Germaine finished reading and looked up. Mara thanked her, and she left. Silva turned to Lefkowitz.
“Will that tracking device work in the Metro?”
The Metro, Sao Paulo’s underground railway system, ran directly under the bus terminal.
“No,” Lefkowitz said, “it won’t.”
“Why not? Cell phones do.”
“Cell phones get their signal from an antenna strung through the tunnels. The device works via satellite.”
Silva rubbed his chin. “Not good. They could instruct the couriers to get on a train, leave the diamonds under a seat and get off.”
“They could,” Hector agreed. “But they’d have to bring them above ground sooner or later. And when they do, we’ll be on to them. Why two people?”
“Why indeed?” Silva said.
“The note doesn’t specifically exclude the use of cops as couriers,” Goncalves said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Silva said. “Which is why those two couriers are going to be you and Hector.”
T HE FOLLOWING morning, the two federal cops were in the appointed place at the appointed time. It was Hector who took the call.
A distorted voice said, “Listen closely. I’m not going to say it twice. Go to the Metro platform, direction Jabaquara. Wait there until train number 391 comes along. Go into the third car, middle door. There’ll be a paper stuck behind the first seat on the left. Repeat your instructions.”
“Direction Jabaquara. Train 391. Third car. Middle door. Paper behind the first seat on the left.”
The caller hung up.
“Let’s go,” Hector said and set off, threading his way through the crowd.
“Man or woman?” Goncalves said, hurrying to catch up.
“Could have been either one. You know those devices they sell in joke shops? Change your voice? Fool your friends? One of those.”
“Where to?”
“The Metro.”
“Well, there’s a surprise-not. You notice the way people are looking at me?”
“They’re not looking at you. They’re looking at the handcuffs and the case.”
The attache case containing the diamonds was shackled to Goncalves’s wrist.
“Maybe I should open my coat,” he said, “and show my gun.”
“You do,” Hector said, “and somebody will try to steal it.”
The metro stank of axle grease, unwashed bodies and ozone. They had to wait for almost twenty minutes before Train 391 came along. When it did, it was carrying seven passengers in the third car. Two of them were tough-looking young men, one black, one white, seated side-by-side.
“Right where the goddamned paper is supposed to be,” Goncalves whispered.
“Don’t sit,” Hector said. “Brace yourself against the door.”
When the train was rolling again, Hector leaned over and addressed the black guy.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but my friend and I were seated in those seats a while back. We think we might have lost a paper. Mind if we have a look?”
“What’s with the case and the handcuffs?” the man asked.
“They don’t concern you”-Goncalves opened his coat-“but this might.”
“Hey, no need to get nasty. I was just asking. You want to have a look, have a look. Me and my friend, we’ll go sit over there.”
He stuck an elbow into the ribs of the white guy. They both got up, but kept looking back as they moved off.
“So much for trying to be polite,” Goncalves said.
Hector was already looking at the note he’d fished out from behind the seat.
“Exit the train at Praca da Se station,” he read. “Follow the instructions taped under the bench, next to the candy machine, at the right-hand extremity of the platform.”
“It’s a goddamned scavenger hunt,” Goncalves grumbled.
The next note told them to board a taxi with the license plate TBD32F. It would pick them up in front of the north exit.
And it did.
The driver handed Hector an envelope, and then pulled off into traffic. Hector broke the seal, read the note, and handed it to Goncalves.
Don’t bother to question the driver. He knows nothing. The next cab bears the license plate TVR25J.
They questioned the driver anyway. His story was that a kid had come up to him with five hundred Reais and an envelope. He was told where to wait until two men came looking for him. He’d know they were the right men because one would be carrying a brown leather case with a white string tied to the handle. He was to hand them the envelope and then take them to KM post 28 on the BR116. That’s all he knew.
The BR116 was the major artery leading to the neighboring State of Parana. At KM 28, the second cab was waiting.
It was an unseasonably warm day. Goncalves took off his jacket, mopped his brow with his handkerchief and approached the driver.
“You have a note for us?”
“No note. You have a case with a white string tied to the handle?”
Goncalves held it up. “Where are we going?”
The driver eyed the handcuffs. They must have come as a surprise to him. “The Caverna do Diabo,” he said.
It was a cave complex, locally famous, and a popular destination for school trips.
“That’s got to be at least two hours away,” Goncalves said.
“Closer to three. Get in.”
Goncalves turned to Hector. “Can they track us that far?”
“They can track us across the whole country,” Hector said. “Do what the man says.”
“Not before he gets his air-conditioning working.”
The driver shook his head. “Not gonna happen. It’s busted.”
“What?”
“You deaf? The air-conditioning. It’s busted.”
“Screw this guy,” Goncalves said. “Let’s get another cab.”
“Screw you,” the driver said. “It’s not my fault if I can’t afford to fix it.”
“We’ve got no choice,” Hector said, “We’ve got to follow the instructions to the letter.”
“So stop wasting my time,” the driver said. “and get in the fucking cab.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The route to the Caverna do Diabo passed kilometer after kilometer of banana plantations-and not a single bar, shop, or restaurant where they could buy something to drink. The driver was prepared for that. He’d brought a bottle of mineral water, and from time to time, he’d open the cap and help himself to a swig. He made a great point of smacking his lips when he did it. And he didn’t offer the bottle to Hector or Goncalves. When the two federal cops arrived, they were parched and irritable.
“Wait for us here,” Hector told the driver.
“It’s gonna cost you,” the driver said.
“Cost us? What do you mean cost us?”
Hector’s throat was so dry it came out as a croak.
“I got paid to bring you here. I didn’t get paid to bring you back.”
“So how much do you want to bring us back?”
“You aren’t gonna find another taxi out here.”
“How much?”
“Or public transport either.”
“How much, I said.”
“Four hundred Reais.”
“Four hundred Reais! You’re a thief. I’m going to report you.”
“Report all you want. Any more than thirty kilometers from the center, and I’m off the meter. I can set my own price. And my price is four hundred, half now and half before we leave.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to hang around out here for nothing. And I’m not going to drive you back to town and have you stiff me for the other two hundred.”
Hector took out his wallet, threw two hundred Reais onto the front seat and got out.
“Don’t slam the fucking door,” the driver said.
Hector slammed it anyway.
“Refreshment stand over there,” Goncalves said. “Let’s get a drink.”
Their feet kicked up little puffs of dust as they crossed the parking lot. Halfway there, a man in a green uniform intercepted them. He pointed at the case Goncalves was carrying.
“Is that a white string on the handle?”
“It is,” Goncalves said.