Authors: David Faxon
With his talent for acting, he was a persuasive salesman.
He used those skills to achieve his goals. If quiet persuasion failed, he discarded diplomacy and resorted to more forceful methods. It didn't take long before he had enough money to buy off every legislator, police official and general he could think of. Those who resisted met untimely ends. Soon he operated with no encumbrances and no questions asked concerning pollution of waterways and forest destruction. Great swaths of trees were cut to develop surface mining operations and roads. When one area depleted, he moved to the next. Labor was cheap; he could hire local Indians at slave wages.
As his business grew, so did his greed. He established sites closer to the most remote regions where tribes
, like the Yanomami, lived; simple people who depended on the forest for their livelihood. They learned too late that developed countries had an insatiable appetite for natural resources. Unfortunately, those resources existed on land their ancestors inhabited for thousands of years. High demand brought with it unscrupulous people like Castelo Branco.
As encroachment continued, millions of acres were destroyed
, and forest animals were forced to flee their once pristine sanctuaries. There were greater tragedies to come; prostitution, liquor, gambling and socially transmitted diseases. More serious was the chemical pollution that would eventually cost lives. Extensive and indiscriminate use of mercury cyanide was used to aid in the amalgamation of gold. Poisons entered the rivers, streams, and water tables of the once pure forest. Sickness and birth defects rose dramatically among the Indian population. Eventually, they realized what was happening, not only to their land, but also to them. When they revolted, the
garimpieros
put them down brutally
.
The news was largely ignored by the outside world. Then one day, miners killed and mutilated sixteen Indians in what was described as a prelude to genocide. Many tribesmen were beheaded. Environmental and social groups called attention to the atrocity, but the pressure was not enough to prevent its continuation. The brutalities continued unchecked.
For this, more than any other reason, Castelo Branco kept a low profile, preferring to keep his name out of the papers. Behind the scenes, he bribed
and coerced lawmakers to tilt the scales in favor of unregulated mining. While his company wasn't directly involved with the first massacre, he retained his own cadre of thugs to brutally enforce his domination over the Indians when they complained of conditions or showed signs of revolt. His workers became indentured slaves with the establishment of ‘
company stores
.’ Food, clothing and household items, sold at vastly inflated prices. His ‘
employees’
never escaped the crushing debt. This worked perfectly for the company. Castelo Branco had what amounted to a modern day version of slavery. If there was any attempt at enforcement, he knew which officials could change that. While his workers labored under extreme conditions and lived in poverty, he built enormous profits illegally, living in luxurious surroundings.
Now in his executive suite, he conversed with two members of his “packed” board, Enrico Sanchez and Humberto Madeira. While they tacitly enjoyed status as board members, in reality they were gang members, cronies of his, who maneuvered to provide an appearance of legality to a company built on illegality. Sanchez opened the conversation in a probing way, careful always to be respectful toward Castelo Branco.
“I heard Mr. Connery never made it to the meeting last night.”
“You heard correctly. He left a message saying his flight was delayed. It’s possible he was on the plane that went down. Too bad, I had plans for him, but it may work to my advantage.”
“How do you mean?”
“His influence in the global investment community. He would have proven helpful.”
“May we ask how?”
“To bid up the share price of Companhia do Azevedo. Then we would engage in a little insider selling at a nice profit. But it’s not important. I will find someone else. He was but one piece of what I intend.”
“What made you think he would go along?”
“You don’t need to know the details, but he would have, I assure you. If not, you know the methods that would have changed his mind. He wouldn't have left Brasilia without an arrangement favorable to us.”
“What did it cost to get him here?”
“A check for a hundred thousand that will never be cashed. I instructed my banker friend to delay its clearing. By the time Mr. Connery learned it hadn't been deposited to his corporate account, it would be too late. He'd be here, and no doubt have seen the wisdom of my plan. Your questions are becoming tedious.”
The tone of the meeting changed abruptly. He
imparted enough about the reasons behind Connery’s scheduled visit. What he left out was his part in an ambitious plan to take over Hawthorne Capital and its four billion under management. In addition, he would have forced Connery to use his considerable influence to secure the involvement of large investment banks in several phony stock issues. A bold move that could reap tens of millions in illegal profits at their expense. That part would now have to wait.
Castelo Branco first became aware of the
potential when Dan Hewett enlisted his aid in gaining control of Hawthorne. A man like Hewett could provide the necessary advantages, initially. Besides, he was from outside Brazil and this offered distinct advantages. It all fit in well. He needed money to capitalize on the increasing price of gold in world commodity markets. But what intrigued him was entry into major financial markets.
Connery was on a fool’s errand that terminated abruptly. His failure to cooperate would
prompt Castelo Branco to hire assassins who would take the lives of his children at some unknown time. They would never be safe. That became unnecessary when Flight 302 went down. He thought, maybe it was for the better. Now he could concentrate on Hewett, who was in over his head.
T
he ultimate prize was more gold and control of Hawthorne. Connery’s death prevented the use of his influence with the banks but enhanced the plot to take over the company. The unexpected event cleared the way for Hewett to take Connery’s place, but that would be temporary. Hewett’s life could be measured in months, a year at most.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Uxhomeb chewed on a betel nut. Years of this had stained his teeth a dark brown while making his appearance even more intimidating. He pondered various ways he could make Teman-e’s torture more entertaining. He was about to descend into one of his pathological mind zones, where even his own warriors were unsafe from his sudden outrages. They knew enough to stay away, since it would take very little for him to turn on any one of them. They hated him, but most of all, feared him. That day he was angrier than usual. The foray, so far, was unsuccessful, producing only three women captives. He wasn't impressed with any. They would produce weak, good for nothing offspring, incapable of fighting or hunting. Of the two slaves captured, one was dead, killed by him in a fit of rage, and the other badly wounded. He might as well kill him too.
But here was this new one found sleeping in the jungle
, and this piqued his interest. He must have a village nearby. He appeared to be a sturdy warrior, someone who had fought and killed. At the very least, he would make up for that weakling he eliminated. He could be tortured and made to tell the location of his village. Perhaps they possessed more comely women than the ones already seized. Once he had that information, the small warrior would be disposed of. This brought a smile to his face. He guessed the prisoner was there to find what he too saw falling from the sky, but he didn’t know for sure. Teman-e hadn’t uttered a word since his capture.
Uxhomeb angrily
ordered his men to end their brief rest and find the object he prized. They moved swiftly. Teman-e followed behind, bound at the wrists. His face showed large welts and a deep burn mark from the previous night. He noted the position of the sun, the lay of the land and sensed they were nearing the place he found the day before. The image wouldn’t leave him, it stayed lodged in his brain.
Late afternoon
, the rain beat down. Its force was a harbinger of the monsoon to come, but he welcomed it for the coolness it offered his swollen face. Soon, he would see how these murderers reacted to what he had witnessed. An odor of quenched embers caught his nostrils. He knew it would not be long.
If my hands were free, I would fling myself at Uxhomeb and tear his eyes out before anyone had a chance to stop me. I would become the jaguar; scratching, biting, tearing, until he was dead, then I’d go to my death with an unburdened heart.
His thoughts brought a certain pleasure until interrupted by shouts. Three or four warriors flew past, panic-stricken. '
They have seen it!
Looming before them, the gargantuan tail assembly rose into the highest trees.
Those who didn’t run, riveted their eyes to the most fearsome sight they ever witnessed. Teman-e too, raised his eyes. Nothing changed from when he had left, except for the wild animals inside the fuselage, many fighting for the spoils. No one dared approach. Even the cold-hearted Uxhomeb was uncharacteristically dumbstruck. It took him a few minutes to recover before issuing threats that brought his panicked men under control.
That night, Teman-e
endured another severe beating. Then they shoved him to the ground and tied him to a tree. He knew his time was short and his torture would become unbearable; embers and flaming sticks first applied to his back, later to the soles of his feet, then the more intimate parts of his body. Every attempt would be made to keep him from passing out until he agreed to lead them to his village, but he would never do that.
He tried
not to think about it and concentrated instead on the spirits of his ancestors as he sat awaiting death; a monotone chant helped him escape reality. Darkness came, and despite the dampness, the warriors knew where to find dry wood. Uxhomeb would allow them to eat, smoke, and prepare for the grisly entertainment. The ceremony would be even more haunting in the shadow of that unexplained thing they all feared.
Connery spent that day in the hot cargo hold sipping Coke, trying not to think about what was going on above him, as he heard various snarls and growls from a variety of wild animals. For the moment, however, he was safe and even found something to read- a tattered copy of
Catcher in the Rye
. Late in the day, rain began beating on the aluminum skin of the plane. His eyelids grew heavy. About to drift off, he heard what he thought was a human voice. At first, he couldn’t distinguish it. Maybe he was mistaken and it was just another animal. But it grew louder until he heard shouting and screams.
Finally, they’ve come
!
He peeked through one of the larger openings in the plane’s skin.
Initial optimism faded as he saw several Indians emerge from the foliage. They appeared extremely primitive; no clothing, painted faces, armed with crude weapons, behaving madly at the sight of something they didn't understand. It was beyond him that this sort of thing still existed. This gave him pause; aggressive tribes, known to kill intruders, still existed in parts of the Amazon. Possibly, they may never have seen a white man but knew how their forest was being ravaged and were bent on revenge. He remained cautious and continued watching until he could be sure. Then he saw a prisoner led by a rope, thrown violently to the ground, warriors taunting and beating him. It left no doubt he was surrounded by aggressive and warlike people.
A
crescendo of voices rose into the soggy air. He shifted his weight uncomfortably to get a better look. His heart raced. Approaching his sanctuary with torches lit, were five men, one of whom towered above the others. He heard growls and screams of the animals who claimed the territory, as humans invaded the fuselage, using fire to disperse them.
Banging noises came from overhead. He imagined the gruesome sights before them. For fifteen minutes,
they rummaged through the cabin. Before long, they would discover the door leading to where he hid. He moved several bags aside and crawled beneath, retreating as far as he could go. Seconds later, the rectangular steel door swung open, throwing a large shaft of light into the hold. Connery hunkered down, hoping they wouldn't conduct a thorough search, wondering if he left any telltale signs of his presence.
One of the men descended the steep stairway with a torch, casting ghostly shadows on the sides of the fuselage. He stumbled among the debris, dropped the torch once then began upending the luggage
, piece by piece. As the warrior was about to move the bags that covered Connery, a loud voice called from above and he climbed back up the ladder. There was more rustling, but after a half hour, he heard no sounds. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he breathed a sigh of relief. Their search was incomplete. He was sure that with daylight they would come back. There was no choice but to leave, get out before it was too late. Once again, he peered through the opening. This time he saw the prisoner, forced to lay spread- eagled on the ground, several warriors surrounding him. A terrible piercing scream rent the night. The torture went on for two hours before they tied him to a tree.