The market maker (21 page)

had run off to America with Wes, I had savored my newfound independence.

Since then I had avoided another relationship. I had dated women, but had never let things progress. I was afraid of a serious attachment, and jealous of my independence.

Until now.

Of course there was still the job. Although Dekker seemed a long way away, we'd have to get back to work the next day in Sao Paulo. And then we'd return to London, Ricardo, and Eduardo.

"Is it true Eduardo killed someone once. A student?" I asked.

Isabel didn't answer immediately. Her head remained motionless on my chest.

"No, it's not true," she said at last.

"It wouldn't have surprised me if he had. But I suppose it's just another myth."

"Not entirely"

I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. "It was Ricardo who killed the student."

"Ricardo?"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "It was a complete accident. It was at a party in Caracas. The other guy was dnmk, and took a swing at Ricardo, who was chatting up his girlfriend. Ricardo hit him harder than he meant to, and the guy fell back over the balcony, four floors up. Apparently it was very messy."

"So Eduardo had nothing to do with it."

"Not quite. There were witnesses, and they were the student's friends, not Ricardo's. The police came and Ricardo was soon in jail. They were about to work on him for a 'confession' when Eduardo sorted it all out."

"How?"

"I don't know. Even then Eduardo had a flair for that sort of thing. And Ricardo walked free."

''Ricardo told you this, presumably?"

"Yes. He still feels guilty about it. And grateful to Eduardo."

"I bet he does." I sympathized with the guilt. I clearly remembered one night in Oxford when Jamie had become involved in an argument with a six-foot-six-inch University of Cape Town rugby player. Height never bothered Jamie; it just made his headbutts n\ore effective. The South African had staggered back into the road. A van was driving fast dow^n the empty High Street, and it braked hard. With a thud, it hit the South African but only gently, and no damage was done. But if the van driver's reactions had been just a little bit slower...

"Eduardo and Ricardo seem to have a very strange relationship," I said. "That must be why."

"It's not just that. I think a lot of it has to do with their father. Apparently, he was quite a successful businessman. The brothers never saw much of him, or their mother, who made a career out of spending the money her husband earned. Ricardo worshiped his father. He said he was always trying to prove himself to him, but his father never took any notice, so Ricardo just tried harder."

"Yes. He told me something similar himself. But what about Eduardo?"

"I think that Ricardo is the Argentinian and Eduardo the Venezuelan. From what I understand, their mother wanted Eduardo to be educated in Venezuela. Ricardo never lived there as an adult, but Eduardo spent a lot of time there. The flashy clothes, the cars, the speedboats, the girls, the apartments in Miami. He's a typical Venezuelan rich kid."

''That's quite a car he owns," I said.

"What, the 'Testosterone'? The amount of times he's tried to get me into that thing!"

I grinned. I couldn't really blame him.

"Anyway," Isabel continued, "Ricardo's father drank. In the early eighties his businesses fell apart when the oil price crashed, and he tried to drink his way out of it. He died at the age of sixty-two. Ricardo was twenty-seven.

"You know how seriously Ricardo takes things. I think he saw it as his responsibility to look after his mother and his brother. Especially his brother. Eduardo was getting himself into all sorts of trouble with drugs; Ricardo found the money for some fancy detox clinic in America and persuaded Eduardo to go."

"So Ricardo has always helped Eduardo out?"

"It's a two-way thing. They both owe each other a lot of favors. I'm not sure they even like each other. Eduardo thinks Ricardo's too squeamish, and a control freak. But he's jealous of Ricardo's success and wants to be a part of it. Ricardo thinks Eduardo has no self-discipline and is a danger to himself as well as other people. They're both right, of course. But as a result they both think they have to be around to help the other out."

"So they need each other?"

"That's what they think. I think they'd both be better off having nothing to do with each other."

She swung out of bed and walked, naked, to the window. I followed her with my eyes.

"Oh, look," she said. "I think you're going to see a classic Rio rainstorm."

I joined her, wrapping my arms around her. A thick line of black lurked on the horizon. As we watched, it grew, gathering itself into a dark blanket that moved

swiftly over the sky toward us. The breeze, blowing in through the open window, became softer, heavier. The city, still in sunshine for a few moments more, cowered in front of the enveloping clouds. Then the blanket reached us, blacking out the sky and dropping a torrent of water. We let the giant drops splash into the room through the open window. Below us, the courtyard erupted into thousands of tiny fountains as the rain struck it, and the surface of the swimming pool was shattered into a myriad of angry whirlpools.

"God, what a sight," I said.

''We'd better get going. The traffic in Rio becomes a nightmare in a storm like this."

We showered, dressed, and then hurried to a taxi beneath one of the hotel's white umbrellas. As I scrambled into the backseat after Isabel, I thought I caught sight of someone I recognized. I turned to look as we pulled off.

"What is it?" she asked, a drip of water dangling ap-pealingly from her nose.

"I thought I recognized the driver of the car behind. I could have sworn he was waiting for someone at the airport this morning."

"Where?" She turned to look behind us.

The rain was falling heavily on the rear window, creating a curtain of water behind us..

"I can't see him now. Or his car. It was a Fiat I think. Blue."

We both strained to see through the rainstorm. Nothing.

"Are you sure?" Isabel asked.

"To be honest, no. I might just be imagining it."

She squeezed my hand. "You're getting jumpy after what happened last time. Rio isn't that dangerous, you know."

"You're probably right/' I said, but nevertheless I did check behind every now and again. I didn't see anything.

We were meeting Luis at the Rio Yacht Club. The journey took about three-quarters of an hour. The traffic slowed to a crawl. Torrents of water gushed down any small incline, often reaching up to the tops of the struggling cars' wheels.

It was dark by the time we reached the yacht club. Luis gave Isabel a huge hug, which she returned warmly. He seemed genuinely happy to see me too, which pleased me. The club overlooked a small marina, and we could just make out the sailing boats, bobbing in the rain-lashed sea. Eventually, the downpour softened to a more recognizable rain, and it was possible to see the buildings of Botafogo across the bay, and the imposing shape of Sugar Loaf Mountain, looming high up above us.

I drank the compulsory caipirinhas —I was beginning to realize that no foreigner could avoid them in Brazil— and ate some glorious fish whose name I didn't quite catch. Luis and Isabel both did a good job of avoiding any difficult subjects, and I wasn't witness to a single argimient. Isabel seemed happy, very much alive, and she glowed in the attention her father and I gave her.

"So, you didn't want to spend the weekend in Sao Paulo, Nick?" Luis asked with a smile.

"Isabel didn't seem very keen on the idea."

"Where did you take him?" he asked Isabel.

"The Point," she said.

"Ah, very good. Did you like the view, Nick?"

"Oh, Papair

I grinned. "One of our poets once said, 'Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.' "

This Luis seemed to find very funny. Isabel just looked cross.

''Well, Tm glad you found a few minutes to spend with your old father," he said.

"Tm sorry Tm not staying with you tonight," Isabel said. "But we're leaving for the airport tomorrow morning, and I knew you were in Petropolis today, and we are leaving very early, so I thought it made sense to stay at the hotel with Nick. So I can show him to the airport."

This explanation was all a bit breathless. It sounded forced to me. I think it did to Luis too, to judge by the way he glanced at me. I pretended not to notice.

But then he shrugged. "No matter. I quite understand. You often stay at the Copacabana Palace when you're here on business. It's just nice to see you for dinner."

Isabel blushed becomingly and concentrated on her food.

"So Sao Paulo again tomorrow?" Luis asked me.

I nodded.

"Remember, Nick, in Sao Paulo you can breathe out, but don't breathe in."

I laughed. "I'U remember."

Finally, at twelve, we left. The rain was steady now, and had clearly set in for the night.

"Would you like a lift back in my car?" Luis asked.

"Oh, no," Isabel said. "I've ordered a taxi to meet us from the hotel. It's probably been waiting for us half the night. We'd better take it."

Another suspicious glance from Luis, which I ignored.

"Oh, well, see you soon, my dear." He bent down to kiss his daughter. Then he straightened up and shook my hand. I met his eye, which I was relieved to see was

194 Micimel Ridpath

still friendly. ''Nice to see you again, Nick. Please drop in and see me when you are next in Rio."

"Thank you," I said. "I will."

He ran through the rain to his chauffeur-driven car, and we jumped into the taxi.

'Why didn't we go with him?" I asked.

'I suppose we could have. It's just I would have felt pretty bad having him drop us off together at the hotel."

"I think he suspects something," I said.

"Do you?" Isabel fell back in the seat. "Oh, well, never mind. I think he likes you."

"lUkehim."

Isabel smiled as she rested her head on my shoulder. "I'm so tired."

With the drink and the fatigue, I stared ahead without focusing properly. The road was empty apart from the car in front, which was driving slowly. Suddenly it stopped.

Our driver, swearing under his breath, braked also. He hit the horn. Just then there was movement in the windows all around us. The driver saw it and hit the button by his shoulder. The central locking system clicked in all the doors. He slarmned the gears into reverse. There was a crash as he hit something behind us. I turned. Another car had driven up to block our escape. The taxi leaped forward and hit the vehicle in front as the driver tried to break out. Then his window shattered in an explosion of broken glass. A gun pointed in, and a voice behind it shouted urgently. The driver took his hands off the wheel and pushed up the lock to his door.

Isabel screamed.

As I turned to my door, it was flung open. A gun was thrust in my face. A man in a balaclava shouted at me in

Portuguese. His eyes were brown, the pupils huge, as they stared in frightened panic.

The shout turned to a scream. 1 kept perfectly still and stammered, "Ndo entendo." The man kept screaming. I felt a kick in my back as Isabel was dragged out of the car, but I didn't take my eyes off the gun.

Then he reached into the car and grabbed my jacket, still shouting. I let him pull me out into the rain. He pushed me toward the rearmost car. I could hear Isabel screaming behind me as she was dragged toward the vehicle in front.

Panicky hands pushed me down into the well between the back and front seats, but I didn't fit. Then the front seat lurched forward, and m^y face was shoved down onto the floor. It smelled of dust and cigarettes. One of them sat in the seat beside me. I heard the car door slam, and felt the cold barrel push into the nape of my neck. It was wet, and drops of water dribbled down my back.

Someone shouted something in Portuguese, and we lurched off. The car screeched around some tight bends, and then seemed to reach a straight stretch. We were moving fast and steadily, in what direction I had no idea.

17

I began to think through what had happened. We'd been kidnapped, that much was obvious. I hoped Isabel was OK. I wondered where they would take us, what they would do with us. If they'd kidnapped us, they would want to keep us alive. Remember that, I told myself. Help them. Keep them happy.

But who would pay our ransom? Luis would pay Isabel's. Would Dekker pay mine? God, I hoped so. Ri-cardo had a reputation of looking after his own.

How long would the process take? Maybe Isabel would know. I had heard kidnappings were pretty common in Rio, so she probably knew something about them.

I was in a very uncomfortable position, with my back twisted and my face jammed down into the floor. I tried to move, but this prompted a shout and the gun barrel jabbed hard into the back of my neck. So I decided to stay where I was.

Suddenlv the car slowed and turned off whatever road we were on. We began moving more slowly now, stopping and starting. After a few more minutes we began to climb, turning left and right up a steep hillside.

We drove like this for a half hour, or maybe an hour, it

was hard to tell. Then we made another turn, and the car began to bump and judder. A dirt track. My cheek was driven into the car floor at each jolt. We drove up an even steeper incline, which eventually leveled off. Finally, we came to a stop.

My back and shoulders ached like hell. I tried to move, but the gun jabbed my back again, and I stayed still. Then some black fabric was tied around my eyes, and I couldn't see.

I heard voices, cars door opening and shutting. A hand grabbed my collar and tugged. Willingly I pulled myself up out of the well, and allowed myself to be dragged from the car. I stood up straight and stretched.

I could see nothing through the blindfold. It had stopped raiiung. And the air was filled with noise: the sound of crickets, cicadas, frogs, and all kinds of night creatures. It made quite a din.

"Isabel?"

"Yes!"

"Cale a bocal" screamed a voice in my right ear.

I felt a gun jab my ribs. But at least I knew she was alive and with me.

There was some heated discussion around me. I heard four voices. Rope was tied around my hands until it bit into my wrists. Then I felt a push behind me, and an order in Portuguese that I took to mean "Move!"

The ground was wet and muddy underfoot. Soon we were moving up a steep hill along a narrow path. I could tell that because of the vegetation brushing my ankles. Behind and below I heard the two cars driving off. With the blindfold on I couldn't protect myself from the branches and tendrils that brushed my face. Pushing through an unknown jungle blindfolded raised all kinds of primeval fears about snakes underfoot and unseen precipices. I tried to move slowly and

carefully, but a hard metal object jabbed me in the back whenever I hesitated.

I heard movement ahead and behind. I didn't call out for Isabel this time. I didn't want to push my luck.

After an hour or so, the ground began to level off, and the going became much easier. Ten more minutes, and I heard the command "Pare!" and then "Stop!"

With relief, I stopped. I stood up straight, and the blindfold was removed.

We were in a very small clearing in a forest. It was still night, but after the blindfold it almost seemed like daylight. A canvas tent had been rigged up between three trees, and there was another ten yards away from it. I could see Isabel and two men. Both of them wore balaclava-type masks. The one who had taken off my blindfold was standing a few feet away, with the gun pointed straight at me. Dark, suspicious eyes peered at me through the mask. The other man was taking off Isabel's blindfold.

She looked around for me and caught my eye. She seemed OK, although when I looked closer, what I thought was a shadow turned out to be a bruise on her cheek. The bastards had hit her!

One man pulled out some handcuffs and a chain from a sack on the ground, while the other man covered us with the gun. We had a few seconds of freedom, although our hands were still tied and a gun was pointing at us.

Isabel must have seen the opportunity, because as the man stood up with the handcuffs, she kicked him hard in the groin.

The other man immediately jerked his gun toward Isabel.

"No!" I shouted, and leaped at him.

He hesitated before pulling the trigger. Perhaps he

didn't want to shoot a woman in cold blood, I don't know. I chopped down hard on his gun arm, and he dropped the weapon. His hands were nearer to it than mine, and I just managed to kick it into the undergrowth before he could reach it.

"Run!" I shouted to Isabel.

There were two paths out of the clearing, one leading in from the way we came, and the other heading downhill on the opposite side. Isabel chose that path, and I followed her. One of our captors was still clasping his groin, moaning, and the other was scrabbling about in the undergrowth for the gun.