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they were exactly what they appeared to be—very attractive women taking in the sun. It was the national pastime of Brazil, for rich and poor alike, especially in Rio.
    Beyond them, Sonia, Bandeira’s current mistress, rose from the water and stood there a moment, moving her long blond hair onto her back, then met his gaze with her bright dark eyes. Of primarily German stock, Sonia was Brazilian about the eyes and in the languid manner of her every motion.
    Bandeira’s yacht, the Esmeralda, was in dry dock. Otherwise, they’d have spent the day aboard her, but this beach was very nice indeed. Bandeira made a mental note to visit it more often. He turned to summon a waiter for another beer. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the Copacabana Palace Hotel, the oldest premier resort in South America. Built in 1923 when the tunnel through the mountains from central Rio opened up Copacabana beach and what became the South Zone of the city, the structure, with its distinctive art deco design, was now a national landmark. Almost anybody who was anyone had spent time here: the rich, the famous, royalty, movie stars, millionaires, billionaires, and the grifters they drew. The hotel had been remodeled and extended but remained from the beach as unchanged as the day it went into operation.
    Unlike in modern hotels, you actually felt as if you were living in luxury when staying at the Palace. The only irritation from Bandeira’s perspective was that thus far, his attempt to acquire a penthouse on the top floor with a view of the beach and sea had been rebuffed. Well, he thought, if money doesn’t talk, there are other ways.
    Sonia had come over to stand beside him, her firm legs dominating his view, droplets of water sparkling on her lightly tanned skin, pretending to shiver as she toweled herself dry, making a brrr sound with her lips. Then she smiled—always an invitation there—before lying back on the beach towel, squirming this way and that, her breasts commanding his attention as she made herself comfortable. “The water is very refreshing,” she said. “You should go in.” As she slipped on her sunglasses, her pretty face assumed the aspect of an innocent child.
    “Soon.” It was pleasant here with the sun and warm sand. The water would be cold.
    The waiter arrived with his Bohemia beer and glass balanced atop a small silver serving tray and held it down for Bandeira, then vanished when the beer alone was removed, taking the empty bottle with him. Bandeira took a pull, instinctively glancing down at his stomach and wondering where they had gone—his youth and fitness. He’d been a slender young man, one who always took his vitality and vigor for granted. Over the years, with greater personal and financial success, he’d slowly filled out, first into a man of stature, now into one of advancing years with too much fat.
    Despite the excess weight he was a handsome man, just above average height for his generation, a bit darker in complexion than the upper class of Brazil, with gleaming teeth behind fleshy lips. He wore his lustrous, mostly black hair combed straight back. Occasionally when he smiled, there was just a touch of cruelty about his mouth, the hint of something more sinister than his usual pleasant demeanor suggested.
    Bandeira had no illusions about Sonia. At fifty-one years of age, he knew his appeal lay with his bank account. He’d seen more than one man in his place make a fool of himself over a woman like her—a girl, really. He wasn’t about to play that game—or be played.
    Still, her affection seemed genuine enough, and with the exception of telling him that her ambition was to become Miss Brazil, she’d never asked him for a thing, absolutely nothing. Of course, they’d been involved only a few weeks. That self-suffiency could change.
    Sonia came from a good family, one of the oldest if no longer the richest in the country. She knew other wealthy men. In fact, her father would have been very