Luís shrugged. ‘He says he needs to have a deal in the bag before the end of the month. The thirtieth of June is a reporting date for the regulators. There will be no hiding from those losses then.’
‘Can you mount a bid in a week?’ I asked.
‘I think so. The market seems to have stabilized, so KBN are more confident in taking on the bond portfolio. We’ve devised a structure for the transaction that will give them some nice profits if Dekker does well once we’ve bought it. And I’ve offered Lord Kerton a seat on the board.’
‘I bet he liked that.’
‘I think he did. We got on quite well. How are you doing?’
‘Nothing yet.’
‘Nothing!’ Luís was disappointed, but his voice held a tinge of anger too.
‘Sorry, Luís. We’re trying. No one seems to know anything.’
‘Merda!’ he muttered.
‘Something will turn up,’ I said.
‘I hope so, Nick. I really hope so.’
And it did. The next day. Cordelia called to say that one of her kids had discovered something. He would agree to talk to us, but it had to be in the shelter.
Nelson drove me to the favela. It was a grey day, and it had rained earlier. We crawled through the damp streets pushing along with the traffic. The tunnels through the mountains formed periodic bottlenecks, which added to the congestion.
At last we made it to the bottom of the hill below the favela where Cordelia worked. We set off up the same path that Isabel and I had climbed two months before. It had been a hot day then, it was damp and humid now. The air was heavy with the smell of wet garbage. There were fewer people outside, but kids and young men stared at Nelson and me as we made our slow way up the hill. I felt exposed on that hillside, my back unprotected and vulnerable, a perfect target. Any moment I expected to hear the crack of a gunshot.
Finally we made it to the plateau with the little church and the shelter. The favela brooded beneath us in the grey moist air. We knocked on the door, and Cordelia met us.
‘Follow me,’ she said, and led us to a small store room, packed high with boxes of school materials and dried food. Sitting on a box was a thin boy of about twelve. I recognized him immediately. Euclides.
‘Hallo, meester,’ he said, with a nervous smile.
‘Hallo, Euclides.’
Cordelia and Nelson sat on the two chairs, and I squatted on the floor. Cordelia introduced Nelson to Euclides, who looked at him with extreme suspicion. He no doubt recognized an ex-policeman when he saw one.
Nelson’s voice was firm but kind, as he asked Euclides some questions. The boy responded in tough monosyllables, only expanding on his answers when coaxed by Cordelia. Although I couldn’t understand a word of what was said, I could see the relationship between the three people. Euclides distrusted Nelson but he thought the world of Cordelia, although he tried to hide it. The odd glances towards her for approval and the way he responded to her gentle encouragement gave his affection away. But the eyes were still hard. This kid understood violence.
‘What’s he say?’ I asked, during a pause.
‘He says that he knows one of the kids who was in the group that attacked you. It was all planned. There’s a man by the name of O Borboleta who organized it. He runs a gang in one of the favelas near here.’
‘Have you heard of him?’
‘No. But O Borboleta means “The Butterfly”.’
‘Why’s he called that?’
Nelson turned to Euclides and rattled off a question, which the boy answered.
‘He was a footballer. Very skilful, apparently. No one could catch him.’
‘That could be Zico,’ I said.
Nelson thought. ‘Could be. But the real Zico had a lot of admirers. Any soccer fan could have picked that name. And there are many soccer fans in this country.’
‘Well, does Euclides know whether this Borboleta is holding Isabel?’
Nelson sighed. ‘He says he doesn’t know anything about Isabel.’
‘Ask him to find out where she is.’
Nelson shrugged, and asked the question. Euclides grunted ‘Não.’
‘Ask him why not.’
Nelson repeated my question in Portuguese, and Euclides mumbled something. ‘He says his friend might be able to find out. But Euclides doesn’t want to ask too many questions. It would be too dangerous.’
‘Tell him it’s Cordelia’s sister. Her only sister. He has to help us find her.’
Euclides picked up the urgency in my voice and lifted his eyes towards me. Nelson asked the question. Euclides glanced guiltily at Cordelia and shrugged.
‘Does he have a sister?’
‘Yes,’ Cordelia answered. ‘She’s here.’
‘No, ask him,’ I said.
She asked the question and Euclides nodded.
I asked a string of questions, which I insisted that Nelson translate. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Marta.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Eight.’
‘Do you love her?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you like Cordelia?’
Another pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, if you lost your sister, would you do anything you could to help her?’
The boy didn’t answer. He looked closely at me. I held his brown eyes. They carried so much for a child of twelve. Bravado, fear, insecurity, but also, somewhere, warmth.
‘Cordelia has saved many children’s lives who have come here. Now you can save her sister.’
He still didn’t answer. But I could see he was wavering.
Then Nelson bent down and took something out of a holster strapped to his ankle. It was a small revolver. The metal gleamed in the dim light of the store room. He handed it to Euclides. Cordelia and I looked on, shocked.
The twelve-year-old took the gun, and stuffed it into his trouser belt. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll find her for you.’
Friday disappeared, and the weekend dragged on. Luís remained in London, supported by reinforcements from Banco Horizonte. We didn’t hear from Euclides.
We did, however, hear from Zico. I was alone in the apartment when he called.
‘Hallo?’ I said.
‘Who is that?’ The deep voice growled.
‘Nick Elliot. Luís is in London.’ Luís had warned Zico that I might answer the phone while he was away. Zico, it seemed, spoke some English.
‘OK. Is the takeover stopped?’ His English was slow and precise, as though he had rehearsed the sentence. His accent was strong. Stopped became stop-ped.
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But Banco Horizonte is still making a bid. We hope to delay things so that Bloomfield Weiss will give up.’
‘I see. Well, I hope you succeed. Because when someone take over Dekker, Isabel dies. Anyone you understand? Bloomfield Weiss or Banco Horizonte.’
‘I understand,’ I said.
The phone went dead.
I put my head in my hands. Next Wednesday only one of two things would occur. Either Lord Kerton would sell to Bloomfield Weiss or he would sell to Banco Horizonte. Neither would satisfy Zico.
I shuddered. What was Euclides doing?
Cordelia and her husband had arrived at the apartment on Friday night. They said they would spend much of the weekend with me to keep me company, and to stay near Luís’s phone. Fernando brought a copy of Dr Zhivago in Russian with him, which he had acquired through a friend from the university. I accepted it thankfully. I had read it before but I could read it again, and I was able to lose myself in it for half an hour at a time, before worry about Isabel brought me back to the present.