The Middle East and central Asia are about to implode, Africa right behind them, yet all eyes are here on Brazil. What happened to our precious Gabriela?”

“You don’t seem very upset by her death.”

“Why would I be?”

“I’m told she worked for you at one time. As a courier.”

De Souza shrugged. “A lot of people work for me. They live, they die. It’s nothing unusual around here.”

Callahan thought about the dead man in the alley and wondered if he’d worked for de Souza, too. “But Gabriela spoke out against you. Condemned you for selling drugs to children. Her boyfriend says you threatened her more than once.”

“Ahh, yes, the demon de Souza. I make no secret of what I do or what I believe, and to some that means I should be feared and reviled. I’ve never understood why people are so quick to condemn those who don’t buy into their feeble ideology. The truth is, the only threat I pose is philosophical. I’m nothing more than a man who fills a need, with no more power than any other human being. Including Gabriela.”

“And you never considered her a threat?”

“To what? My luxurious lifestyle?”

Callahan glanced around her again. He did have a point, but she pushed anyway. “I’m told she was pressuring the police to clean up the favela .”

De Souza shook his head. “A useless publicity stunt. The police know their place, just as I do. And they’ll soon have a lot more to worry about than this little piece of hell.”

“Meaning what?”

“Look around you, Agent Callahan.” He waved a hand toward the hole in the wall. “It’s obvious to anyone paying attention that the dragon is loose and systematically taking control of our planet.”

“The dragon?”

“Satan. Lucifer. The King of Babylon. The God of This Age. We’re surrounded by his influence-people dying in the streets, endless wars, the constant promise of terrorism and nuclear holocaust. The gates of hell are about to open and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. I’d be a fool to align myself with anyone who might try.”

De Souza smiled now, revealing that his left front tooth had been carefully painted with shiny black enamel, an inverted white cross at its center. “I may be easily corrupted, senhorita, but that doesn’t make me a fool any more than it means I killed Gabriela Zuada.”

“So do you think Gabriela was murdered?”

He shrugged. “You’d know more about that than I would.”

“Then if it wasn’t you, can you think of anyone else who might want to harm her? Someone who practices the occult?”

De Souza straightened himself in his chair, then leaned toward her.

“Something’s stirring in the air, Agent Callahan. Do you feel it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dark forces at work. Stronger than ever. Dangerous, malevolent forces that may well be responsible for what happened to our sweet Gabriela.” He paused. “I’d advise you to tread lightly, querida . Because you never know who’s watching.”

Callahan shivered slightly. Then, remembering that she was a skeptic who valued rational thinking over superstitious voodoo, she got hold of herself. The only dark forces at work here were man-made, and if Gabriela had been murdered, it was by human hands.

But not de Souza’s. She was convinced of that now. He might be the obvious suspect, and he might not hesitate to kill a rival, but it was clear that he had considered Gabriela a harmless trifle and had neither the motive nor the desire to go after her.

In other words, Callahan was wasting her time.

“Thanks for the advice,” she said.

De Souza studied her for a long moment, assessing her, but not in the same lewd way as the other men (and boys) she’d encountered in Sao Paulo. There was nothing lascivious in the look at all. And that only compounded her uneasiness.

He checked his watch. “You’d better return to your bus, senhorita. They’re scheduled to leave soon. And once they’re gone, I’m afraid I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Then he smiled again, running the tip of his tongue along the edge of that shiny black-and-white tooth.

“ Va com Deus ,” he said.

Go with God.

When Batty awoke, he was blindfolded.

The blindfold was thick and had been pulled taut enough to keep any outside light from seeping in, and he had no idea whether it was day or night. The air around him felt humid, his clothes and skin slick with sweat, so he assumed he was still in Louisiana.

But where?

He couldn’t move his arms and legs. He was sitting in a chair with his hands bound behind his back, his ankles strapped tight, and judging by the feel, whoever had done this to him had used those plastic zip-ties you always saw on the cop shows.

So what the hell was going on here?

He had been kidnapped, that much was clear. But if there was one thing Batty knew for certain, it was that he didn’t have a thing of value to offer a kidnapper. No money. No rich relatives to pay ransom. In fact, the only human being on the planet who had really given a damn about whether he showed up for breakfast every morning was Rebecca.

And Rebecca was two years dead.