He paused a moment, as if for effect, and then went on.
“Now, with a city like Paraíso — which is an industrial park on a rather large scale — conditions have improved immeasurably for those who live there. They live decently, with proper hospitals and schools; the factories furnish good housing; they don’t have to worry any more about droughts, or dying cattle, or starving children.”
Da Silva, listening, could understand what the industrial development of an area in the northeast could mean to the Minister of Business and Industry; he could even understand what it could mean to the development of the country in general and to the welfare of the people who lived there in particular. What he could not understand was what it had to do with the police. Still, listening to the old man was interesting. It was questionable in his own mind, though, whether or not working on an assembly line was really more satisfying to the people of that part of the northeast than taking their chances with the bounty of an admittedly stingy Mother Nature, although he was sure the women and children had to prefer their new life. The Minister was continuing, his gaze moving metronome fashion between his two listeners.
“There are other attempts at industrial parks in Brazil of course, imitations of Paraíso; cities like Novo Mundo and Industrianopolis in the south, but our efforts have been concentrated on Paraíso. Twenty years ago, or even fifteen, anyone suggesting an industrial park of this size — or any size, as far as that goes — in the northeast of Brazil, would have been called insane. But things have changed. First, the hydroelectric-power project on the São Francisco River made cheap power available for the first time. Secondly, water isn’t a matter of luck, good or bad, that it used to be; we bring water in from the Rio Prêto and the Rio Grande and store it in a man-made lake. We’ve extended the Salvador-Paulistana railway to Paraíso and continued it to the São Luis line, so that rail shipments are possible to ports to the north in Maranhão, to the east to Forteleza, or to the south to Bahia, with connections on to Rio. And we’re building a highway that will eventually connect with the Brasília-Belem road. We’ve built a pipeline from São Luis and a refinery in Paraíso; the city will eventually become the largest petrochemical complex in South America. If—”
He paused, a finger in the air, and turned to Da Silva.
“That ‘if is where you come in, Captain. At present there is a threat to the continued growth of the city, and that threat brings it into your domain. You’ve probably been sitting here wondering what all this has to do with you. Very much, Captain. In the past two weeks four people have been killed — murdered — in Paraíso. The fourth was an American, which is the reason for Mr. Wilson’s involvement and his being present here today.”
Da Silva frowned. People were being killed every day of the week in Rio, Chicago, Paris, London, and just about everywhere else in the world, and he was surprised that a Minister of Business and Industry should worry about it. If anything, it seemed more a problem for the law enforcement agencies of government. Besides, if in a town the size of Paraíso — which was, after all, still a frontier town, despite its modern factories and its advanced technology — only four people had been killed in a period of two weeks, it had to be the cleanest city in Brazil, or anyway, in the northeast. He felt he had to mention that fact.
“Pardon me, sir,” he said, “but with that population, four homicides in two weeks isn’t a very startling statistic. Especially in what amounts to a frontier town. Actually, on that basis our record in Rio is pretty bad. We have about twelve times that population, and between twenty and twenty-five times that homicide rate—”
Minister Wanderlay waved the captain to silence.
“I have no idea how many homicides were committed in Paraíso in the past two weeks, or how many people died in traffic or drowned in the lake, for that matter,” he said a bit sardonically. “Many more than four, I’m sure. As you say, it’s still a frontier town—” He turned to Wilson. “It’s something like your far west a hundred years ago, Mr. Wilson; I understand that Australia also has places like it.” He turned back to Da Silva. “And if these four men had been killed in barroom fights, or in a card game, or even over a woman — or even to be robbed, Captain — I wouldn’t have asked that you be brought up from Rio. But these men didn’t die those ways, nor was any one of them robbed; as a matter of fact, all of them except one had a considerable amount of money on him, and they all had their watches and personal papers untouched. One even had a very expensive camera and light meter, and they were intact. However, these four men did have one thing in common.” He paused significantly. “They all had a very familiar handprinted sign around their necks, which read—”
“Esquadrão de Morte,” Da Silva said. His face was without expression, but his jaw had tightened and his eyes narrowed.
“Exactly.” The Minister was watching Da Silva closely.
“A death squad.” Da Silva shook his head. “I’d thought we had grown up more! I thought we were done with that sort of vicious idiocy. Or at least I had hoped so.”
“We all did. But it seems there’s a resurgence,” the Minister said quietly. “And in Paraíso, of all places; and now of all times!”
Wilson entered the conversation for the first time.
“The information the embassy sent to us at the Rio consulate about Chaney’s death didn’t say anything about any death squad. And I didn’t see anything in the papers to that effect.”
“We try to keep these matters out of our own newspapers as much as possible, and generally we’re successful,” Dr. Wanderlay said, and raised his shoulders a bit helplessly. “However, we can’t keep it out of the foreign press. How they get hold of such items I don’t know, but they do. And there have been repercussions already. We happen to be in the process of negotiating certain investments with large industrial groups through their various government representatives here, and we’ve had inquiries about these killings. And the inquiries indicate the principals are disturbed by them; greatly disturbed.”
“I know the death squads and I don’t like them,” Da Silva said evenly. “They’re a bunch of rogue police who want to make their own justice. Vigilantes. But I still can’t see what something that internal in Brazil should have to do with foreign companies or foreign governments.” He studied the Minister’s face. “Sir, how can four people being killed in a city that small — or that big, if you prefer — really have any influence in determining either a government or even a company policy?”