Forever (62 page)

Colonel Valerio inspected his men, and then
moved on, heading along the edge of the field to the security
compound headquarters. Surrounded by chain-link fencing, it was
dominated by a grim, industrial-looking, one-storey cinder-block
building. Designed entirely without frills, it contained private
quarters for himself and Captain Waingrow, and three dormitories
for the men - one for each eight-hour shift. In addition, there was
a mess hall, a rec room, a gym, an armoury, and an indoor rifle
range. A small motor pool contained Jeeps, dirt bikes, and golf
carts, and a kennel provided shelter for the trained guard dogs
which were used to patrol the island. Equipment used for obstacle
course training was scattered around the building - sets of
twelve-foot-long horizontal ladders mounted eight feet off the
ground, concrete walls of varying heights for scaling, pits to jump
over, eighteen-foot ropes for climbing.

The compound was, for all practical
purposes, a military base in miniature.

Not surprisingly, it not only looked like
boot camp, but was run like one, with reveille, inspections, daily
P.T. workouts, weapons maintenance, and K.P.

Inspecting the grounds as he walked, Colonel
Valerio went inside the building and headed directly to his command
centre, a huge room which was as utilitarian as anything else in
the compound. The only real money had been spent on electronics -
and a fortune had been poured into that.

Racks and tables held a veritable wonderland
of costly gadgets: computers, monitors, printers, tapes and discs
and modems, fax machines, radar and sonar - the list went on and
on. Along one wall, an eight-by-sixteen-foot fibre-optic map of the
world glowed with various coded symbols, each denoting a specific
Grupo da Veiga facility and its function. And, on the opposite
wall, a hundred TV screens provided constant closed-circuit
surveillance of the perimeter of the island, the dock where the
Chrysalis
was berthed, as well as selected halls and public
rooms inside the quinta itself.

Colonel Valerio flipped his cap at a
coatrack and asked the electronics technician on duty, 'The
pictures I asked for been run off yet?'

The technician swivelled around on his
chair. 'They're on your desk, Sir!'

The Colonel nodded. 'Any undue activity
anywhere?'

'No. Sir!'

'Better keep your eyes on the equipment,
soldier. You won't see anything going on if you keep looking at
me.'

'Sir! Yes, sir!' The technician spun back
around, his eyes doing a methodical sweep of the screens.

Colonel Valerio went around his metal desk.
There it was: a stack of eight-by-ten black-and-white glossies. All
head shots of Monica Williams taken at an unsuspecting moment.

He grabbed the top one, pulled out his
chair, and plopped down onto it. Heaving his boots up on the desk,
he laid the photo in his lap and laced his hands behind his neck.
Stared at that pretty face for a while and thought about her.

Monica Williams. The mystery lady whose past
was a total blank, but who was sure one smart cookie. He had people
watching her at home and at work, but so far, the woman remained an
enigma. Trouble was, she seemed to have come from nowhere. Seemed
to. But everyone had a past . . . and sooner or later, hers would
come to light. All it required was a little patience on his part.
From experience, people like her were always too smart for their
own good; fell into traps of their own making. Ended up giving
themselves away.

And if she didn't fall into her own trap,
then she would fall into his. His carefully built-up web of
contacts and spies were everywhere, and he was like the spider in
the corner, patient and cunning, willing to wait for the victim to
make its mistake.

He smiled to himself. It was an apt
metaphor, he thought. For he was a spider of sorts - a particularly
deadly species of very unhurried but very thorough
web-spinners.

Contemplating the face staring back at him
from the photograph, he wondered how she'd react when he finally
uncovered her scam. Even more interesting would be to see how
Eduardo de Veiga would react.

Rio de Janeiro • Ilha da Borboleta, Brazil

Stephanie found working at Grupo da Veiga to
be unlike anything she had ever known. Each day brought with it new
challenges. There were ad campaigns and public relations films to
think up for every division of the company. Thirty- and
sixty-second ad spots to produce. Local talent to hire on a
freelance basis. Products to familiarise herself with. No end of
instant decisions to be made.

It was like trying to wrestle a multiheaded
hydra.

Yet to her surprise, Stephanie found it all
highly stimulating and ultimately rewarding. There was no time for
her to get bored. And increasingly, she became more and more
grateful for her two godsends - Lia on the work front and Astrid on
the home front. Stephanie didn't know how she would have managed
without them.

Stephanie's driver was on the phone.
'Colonel Valerio? This is Felipe Piva.'

'Yes,
Senhor
Piva?'

'I thought you would like to know that every
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Ms Williams has me drop her off
after work at the language school on Jose Inhares in Leblon. From
there, she takes a taxi home after her lessons are over. I hope
this information is of some use?'

'Yes, it is,
Senhor
Piva. An overtime
bonus of twenty hours will be added to your paycheque.'

'Thank you,
Senhor!
From myself and
my family. I will call again as soon as I have anything new to
report.' My web is tightening around you, Ms Williams. Colonel
Valerio hung up.

Stephanie checked in with Sammy at least
once each week, and to play it safe, she only called him from the
Telerj, the telephone company office on Avenida Nossa
Senhora
de Copacabana. It was open around the clock, and she
could place operator-assisted international phone calls from a
booth there at any hour of the day or night.

Invariably, the first words out of Sammy's
mouth always were, is everything all right down there, Girlie?'

And on this particular late Wednesday
evening, he used precisely those words.

'Everything's fine. Uncle Sammy,' Stephanie
assured him. 'In fact, things couldn't be better.'

'Good, good.' He paused and sighed
pointedly. 'But I miss you, Girlie. Don't you have any idea how
much longer you'll have to be down there?'

'No. That depends on when I get my security
clearance so I can visit the various facilities and check them out.
Right now, it looks like I might be stuck here for quite some time
yet.'

'Which reminds me,' Sammy said. 'Before he
died, Aaron Kleinfelder gave me his CRY code and secret password.
It could be that it hasn't been deleted from the computers
yet.'

Stephanie felt a thrill of excitement. 'Wait
a sec, I've got to get my address book out of my purse . . . okay,
shoot.'

Sammy said, 'His ID number was 099 slash 3cd
- that's lower case - slash 301. His password was COOKIE. Got
that?'

She read it back to him.

'Just remember what I told you about being
careful,' he cautioned. 'I want you safe and sound - and in one
piece!'

'Believe me, so do I. Listen, I need you to
do me a favour -'

'- Anything, my love! Anything!''

'Call the airlines and arrange to have Waldo
flown down here, will you? I miss that bird, dammit!'

'At once!' Sammy sounded positively
delirious. 'But that's not doing you a favour, Girlie. That's doing
me the greatest favour in the world!'

Poor Waldo, Stephanie thought when she hung
up the phone. Am I the only one who gets along with that bird?

By the second week, Stephanie was completely
settled into her new life. Waldo's screechy arrival made all the
difference, and home felt like home.

Astrid, understandably, was not all that
keen about Waldo. 'A parrot!' she exclaimed when Stephanie lugged
the big cage in. 'Bringing a parrot to Brazil is like . . .'

'Bringing coals to Newcastle,' Stephanie
completed for her. 'I know.' She smiled.

'Wal-do! Wal-do! The big parrot was
excitedly climbing the bars of the cage. 'Waldo wants a crack-er!
Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!'

'You'll get your cracker,' Stephanie
promised soothingly, and stroked his beak. 'Now just hush up.'

'Steph!' Waldo screeched. 'Steph! I love
you, Steph!'

Inwardly, Stephanie cringed. With a sinking
feeling, she thought, That's all I need: being given away by a
bird. Why didn't I anticipate this?

'What is it saying?' Astrid asked
curiously.

'Oh . . .' Stephanie murmured, '. . . he's
saying, "Steph". I think Stefan or Stephanie must have been the
name of his previous owner.'

Astrid nodded, and Stephanie was relieved
both by her own quick thinking and the woman's ready acceptance of
her excuse.

With that stumbling block out of the way,
she decided to celebrate Waldo's arrival by inviting Eduardo over
for dinner. She gave Astrid the night off, did the cooking herself,
turned the lights down low, and popped a bottle of Dom
Perignon.

'To the two of us,' Stephanie toasted.

Eduardo laughed. 'It looks like there are
three of us now,' he said, already poking his finger fearlessly
into the cage and finger-feeding Waldo one canape after
another.

Stephanie couldn't believe her eyes. Not
only was Waldo on his best behaviour, but he seemed to accept
Eduardo instantly, and didn't once try to bite him! Will miracles
never cease?

Colonel Valerio was saying, 'And that is
all, Ms Bezerra? Nothing unusual has occurred? Nothing at all?'

'Well, now that you mention it, Colonel,
there is one thing I find rather odd . . .' 'I'm listening.'

'It is probably nothing . . . but well, it
has to do with that infernal parrot Ms Williams sent for.'

'Yes?'

'Well, it talks nonstop. Only in English, of
course. But I do find it rather strange that whenever it sees Ms
Williams, it tries to get her attention with one particular
word.'

'Oh? And what word would that be?'

' "Steph". The bird keeps shrieking that one
word, "Steph".'

'And Ms Williams responds to that?'

'
Sim
.'

'Did you enquire as to what the bird was
actually saying?'

'I did. Her explanation was that it must
have been the name of its previous owner.'

Silence. Then: 'Tell me, Ms Bezerra. Does
the bird try to get your attention - or anyone else's - by using
that same word?'

Astrid didn't hesitate. 'Never,' she
declared.

After a moment, Colonel Valerio said, 'Hm .
. . that is rather interesting.'

Your first mistake, Ms Williams.

Colonel Valerio severed the connection. He
was smiling.

'Stefan,' Colonel Valerio said softly.

He was alone at the rifle range, his Pearson
bow, with its adjustable flight wheel, fitted with a quiver of five
compression- moulded, carbon/fibreglass arrows tipped with
one-and-one- eighth-inch steel razor broadheads. Sliding one into
the bow, he extended his arm and pulled back on the string. Peering
through the thirty-millimetre Aimpoint sight, he saw the sharp red
dot centred on the target to which he'd stapled Stephanie's
photograph. Letting go of the power release trigger, he
launched.

At a velocity of 558 feet per second, the
arrow ripped through the photo almost instantaneously.

Bullseye!

Already drawing another arrow, he slid it
into the bow, and moved the sight a little to the right, put the
electronic red dot on the second target, said 'Stephanie', and
launched.

Bullseye again!

'Steffie . . . Stefan . . . Stephanie

Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye!

In rapid succession, all five arrows he had
launched hit true. Dead between the eyes.

Smiling, he lowered his bow and thought,
Hunting humans really is so gratifying. I'll take them over animals
any day . . .

'Goodbye, Ms Williams,' he said softly.

By the end of the third week, Stephanie had
not only become acquainted with the geographies of Rio, but she had
familiarised herself with all of Grupo da Veiga's old ads, and had
come up with new campaigns for every division. More importantly,
she had planned them with a specific strategy in mind - so that
they might provide her with access to all of the company's various
facilities.

It was high time she got back to
sleuthing.

She decided, I'll bring up my ideas at the
next staff meeting.

Lili sang. At the Quinta de Anastacio, the
blue-and-white palacio of Ilha da Borboleta. In the majestic Sala
de Hercules, with its pictorial blue-and-white rococo tilework, the
voice that defied description soared up, past the giant
rock-crystal chandelier, to be absorbed by the flamboyantly
painted, octagonally panelled high wooden ceiling. It drifted
around the room like aural ectoplasm and spilled out, through the
billowing antique lace curtains, to disappear into the cool of the
Tropic of Capricorn night.

'Un bel di Vedremo' from Madama Butterfly.
So achingly beautiful it made the angels weep.

'Come Scoglio' from Cosi Fan Tutte. Each
note as dramatically gripping as it was technically dazzling.

'Ou va la jeune Indoue?' from Lakme. So
delicate and haunting, the melody remained in the mind long after
the last note had ceased.

And selections from La Wally by Catalin, La
Vestale by Sontini, and Medea by Cherubini... all masterpieces
destined to live forever.