Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

Maria brought lunch out on to the balcony — steak and a salad. We munched through it in silence, each wrapped up in our own thoughts. I shared Luís’s frustration. If we knew Francisco was responsible for Isabel’s kidnapping, surely there must be something we could do. I could see there was no point in going to the police without proof. Talking to them had almost got Isabel killed. And I could see that confrontation was a waste of time, Nelson was right. But what about negotiation? Suddenly, I had an idea.

‘We could talk to Francisco,’ I said.

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.’