Blue Labyrinth

Pendergast passed a hand over his eyes. The drugs were starting to wear off, and the pain was returning. “Yes. I need to… know what he was doing here.”

The room fell into a silence. Finally, the man sighed. “Caralho,” he muttered.

Pendergast said nothing.

“And you seek revenge on his killer?”

“I only seek information. What happens after that… I don’t know.”

The man seemed to consider this a moment. Then he gestured toward one of the chairs. “Please. Take a seat.”

Pendergast sank into the nearest chair.

“My name is Fábio,” the man continued. “When my scouts reported that a strange man had come into my city, mumbling about his son, I thought little of it. But when they described a man tall of carriage, hands like nervous white spiders, skin as pale as marble, eyes like silver conchas — I had to wonder. And yet how could I be sure? I apologize for the ma

Pendergast nodded.

“Then it is as he feared,” the man named Fábio said.

Pendergast looked across the desk. He knew that this was precisely how the drug lords of Rio dressed; how they lived; how they were armed. He struggled to recall the words of Colonel Azevedo: The Cidade dos Anjos is the largest, most violent, and most powerful of the favelas. The drug lords who lead it are not only ruthless, but fearless.

“All I want is information,” said Pendergast.

“And you shall have it. In fact, it is my duty to give it to you. I will tell you the story. The story of your son. Alban.”

39

Taking a seat again behind his desk, Fábio drained his bottle of Bohemia and placed it to one side. It was immediately replaced with a fresh one. He picked up the photograph from the desk, touching it lightly with his fingertips in a gesture that was almost a caress. Then he put it back and looked up at Pendergast.

Pendergast nodded.

“Prior to his death, when did you last see your son alive?”

“Eighteen months ago, in Nova Godói. He disappeared into the jungle.”

“Then I will begin the story at that point. At first, your son — Alban — lived with a small tribe of Indians, deep in the Amazon rain forest. It was a difficult time for him, and he spent it recovering, and — what is the word? — regrouping. He had plans for himself; plans for the world. And plans for you, rapiz.” At this, Fábio nodded significantly.

“It did not take Alban long to understand he could not further his plans from the middle of the jungle. He came to Rio and quickly melted into our favela. This he accomplished with no difficulty. You know as well as I, o senhor, he is — was — a master of disguise and deception. And he spoke perfect Portuguese as well as many dialects. There are hundreds of favelas in Rio, and he chose his well. A perfect place to find shelter, without fear of discovery.”

“The Cidade dos Anjos,” Pendergast said.

Fábio smiled. “Correct, rapiz. It was a different place then. He killed someone here — a drifter, a loner — and stole his home and identity. He turned himself into a Brazilian citizen named Adler, twenty-one years old, and he fit himself into the life of the favela with ease.”

“That sounds like Alban,” Pendergast said.

For a moment, Fábio’s eyes flashed. “Do not judge him, cada, until you have heard his story. Until you have lived in a place like this.” And he stretched out one arm as if to encompass the entire favela. “He took on an occupation — that of importer-exporter — that would give him reason to travel the world.”

He twisted the top off the bottle of beer, took a pull. “At that time, the City of Angels was run by a gangster known as O Punho — The Fist — and his posse. O Punho got his nickname from the very personal and brutal ways he used to kill his enemies. Alban — Adler — was unimpressed by O Punho and his gang. Their disorganized ways of doing business were contrary to the sense of order that had been bred into him. Bred almost from birth. Correct, senhor?” And he gave Pendergast a knowing smile.

“Adler amused himself by considering how he would be much better at organizing and ru

Fábio went silent. Pendergast sensed that the man was waiting for him to speak.

“You seem to know a great deal about my son,” he said.

“He was… my friend.”

Pendergast controlled his reaction to this.

“Alban met a girl, the daughter of a Norwegian diplomat. Her name was Danika Egland, but she was known to all as the Anja das Favelas.”

“The Angel of the Favelas,” Pendergast said.

“She was given this name for the way she fearlessly entered them to administer medicine, give away food and money — and to preach education and independence for the oppressed. The favela leaders distrusted her, of course. But they had to put up with her because of her immense popularity among their citizens and her powerful father. Danika made a strong impression on Adler. She had poise, courage, and a beauty that was very… that was very…” And Fábio made a series of gestures around Pendergast’s own face.

“Nordic,” said Pendergast.

“That is the word. But at that time, as I say, Adler was preoccupied with other things. He spent much time doing research.”

“Researching what, exactly?”

“I do not know. But the documents he read were old. Scientific, chemical formulae. And then he went to America.”

“When was this?” Pendergast asked.

“A year ago.”

“Why did he go?”

For the first time, Fábio’s confident look faltered.

“You are reluctant to speak of it. You said Alban had plans. Those plans had to do with me, did they not? Vengeance?”

Fábio did not reply.

“There is no reason to deny it now. He was pla

“I do not know the details, o senhor. But, yes, I believe it had something to do with… perhaps not just killing you. Something worse. He played his cards close, that one.”

Into the silence that followed came a series of metallic clicks; one of the guards was fooling with his AR-15.

Fábio began again. “When Adler returned, he was different. A weight seemed to have been lifted from him. He turned his attention to two things: the leadership of the favela, and Danika Egland. She was older than he was, twenty-five. He admired her — was drawn to her. And she to him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows how these things happen, cada? One day, they realized they were in love.”

Upon hearing this latter word, Pendergast exhaled sharply through his nose in what might have been a scoff.

“The girl’s father knew of her work in the favelas and disapproved strongly. He feared for her life. She kept the love affair secret from her family. The Anja would not move in with Adler at first, but she spent many nights in his house, far from her father’s mansion in a gated community downtown. And then Adler learned that Danika was pregnant.”

“Pregnant,” Pendergast repeated in a low murmur.

“They wed in secret. Meanwhile, Adler had become obsessed with taking over the favela himself. He believed that, with his leadership, it could become something quite different from a disorganized slum. He believed he could turn it into something lean, efficient, organized.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Pendergast. “The favela was a perfect place from which to organize and launch his plan of domination. A replacement for what was destroyed at Nova Godói. A state within a state — with him as leader.”