The spy who came from Rio

 - Did you see the news about the spy they arrested at Guarulhos airport last week, Mrs. Ybbi? He was spying around the world using a Brazilian passport, but they discovered that he was Russian. He had spent a few years living in Brazil just to create a disguise. It's said that the man even danced forró like a native

- Yes, I did, Simone. It's like something out of a Daniel Silva spy novel

- Who is this guy?

- He's a famous American writer, the son of Azorean parents, that's why he has that name. I started reading one of his books yesterday. What a coincidence, right?

- Why coincidence, Mrs. Ybbi?

- Because in the book I'm reading there are some Russians who spent years living in another country to create a disguise, before infiltrating politics and starting to work as spies.

- Sergey Cherkasov's story reminded me of a boss I had a few years ago, before I started working for you. A nice guy, handsome and friendly, but there was something strange about him...

- Tell me about it, Simone. I love mystery stories.

- Mr. Sérgio was a handsome and very respectful guy. He was studying sociology at UFRJ, but he didn't seem very interested in studying. He was much older than his classmates, but still a long way from graduating. His colleagues said that he was a Brazilian military infiltrator, that he was just there to snitch on subversive students. A remnant from the days of the dictatorship in Brazil...

- How do you know that, Simone?

- I knew a girl who was his colleague at university. She said that none of his classmates trusted him, despite all the effort he made to fit in.

- Poor guy!

- Not poor at all! The boys didn't trust him, but as for the girls who studied with him... it was a parade of women in that apartment. It was a disgrace. He was a handsome, blond boy who was a hit with the ladies. He also liked to dance a lot, like the boy who was arrested. Once, he hired a samba school dancer to teach him how to dance the samba two months before Carnival. They spent the afternoons rehearsing in the living room of his house. I thought that was very strange, because he started taking samba lessons just as he was taking his final exams at university. But that didn't seem to worry him. Unfortunately, after two months of lessons with the samba girl, his dancing was still as bad as before. What's more, he had failed most of his subjects again. 

- What a comedy!

- His performance only improved a little during Friday classes, when the two of them would get drunk on vodka before finishing class and going to the samba circles in Madureira together.

- They went out together, did they?

- Oh, yes, they did. He fell madly in love with the girl, showered her with presents and made a scene when she didn't show up for class. But she was a bit flirtatious and was known for it in the community where I lived. In fact, she was the official girlfriend of the drug dealer who ran our community, Zangão.

- Jesus, Simone.

- That's right. One Friday something strange happened. It was time for me to leave, but I was still ironing his clothes in the maid's room. I don't think she realized I was still at work. I saw that their party was good that day. He'd drunk a lot more vodka than usual and ended up falling asleep. It was then that I heard her open the door for Zangão to come in.  While Mr. Sérgio slept, the two of them searched the whole house. I had to hide in the maid's bathroom so they wouldn't see me.

- And did they find anything?

- Zangão found some receipts for bitcoin transactions. He said that Mr. Sérgio had a real fortune and that he owned the apartment where he lived. All this without working, just pretending to study.

- But he could have received an inheritance, couldn't he?

- That's difficult. He used to say that his parents were still alive and lived in Espírito Santo. The only thing he said he had inherited were some knives and guns and a White Army uniform, from the days when his grandfather fought against the Bolsheviks in Russia, before fleeing to Brazil. He told me this story with tears in his eyes, on a day when he was drunker than usual.

- Ah, so he was of Russian origin?

- I can't say where he was from. The drone found three passports hidden under the parquet in the bedroom. In one he was Brazilian and called Sergio Kittel, in the other he was Ukrainian and in the third he was German. I was told that Kittel is a surname of German origin. But I think he was really Russian, because the day he spoke about his grandfather, he seemed to be telling the truth.

- So what? What happened after that?

- I can't say, ma'am. The drone and the samba teacher were so busy messing around in the boy's house that they didn't even see when I escaped. All I can say is that when I went back to work on Monday, there was no longer anyone living in that apartment. The doorman said that he had moved out. He also told me that Mr. Sérgio had a purple face and a cast on his arm when he left. He looked like he'd been beaten up pretty badly.

- What's that, Simone? You're telling me that a Russian spy that ABIN and the PF had never heard of was unmasked by a shitty little drug dealer and had to flee with his tail between his legs?

- That's what it sounds like, isn't it?

- And you never heard from him again? He never called you or wrote you a letter?

- Of course not. Who am I to deserve such consideration from him? I was just the maid. But years later, I saw a man who looked very much like him. He was practically the same, only now he was a little older. I almost asked if he was Mr. Sérgio, but when I got close, he turned around and disappeared.

- No kidding!

- It's true. At the time, I was cleaning the house of a German diplomat here in Brasília. Every time he had a party, he called me to help serve the guests. That day, I was carrying a tray full of champagne glasses when I saw this guy. He looked very elegant and charming, with his expensive suit and a few strands of white hair. When I got closer, I saw that my new boss called him Mikael and that they seemed to be speaking in German. When I saw that it was him, I was so startled that I knocked over some of the glasses. It was such a mess! I had to bend down to pick up the pieces, and by the time I turned back towards him, he had disappeared.

- And did you ask your boss what this man's name was, what his profession was, or his nationality?

- The following week, when I returned to clean the diplomat's house, his wife was looking at the party photos on her computer screen. I noticed that in all the photos where Sergio was present, he was never facing the camera. He always seemed to be running away from the camera. Even so, you could recognize him. When I asked my boss what his name was, she told me that his name was Mikael and that he was a political advisor at the German consulate. 

- The guy was good, huh? He had already infiltrated the politicians of another country. Simone, you have a lot of stories to tell!

- Ih, your Sérgio is small coffee, Mrs. Ybbi. Next week I'll tell you the story of Zangão. This guy is considered a superhero in the community where I live!