Fiduciary Duty Read online

  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.

  Chapter 9. Killing Time

  I got up at 4:30 in the morning and Fernandez checked out of the hotel at 5:00. It was almost false dawn as Fernandez set out on the hike to the farm Lincoln do Nascimento had rented. Unlike Pedro, Fernandez had come prepared. In addition to his overnight bag, I had three sandwiches, a few candy bars, a bag of chips and some paçoca. The latter, a sweet and salty mix of pulverized peanuts, cassava flour and sugar, was a surprising choice for Fernandez to pack, being a staple for poor people in certain parts of the country. I also had a liter of water and some insect repellant. Finally, I was carrying the last few items I was going to need for the job – a small radio transmitter, a radio repeater, and handheld television receiver.

  I arrived at the farm about ten minutes before sunrise. The SUV was still in the barn, just as I had left it. I slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, opened the car door and got in. The SUV started right up. I drove through the passes to the hilltop overlooking Ternos. The view was glorious. Despite the scenery, H wouldn’t have been happy – it was too early in the morning for her. Off in the distance was an enormous yacht. Whether the Prince was on it or not, I had no way of knowing, but there was no question it was his.

  From the top of the hill, I flipped on the little television receiver. I was greeted with a view of the throne room, which was empty, not surprising since it was not yet 7 AM. The signal was excellent – I wasn’t going to need the repeater I had brought along just in case. That was good, as the receiver would have required installation at the bottom of the hill. With this reception, I wouldn’t have to go into Ternos at all.

  I parked the pickup behind a thick stand of trees where it was no longer visible from the road and settled in to wait. Around 8 I saw some shadows move on the screen. At 8:20 Rogerio Silva walked in with two guards. The guards stayed in the room. Silva walked out, and came back a few minutes later with the scepter which he placed on the right arm of the throne, exactly as Muller had requested. One of the guards then cordoned off the throne with red velvet rope. Silva looked at the throne, as if deciding whether everything was in its perfect place. He smiled impishly. I would bet he was toying with the idea of sitting on the throne and holding the scepter, just this one time. Sill smiling, he began walking away. I pulled out my phone and dialed.

  “Herr Doktor Silva, good morning,” said Muller good naturedly, “This is Heinrich Muller from Fortress Security.”

  Muller stood outside the little SUV, ramrod straight as always.

  “Ah, Mr. Muller, bom dia” Silva said, “Can you see me? On the camera?”

  “Yes,” Muller replied, “I can see you.”

  “Are you on the boat?” Silva asked.

  “Jah. But remember. The scepter, it is a surprise. Even the other members of the security team do not know this is the real one.”

  “Of course. And we have a little bit of security of our own here, as you can see,” Silva said, “I have hired several guards for the day. They will keep an eye on the scepter.”

  “Gutt, gutt,” said Muller, repeating what was quickly becoming his signature phrase. “I am sorry I will not be there for the ceremony. It would have been my pleasure to have met you, Herr Doktor.”

  “You are not coming?” asked Silva, sounding genuinely disappointed.

  “Nein,” Muller replied, “In four hours I must be flying out to Geneva. In Switzerland. I have to scout for another trip. I am, what you call, advance team. The Prince is a busy man.”

  “A pity,” Silva said in Portuguese.

  After a bit more chit chat, Muller said goodbye and hung up. His task was over. I, on the other hand, had a long day ahead, but right at this moment there was nothing for me to do and I was low on sleep. I closed my eyes and took a nap.

  I woke up two hours later. I looked at the mini-TV. The throne was still roped off, and there were was a guard visible along the walls on either side of the throne. It would be a while before anything happened. I forced myself to snooze some more.

  When I opened my eyes again, the scene on the monitor had barely changed. Around two, I started to worry that security might show up with a radio jamming device at any moment. I flipped the switch on my little radio transmitter. The scepter was armed.

  Then I got paranoid that someone might pick up the scepter. The last thing I wanted was to kill someone other than the Prince. I kept watch over the little TV monitor, ready to disarm it immediately should anyone look about to pick it up. Nobody did. Around 6 PM there was a small flurry of activity. Two men came through the throne room with German shepherds. The dogs sniffed around the room, and one of them sniffed the back of the throne, but neither of the dogs nor their handlers approached the scepter. Later, when it got dark, a group of men, most of them fairly muscle-bound, walked through the room. I recognized one of them – he was often in the b
ackground in pictures of the Prince taken in public places. Another large man was waving around some sort of hand-held device, but I didn’t know what the thing was or what it did.

  Around 11:30 the throne room began to fill with well-dressed people. It wasn’t difficult to spot the security personnel among the civilians. I realized with a start that I was gnawing on one of my knuckles and forced myself to stop. Everything was in place, I just had to be calm and wait. A moment later I caught myself gnawing on my finger again. I rubbed my hands on my face and took a deep breath. That seemed to help.

  At 11:55, two members of the Prince’s security team removed the red velvet rope from around the throne. Two minutes later, the Prince walked into the room. Wife number two was at his side. The crowd clapped politely. Cameras flashed. Silva was part of the small throng that followed the Prince. The Prince made a beeline for the throne and sat down. He was smiling broadly, triumphantly as he put his hand on the scepter. The smile remained frozen on his face for what seemed like ten seconds or so, and then slowly became a grimace. As that happened, the Prince tilted forward and sideways ever so slowly and then, all at once, collapsed onto the floor.

  It took them a moment to react, but once they did, the Prince’s security team was hyper-efficient. Within a few seconds a doctor was providing CPR and the guests were being herded out of the room at gunpoint. Through my little monitor, it was evident the doctor thought the Prince was gone. I pulled the battery out of the throwaway cell phone. It wasn’t going to be used any more. Then I started the SUV, got onto the BR-101 freeway, and headed north. Five minutes later, I dropped the cell-phone onto the road.

  I felt completely wired as I headed up the coast in the dark, all the windows rolled down and the sun-roof open. I was elated. I had pulled it off. A more sober part of me knew the Prince was only the start of the overall mission. But even the Prince job wasn’t quite done. There were still a few small details to wrap up, some evidence to get rid of, so I couldn’t be careless.