There was silence on the other end of the line as he thought it through. She knew he didn’t want to leave the country, didn’t want to go anywhere they didn’t speak Portuguese, anywhere he didn’t know the ropes. But he’d wind up doing what she told him to do. He always did.
“How come you’re so sure they’re federal?” he finally said.
She took a deep breath.
“One of them waved his ID right in my face. And he wasn’t just any federal cop, he was that Silva, the one who’s on tele-vision every now and then. He’s a big-shot chief inspector or some such. And, if he’s on your case, it shows they’re serious.
I’m not scared of him. I’ve had trouble with cops before.
It’s not like the last time. Or any other time for that mat-ter. You’re not going to be able to bribe them like you do the locals. These people are relentless. If they catch you, they’ll put you away for a long time. Is that what you want?”
“No, mamae.”
“Then for God’s sake, stop arguing with me and do as I say.”
It was hard for her to accept that she’d given birth to a dunce. Roberto’s half brother, Jose Antonio, dead these five years after a drug-gang shoot-out, had inherited the brains in the family. Roberto was no more than a lout, but he was her lout, and she couldn’t help loving him with a mother’s love. That was the reason she’d moved into the apartment across the hall, to be close to her only surviving son.
“I have some money for you,” she said.
“How much money?”
“After I pay for your passport, I should be able to give you five thousand American dollars.”
“Only five? Caralho, mamae, I’m going to need more than that. I’d better drop by the bank.”
“Are you crazy? Remember how that Jap tracked you the last time? Who’s to say the federals haven’t done the same thing? No, Roberto, you stay away from that bank. Five thousand will keep you in food and lodging for five or six weeks at least. I’ll send you more once you’re settled. Now, listen care-fully. I want you to go to one of those machines that make photos, you know the kind?”
“Where you put in some money and sit inside and-”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. You have to get me a photo. There are different options you can choose from, but the one I want has to be passport sized. You’re not allowed to wear any sun-glasses, you have to look directly into the lens of the camera, and for God’s sake, take that gold chain and that stupid medallion off your neck.”
“It’s not stupid, it’s-”
“Don’t argue with your mother, Roberto. If I say it’s stupid, it’s stupid.”
“Alright. Alright. How long is it gonna take, this passport?
After I have a suitable photo, probably three or four days. I’ll try to pay them extra for a rush job. We have to move quickly. They’ll be circulating your photo before long, might even put it on television. Why, oh why, did you ever have to take up with those disgusting people? Now, see where it’s brought you? You should have listened to me when I told you-”
“Okay, okay, you were right. Now, stop being a pain in the ass.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Roberto Ribeiro. Apologize to your mother.”
Silence.
“Tell me you’re sorry.”
“Alright, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re going over-board? All they got is a description. You know how those police artists are. They hardly ever get it right. I’ll just shave off my mustache and cut my hair. It’s not like they’ve got a photo of me or anything.”
“Roberto, they have a picture of you.”
“A picture? No way.”
She sighed. Jose Antonio would have been one step ahead of her all the way. With Roberto, you had to explain every damned thing.
“They’ll have gotten it from your national identity card.
That one’s no damned good. I was what? Fourteen? Fifteen?
They’ll age it. We’ve wasted enough time in talking. Cut your hair, shave off the mustache, get the photograph, and then check into some cheap hotel downtown. Call me from there, and I’ll come over and pick up the photo. Don’t go back to that clinic. Don’t even put your head out of the door of that hotel room until I come to you with the passport and an airline ticket.”
“You mean I gotta sit around a fucking hotel room for three or four days?”
“Maybe longer.”
“Goddamn it! Where am I going?”
“Paraguay.”
“Paraguay? Fuck me.”
Silva leaned over the photos on Hector’s desk. The one from the national identity card showed Ribeiro as a teenager. The mug shot e-mailed by the police in Rio was more recent, only twelve years old. According to the paperwork, Ribeiro was now forty-one.
A police artist had taken the two photographs as a point of departure, spoken to the Portellas and Senhor Goldman, and done a likeness of how Ribeiro currently might look. He’d had to add a mustache and move Ribeiro’s hairline up toward the top of his head. Then he’d made another version with shorter hair and without the mustache. Silva figured that the first thing Roberto would do was lose the mustache.
Just to be safe, the artist had also made a version with Roberto’s hair tinged blond. They probably wouldn’t need that one. The carioca’s skin was swarthy. Blond hair would have made him more noticeable.
“What about his driver’s license?” Silva asked.
Hector shook his head. “He’s had it for years,” he said. “It’s like yours and mine. No photograph. The state of Sao Paulo didn’t require them until 1998. He’s kept renewing it with-out one.”
“Alright,” Silva said. “How soon can we get the flyer out?
You want to use this one?” He pointed at the version without a mustache and with the cropped hair.
“Hell, no. Use all of them. And add this headline: Wanted for the kidnapping and possible murder of one of our own. That should get everyone’s attention. How soon?”
“We can distribute to the field offices, airports, seaports, and border crossings within an hour.”
“Thank God for e-mail. How about the local cops?”
“Only sure way is to use paper flyers and distribute them by courier service. Two days, minimum.”
“TV stations?”
“It’ll be on the national news at eight tonight.”
“Good. Okay, I think we’re covered on Ribeiro. Let’s get back to Arnaldo. What about that travel agency?”
“We tossed it. There’s nothing useful in their paperwork. Rivas is looking at their computer as we speak. We still have the building covered.”
“And Arnaldo’s cell phone?”
“Hasn’t been switched on since the last time you spoke to him.”
Passports and visas are not checked only upon arrival in Brazil, but also upon departure. The people who do the checking are the federal police, so Silva was in a position to exercise a certain degree of control.
He followed up the e-mails by initiating a series of tele-phone calls to the delegados responsible for monitoring Brazil’s borders. He could have let Babyface, or Hector, or someone else do it, but he knew the personal touch, his own voice on the line, would have more impact.
He started with Sao Paulo’s three international airports, moved on to the seaports of Santos and Sao Sebastiao, and then continued the process in an ever-widening circle. He took a break, and caught five hours of sleep on the couch in the reception area, but he was up again at seven in the morning, calling people at home when he couldn’t get them anywhere else.
By nine thirty, he’d gotten as far as Manaus, the self-styled capital of the Amazon and most definitely not one of his favorite places. Manaus was a cesspool, dirty, hot, foul smelling, with one of the highest indices of childhood pros-titution in the country and administered by corrupt and indolent officials. Corruption and indolence had a way of affecting almost everyone transferred there, including mem-bers of the federal police.