Chapter 27

THE SUN WAS disappearing fast as Tom Chambers and Carmelo Ferrante walked out on to the dusty veranda of an elegant old villa wedged into the hillside of Santa Teresa. In the shadowy room behind them Antônio, Marcelo, the ex-death squad bozo and half a dozen others were pouring over the map Marcelo and Ferrante had marked up to show the various routes they were to take to the Inferno. For the moment there was no more they could do; they were waiting on a call from Michael to tell them he was on his way to deliver the depositions.

As the warm evening air stirred the surrounding palms and the ocean glittered like burnt silver on the horizon, Ferrante began speaking to Chambers in low, casual tones. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said, resting his hands on the wrought-iron balustrade and gazing out at the view.

Chambers leaned against a chalky pillar and folded his arms. The impression they were giving, should anyone inside look out, was of two men idly passing the time.

‘Those guys in there are after a revenge killing,’ Ferrante continued, ‘which means, if we take them along, a lot of people are going to die. The hostages included.’

Chambers lowered his gaze to where a yellow streetcar was trundling past below. ‘Michael’s thinking the same way,’ he said. ‘So what do we do? I don’t see how we’re gonna shake them now.’

Ferrante scratched his head and affected a yawn as someone came out on to the veranda behind them. ‘So what’s she like, this Michelle broad?’ he asked.

Chambers frowned. ‘What do you mean, what’s she like?’ he said as one of Marcelo’s sidekicks planted himself a couple of feet away and began urinating over the railings into a window-box.

Ferrante shrugged. ‘She good-looking or … what’s she like?’ he said.

Chambers inhaled slowly as he considered his answer. ‘She’s as beautiful as any woman you’ll ever see,’ he said finally.

Ferrante’s eyebrow was cocked as he looked at him. ‘So you and her got something going?’ he wanted to know.

‘Me?’ Chambers laughed incredulously.

‘Why not? A good-looking guy like you …’

‘Hey, strictly solo,’ Chambers cut in. ‘Besides she’s taken.’

Growing bored with the conversation, the slick-haired teenager, with tattoos up his arms and gold loops in his ears zipped himself up and wandered back inside.

‘So what do we do?’ Chambers repeated, picking up where they had left off.

‘Well,’ Ferrante responded, ‘if their information’s to be trusted – and I don’t think we’ve got much choice but to go with it – then we’re ahead on the Inferno’s location, and we’re pretty au fait with the layout of the place. So what we do is, you go back in there and tell them you just spoke to Michael on the phone – which you’re gonna do the minute I finish speaking – to remind him of something that didn’t occur to any one of us before now, which is there’s every chance he’s not gonna know where he’s being taken, because Pastillano will probably send a car, just like he did earlier. So we, you and me, are gonna take ourselves over there to watch the hotel and as soon as Michael and Rita hit the road we’ll call these guys to give them the green light. Except of course we won’t, because it’s gonna be too dangerous having them around.’

Chambers was already taking out his phone and dialling the Rio Palace Hotel. Ferrante looked at him as he asked to be put through and covering the mouthpiece Chambers said, ‘Let me get this straight. We are going over there, but as soon as Michael and Rita take off to deliver the depositions and pick up Robbie, we’re heading straight for the mountains to get Cavan. Could be we’re all going the same way, we’ll find out when we get there.’

Ferrante nodded and picking a splinter of wood from the post beside him, began cleaning his teeth.

Chambers waited as the phone in Michael’s room continued to ring. He looked at Ferrante and felt his adrenalin starting to pump. ‘No reply,’ he said.

Ferrante’s eyes were instantly alert. ‘Then something’s wrong,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t have left without calling.’

Chambers disconnected the call and quickly dialled again.

‘What are you doing?’ Ferrante asked.

‘Checking with Franco if he saw them leave.’

‘Sim, Seu Tom,’ Franco responded. ‘He go out five minutes ago with one lady and two men. They go in big old car, like a Ford.’

Chambers thanked him, cut the call and put the phone back in his pocket while relaying the information to Ferrante.

‘OK,’ Ferrante replied, after taking a moment to think, ‘go back in there and do like I said, then you and I are heading straight for the mountains. We can call these guys when the party’s over.’

Night was settling firmly over the city as the car that had come for Michael and Rita sped north along the Avenida Brasil towards Baixada Fluminense. The fact that they had forgotten to alert Chambers and Ferrante that they were on their way was a blunder neither could even guess the consequences to, but it had happened and there was no point fixating on it now. They just had to be thankful that they had reacted fast enough when the unexpected knock had come on the hotel room door so that Rita had taken the depositions and a loaded gun into the bathroom before Michael answered. If they hadn’t, there was every chance the depositions would now be on their way to Pastillano with Michael’s body lying bloodied and bullet-ridden on the hotel room floor.

The attempt at double-cross had unnerved them both, but it had also given them an advantage that they might not otherwise have had, as Rita’s surprise entrance meant that she had been able to force Pastillano’s emissary to drop his gun and at the same time it had enabled her and Michael to keep theirs. So now they were riding in the back of an old American car, their weapons close to hand and the depositions tucked inside Michael’s shirt. The thug who had come up to the room was sitting sulkily beside the driver, in no position to make any demands of his passengers who were now calling all the shots.

They said very little, however, as they began travelling higher into the mountains and deeper into the luxuriant density of the forest. Michael was in the grip of an icy calmness that, for the moment at least, was glazing over a murderous rage at the way Pastillano had attempted to snatch the depositions and hang on to Robbie. It told him more than anything how slim their chances were of getting Robbie back and he knew now with absolute certainty that should it prove necessary he would kill Pastillano without thinking twice.

Feeling Rita’s eyes on him he glanced at her briefly, then turned back to the passing darkness. With her flame-coloured hair, round, ruddy cheeks and rapidly blinking eyes, she wasn’t anyone’s idea of a trained killer, which was probably, Michael guessed, what had made her such a successful undercover agent. Certainly he was glad she was with him now, not only because of the way she had handled herself back at the hotel, but because he would have hated to be going into this alone.

‘When we get wherever the hell we’re going,’ she said softly, ‘I’m gonna keep this jerk who came into the hotel right here in the car. We’ll have to hope he matters to Pastillano, because if he doesn’t he’s not going to be much use. It’s a chance we’ll have to take.’

Michael nodded and she continued: ‘I don’t see any way they’re going to let you into the great man’s presence armed, so don’t even attempt it. Just hang on to the depositions and don’t part with them until they’ve handed over your kid. We’ll try making them bring him to the car. It could work, we don’t know until we try. If you’ve got to go some place out of my sight, then you’re on your own. It could be they’ll shoot you dead the minute they get the chance, take the documents and hang on to Cavan and Robbie to make sure no copies start surfacing in places they don’t want.’

Michael looked at her.

‘That’s the worst case scenario,’ she confessed. Then, nodding towards the sullen figure in front she said, ‘It all depends on him. If he’s someone, it could be we’re home and dry; if he’s no one, we’re history.’

Michael’s eyes moved to the back of the man’s squat, oily head.

‘I know,’ Rita whispered, ‘he looks like a no one to me too, but let’s try thinking positive.’

They’d been in the car almost an hour by the time they took an abrupt turn to the left and began winding down a steep, narrow road that offered an occasional glimpse through the trees of the glittering lights of a town below. Michael’s tension started to increase, as though a sixth sense were warning him they were coming close to their destination. Rita must have sensed the same, for she picked up the gun beside her and touched it lightly to the wrinkled flesh at the base of the man’s skull. He began to turn, but she prodded him harder and he gave up.

‘How much longer?’ she asked him.

‘We there now,’ he answered in a voice so dense with anger it was clear how badly he’d screwed up. Worse still, Michael thought as they approached a long, low, windowless building almost totally obscured by trees, was that he was now bringing two armed individuals on to Pastillano’s territory, an eventuality Pastillano and his parasites were very probably unprepared for.

As they drew closer he noticed a waterfall cascading off to the right and felt his heart tighten. There was no doubt this was where he had been brought earlier. He turned at the recognition of another sound and saw two large garage doors at either end of the building, one of which was starting to glide open. The driver was moving towards it with the obvious intention of entering, until Rita barked at him to stop right where they were. Then, turning to Michael she glanced at his gun, indicating he should pick it up and put it to the back of the driver’s neck. Michael did so and was suddenly aware of how hard his heart was beating.

‘Does your friend here speak English?’ she asked the man with oily hair.

He shook his head.

‘Then you tell him to go inside and bring Pastillano and the boy out here,’ she instructed.

‘Who Pastillano?’ he responded.

‘Don’t get smart,’ she sneered, prodding him with the gun. ‘Now tell him to do like I said and you and me, we’re gonna wait right here. If he’s not back in two minutes you’ll be eating your brains? Comprendo?’

He turned his head slightly, presumably translated Rita’s command, then watched the driver get gingerly from the car.

‘Two minutes!’ Rita reminded him, cocking the gun.

‘Dois minutos!’ he shouted.

The driver started to run, disappearing swiftly inside the garage, whose interior was as tenebrous as the pitch night sky.

Michael looked around at the towering black trees and tangled, impenetrable scrub. There was no movement, no sound beyond the high-pitched chafing of crickets, yet the sense of being watched was as eerie as the silent bunker before them. He looked at it, trapped in the headlights, and thought of the iniquity it housed.

‘What’s your name?’ Rita demanded of the man in front.

No answer.

‘Name,’ Rita repeated, prodding him.

‘Cardoza,’ he answered.

‘Oh, like you’re the president,’ she replied, smacking his head with the gun.

‘Same name,’ he cried. ‘I got same name. Cardoza.’

‘OK, Cardoza,’ she said, lifting her watch into the light, ‘looks like you’re about to find out your value around here. And while we’re waiting, you can tell us exactly where inside that summer camp over there we’re gonna find this gentleman’s relatives, should a search prove necessary.’

‘I not know what you mean,’ he answered.

‘Oh, sure you do,’ she replied. ‘This is the Inferno, isn’t it?’

‘I not know what you mean, Inferno,’ he said.

Rita glanced at Michael, then smashed the butt of her pistol down on Cardoza’s head. ‘The Inferno,’ she repeated. ‘You know, the place where Pastillano puts on his private shows. I expect you bring the players here for him, don’t you, Cardoza? What is it you do? Break their feet? Is that your speciality? Or is it you who gets them to sit in acid, or pulls out their teeth? Maybe you get in on the rape too? Is that what lights your fire, Cardoza? Defenceless boys …’

‘OK,’ Michael broke in.

Rita looked at him, her face hard with anger.

‘All we need to know is where Cavan and Robbie are likely to be,’ Michael said, expecting an army of cohorts to come swarming out at any minute complete with masks, AK47s and enough ammunition to blow them all from here to life everlasting.

‘Is impossible to say,’ Cardozo spluttered as Rita pulled his head back and jammed the pistol under his jaw. ‘Maybe they downstairs, in tank, or maybe they with the boss. Could be they not together. Is impossible to say.’

‘How do you get to the tank?’ Michael said.

‘Through there,’ Cardozo answered, pointing at the garage.

‘Any other way?’

‘I not know. I no think so.’

He squealed as Rita tightened her grip.

‘Try harder,’ she barked. ‘Any other way?’

‘Around back, I think. There is fire stair. Maybe there is door there, I not sure. I no remember.’

Rita was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘You know what worries me about you, Cardoza, is how fast you’re giving up this information. I mean, either you’re a lily-livered slimeball, or there’s something going down here you’re not telling us about. So which is it?’

‘No! No!’ he cried, as she placed the flat of her hand under his nose, ready to chop it up into his skull. ‘Is me. I lily-livered slimeball,’ he choked.

Rita turned quickly to Michael as he nudged her, then followed his eyes to the garage. Two men were emerging, both carrying automatic pistols and neither weighing less than two hundred pounds.

As they approached, Michael’s hand tightened on his own gun and as the blood began pounding through his head he heard Rita murmur, ‘So, Cardoza, are you a Mr Big around here, or are you a Mr Nothing? I guess we’re about to find out. Crack the window, then sit on your hands.’

Cardoza was shaking so hard he could barely move.

‘The window,’ she hissed, banging his head against it.

Michael’s heart was in his throat. A Mr Big wouldn’t be this scared. His eyes returned to the advancing figures. They were coming up on his side of the car.

‘You will please come with us,’ one of them said, as they reached him.

Fear cleaved through Michael’s chest as he turned to Rita.

‘So far so good,’ she told him.

He looked at her.

‘Well they didn’t kill us yet, did they? Which could mean they want this sucker alive.’

Michael opened the car door and stepped out. The night was humid and airless, and alive with insect falsetto.

‘I will take the gun,’ he was told. ‘Where are the depositions?’

‘Where’s my son?’ Michael countered. ‘The deal was, I bring the depositions, you give me my son.’

‘The boy is inside. You will bring the depositions,’ the man responded and turned towards the garage.

Michael stayed where he was. ‘And my brother?’ he demanded.

The man turned back. ‘Your brother was not part of the deal.’

‘Then make him a part of the deal,’ Michael said.

‘You are in no position to make demands. Remember, we have your son.’

Michael leaned back into the car and picked up the depositions. ‘The chances are they’re going to shoot me the minute I get inside,’ he said to Rita. ‘If they do, shoot him, then get the hell out of here.’

Rita’s eyebrows were raised. ‘You giving orders?’ she joshed.

‘For your own good,’ he responded and straightened up.

The two men positioned themselves either side of him as they escorted him across to the garage, through a wide, heavy door at the back and into a large, brightly lit room where there were nothing but masked men in dark clothes, each brandishing an automatic pistol. They were standing absolutely still, feet uniformly apart, guns trained on Michael’s head and heart. There was no furniture, nothing on the gnarled stone walls, nor on the white concrete floor. The room was a perfect square with no windows, two doors and nowhere to hide.

Michael looked from one concealed face to the next. There were half a dozen of them, without doubt all members of Pastillano’s grupo de extermínio. He couldn’t help wondering how many children these monsters had brutalized and killed between them, and knowing that they were very probably military policemen, so say protectors of the innocent, sickened him right through to his soul.

He waited motionlessly for someone to speak. Fear thrummed in his chest and drove through his brain. His face was taut, every muscle in his body strained. The envelope containing the depositions was dangling from his right hand, his left fell loosely at his side.

A minute or more passed. Nobody moved. The only sound came from the hectic night forest, bursting in through the open door behind him. Sweat trickled from his temple and ran into his neck. Then, hearing footsteps approaching he moved his eyes to the other door.

As it opened the men in the room parted, creating a kind of aisle with Michael at one end and the man who was entering at the other. He was short, overweight, with a shining bald pate, pendulous cheeks and a pursed, fleshy mouth. His bulbous eyes glinted like newly minted coins, his hands and throat were weighted with gold.

‘Mr McCann,’ he said in accented English, ‘you have brought the depositions I see.’

He was looking at the envelope in Michael’s hand. Michael made no move. There was no doubt in his mind now that he was going to die, for the only reason Pastillano would have shown himself was because he had no intention of letting him out of there.

‘Perhaps you would like to hand them over,’ Pastillano suggested affably.

Michael’s eyes were like steel. ‘You’ve tried to escape your part of the bargain once already tonight,’ he reminded him. ‘Are you going to try again?’

Pastillano’s thick black brows rose. ‘Try?’ he repeated in a curious drawl. ‘Are you saying you are going to resist when you are surrounded by armed men?’

‘What I am saying,’ Michael corrected, ‘is that you are a coward.’

Pastillano’s eyes held steady as every gun in the room made ready to fire. ‘Are you a fool, Mr McCann?’ he enquired.

‘Are you a murderer and a sodomite and all the other things you are accused of in these statements?’ Michael replied.

Pastillano’s nostrils flared. ‘What you have there, Mr McCann,’ he said tightly, ‘is a pile of trash, false declarations made by the notorious Estrela gang whose drug activities are on the verge of being shut down by the Rio state police. They are prepared to go to any lengths to stop that happening.’

‘Is that so?’ Michael said sarcastically. ‘Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining why you have abducted my son and my brother, and are holding them to ransom for these statements, if, as you say, they are false?’

‘False though they are, they could still do me considerable harm,’ Pastillano confessed.

‘But surely a man in your position has no need to resort to kidnapping and torture in order to save his own skin,’ Michael reminded him. ‘Unless, of course, the charges against him are true.’

‘I can assure you they are not,’ Pastillano responded.

‘Then you will have no problem in releasing my son and my brother,’ Michael told him.

Pastillano stared at him hard, his narrowed, glinting eyes seeming to pierce right through his skull. Then, putting a hand out to one side he clicked his fingers. The door behind him was still open and Michael’s insides began to solidify as a man came through carrying a small boy with a thick line of black tape across his mouth. The boy’s deep-blue eyes were wide with fear as he looked around the room. As they came to rest on Michael, Michael felt his heart collapsing. Then a terrible rage suddenly seized him, almost plunging him into violence, as he struggled with the urge to annihilate every man in the room for ever laying a single hand on his son.

Pastillano was watching him closely, as though waiting for the explosion until, realizing it wasn’t going to come, he looked disappointed and said, ‘Our arrangement was, the boy for the documents,’ he reminded him and held out his hand.

Michael tore his eyes from Robbie and fixed them on Pastillano.

Pastillano smiled his encouragement. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘the child is right here and I assure you I am a man of my word.’

Knowing he had no alternative, Michael started towards him. As he moved he felt strangely weighted, slowed by suspicion, distanced by fear. He wondered who the man was out in the car with Rita, for he surely was the only reason no one had yet opened fire. Pastillano’s piercing eyes bored into his. He felt Robbie watching him and wished he could tell him it would be all right. But his throat was too tight, his senses too concentrated on what might happen at any moment.

At last he was face to face with Pastillano. Pastillano inclined his head politely and Michael passed him the envelope. The ex-army colonel slid the documents out and scanned them. Then, looking at Michael again, he said, ‘Thank you, Mr McCann.’

Michael watched him and felt revulsion and terror slide through him as his smile started to widen. He heard, rather than saw, the click of fingers and before he could move a muscle a gun was pressing against his head.

Pastillano was still smiling. ‘You see, Mr McCann,’ he said, ‘you are a fool. A fool to hand these over and a fool to think your son will be returned,’ and nodding to the man holding Robbie he said, ‘get him out of here.’

The man started to turn. Michael’s eyes darted to him, then suddenly in one lightning move of madness and with a strength he never knew he possessed, he slammed an elbow into his captor’s gut, spun round, grabbed the gun and hooking Pastillano around the neck jammed it right into his face.

It had happened so fast, and with such an insane precision and confusion of bodies, that not a single shot had been fired.

Michael glared over Pastillano’s shoulder at the thwarted men. He was breathing too fast, his pulses were exploding. ‘One move, any of you, and I’ll blow his fucking head off,’ he shouted, edging round so he had them all in his sight. He looked at the man holding Robbie. ‘Put him down!’ he barked.

The man didn’t move.

‘I said put him down!’ Michael yelled and yanked Pastillano’s head back so hard he heard his bones crack.

‘Ponha a criança no chão,’ Pastillano choked.

The man did as he was told, keeping his eyes fixed on Michael, as he lowered Robbie to the ground.

‘Come here,’ Michael said to his son, his voice roughened by adrenalin and terror.

Robbie ran to him.

‘Get behind me,’ Michael said, his eyes darting frantically about the room. He wished to God he knew what he was going to do now. ‘You,’ he said to one of the men who had brought him in, ‘go back to the car and tell the woman to bring in Cardoza.’

The man looked uneasily at the others.

‘Do it!’ Pastillano seethed, his voice strangled by Michael’s grip on his throat.

The man turned and hurried out of the room. Michael heard him running across the garage, then his muffled tread on gravel. He waited, his lungs pumping so hard he could barely keep up. Robbie was hanging on to him. He was here and alive. But where the hell was Cavan?

He looked at the others and realized they were still holding their guns. ‘Drop your weapons,’ he ordered.

No one moved.

‘I said drop them,’ he yelled in panic.

Six guns clattered to the floor.

They waited in silence until Rita came in with Cardoza. Michael looked over at her, then gaped in horror, for the gun was on her, rather than the other way round.

‘OK, let him go,’ Cardoza barked, holding Rita by the hair and pressing her so hard with the gun that her head was forced to one side.

Michael stared at him.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ Cardoza shouted. ‘Let him go or the lady here gets it.’

‘You shoot her, I shoot him,’ Michael responded, hardly able to believe what he was saying.

‘You got to the count of three,’ Cardoza warned, and from the way the others reacted Michael guessed this was some kind of signal. ‘One,’ Cardoza began.

Michael was confounded. He couldn’t make himself think. Didn’t know what to do. If he let Pastillano go they’d take Robbie, but how was he going to stand there and let them shoot Rita?

‘Two.’

Michael stared at him and suddenly his eyes grew so wide that Cardoza started to look uneasy.

‘Two,’ he repeated forcefully.

‘Three,’ Carmelo Ferrante finished, as he stepped silently up behind Cardoza and planted the barrel of his gun in Cardoza’s ear. ‘Drop it, buster,’ he said mildly.

As Cardoza’s gun hit the floor, Michael continued to stare at Ferrante, still unable to believe his eyes. The timing was so unbelievable he just couldn’t get a grip on it.

Then suddenly he was aware of some kind of commotion outside. Voices were shouting, guns were firing, men were running. All hell was about to break loose. Ferrante swung round, surprised; at the same instant Cardoza sprang for his gun. Rita kneed Cardoza in the face, then hit the ground herself as the first of Marcelo’s gang burst into the room, guns blazing.

Without thinking, Michael shoved Pastillano into his men, scooped up Robbie and bolted for the adjoining room. Behind them bedlam broke out as gunfire echoed around the stone walls and injured men yelled out in fury and pain.

Robbie was clinging hard to his father, the tape still stuck to his mouth. Michael carried on running, moving from one stone room to the next, tripping over instruments of torture and trying not to gag on the smell. At last he reached the other garage and began fumbling frantically around the walls for some kind of mechanism to release the door. He didn’t realize he was still holding the gun until someone came up behind him and spinning round, he almost fired. Rita banged the gun from his fist, then picked it up and handed it back.

‘Carmelo’s gone out the other way,’ she told him, as they continued to search the walls. ‘Here,’ she cried, hitting a button, and the garage door started to open. ‘Get back,’ she hissed as Michael made to duck under.

Michael jerked back against the wall, waited for her to check the way, then followed her out.

‘Make a run for the car,’ she ordered.

‘What about Cavan? We’ve got to find Cavan.’

‘They’ve got him,’ Rita said, dragging him behind a tree as someone ran out of the other garage into the clearing.

‘Who?’

‘Tom and Carmelo. They went in the back way. Now, make a run for the car.’

Grasping Robbie hard, Michael raced across the clearing and dived into the front passenger seat, just as Ferrante leapt in the driver’s side.

‘Where’s Rita?’ Ferrante demanded.

‘Right here,’ she answered, jumping in the back.

‘Christ, there’s Cavan,’ Michael hissed, and passing Robbie to Ferrante, he dashed around the car to where Chambers was half-walking, half-carrying Cavan towards the car.

‘We’ve got to get him to a hospital,’ Chambers said, as Michael took Cavan’s other arm.

‘I’m OK,’ Cavan croaked. ‘Just get us the hell out of here.’ Ferrante spun the car round and accelerated fast back up the track. ‘They must have figured out we were planning on going without them,’ he said, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Tom.

‘Are you kidding? They had to have been right on our tails to have got here so fast,’ Chambers responded.

‘Who?’ Cavan mumbled.

‘Marcelo and his gang,’ Chambers answered.

‘They’re gonna be mad,’ Ferrante warned as the car leapt over a bump in the road.

Chambers winced with Cavan. ‘If any of them lives through it,’ he said.

‘It wouldn’t be wise to take any chances,’ Ferrante told him. ‘If I were you I’d be on the next plane out of here.’

‘This boy needs a doctor,’ Chambers reminded him.

Michael twisted round in his seat and gripped Cavan’s hand. ‘You’re going to be OK,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re going to get you some help just as fast as we can.’

‘Michelle,’ Cavan murmured. ‘Did they …’

‘She’s OK,’ Michael told him. ‘They released her this afternoon,’ then turning back again his looked down into Robbie’s big, staring eyes.

Making an attempt to wrest himself from the adrenalin pounding through his veins, he smiled and smoothed the boy’s thick, dark hair. Carefully starting to peel the tape from his mouth, he tried to make himself grasp that this truly was his son, but right now nothing seemed real – except perhaps the tightness in his throat and painful sting in his eyes. Then he grabbed for the dash as the car jack-knifed out on to the main road.

When the tape was off Robbie turned his face sharply into his father’s shoulder. Michael hugged him hard and felt new and overpowering emotions flow copiously into his heart.

It was just after midnight when Michelle heard the outside bell ringing. Riddled with nerves as she was, she had to force herself to pick up the entryphone. The instant she heard Michael’s voice she dropped the phone and raced across the courtyard to open the door. What she saw at first confused her, for there were people with him she didn’t recognize and everyone seemed to be talking at once. Then, seeing a sleeping Robbie in Michael’s arms, she cried out and stumbled forward to take him.

‘Oh my God, my God,’ she breathed, cradling him to her as he murmured drowsily. ‘Where did you find him? How did you …?’

‘Michelle, please tell this man here who we are,’ Michael interrupted.

Michelle looked up and recognized the man he was referring to as the one assigned to watch over her. The other two people she didn’t know.

‘This is my son,’ she told the man. ‘And this is his father. And these people here …’ She looked helplessly at Michael.

‘Are friends,’ Michael supplied. ‘Carmelo and Rita Ferrante. You can check them out with the US Embassy. Now, can we go inside?’

‘It’s been a busy night,’ Rita said, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re going to head off home.’

Michael turned to look at her, then, hugging her he said, ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘You just did,’ she told him and smiled at Michelle’s bemusement.

‘Will I see you again?’ he asked, shaking hands with Carmelo.

‘Could be,’ Carmelo grinned, ‘if you’re unlucky.’

Michael smiled and looking up at the sky he said, ‘I don’t know that any of this has really sunk in. I mean, it’s probably no big deal for you, but for us …’

‘Believe me, it’s a big deal,’ Carmelo told him, ‘and you’re probably going to have some kind of delayed reaction, so prepare yourself and don’t be too hard on yourself either. Not many men could have done what you did tonight and don’t you forget it.’

‘Would somebody mind …’ Michelle began.

Carmelo put up a hand. ‘Just give me a minute,’ he said and sliding an arm about Michael’s shoulders he walked him a few paces down the street. ‘I don’t want you to worry about this unduly,’ he said quietly, ‘but keep in mind that if Marcelo and his gang get out of there tonight there’s every chance they’re going to come looking for me and Tom. It could be their search will lead them here, so be on the look-out and call me if you need to. You’ve got my number?’

Michael nodded.

‘Just get on a plane out of here as soon as you can,’ Carmelo advised, as they turned back towards the apartment. ‘They’ll probably only keep Cavan in overnight, but if they want him any longer, leave him with Tom and get your boy home where he belongs.’ They looked up to find Rita, Michelle and the British security agent all watching them. ‘OK, Rita?’ Carmelo said. ‘Ready to hit the road?’

‘I’ll drive,’ she said, catching the keys as he threw them in the air.

‘I don’t understand,’ Michelle said as the Ferrantes got into the car and drove away. ‘Who are they? What’s been going on?’

Michael looked down at her pale, anxious face and Robbie’s peacefully sleeping one, and felt suddenly so tired that all he wanted was to lie down with them and hold them for ever. But that wasn’t going to happen, so slipping an arm around her he said, ‘They’re ex-federal agents who helped Tom and me get Cavan and Robbie back from Pastillano tonight.’

Michelle’s eyes widened with horror and confusion. ‘You mean …? Are you telling me Robbie …?’

‘He’s OK,’ Michael assured her. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

‘But how did they get him?’ Michelle cried, as he closed the door behind them. ‘I thought he was safe. You told me …’

‘When I spoke to you he was,’ Michael cut in. ‘But somehow Pastillano found out about him and managed to snatch him this afternoon. But we’ve got him back now and I’ve just had him checked over at the hospital and he’s fine. Nothing happened to him, at least nothing physical. Cavan they’re keeping for a while.’

‘But how did they get Robbie?’ she shouted. ‘How? He was supposed …’

‘I don’t know how they got him,’ Michael answered through his teeth.

‘But …’

‘Michelle, he’s here, he’s in one piece, now don’t force me to say things we’re both going to end up regretting.’

Her eyes flashed with fury. ‘I see,’ she seethed, ‘so it’s my fault, is it?’

‘You said it,’ he responded tightly, and taking Robbie from her, he carried him into the sitting-room and laid him down on the sofa.

Following him, Michelle went to sit on the floor beside her son and began stroking his hair. She took several moments to get herself back in control, then quietly said, ‘What happened to Cavan?’

Michael was standing at the window, his heart so bound up with emotion he barely heard her.

Michelle turned round. ‘What did they do to him?’ she said.

Keeping his back turned, Michael said, ‘He’s got a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs and some internal injuries.’ He tensed as he thought of how Cavan had come by the injuries, but there was no need for Michelle to know about that – finding out Robbie had been taken was enough for her to deal with right now.

‘Which hospital is he in?’ she asked. ‘Can we go there? Will they let us see him?’

‘Tom Chambers is with him,’ Michael told her. ‘And no, we can’t go there, at least not tonight. But he’s going to be OK.’

Michelle turned back to Robbie. ‘We have to be out of the country by midday tomorrow,’ she said, gazing down at his sleep-flushed cheeks and thickly curling black lashes. He was such a perfect mix of her and Michael that it was sometimes hard to look at him and not feel the way she was feeling now – so full of love that it was binding her up in fear.

It was a while before she realized Michael hadn’t spoken, so turning she looked up to find him staring down at her and Robbie. Her heart somersaulted at the look in his eyes and for a moment she found she couldn’t speak either.

Becoming aware of the sudden intimacy, Michael started looking about the room.

‘They searched it,’ she said, explaining the mess. ‘I’ve been trying to put it back together.’

He nodded, looked at her briefly again, then went to sit in a torn armchair. ‘Do you have any Scotch?’ he asked.

‘If they didn’t smash it,’ she said, getting to her feet.

Going downstairs to the kitchen, she began searching for the bottle. She felt so nervous and afraid of what he was going to say that her movements were jerky and her own words, when she spoke, felt as though they were falling from her lips in random, broken sentences that had no meaning until they were said. She wished desperately she could make herself think of what she really wanted to say, but she was so shaken by the enormity of all that had happened, so overwhelmed by the shock of him being there and the feelings he had rekindled deep down inside her, that her mind just wouldn’t function.

Finding an undamaged bottle of brandy, she poured some into one of the children’s plastic cups and carried it back to the sitting-room. When she reached the doorway her heart rose to her throat as she saw Michael was asleep in the chair.

Setting the brandy aside, she went to sit with Robbie, pulling him on to her lap as he started to wake up. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said softly, as his eyes flickered open.

He rubbed his face, then turned it into her shoulder.

She smiled and swallowing the lump in her throat, waited to see if he would settle. A minute or so later he turned his head back and looked across to Michael.

‘Do you know who that is?’ Michelle whispered.

His lovely blue eyes came back to hers.

She nodded slowly. ‘It’s your daddy,’ she said.

He looked at Michael again and Michelle’s smile was twisted by the effort to hold back her tears. ‘I told you he would come, didn’t I?’ she said.

Robbie continued to stare until finally, tired and still not too sure he was awake, he turned to Michelle and buried his face in her neck.

Hugging him to her, she rocked him gently back and forth until he had fallen asleep again. Then looking over at Michael she saw that his eyes were open.

‘There was only brandy,’ she told him. ‘I put it over there, on the window-sill.’

Wiping a hand over his face, he got to his feet and walked over to the window. The sea outside was like ink, streaked with moonlight. He stood looking at it for some time, lulled by the rhythmic lapping of the waves, then, picking up the brandy he took a generous mouthful and relished the burn as it stole a path through his chest. He could feel Michelle watching him, but didn’t turn round. This was hard, so damned hard he didn’t know where to begin, but he knew she was waiting and knew too that she was every bit as afraid as he was.

At last he turned to face her and watched as she laid Robbie down again, then came to stand beside him. He passed her the brandy, waited while she drank, then walking away from her he said, ‘I don’t think now’s the time to have this conversation. Too much has happened, we’re still too shaken up and it wouldn’t be fair to decide who’s going to have him while we’re feeling like this.’

Michelle’s eyes were holding fast to his and he could see, almost feel, her pain. ‘Is that how it’s going to be?’ she said softly. ‘One or other of us must have him? Not both?’

Unprepared for that, Michael looked away. He had no idea how he wanted to answer the question, so avoiding it he said, ‘He loves you, I’m aware of that. And he doesn’t know me.’

‘No,’ she responded. ‘But he needs you.’

Michael’s eyes came back to hers. ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he said, ‘but I don’t want him living this kind of life.’

There was a long and painful silence before finally she said, ‘I think you should know, Cavan and I …’

Michael nodded. He hadn’t known it for certain, but he realized now that subconsciously he had guessed it. He wondered how he felt about it, but for the moment there was nothing. ‘Do you love him?’ he asked.

She took a moment to think, then said, ‘He’s not you.’

His surprise showed. ‘Did you think he would be?’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. At first, yes, I suppose I did.’

‘And now?’

‘And now he’s Cavan.’

She could see how taut his face was and could feel her own tension building as she tried to force herself to voice what was really in her heart. ‘Robbie knows all about you,’ she said instead. ‘I show him pictures and tell him stories.’ She laughed drily. ‘He’s really going to think you’re his hero now, after this.’

Michael’s expression showed only a flicker of humour.

Her eyes fell away, then looking at him again she heard herself speaking the words she most dreaded saying. ‘Can I come back?’ she whispered, her heart suddenly thudding so hard it hurt. Then she wanted only to die as he looked at her and allowed a terrible silence to pass.

Slowly he started to shake his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.

‘Would you be willing to try? For Robbie?’ she pleaded.

‘I think, before I answer that,’ he said, ‘we should decide whether it’s really for Robbie we’ll be trying, or whether it’s for ourselves.’

As his words registered in her heart her eyes began to shine with hope. ‘Either way,’ she said, ‘don’t you think it’s time we were together, as a family?’

He smiled wryly. ‘I always thought that,’ he reminded her. ‘It was only you who had other ideas.’