Fiduciary Duty (6 page)

Chapter 7. Finishing Touches

The next morning, I went downstairs to the front desk of the hotel. I settled my bill – hotels don’t like it when you run up too much of a tab – and told them I would need the room for another two weeks, give or take. The front desk staff assured me that was no problem. Then I left my wedding ring in the hotel safe.

An hour later, Pedro put a do not disturb sign on the door of my room and went out the back door of the hotel carrying a knapsack with a change of clothes, a few thousand reais in cash, and maps for the roads within a two hundred kilometer radius of Ternos. He walked to the nearest bus stop, and caught public transportation to the bus terminal downtown. From there he bought a ticket to a town called Passarinho na Mão, which translates as “bird in hand.” Passarinho na Mão has a population of about 23,000 and change, and is about forty minutes from both Pedra de Atiradeira, where Lincoln had rented his farmhouse, and Ternos. From what I could tell, Passarinho na Mão is also known for precisely nothing – I had never heard of it before poring over maps of the Ternos region. Once in Passarinho na Mão, Pedro made his way to the local used car lot where he asked for a small SUV. With his eyes on the floor, Pedro explained that he didn’t have any documents but that the SUV was just going to be used on his cousin’s farm… once he got to the farm.

The salesman regretfully told him the dealership didn’t operate that way, “No documents, no car.”

Pedro tried the junk yard and was told they had no cars that ran.

Pedro walked back to the bus stop to wait for a bus to the next town. Over the next day and a half, he walked into six car dealerships and two junk yards with no success. But at the third junk yard, his luck changed. Pedro handed over the equivalent of a little over $3,000 and drove off with a two-year-old GM SUV that, as far as the insurance company and the Brazilian police knew, had been totaled in a landslide. Using the maps he had brought with him, Pedro managed to navigate his way to the farm Lincoln had rented. As he arrived at the farm, Pedro pulled off his bandana.

The overgrown weeds were clear evidence no one had been in the area for months, which made sense, since it was as isolated as it looked on Google Earth. It would serve my purposes to a T. I pulled the car into the dilapidated barn and closed the doors.

By then it was almost dark. I looked at the farmhouse about 100 feet away. It looked as decrepit as the barn, and some of the windows were broken. The longer I looked at it, the creepier it looked. No way was I going to be sleeping in there. I toyed with the idea of driving into town and finding a cheap hotel room but I didn’t want to be remembered.

I peed on a dried up bush and went back to the truck. I was hungry. There wasn’t much edible in Pedro’s knapsack – a piece of semi-stale bread, some water, a chocolate bar and two small bags of chips. As I scarfed it all down, I tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. That was about five or six seconds before a cloud of mosquitoes zeroed in on my position. Not surprisingly, it hadn’t occurred to Pedro to pack any bug spray. I was glad I wouldn’t need Pedro again – he was socially inept and didn’t plan ahead. For all their foibles, Fernandez and Lincoln do Nascimento were interesting raconteurs and meticulous planners, and a lot of fun.

It was a long night. I finally fell asleep sometime around 3 AM, but even then, it was fitful sleep. My back gave me problems throughout the night.

The next morning I wiped down all the surfaces in the car I had touched, and then some, with bleach. Then I walked into town. It was an hour hike, and I was hungry, tired and sore. I bought some stale biscuits at a general store next to the bus stop, but otherwise kept to myself until the bus arrived. Eight hours later, I was back in São Paulo. An hour after that, I was back in my hotel room, taking a long shower and wondering how much blood the mosquitoes had sucked out of me the night before.

I thought about what the job would require over the next few weeks. A mustache and beard would probably be a good idea, though I had never worn either one. Fortunately, Pedro hadn’t thought to bring shaving gear, so he had gotten me a head start on the process.

The next two days were slow. I used the time to grow facial hair and to track down information on the next few targets near the top of my list. I was careful to do those searches in Portuguese from a public wifi system at a local mall using a rented computer. And I muddied the waters, also locating information on a bevy of Brazilian celebrities and businessmen.

At the end of the week, the Caipira’s orders were ready for pickup so Francisco Fernandez, the Argentine businessman from Cordoba province called the cabbie he had used the previous week. The next morning at nine the cabbie picked up two envelopes from the Argentine businessman who was waiting for him outside the Hilton. The envelopes contained the bonus incentive for the shops that had made the capacitors and the scepter. Five hours later, the cabbie was back with the capacitors and scepter as well as the mercury switch that had to be special ordered. The Argentine businessman paid for the cabbie’s fare, his time, and gave him another fifty dollar tip. Ten minutes later, I walked out of the Hilton, picked up my little Fiat from the car park, and drove back to my own hotel.

As soon as I got back to my room, I opened up the package containing the scepter. It was perfect, just as I had described it, inside and out. The pieces came together seamlessly. I unwrapped the capacitor. It would fit inside with a few centimeters to spare.

I was ready to get started. These days, though, before building anything, it makes sense to check the internet. On YouTube I found a few videos showing how to build primitive stun guns using throwaway cameras. A stun gun is essentially a tool to store electricity and then discharge that electricity very suddenly. In a stun gun, a battery charges the capacitor. Touching both electrodes on the capacitor causes the capacitor to discharge, resulting in a shock.

A camera does something similar with its flash.
Of course, it doesn’t take much power to set off the flash on a camera, so if you’re looking to do some serious damage, it’s senseless to use a camera when there are much higher charge capacitors available.

I was planning to do serious damage, and, courtesy of Lincoln’s efforts, I had a much higher charge capacitor than the one found in a camera. I connected both terminals to heavily insulated wires. One wire was connected to the short cylinder below the black granite band; the other was connected to the longer cylinder above the band. The whole gizmo was attached to a row of batteries and a mercury switch which in turn was hooked up to a wireless switch. A person gripping the narrow black band would actually be touching both cylinders at the same time, and thus connecting the circuit between both terminals.

Everything looked right. I then disconnected the capacitor and slid it out. I replaced it with the less powerful capacitor I had purchased for test purposes. Sadly, there was only one way to try it out. I gripped the scepter at the black band and flipped the switch on a remote control transmitter. It was one heck of a shock. Very painful. And it was 400,000 times less powerful than the unit that would be in the device when the Prince held it.

I needed a few minutes to recover from the shock. When I was steady, I pulled out the test capacitor, replaced it with the powerful unit, and sealed up the scepter.

Chapter 8. Hurry up and Wait

In the morning, Heinrich Muller, from the GDH Fortress security team, called Dr. Rogerio Silva, director of the Torrimpietra Castle. Muller’s English wasn’t that great, but it beat his Portuguese.

“Do you speak English, Herr Doktor Silva?” Muller asked. Even while on the phone, Muller stood ramrod straight and moved stiffly.

“Yes, a little,” replied Silva.

“Ja. Gutt, gutt,” Muller said, “Did you get the package, Herr Doktor?” I held my breath.

“Yes, Mr. Muller. The camera, it was installed yesterday by the electrician. It is, eh, transmitindo very well,” Silva said.

“Gutt, gutt. From this moment on, please leave the camera on at all times,” Muller said. And then, conspiratorially, “I must tell you a secret, Doktor. You cannot tell this secret even to other members of the Prince’s security team.”

“The Prince is for sure coming? He will attend the opening?” Silva asked.

“Ja, we expect that is so, but you must not tell anyone. For zekerheid, ah, that is security,” replied the German, “But that is not the secret, Doktor.” He continued with a low voice, “A cousin of the Prince, Sultan Abdullah Alhazred, has located the original scepter of Torrimpietra.”

“The scepter? It exists for real?” Silva was certainly surprised.

“Ja, it is real. And the Sultan wants to make a present of it for the Prince, who he considers a little cousin. I will send it to you today. It is to stay wrapped in the package until the morning of the inauguration. Will it fit in the safe?” Muller asked.

“If it is the same size as the replica, there is room,” said Silva.

“Gutt, gutt. I send it in such a way that it seems fake. Gold-plated, but fake. Regular delivery,” Muller noted.

“I understand,” da Silva replied.

“On the day of the inauguration, you are to open the package in early morning. The scepter must be placed on the right-hand arm of the throne so that it will be easy for the Prince to grip. You must do that yourself, and nobody must touch the scepter once you have put it on the throne,” Muller said.

“Is special instructions of the Sultan,” Muller continued, after a beat.

There was another pause, and then Muller went on, “You must understand, the scepter, it is priceless. It is hollow, and inside is mechanical device said to be built by Archimedes himself.”

Archimedes was a Syracusan genius who died around 210 B.C. at the hands of Roman invaders. He was a brilliant mathematician, scientist and builder. Sadly, today he is best remembered for running naked through the streets of Syracuse crying, “Eureka!” and almost nobody remembers why except that it involves a bathtub. Still, I had confidence that the name would ring a vague bell somewhere in the dim recesses of Silva’s head.

“What does the device do?” Silva asked?

Muller was silent for a second. “We do not even know what it looks like. Torrimpietra built the scepter around the device, and we only have vague, eh, description of device from a letter written by 16th century Venetian pirate who got description from other, illiterate pirate. I’m sure it does not work. But the device cannot be replaced, and therefore, neither can the scepter!”

Muller let Silva mull on that for a moment and then added, “Only four people in the world know of this secret. The Sultan, an antique dealer in Mexico, me, and now you. We wish for you to treat it like a replica, like the other replica, for nobody to know it is real until the Prince receives it.”

Silva replied, “Don’t worry, I will not tell anyone.”

Muller said, “Excellent. I have learned the Sultan is very generous man when he wants, eh, to reward a person. I think it will be good for you if you are to be discreet. Goodbye, Doktor. I will call you again on the day of opening to ensure everything is going smoothly.”

Having delivered his message, Muller hung up with German efficiency. A few minutes later, Francisco Fernandez, the Argentine businessmen, called the cabbie and asked to be picked up in front of the Hilton in half an hour. Once again, Fernandez was going to the Maksoud Plaza. Along the way, the two men joked about Fernandez’ new beard and discussed the upcoming friendly soccer game between Corinthians, based in São Paulo and River Plate from Buenos Aires.

Once at the Maksoud Plaza, Fernandez asked the cabbie to drop off a package one of the German doctors wanted mailed. Four hours later, the cabbie picked up Fernandez from the Maksoud Plaza and handed over a receipt for the mailed parcel. When he was dropped off at the Hilton again, Fernandez gave the cabbie a $100 tip. The cabbie would never see Fernandez again, but no doubt he would remember the Argentine fondly.

As for me, it was ten days until the Castle was re-opened and I had no particular reason to be in São Paulo now that most of my work was done. So the next morning, I checked out of the hotel and returned my little Fiat at the airport. I was going to miss the Fiat. I then caught a flight to Rio. I’d been to Rio three or four times and could safely say it was the easiest place to fall in love with that I’d ever been. The Rio that most tourists see is the so-called “Zonal Sul” or “South Zone,” and within that, the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema. Both are happening places, but I prefer the Botafogo and Flamengo neighborhoods just a bit further northish along the inside of the bay. They’re less exciting and more livable.

I found an apartment two blocks from the beach in Botafogo and rented it until the second of December, the day I was booked on a flight back to Miami. The first eight days were a great vacation. Every morning I ran from Botafogo beach all the way up to the edge of the Santos Dumont airport and back. Then I’d have a coconut. Vendors will cut the top off a green coconut and stick a straw in it, and there’s no better drink after a long jog. Later in the day I’d have a healthy lunch. In the afternoons I’d try to get into a pickup soccer game in one of the soccer fields near the water on Flamengo beach. After that, I’d walk into one of the city’s numerous juice bars for a healthy drink.

I also enjoyed watching the kids learning how to play soccer, some of them only a few years older than Jeremy. Jeremy would really have enjoyed being there. H and I used to comment, somewhat seriously, that he was a precocious budding soccer player as he started kicking around a little beach ball at 13 months. By a year and a half he even seemed to have control of the ball. I kept mental notes while watching the kids take their lessons, tips that I could pass on to him as he got older.

On Saturday, the day before the race, I did some touristy things. I saw the Corcovado, the statue of the Christ the Redeemer that stands over the city. In the early evening I went up the Pão de Açucar, the Sugarloaf Mountain overlooking Guanabara bay. Getting to the top of the Sugarloaf Mountain requires taking two separate cable cars. I wondered whether Jeremy would have enjoyed the ride up.

On Sunday, I watched part of the Formula One race. I was looking to see if I could catch a glimpse of the Prince. I never did, but then I couldn’t watch more than about thirty minutes of the race. It was incredibly boring watching the cars go around the same track over and over. Not as boring as NASCAR where the track was just one big circle, but boring nevertheless.

While the race was still going on, I left the hotel. Before I went, I put my wallet and all identifying papers in the safe in my room. Then I caught a bus to Taubaté, a city of about a quarter million people. From there, I took another bus to Pedra de Atiradeira. In the early evening, Francisco Fernandez, looking a bit bewildered at the rather un-cosmopolitan nature of his surroundings, checked into a small, nondescript hotel. He paid cash.