Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [266]
Fifteen minutes later, Chavez heard a honk and looked down the alley. The Corcel was sitting there, side door open. He got Lancia and Hadi up and walking. At the car, he prodded them into the backseat. “Found this in the trunk,” Dominic said, holding up a small coil of rusted baling wire.
Chavez leaned over the seat. “Gimme your hands.”
Dominic started driving.
“We’re gonna need some privacy,” Chavez said. He sat sideways in the passenger seat, gun resting on the backrest.
“I think I’ve got the place. Saw it on the way here.”
The building was nearly identical to all the others—four-story rectangle with one door and balconied windows—except that the windows and door were boarded up. On the side of the building, a set of steps overgrown with shrubbery rose into the darkness. An official-looking seal was plastered across the front door. In Portuguese it read “Condemned.”
“Here,” Dominic said. “Be right back.”
He got out, shoved his way through the overgrown steps, and disappeared. He was back in two minutes. He nodded at Chavez, who got out and fell in behind Lancia and Hadi as they followed Dominic up the steps. After about thirty feet, the shrubbery thinned out and the steps turned right onto a porch. Like the one below, the back door was emblazoned with the “Condemned” seal, but this one was hanging by only its bottom hinge. Dominic lifted the door free and set it to one side. Chavez ordered Hadi and Lancia inside.
Under the glow of Dominic’s LED penlight, it quickly became clear why the building had been condemned. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in soot and in some places charred down to the supports. The floor was a checkerboard of melted linoleum tiles, charred plywood, and open holes, through which they could see the lower floors.
“Sit down,” Chavez ordered them.
“Where?” Lancia snapped.
“Anywhere that isn’t a hole. Sit.”
They complied.
Dominic said, “I’m gonna have a look around.”
Chavez sat down across from their prisoners, listening as Dominic rummaged through the other rooms. He came back with a tarnished kerosene lantern. He gave it a shake; fluid sloshed inside. He set it down in the corner and lit it. Hissing yellow light filled the room.
Chavez looked over to Dom and shrugged. Dominic said, “You’re the boss; your show.”
Chavez got up, walked closer to Lancia and Hadi, then knelt down again. “I’m gonna talk for a little bit. I want you to listen. Closely. I ain’t gonna bullshit you, and I don’t want you to bullshit me. If we get along, you two stand a much better chance of seeing sunrise. What’re your names?”
Neither man answered.
“Come on, just first names, so we can talk.”
“Hadi.”
The other one hesitated, his lips pressed tightly together. Finally he said, “Ibrahim.”
“Good, thanks. Listen, we know you two, and your two dead friends, did the Paulinia refinery. We know this, so let’s not talk about that again. We’re not cops, and we’re not here to arrest you for the refinery.”
“Then who are you?” Hadi asked.
“Someone else.”
“What makes you think we were involved with that place?” Ibrahim asked.
“How do you think?” This Chavez said with a half-smile and a fleeting glance at Hadi.
“Why do you look at me?”
To Ibrahim, Chavez asked, “Why were you chasing Hadi?” Ibrahim didn’t answer, so Chavez continued: “I’m going to take a wild guess at something: You did the refinery job but didn’t count on the smoke closing down the São Paulo airport, so you went to plan B—come to Rio. You get here, then things go bad. Hadi goes on the run; Ibrahim, you chase after him. Why?”
“Why don’t you care about the refinery?” Ibrahim pressed.
“Not our country, not our problem. Why were you chasing him?”
“He’s a traitor.”
Hadi snapped, “You’re a liar. You’re the traitor. You, or Ahmed, or Fa’ad. You leaked the sketch.”
“What sketch?”
“The one on the television. I saw it; it looked like me. Who else could have given it to them?”
“Who told you all this?”
“The Em—when I saw the sketch, I made contact. There was a message waiting. It said you’d betrayed