Release each pigeon after affixing bag.
Do not delay. We are timing your activities. If the first pigeon is not underway within thirty minutes of your arrival, or if the pigeons do not continue to arrive at their destination at intervals not to exceed one minute, Juraci Santos will be killed. Upon receipt of the diamonds, you will receive an email stating when and where she is to be found.”
“Caralho,” the ranger said when Hector finished reading. “So you guys are gonna pay the ransom for the Artist’s mother? That’s what this is all about? Wait until my wife hears about this.”
“Shut up,” Goncalves said. “We weren’t expecting this. It throws a kink in our plan. We’ve gotta think.”
Hector unfolded the second sheet. It was a sketch by a bad artist: a pair of hands held a pigeon while another pair of hands tied-on a carrier bag. He held it up for Goncalves to look at.
“ Merda,” Goncalves said. “So that’s why there had to be two of us. What now?”
Hector returned the two sheets to the envelope and put the envelope in his pocket.
“What’s your name?” he said to the ranger.
“Norberto Fatio.”
“Go outside, Norberto. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“Sure. Sure. Anything I can do to help. Hell, why didn’t you tell me in the first place what this was all about? You think I want those fucking Argentineans-”
“Just go, will you?”
Norberto scurried out the door.
“So what now?” Goncalves repeated.
“You have your pocket knife?”
“I always have my pocketknife.”
“Cut the tracking device out of the lining of the case.”
“You’re going to put it into one of those carrier bags? Send it along with a pigeon?”
“What else can we do?”
“They’re gonna find it.”
“Of course they are. But, with any luck, they’ll still be there, unloading the ransom, when Gloria shows up.”
“There must be a telephone around here somewhere. Let’s get that park ranger to call your uncle and tell him about the birds. Maybe he can get Gloria into the air ahead of time, put her on a path to intercept them.”
“Good idea. I’ll go talk to our friend Norberto. You get that case off your wrist and start dividing the diamonds.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“How fast is it going?” Silva said.
Lefkowitz made a quick calculation.
“About forty kilometers an hour,” he said. “And it’s airborne.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s moving out over a lake. No decrease in speed.”
“Carrier pigeon,” Arnaldo said.
Mara, entering the room, heard him.
“I’m astounded,” she said. “For once in your life, you’re right.”
Lefkowitz swiveled around in this chair and looked at her.
“What do you know that we don’t?”
“Some park ranger just called in with a message from Hector.”
Mara went on to explain, ending with, “That’s what you’ve been following, Lefkowitz-a carrier pigeon.”
“As soon as it lands,” Silva said, “the kidnappers will find the device.”
“And our teams are going to be far, far away when they do,” Lefkowitz said.
“Get them into the air immediately,” Silva said.
“It’s already happening,” Mara said. “I spoke to Gloria.
Rotors on the helicopters must be turning as we speak. Now, Nunes, tell me, how did someone with your limited cranial capacity hit on carrier pigeons?”
Arnaldo didn’t rise to the bait. “My sister’s got a neighbor, a penitentiary guard. He told me a story a while back. Some of the prisoners were raising pigeons in their cells. The warden thought it was a nice, safe hobby, Birdman of Alcatraz and all that crap. But no, turns out these birds were homing pigeons. The felons were using them to get cell phones and drugs into the prison.”
“Cell phones? Since when can a pigeon carry a cell phone?”
“They were breaking them down into components, then reassembling them within the walls.”
“Cute,” Lefkowitz said. “They start the birds off with smuggling. Next thing you know they’re carrying around tiny brass knuckles and beating up on other birds in the neighborhood. The felon’s perfect pet.”
“The way it works,” Arnaldo said, ignoring the levity, “is this: you get the birds before they learn to fly. You feed them. Bingo, they begin to think of the place as home. When you release them, they come back. They always come back. They come back even if you take them hundreds of kilometers away.”
All four of them looked at the screen, where a flashing green dot was showing the pigeon’s steady progression.
“Straight as an arrow,” Lefkowitz said. “The little dear knows exactly where she’s going.”
“If she does,” Arnaldo said, “it’s a he.”
“Shut up, Nunes.”
Silva tapped the screen with a forefinger. “What town is this?”
“Porangaba. Looks like she, or he, is going to pass right over it.”
Porangaba was about a hundred KM northeast of the cave complex.
“Let’s get Gloria and her people moving in that direction,” Silva said. “Do carrier pigeons fly at night?”
The others looked blank.
“I’ll talk to Gloria first,” Mara said, “and then I’ll find out.”
Five minutes later she was back.
“They only fly at night,” she said, “if they’re trained to do so. Otherwise, they roost and start flying again at first light. Let’s hope she-”
“He,” Arnaldo said.
“-isn’t so trained. How long has she been in the air?”
“The bird,” Lefkowitz said, remaining strictly neutral, “took off just before four. It’s flying at about forty kilometers an hour.”
“Sundown tonight will be at around eight,” Silva said. “Subtract four from eight and that gives us four hours of flying time.”
“And four hours at forty an hour,” Mara said, “means she’s likely to roost at about one hundred sixty kilometers from her take-off point.”
“Who said that thing about the best laid plans of mice and men?” Lefkowitz asked.
“A poet by the name of Robert Burns,” Silva said. “And I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re about to tell me.”
“You’re not.” Lefkowitz was fiddling with the knobs on the receiver.
“We lost the signal?”
“Just now. It went out like a light.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
