The kid was deferential, but defiant.
“All by himself?”
“Yes.”
“Goddamnit,” Silva said.
Father Vitorio parked his ancient truck under the shade of a palm tree, climbed down from the cab and studied the house. There was a vegetable garden on one side and a banana grove on the other. A cloud, heavy with rain, moved in front of the sun. The whitewashed walls of the building seemed to dim and the surrounding vegetation to fade. What had been brilliant green only a second before was now dulled to a bluish gray.
The shutters were closed, the house silent. The people inside, if there were people inside, must have heard him arrive, but no one came to the door. Could it be that the woman had lied to Lauro? Father Vitorio remembered reading about the murder of the elderly couple who’d owned the place. Perhaps he should have waited for Silva.
No! This is what God wants me to do. He will protect me.
And yet there was something about the place that caused the gooseflesh to rise on his arms. He crossed himself before moving forward.
Arnaldo drove the rental car. Lauro leaned over Silva’s shoulder to give directions.
“Turn right,” he said, “when you come to the main road.”
By the time they did, Silva had his temper under control.
“Father Vitorio,” he said to the kid, “has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”
“Father Vitorio,” the kid said, “is confident of God’s protection. It’s a question of faith, Chief Inspector. You either have it, or you don’t.”
He said it like he didn’t believe Silva had it. Silva turned around in his seat.
“And it’s no good looking at me like that,” the kid said. “Father Vitorio warned me about you. He said you’ve got a childish belief in something called snuff videos and that while we work to save all the girls, you’re only here because the girl you’re looking for is the granddaughter of a prominent politician.”
Silva pursed his lips and turned to stare through the windshield. The kid had hit a little too close to home with that one.
“Left at the next corner, then the first right,” Lauro said. “The place is about two kilometers ahead. There’s a sign with the name Mainardi. You can’t see anything from the road, just a narrow driveway that snakes down toward the river.”
“How come you know that?” Arnaldo said.
“Father Vitorio checked it out on the way to your hotel. Then he dropped me off and went back.”
Silva ran a hand over his eyes.
“How come Father Vitorio wants to be in on the arrest?” Silva asked, this time without turning around. He found it easier to converse with the self-righteous little twit if he didn’t have to look at him.
“God sent you here,” Lauro said, speaking slowly, as if he was addressing someone of limited intelligence, “because He wants Father Vitorio to take advantage of the opportunity you present.”
Silva couldn’t help himself. He swung around again. “Opportunity? What opportunity?”
“The rescue of the deputado’s granddaughter is going to be a big story, right? If Father Vitorio is present, the national press will want to interview him. That will give him a pulpit from which he can denounce what’s happening to girls who are of equal worth in the sight of God, but don’t have a depu-tado federal for a grandfather.”
A headache had begun to form behind Silva’s right eye. He lifted a hand and started massaging his temple. “So he’s already tipped the press?”
“Not yet. He wants to make sure you get the girl. Otherwise, there’s no story, right?”
“What’s the number of his cell phone?”
Lauro gave it to him, and Silva dialed it.
No one answered.
Arnaldo slowed to a crawl. Off to their left, they caught an occasional glimpse of the river through the foliage. On the right, the rainforest was a wall of green. The road was wide enough for two cars, but just barely.
“There,” Lauro said, and pointed.
Arnaldo pulled over.
“You want to take the car in there?” he asked.
“Hell, no,” Silva said. Then, to the kid, “You stay here.”
“I think I have a right-”
“You don’t,” Silva said shortly. “Let’s go.”
The three federal cops got out and entered the access road on foot. The previous night, as on almost every night in the Amazon, there’d been rain. The surface under their feet was unpaved. Silva stayed in the middle, following the impression of tire tracks in the mud. Two sets of them appeared to be quite recent. One diverged toward the right margin and disappeared into heavy brush. While the others waited, Hector followed that one. Wordlessly, he picked up a samambaia leaf and showed them the stem. The leaf, almost as tall as a man, had been cut at the base. Hector gingerly removed another leaf, thereby exposing the front grille of a Fiat Palio.
The car had been artfully camouflaged and was positioned for a quick escape.
“ You hear that? ”
Luis’s voice was little more than a whisper. Joaquim cocked his head to listen. He heard birds, insects, the thump-thump of a diesel motor out on the river; nothing else.
“What,” he said.
“I coulda swore… there it is again.”
This time, Joaquim heard it too: rustling leaves. He disengaged the safety on his AK-47.
From their hiding place they had a clear view of both the front of the house and the last twenty meters of the approach road.
“They’re not on the road,” Luis whispered. “They’re coming through the woods.”
“Still gonna get a big fucking surprise,” Joaquim said.
He checked the fire control on his assault rifle, making sure it was switched to full automatic. Luis worked the slide on his Glock, chambering a round, making what sounded to Joaquim like a hell of a racket. He shot his brother a look.
But, no, they were okay. The rustling hadn’t stopped. It was just getting louder.
“Coming right at us,” Luis said.
“Shut up, you moron, ” Joaquim hissed.
“Moron? Me, a moron? Watch your fucking mouth, Joaquim.”
“Watch yours, asshole.”
“Who you calling an asshole?”
The cops weren’t far away. Lauro couldn’t see them yet, but he could hear them, first doing something with one of their guns then arguing. One called another one a moron. Normally, Lauro didn’t like arguments. In fact, he didn’t like contention in any form. But he was pleased that the federal policemen were out of sorts with each other, because he was equally out of sorts with them.
Stay here, Silva had told him.
Stay and miss the climax of the operation that he, Lauro Tadesco, had brought about? Miss the liberation of the depu-tado’s granddaughter? Miss the apprehension of the people who’d abducted her?”
Stay here, indeed!
He could see them now, just ahead.
But they weren’t the federal agents. There were only two of them, not three, and one of them was pointing a- Oh, God!
Joaquim, staring over the sights of his AK-47, saw a flash of color moving among the leaves. He squeezed the trigger, felt the rifle kick into his shoulder and saw a red mist appear where his target’s head used to be. The body below it slumped out of sight.
Gotcha, you fucker, Joaquim thought.
But he didn’t release the trigger. He went on to blow through the whole magazine, hosing everything to the right and left of the man he’d just shot. Then he released the catch, changed clips, and was ready for another go.
