As Valerie called the elevator in the hallway outside, Luiz’s head was bursting with questions. There was so much to take in – too much, in fact. Part of him couldn’t help wondering whether this was all some kind of elaborate practical joke. Something about the woman’s brisk manner, however, told him that it was wise to keep his mouth shut for now. He stood in silence as the doors pinged open and the elevator purred down to the ground floor. There was no one in the large, marble-floored lobby – no receptionists behind the front desk, no security guards watching the doors. No one saw them leave.
Although it was early evening, the streets of Rio were still hot and humid. Luiz’s school shirt clung damply to his back and his head was groaning in protest from the blow it had received. Outside the front of the building, a sleek white Mercedes with tinted windows was waiting for them. Scanning the street, Valerie opened the rear passenger door and gestured for Luiz to climb in. As she followed him, Luiz was surprised to see a pistol holster poking out from beneath her suit jacket. He bit back another question.
As the Mercedes pulled away from the side of the road, the identity of the driver hidden behind a partition, Valerie pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. Soon the back seat was filled with acrid smoke. Trying not to cough, Luiz looked out of the window and saw that they were heading north out of the city. A police checkpoint was looming up in the middle of the road ahead of them, manned by burly officers dressed in black with M16 rifles hanging threateningly from their sides. Such checkpoints were a regular sight in Rio, but as one of the policemen waved at the car to halt, this time Luiz had to restrain himself from banging on the windows and screaming for help. Whatever trouble he was in, Ana was in deeper, and if Trojan could help her Luiz needed to be strong. Holding his breath, he heard the driver of the Mercedes roll down his window and murmur something at the policeman, who immediately waved the car through the roadblock.
They continued north along the coastline in the direction of Santos Dumont Airport, the sky darkening as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The road grew quieter, more desolate. Eventually the Mercedes drew to a halt in front of a large warehouse in the middle of an industrial complex that was cordoned off from the public by high iron railings. A lone, plain-clothed man stood guard by the gate, beside a battered sign that read TROJAN INDUSTRIES LTD.
At first glance, everything looked shabby and run-down, but then Luiz noticed the high-tech security cameras on top of the gates, swivelling from side to side to maintain a constant vigil over the surrounding area. As the Mercedes approached, the gates opened automatically, and when Valerie wound down the window and flashed an identification card at the guard, Luiz saw that the man was armed. There was more going on here than met the eye.
The warehouse itself was isolated in the centre of a vast wasteland, a castle in a flat kingdom of concrete. The kind of place where no one would hear you scream, Luiz thought glumly to himself. The car drove round the side of the building, stopping by a reinforced-steel door. Valerie got out of the back seat and pressed her palm against a pad built into the wall. There was a beep, then the steel door opened. Pausing in the doorway to beckon at Luiz, Valerie entered the building. Warily, the boy followed her inside.
Luiz found himself in a giant, gloomy space illuminated by powerful spotlights that hung down from the ceiling. To his left was a makeshift office, where workstations with blinking computer screens were separated by low partitions. The technology looked sophisticated, out of place in such a decrepit building. At the far side of the building, beyond a thick glass screen, Luiz saw a row of narrow passageways side by side. At first, ridiculously, he thought they were bowling alleys. It was only when he spotted the human-shaped targets at the end that he realized he was looking at a firing range.
‘What is this place?’ breathed Luiz.
‘Trojan HQ,’ Valerie replied. ‘Until you go into the favela, this will be your home. You’ll sleep here, eat here and train here.’
‘Train? How long am I going to be here?’
‘We’re working on arranging a contact for you in the Comando Negro. You can’t just stroll up into the favela. It could take a week, could take a couple of hours. When the call comes, you’re going in. Here.’
She passed him a water bottle and pressed two small white tablets into his hand. Luiz looked at them dubiously.
‘What are these?’
‘Cyanide tablets. In case you get caught by the enemy.’ Seeing the shocked look on his face, Valerie rolled her eyes. ‘They’re aspirin, Luiz. I’m guessing you’ve got a headache?’
‘Oh,’ Luiz said, feeling foolish. He took a swig from the water bottle and gulped the tablets back.
‘The living quarters are upstairs,’ said Valerie. ‘I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.’
Trailing along in Valerie’s wake, Luiz felt suddenly weary. Only a few hours ago he had been sitting at home waiting for his sister’s birthday party. Now Ana was in jail and he was stuck with this strange, icy woman in the middle of nowhere. If he hadn’t been numb with shock, it would have felt like a nightmare.
Valerie walked up a staircase, her heels clicking on the metal steps, and along a raised walkway. She led Luiz past a series of numbered doors with small, circular windows set into them. As far as Luiz could tell, there was no one else up here.
At Room 5, they stopped. Valerie pushed the door open, revealing a small room with a bed, a basin and mirror, and a wardrobe. Luiz sat down on the bed, his muscles heavy. He failed to stifle a jaw-breaking yawn.
‘Why do I feel so tired?’ he muttered.
Valerie shrugged. ‘Those tablets weren’t aspirin. They were sleeping pills.’
‘You drugged me?’ Luiz said drowsily, struggling to focus. ‘Why?’
‘We’ve got a lot to get through tomorrow. You’re going to need your wits about you. Enough questions for now. Sleep.’
The last thing Luiz saw – before he was knocked unconscious for the second time in a matter of hours – was Valerie’s face staring grimly down at him.
If Luiz needed time to come to terms with what had happened to him, it soon became clear that Trojan wasn’t going to give it to him. There wasn’t even time to blink. The next day he was abruptly shaken awake by Valerie, who waited outside while Luiz groggily came to, then washed in the basin and pulled on the clothes he found folded up in the wardrobe. Although he guessed that it was early morning, he couldn’t be sure. There were no clocks on the walls, no windows, no way of telling whether it was night or day. The warehouse seemed to run on its own time.
After a quick breakfast of fruit and coffee in a deserted canteen, he was led by Valerie to the makeshift office, which was now occupied by a group of people working at their computers. A tall white man perched casually on the edge of a table, humming tunelessly to himself. He smiled as Luiz approached.
‘Luiz, meet Richard Madison,’ said Valerie. ‘He’s head of Technical Support at Trojan and he’ll be responsible for your training. Madison’s ex-SIS, the British intelligence agency, and has hunted for Al-Qaeda members in the mountains of Pakistan.’ She leaned in closely. ‘So, if I were you, I’d listen to him.’
Nodding briefly at Madison, Valerie turned on her heel and walked away. Luiz watched her go.
‘She’s friendly,’ he said sourly.
A grin broke out on Madison’s face – the first smile Luiz had seen for what felt like an age. ‘Don’t take it personally, lad,’ he said, in English. ‘Valerie’s like that with everyone. Not a lot of call for jokes in Mossad.’
Luiz gave him a blank look.
‘Israeli secret service,’ the British man explained. ‘And, believe me, what those guys lack in humour, they make up for in expertise.’
Luiz remembered the gun holster he had seen Valerie wearing the previous evening. He glanced around the bustling office. ‘Did everyone here used to be in the military?’
Madison nodded. ‘Trojan wouldn’t stand much of a chance otherwise. Over the years Darius has built up enough contacts to put a team together.’
‘And was he…?’
‘Ex-Delta Force – American special forces. There are very few front lines where that man hasn’t seen action. He’s been to places that make my tours look like Disneyland.’
Thinking back to their meeting in his office, Luiz remembered Jordan’s powerful build, the clipped authority of his movements. Perhaps it wasn’t that surprising after all.
Madison looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So I’m guessing you’ve had a bloody strange few hours.’
‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘I’m afraid that’s the way it’s got to be. If the Brazilian government find out what we’re doing here, the shit’s going to hit the fan and no mistake. We’ve got to stay under the radar – get in and get out, like a commando raid. We haven’t really got the time to explain things over a cup of tea.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Luiz said. ‘If the government doesn’t know about you, what are you doing here?’
Madison frowned. ‘Have you ever heard of the term “black op”?’
Luiz shook his head.
‘It describes military operations that are too risky – or too shady – for governments to back openly. They may know something’s going on, but they’ll deny it if you ask them. As it happens, several senior officials in Interpol know about us, but we’re on a kind of probation. This is our first mission, and you’re our first recruit, Luiz. If there’s a cock-up here, you’ll also be our last.’
Madison was interrupted by his bleeper chirping into life. He consulted the electronic readout.
‘I have to call someone. Hang on a second.’
The Brit hurried away, leaving Luiz standing on his own in the office. None of the computer operatives had given him a second glance. Bored, Luiz looked about the warehouse, his eyes catching sight of a side door resting invitingly ajar. Glancing around to check that nobody was watching him, he crept over to the door and slipped outside.
After the claustrophobia of Trojan’s warehouse, it was a relief to be standing in the sunshine again. As Luiz took deep gulps of fresh air, his eyes alighted upon a classic red Corvette parked nearby, its bodywork gleaming in the sunlight. Staring at the car’s smooth contours, Luiz felt a familiar, irresistible urge.
If Trojan wanted a secret agent, they’d get one.
He ran across to the car and, finding one of the doors open, slipped into the driver’s seat. Reaching down beneath the dashboard, Luiz teased out the wiring. Although he hadn’t admitted it to Darius Jordan, he had stolen his first car back in Santa Marta and had quickly grown to love speeding around in other people’s flash machines. Having promised Ana to go straight, several years had elapsed since Luiz had last hotwired a car and he felt a surge of elation when the engine burst into life. He revved the engine, feeling the steering wheel tremble with anticipation beneath his grasp.
In his rear-view mirror, Luiz saw Richard Madison appear in the warehouse doorway. Instinctively, he stamped down on the accelerator. The Corvette screamed away across the concrete, the force of the acceleration pinning Luiz back against the seat. He laughed, exhilarated by the awesome speed of the machine. As the perimeter fence hurtled towards him, he waited until the last second and then spun the steering wheel, veering back towards open ground.
For five minutes Madison looked on, arms folded, as Luiz threw the Corvette into a series of wide, skidding rings, smoke billowing from its screaming tyres. The Brit waited patiently until Luiz had brought the car to a screeching halt, then strolled over and tapped on the window. Luiz had the distinct feeling that Madison was trying to hide a grin.
He pressed the window button down.
‘If you’ve buggered up my car, sonny,’ Madison said, ‘I’ll wring your bloody neck.’
Luiz gave him a beaming smile. ‘It’s safe with me,’ he said. ‘Didn’t Jordan tell you? I like cars.’