The Art of Clandestine Living

Xavier came from an area of São Paulo, Brazil, known as a favela, or slum. Many Brazilian cities have them, and normally if you’re born in one, you will die there. In order to escape this gang-controlled squalor, and very few ever do, a person needs a special talent or extraordinary intellect, or both. Xavier is such a person.

He attended a school run by the Sisters of Mercy where he learned to read and write Portuguese and perform basic math skills. By watching American TV shows, he taught himself English. The boy was not only book-smart but street-smart.

Because of poor nourishment as an infant, and intermittent meals growing up, Xavier was slight of stature. Surviving the bullies and brutal gangs, he needed to become invisible. It was while scavenging for unspoiled food and wearable clothes in the city’s massive trash dumps; he came across a book entitled The Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, featuring Sherlock Holmes. Xavier admired the detective and his use of disguises to solve cases. Not long after finding that book, he located a second, The Count of Monte Cristo, and later a collection of James Bond stories. Xavier discovered his ticket out of the favela—he would become a master of disguise and broker of information.

Somehow surviving his formative years, Xavier, now in his twenties, built a reputation as the go-to guy for information. He had multiple clients, but none of them knew what he really looked like. They would meet face to face, but it wasn’t his actual face they saw. Some tried to double-cross him. When that happened, he would exact revenge. Xavier disseminated damaging information about the offender; putting the person at risk. His world was now one of clandestine meetings cloaked in shadows and intrigue, selling information to the highest bidder.

They informed Xavier that a woman was attempting to build a network of her own in his neighborhood. This is one business where competition is not a good thing, so he had her investigated. He found out she was not a local; she represented a shadowy organization based in Rio de Janeiro.

By the age of thirty, Xavier had moved out of the slums and into a middle-class neighborhood. He still visited the favela, but now it was to collect information gathered by his network of street urchins, prostitutes, and bartenders. Xavier had earned a reputation for paying top dollar for solid info. It was on one such visit that The Owl (his street name) met Marguerite.

Marguerite was sitting at a table in a local cantina when Xavier took the chair across from her. She was approximately his age, exuded an air of supreme confidence, and, of course, gorgeous.

“Hello, Marguerite. If that’s your real name,” he said as an introduction.

“Hello, Owl. I know that’s not your real name. Nice to meet you,” she replied.

He liked her from the start. Xavier had never encountered a woman running an organization like his, and could see how she might become a threat—or maybe an ally if she was trustworthy. In a business based on betrayal, trust could be a critical factor. There was one thing that set his antenna twitching, her accent. She spoke Portuguese fluently but had the accent of a non-native speaker. It wasn’t a regional dialect, but rather inflections learned from school or language tapes.

“So how may I be of service?” he inquired.

“Direct and to the point. I like that,” she said, smiling. “I think we can help each other. You have built a great grassroots organization but won’t be able to grow much larger because you lack the technical expertise. My organization is electronic-based and can glean information from all over the world. What I am lacking is strong, human-based intel. If our collaboration works out, we could replicate the process throughout Brazil and eventually all of South America. What do you think?”

Xavier smiled and replied, “Which agency is yours, the CIA or NSA?”

Marguerite never missed a beat. “I’m an independent like you. I work for no government.”

The Owl rose from his chair, smiled, and said, “Give me a couple of days to think it over. Enjoy your meal. It’s on me.”

Later that evening, Xavier met with his most trusted associate.

“It’s too bad she wasn’t truthful about her organization. I would have enjoyed working with her. She should have realized I would have people following her to and from the American Embassy days before our meeting. Oh well, tomorrow we talk to the Russians, the day after, the Chinese. Let’s see what they offer. Maybe one of them will realize that when dealing with information, the most valuable article is the truth.”