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…

Juliana likes her

sense of

playing cat and

officer maybe? Who recognised me at the

It’s possible.

flagged up any warning signals, ‘the system’ would have

simply spot me at Antonio’s? Or trace me back to the bar after I took out their

Maybe they all do.

put 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 thugs would know

all makes

I think…

I’m picking at the

Does it add up?

Really?

What’s missing?

she fit into a gang

Brazil…

‘Traditional’ values…

expect to find a

how often do you ever find women in that

at the top and get control of him. That would tie in with

Femme fatale…

Wonder who he is?

Poor bastard…

his life-expectancy down the

the meantime, if they all know who I am… If Juliana

cup, I run a mental replay of my visit to Juliana’s apartment. The coffee’s dreadful stuff, but

How many were there?

And an uncertain

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

What now?

Fade into the background?

Disappear?

How?

ID. Contact Dakho and get him to

fucking

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