The Games (Private #11)(50)

“We have no idea whether those documents are real or fabricated,” Cherie said. “I don’t think these savages obey any rules of law.”

“You think favela people are savages, Mom?” Natalie said.

“I didn’t say that, I—”

“Yes, you did,” Alicia said. “But what if it is true, Mom? What if Dad did do all these things?”

“Your father has never knowingly broken a law in his life,” Cherie said.

“Knowingly,” Natalie said. “What does that mean?”

“It means he runs a gigantic company with operations all over the world and thousands of employees,” her mother snapped. “He can’t possibly know what every one of them does.”

“That’s true,” Alicia said. “But what about the price gouging? What if that’s true? What if he did it legally, but unethically?”

Cherie looked from one girl to the other in disbelief. “Are you two suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something? Siding with the people who kidnapped you and your dad?”

“No,” Natalie said in slurred protest. “Just asking if it’s true.”

“I can’t answer that,” Cherie said curtly. “But I’d expect you to support your father. Can you do that? Or should I send you both home to clear out your things?”

“Mom,” Alicia moaned. “We’re not saying—”

“Your father would move heaven and earth for you, and you don’t feel enough for him to take his side?”

“Mom, that’s not what we were saying at all,” Natalie said.

“That’s sure the way it sounded,” her mother said coldly. She got up from the couch, went into her bedroom, and closed the door behind her.





Chapter 58

Thursday, August 4, 2016

9:00 a.m.

Thirty-Four Hours Before the Olympic Games Open



THE REACTION WAS worse than we’d expected. The world press grabbed and chewed on the six-minute video from Favela Justice, freeze-framing on the documents, which looked genuine enough. They were either excellent forgeries or the real thing.

Spontaneous protests broke out in favelas around Rio. In Alem?o, police were shot at with semiautomatic weapons. Two cars were burned. From high up inside Vidigal favela, unseen gunmen fired several hundred rounds. The sounds of them echoed all the way to Copacabana.

Sirens went off all over the city as police who’d gathered for the Olympics now set out for the rioting slums. There had been footage on every channel the evening before, and that morning on the Today broadcast, Matt Lauer had brought up the possibility that the Rio Olympics might be canceled due to violence and unrest.

“This has been the rap against Rio as an Olympic host from the start,” Lauer said. “The International Olympic Committee was worried that the government would be unable to control the favelas, which would put the games in danger. Though Brazil has cracked down hard on crime in the slums over the past ten years, last night’s riots clearly show that there is widespread anger over the money spent on the Olympics and, before it, the World Cup. The potential for danger throughout the—”

The anchor stopped, listening to something being said in his earpiece. “We’re getting reports that the United States is threatening to pull its athletes unless their safety can be assured.

“I repeat, in a stunning development, the U.S. Olympic Committee has—”

General da Silva punched off the remote in a large conference room at the Olympic authority offices. Tavia and I were there along with the three top echelons of the security team that had been assembled in Rio for the games.

“This will not happen!” da Silva roared. “Not a chance. These Olympics are going to go down flawlessly from here on out. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” many of them shouted back.

“I’ve spoken with the president and she has assured me that I will have whatever I need, right up to martial law in the favelas, for the games to go on.”

I winced. The day before the opening ceremony, and Rio was going to be painted black. Who wanted to go to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, much less the Olympics, if there was the possibility of a violent uprising six miles away?

But what choice did da Silva have? Several countries had announced they would pull their teams if they did not believe their athletes were safe. The general had to show that he was not letting the situation spin out of control; if he didn’t, the Olympics would end before they started.

In my eyes, da Silva was up to the task. In the next fifteen minutes, the general outlined a plan that would double police presence outside and inside the favelas most likely to riot. He ordered six helicopters into the sky at dusk to assist teams of BOPE operators being lifted and dropped into hot spots.

“I also want a noticeable bump in the number of police assigned to Copacabana, Ipanema, Leblon, and all the beaches south to Barra da Tijuca,” he said. “The world is coming to see Rio’s finest, so let’s make sure they get it. And no one talks to the press. Until further notice, I am the only spokesman. Clear?”

The police brass nodded, and he dismissed them.

When they’d all filed out, the general came over to me and Tavia.

“Is there anything I missed?” he asked.