Trident Force by Michael Howe Page B

Mamoud finally said after looking at his watch about half an hour later, “today has been one of the truly great days of my life, but I must get back to Rio. There are also a number of odds and ends I want to complete so Lorenzo doesn’t find himself tripping over them six months from now.”
    â€œI hate to see you go, old friend . . .”
    â€œAny questions or problems, give me a call. Or ask Lorenzo—he’ll be in Houston for another week or so.”
    After good-byes all around and a quick drive to the airport, Mamoud was airborne in the Tecmar jet an hour and a half later. As the plane had taxied across the apron, the thought of Aurora Australis passed briefly through his mind. What he was doing was distasteful, he admitted to himself for the millionth time, but necessary. There was nothing more to think about, since he had done all he could and now the matter would play itself out, one way or another. He closed his eyes and was almost immediately asleep.

5
    Rio de Janeiro
    The big jet floated slowly down toward the white-capped waters of the Baia de Guanabara, its four huge engines purring at the newly born sun.
    Ted, who had won the window seat in a game of scissors, paper, rocks, watched as the heavily industrialized Ilha do Governador came into view. And then the runways of Jobim International Airport at the western end of the island.
    â€œYou get enough sleep?” asked Ray.
    â€œI’ve slept in worse places . . .”
    â€œGood. I like working with a guy who’s alert. On his toes. Can sleep anywhere.”
    â€œHaving a clean conscience helps.”
    â€œYou finish that overview Alex made up for us?”
    â€œFascinating stuff. Alex has a way of making the weirdest crap seem reasonable.”
    Both were careful not to mention that the overview was an explanation of basic insurance practices and terms—subrogation, common average and the like. It was highly unlikely that anybody was eavesdropping, but the possibility always existed. And any informed listener would find it odd for two insurance investigators to be boning up on the basic vocabulary of the industry.
    Half an hour later the plane had landed with only a modest bump and the two were walking down the Jetway, briefcases in their hands.
    â€œRay,” said Ted in a low voice, “you really think we’re going to come up with anything on this trip? I mean, I know the Old Man seems to think we might, but I have my doubts.”
    â€œIt’s a long shot, but let’s see what happens.”
    â€œI’m with you.”
    The two continued in silence to the baggage carousel, where, under the watchful eyes of two combat-equipped paratroopers, they snatched up their duffels and flowed with the crowd to the Immigration desks.
    â€œThis place reminds me of L.A.,” remarked Ted. “From what I read, I thought everybody would look like you or me, but half the people here look Japanese, Chinese or Arab.”
    â€œYou missed the Indians—from India. Everybody seems to want something the Brazilians have—gold, airplanes, computer chips, sugarcane for ethanol, ears and mouths for cell phones—the place is a free-for-all.”
    â€œOur kind of place?”
    Ray just shook his head. When he reached the head of the line, he launched into a fluid Brazilian Portuguese. The Immigration officer lifted his left eyebrow briefly then returned to a bland, bureaucratic scowl.
    â€œReason for your visit, Senhor ?”
    â€œBusiness, Senhor. ”
    â€œWhat business are you in?”
    â€œInsurance, Senhor . We will be consulting with one of our accounts, a shipyard a few kilometers from here.”
    â€œHow long do you plan to stay?”
    â€œA week or less.”
    When it was Ted’s turn, he considered trying his halting Spanish but decided discretion was the better part of valor and stuck to English, which the official spoke perfectly.
    The officer typed each of their