A cheap hotel room, a miserable night, and the first poor cup of coffee I’ve had in this São Paulo:

A face stares out at me from the morning newspaper: a smiling boy, perhaps a school photograph, posted under a grim headline

Casualties are mounting in the aftermath of the explosion…

My eyes follow the text, but as I reach the end of the column, I realise I don’t know what it said…

Rodrigo… The hotel boy who served my breakfast each morning. So helpful to the nice cavalheiro inglês who sometimes tipped him, as much for the smile as for good service. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen.

And now dead because some vengeful little bitch missed her target.

I had to grow up quick at that age…

He never will…

Did she miss her target?

Or was it all part of some plan to implicate me?

Lawrence Klempner… Trafficker, murderer, and guilty of a thousand sins, now wanted for terrorism…

?

Who knows? I’m getting beyond guessing how much mayhem Juliana is willing to unleash in her crusade against me.

How did she find me?

She knows I’m here…

She knew where I was…

So… why take so long about showing her hand?

How did she find me?

And when?

As I entered the country?

Three weeks ago…

our Juliana likes her

her a sense of power

playing cat and

customs officer maybe? Who recognised me at the

It’s possible.

warning signals, ‘the system’ would have taken me in,

they did simply spot me at Antonio’s? Or trace me back to the bar after I took out their heavy. And he knew

Maybe they all do.

the word

That seems more likely.

to spot my quarry… Instead, they spotted me. She knew I’d turn up at some point, so of course, her

all makes

I think…

I’m picking

Does it add up?

Really?

What’s missing?

into

Brazil…

‘Traditional’ values…

place you’d expect to find a

matter, how often do you ever find

the other hand… the ‘Power Behind The Throne’? Find the man at the top and get control of him. That would tie in with what she’s

Femme fatale…

Wonder who he is?

Poor bastard…

life-expectancy down the

If Juliana has them all

of my visit to Juliana’s apartment. The coffee’s dreadful stuff, but at least the caffeine hit does

How many were there?

And an uncertain number not

the newspaper to one side. But smiling, accusing eyes still stare out at me. After a

What now?

Fade into the background?

Disappear?

How?

Contact Dakho and get him to

fucking phone

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