Page 97 of No Questions Asked

“What are you talking about, Vicente? Don’t be an idiot. This was all planned. You have no idea who this man is.” He dramatically pointed atEl Esqueleto. “I’ve been trying to lure him here for some time so we could capture him. His name isEl Esqueletoand he’s wanted in a dozen countries. His capture is a coup for all of us. This wouldn’t have happened without me and I’ll prove that in court. It will be your word against mine.”

“Is that so?” Vicente raised an eyebrow. “Youarranged this? You happened to haveEl Esqueleto’snumber on speed dial and didn’t share that?”

“Of course not. I had an intermediary contact him on my behalf. An intermediary I planned on turning over to the police as soon as this operation was over. I intended to meetEl Esqueletoand get information that would lead to his capture. I was going to call the police as soon as I left to arrange for his capture.”

Vicente clapped three times. “Wow, your bravery knows no bounds. Standing up toEl Esqueletoand bringing him down. Unfortunately, that isn’t at all what you both were talking about in your conversation, which we recorded, by the way.”

“I was just soliciting information,” he protested.

“By listing all your contacts in the government and police force? How odd.”

The American pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and began to read. “Is this the message you received from the cartel?A person of authority will meet with you at five o’clock in the afternoon on Tuesday at the old Odebrecht hangar. They will be waiting. Don’t be late.”

He passed over a copy of the email and Martim took it, sweat sliding down his temple. He wanted to wipe it away, but didn’t want to draw attention to his anxiety.

“Yes, yes,” he confirmed. “I requested the meeting and agreed to it so he would meet me here and I could eventually lead the police to him.”

The American laughed. “Nice try, Martim. You didn’t arrange this meeting, because I did. I sent you that email from a laptop and email account the federal police confiscated atEl Esqueleto’sdrug compound. And this man sitting across from you, well, he isn’tEl Esqueleto. He’s Police Sergeant Jose Silva in a wig and some makeup.”

The man Martim thought wasEl Esqueletostood up and made a mock bow. Martim’s eyes widened. “This is a trap.”

“No trap,” Vicente said. “Just good old-fashioned police work, and you helping us with your blustering, arrogant behavior. The realEl Esqueletowas captured this morning in a federal police raid on a new coca farm in a protected area for which you just happen to be responsible. By the way,El Esqueletois a short, portly bald man. He looks nothing like what you might expect from the nickname, The Skeleton. Anyway, along with a complete electronic record of your communications with the cartel, and interestingly enough, an Indian pharmaceutical company with whom you’re plotting to ruin the vaccine project, your days as a free man are numbered. I might add thatEl Esqueleto,whose real name is Joaquin Rojas, has been speaking quite highly of you, and how you’ve helped him so much.” He shook his head as if disappointed. “My, my, you’ve been quite the busy man, Mr. Alves.”

“This is extortion,” Martim yelled. He was losing his cool, but they were closing in on him from all sides, and he had to put a stop to it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to make sure you never work another day in your life.”

Vicente put both hands down on the table and leaned forward. “You aren’t getting out of this, Martim. You’ve been under suspicion for months, and today is the day you’re going down. Your laptop, email communications and bank statements—all handily accessed with the assistance of this amazingly talented computer man, Slash—have put you away for good.”

Furious, he jabbed a finger at the American. “He’s lying to you. He has nothing on me. He made it all up. Besides, it’s impossible. My laptop is encrypted, and it’s kept in my locked briefcase. I rarely let it out of my sight.”

The American crossed his arms and gave him an amused look. It infuriated him more than he could say. “You left your hotel room from one thirty-two this afternoon until eight minutes after three. Do you recall if you had your briefcase at that time?”

The dribble of sweat had turned into rivers and his heart pounded furiously with a mixture of fear and anger. He had left for that time and hadn’t taken his briefcase. “This is a setup. No one will believe you.”

Vicente slapped a hand down on the table so hard, Martim jumped. “We executed a warrant, entering your hotel room with full legal authority. By the way, Martim, the information on your laptop, your phone and bank records, as well as the little show you just put on—which was recorded both by police audio and camera—should prove quite helpful at the trial you’re so anxious to attend.”

“That’s impossible. All of this is a farce.”

The American chuckled, causing Martim’s face to heat with anger. “Think again. The police have been monitoring your actions for some time. You left your briefcase in the room, and we accessed it while executing the warrant. I broke into your laptop in exactly seven minutes and forty-two seconds under the careful eye and with full permission from the Brazilian police and government. Your gun, which, by the way, is unlicensed and illegally possessed, had its firing pin removed by another agent, so if you were so inclined to shoot someone—and you were—the gun wouldn’t fire.”

“No, no, no,” Martim said. “You didn’t do that.”

“You don’t believe me?” The American spread his hands, looking so confident, Martim wanted to punch him. “Your briefcase lock combination was 4045, which was just one combination click from what you left it set at. In America, we call that the Lazy Man’s Approach. But it’s not really lazy, it’s just plain stupid. Additionally, your briefcase helpfully contained a small booklet with all your passwords, which was quite helpful and expedient to the police while reviewing all of your financial and online holdings.”

How in the hell can this be happening? I am an important man, and just need an opportunity to reach my contacts who could extract me from this mess.

“Not coincidentally, your comments to the man you thought wasEl Esqueletoconfirm the same names and relationships in the government and the police that you had in your booklet,” Vicente added. “So, thank you for that.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Martim bluffed. “You will be fired within the hour. Do you know who I am?”

“A man with no power or contacts.” Vicente leaned forward so his face was mere inches away “We could have convicted you for thirty years with just the corruption and bribery charges. But during the raid earlier today onEl EsqueletoI lost one of my best officers. He was killed and two others were injured. I hold you personally responsible for that. He was as good a man as you’re filth. So, it was my sincere pleasure to watch you attempt to shoot Slash in cold blood. Now, you will rot in prison until you die, and I couldn’t be any happier about it.”

“No!” Martim jumped to his feet, his heart exploding with panic. “You can’t do this. I’ve been framed.”

“Only by yourself.” Vicente roughly yanked his hands behind his back, forcing him to bend over the table as he snapped on the handcuffs. “Martim Alves, it’s my duty to inform you, you’re officially under arrest.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Arjun Singh

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