The Malhoa Connection Read online

  Colin’s hand shot out to grab Armando, but the latter was already halfway to the alley. “Dammit. Vin, keep a close eye on us. I have a bad feeling about this. Call Millard the moment it’s needed.”

  Colin wasn’t wearing an earpiece to hear Vinnie’s response. Before we’d even entered the plane, they’d decided the bodycams were enough. The chance of Paulo seeing the earpiece and reacting irrationally was too big a risk to take. I agreed. Not only that, but having someone speak in their ear at a crucial moment would be a distraction that could be fatal. I wanted Manny, Daniel and Colin fully focused. And alive.

  “Oh, hell.” Colin’s grunt didn’t hide the sound of police sirens and shouting suddenly filling the air. It sounded like a raid with dozens of police officers.

  The next moment, the back door flew wide open and two men rushed out. Both were dressed in black with ski-masks covering their faces. They were clumsy as they stumbled over the clutter.

  “Come on!” the taller of the two whisper-shouted at his partner. I was surprised to hear them speak English and shelved that to analyse later.

  The shorter man was awkwardly carrying a large canvas bag. The bag had no reinforcement, making the outline of the contents easy to see. Taking into consideration where they were, I felt comfortable guessing there were at least three paintings in that bag.

  “We should’ve spent more money on a better bag. This thing is shite!”

  “Shut your trap and move it!” The taller man tripped over a pallet and swore crudely as he regained his balance and ran into the alley.

  The shorter man guffawed with laughter, still running clumsily. As he ran past a broken steel filing cabinet, the sling of the bag caught on the handle and the bag was ripped from his shoulder.

  “Fuck.” He turned to pick up the bag, but loud voices came from the alley. He glanced at the paintings, then shook his head. “Not fucking worth it.”

  He ran into the alley and disappeared from view. A few seconds later, Armando strolled in, putting a device in his backpack. “All clear?”

  “Out here, yes.” Colin’s answer was clipped and quiet. I knew that tone. It wasn’t often that he was this angry. He stepped away from the signboard and walked towards the canvas bag. “I don’t know if it’s clear inside.”

  “We’ll check in a minute. Wait. Are you pissy?” Armando’s half-smile broadened when he looked at Colin’s face. “You are.”

  “And you’re an idiot who could’ve gotten us killed.” Colin picked up the bag and placed it on top of the filing cabinet. “Have you not seen all the destruction the Collector sows? Your plan to flush them out with that stupid recording could easily have backfired and we’d both be dead. Or blown to pieces.”

  The more Colin spoke, the more Armando’s face became sober, his depressor anguli oris muscles pulling the corners of his mouth down. “Damn. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about bombs.”

  “You just didn’t think.” Colin turned towards the back door that was now open. “I take the lead and you follow.”

  “For now.”

  Colin grunted and walked into the gallery. The back room seemed to double as a kitchen and storeroom. It was as cluttered as the courtyard. How could people work in such an environment? I shuddered and was thankful when Colin stepped into a short hallway.

  To the left was a closed door with a sticker of a dog lifting his leg against a tree. I assumed that would be the washroom. The hallway opened up into a large gallery and nothing looked disturbed.

  To the right was an open door that led to a brightly lit office. I had a limited view to the right and tried to figure out how large the office was until Colin jerked. “Vin, call Millard.”

  “Who are you talking to? What’s in that room?”

  The camera jostled as if Armando tried to push past Colin. But everything stilled when Colin’s arm shot out to block the doorway. “I go in alone. Wait here for me. I might need your help.”

  “My help with what?”

  Colin ignored Armando’s question and walked into the room.

  That was when I saw it.

  On the large, empty desk was a white box. Papers, envelopes and other stationery were strewn all over the floor as if someone had pushed them off the desk to make place for that box.

  “What’s in the box?” Inge whispered next to me.

  I barely registered Vinnie’s answer or his activity on his phone. I needed to know Colin was safe and I suspected that the contents of that box were putting his life in terrible danger.

  He stopped next to the desk, the video moving with his deep and slow inhale. “Vin.”

  “Motherfucker.” Vinnie jumped up and walked to the whiteboard.

  In the box was a mess of wires. Under the wires were two blocks of what looked like moulding clay. I had overheard enough conversations between Vinnie, Daniel and Manny to suspect it was C-4. It was one of the most stable explosives, only exploding from a detonator or a shockwave. Not even being set on fire or being shot at would detonate it. But when armed, it posed a destructive threat that was causing darkness to enter my peripheral vision.

  I was glad I had stopped listening to Vinnie sharing details about the blast radius. I didn’t want to know how much death and devastation those two blocks so close to Colin could cause.

  Vinnie stepped even closer to the whiteboard. A few months ago, he’d joined GIPN for a weeklong training course in explosives and how to disarm them. He’d graduated that course at the top of his class, much to Daniel’s amusement and all the others’ annoyance. He mumbled to himself, then lifted his phone and tapped the screen.

  Colin answered on the first ring. “Can you disarm this?”

  “Yes. This bomb is an insult to all bomb-makers. It’s like someone Googled a bomb-making recipe and looked for the easiest five and slapped them all together.”

  “And cell phone signals won’t set it off?”

  “Set what off?” Armando walked into the room, his gasp loud. “Oh, hell no. Fuck no. I didn’t sign on for this. Not bombs. I’m out of here.”

  Immediately, his footsteps could be heard retreating.

  “A bomb?” Inge put both her hands on her head. “Why isn’t he getting out of there?”

  “Because all the floors above this gallery are filled with families.” Colin inhaled slowly. “Vin, am I on speake... not important. Can our call set this thing off?”

  “Nope. It’s on a timer. See the digital clock in the centre? Yup, that’s the timer. Lean a bit in so... oh, fuck. Well. That’s... fuck, dude. You’re going to have to disarm it. We only have twenty-five seconds left.”

  “Tell me how.” Colin’s calm tone didn’t surprise me, yet it devastated me. He was an incredible source of strength under pressure, but I didn’t want him to be there. In danger.

  I was gripping my arms tightly across my chest, my breathing ragged. Vinnie’s instructions sounded nonsensical, but as long as it was clear to Colin, I didn’t care.

  “Now lift the brown wire for me to see. Ah.” Vinnie nodded. “Idiots thought to confuse us with swapping the colours. Cut the red one.”

  “The red one?” Inge’s whisper ended in a high pitch. “In the movies, it’s never the red one.”

  For a moment, Colin moved away from the desk, turning this way and that. Then he bent down and picked up a large pair of scissors. “This will have to do the job.”

  “Dude, you’ve got nine seconds.”

  Colin carefully lifted the red wire with the scissors and with a single, decisive move cut the wire. “Done.”

  “That was close.” Vinnie rested both hands on top of his head, his eyes wide. “Dude, you did it.”

  Colin exhaled loudly and slowly. “Actually, you did it, Vin. Thanks.”

  “Now get the fuck out of there. Franny already told the old man before I even phoned him. The bomb squad and half of Lisbon’s police are on their way to your location.”

  Colin was already moving through the short hallway to the back door. “Jenn
y? I’m okay, love. I’ll see you soon.”

  I couldn’t speak. I was rocking in my chair, sure that I was going to have finger-sized bruises where I was gripping my arms. Only when Colin walked into that horrid, cluttered courtyard did I have enough focus to slow and finally stop my rocking.

  He went straight to the filing cabinet and took the canvas bag. “I want to know what the Collector put on their list to steal. Maybe it will give us something we could use.”

  “The old man is going to have a fit.” Vinnie chuckled and walked back to his chair.

  “Most likely. But I’m just borrowing this for our case. We’ll definitely return them.” He paused again. “Is Jenny okay?”

  Vinnie looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “She was rocking the joint, but now she’s good.”

  Colin reached our rented SUV and got in. “Armando disappeared on me.”

  “Coward.” Vinnie’s top lip curled.

  “It is what it is.” Colin started the SUV. “Let’s call it a day. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

  Vinnie nodded. “See ya later, alligator.”

  Chapter TWELVE

  “MY MAMA ALWAYS SAID, ‘The simplest foods give the most pleasure.’” Vinnie’s fake Texan accent amused Thierry as he accepted a plate of bacon and mushroom pasta. Vinnie glanced at the plate in his hand and looked around. “Everyone have food? Good. Now we talk.”

  He sat down on one of the four chairs in the living area of the presidential suite in the hotel. We’d arrived forty-three minutes ago and Vinnie had gone straight to the small, but well-stocked kitchen. I was grateful that we didn’t have to resort to ordering from the hotel’s restaurant or, even worse, from one of the local restaurants. I had no way to vet their hygiene and be able to enjoy their food without great anxiety.

  “Oh, wow!” Bianca’s eyes were wide as she continued chewing. She pointed with her fork at the food on her plate and gave an exaggerated nod at Vinnie.

  When Vinnie had finished cooking, he’d insisted Bianca and Thierry join us. The presidential suite had four bedrooms. Colin and I shared one, Francine and Manny another, Vinnie and Daniel the room with two single beds. Bianca and Thierry shared the last room, also with two single beds. Pink had decided to sleep in the living room. He wanted to be close to the computer station he and Francine had set up on the dining room table.

  This suite was clearly designed to accommodate not only an important dignitary, but also their entourage. Which was most convenient for us. Despite the large number of people currently in the living area, it wasn’t crowded. Just full. There were even two chairs still unoccupied.

  When I’d entered our accommodation, I’d gone into our room and had tried to calm my mind. I’d barely been holding a shutdown at bay. Colin had arrived before us and had already changed into his usual attire. He’d joined me in our room and had worked on his tablet while I’d settled on the bed, rocking and keening.

  Only when I’d methodically gone over every detail of the case had the panic of watching Colin disarm a bomb slowly dissipated. Loving people was emotionally exhausting.

  I looked around the room as Daniel told everyone about Paulo’s fury when they’d gone through all the crates and not a single one of those paintings had been authentic.

  “The Portuguese art crimes division will now take over and deal with that container.” Manny put his plate on the sturdy wooden coffee table next to his sofa.

  “Paulo and Jake left as soon as Manny started making calls,” Daniel said. “Manny and I waited until the police arrived.”

  “And left without anyone seeing us.” Manny slumped into the sofa. “Now it’s their headache.”

  Colin had already debriefed the others on everything that had taken place at the gallery. I had been so focused on not giving in to the returning panic while listening to him that I now realised I’d missed something important. I turned to Colin. “What happened to the contents of the canvas bag you took from the gallery?”

  Manny’s head jerked to Colin, his brow pulled low in a scowl. “Bloody hell, Frey. Did you steal something?”

  “Is taking something left behind by someone really stealing?” Colin’s mock-innocent question infuriated Manny more. And amused Colin. “Oh, don’t get your panties all twisted. The paintings are next to the dining room table. Those inept thieves took only three paintings from the gallery.”

  “What did they take?” Pink asked.

  “Two oil paintings and one watercolour abstract.”

  “What is significant about them?” I could see it on his face.

  “Two are done by three young up-and-coming Portuguese artists. In the last five years, their works have been in much higher demand.”

  “Which means more expensive,” Vinnie said.

  Colin nodded. “They are smallish paintings, but the price tags on them are between sixty and eighty-nine thousand euros.”

  Thierry whistled through his teeth. “That’s more than I make in a year. Much more.”

  “The third painting?” I asked.

  “A José de Almada Negreiros.” Colin’s eyes widened at the same moment as an important realisation bombarded my brain. He stared at me. “I didn’t make the connection until now.”

  It felt like numerous strains of information were merging together, about to form one solid clue. Yet it wasn’t fully formed.

  My thoughts about this significant connection were interrupted when Daniel’s phone pinged. He frowned as he swiped the screen. Then smiled. “The police arrested two British nationals. They were waiting across the road from the gallery for the place to blow up.” He scrolled down and shook his head. “They have arrest warrants out on them in three European countries for arson.”

  “Pyros.” Thierry nodded at Daniel. “Remember the guys setting fire to kindergartens in Strasbourg?”

  “That was what? Three years ago?” Bianca asked. “I heard about that.” She looked at me. “Is it true that pyromaniacs become obsessed with starting fires because they were neglected as kids?”

  “It’s only one of a long list of possible causes that results in this impulse control disorder.” I shook my head in irritation. “This is not pertinent to the case.”

  “So, Doc?” Manny raised one eyebrow. “What did you learn that is pertinent to the case? What is this connection you and Frey are talking about?”

  I glanced at the last few bites of pasta on my plate and decided that I’d had enough. I put my plate on the coffee table next to me and organised my thoughts. As concise, yet thorough as Manny allowed, I told them about Inge’s discoveries. About the dubious nature of anything they’d received from Jake’s source. About the companies connected to Conhecedor. About the email confirming the transfer to Almada and the whiteelephant.tor email address.

  “Almada?” Francine looked from me Colin and back. “As in that artist you just mentioned?”

  “José de Almada Negreiros.” Colin closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why didn’t I see it when Inge told us about that venture capital company?”

  “What’s so important about this Ali Baba character?” Manny asked.

  “Almada,” Colin said absently as he got up and collected the painting next to the dining room table. He turned it for everyone to see. It was a simple, yet beautiful work showing a man, woman and small child in an affectionate embrace. There was no mistaking the man’s love for this woman—his chin resting on her head, his hand on her hair.

  Colin put the painting on the coffee table and sat down. “Firstly, this is the second Negreiros painting stolen that we can connect to the Collector. José de Almada Negreiros painted this—The Family—in 1940. Five years ago, his 1949 Domingo Lisbieta was stolen from an upscale art gallery in Luanda.”

  “And?” Manny looked at me.

  “So far the Collector has consistently shown calculation in their actions.” I’d seen this again and again in my investigation. “To have stolen two José de Almada Negreiros paintings and have a company named ‘Almada’ connect
ed to the Collector’s actions? I can’t accept this is a coincidence.”

  “But what about the other two paintings?” Bianca asked.

  Colin looked at the ceiling for a moment, then turned to me with a smile. “I’m going to speculate, but I think the others were not on their list to steal. It doesn’t fit with any of the paintings the Collector has stolen so far. See the frame?” Colin pointed at the painting on the coffee table. “The José de Almada Negreiros doesn’t have a price tag.” He got up and retrieved the other two paintings and pointed at the small stickers on the frames. “See? Sixty thousand euros and eighty-nine thousand euros. They might’ve thought it a good idea to sell on the same black market they got the job to steal the José de Almada Negreiros.”

  “White Elephant.” Francine’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Ooh, I’m so going to tell Ty. We need to check this out.”

  “Okay, wait.” Vinnie raised both hands. “I’m confused. There’s Almada and Conhecedor. Um. I mean... what connects them all?”

  My lips thinned in impatience. This was the third time Vinnie had expressed his confusion about the companies. I lifted one hand and started counting on my fingers. “Conhecedor is the shipping company that shipped from ports where the Collector has been active. Oizys is the insurance company that insured shipments from Conhecedor. Almada is a venture capital company. And Conhecedor invested in Almada. They’re all connected. I don’t know why you can’t understand this.”

  I slowed down as I uttered the last sentence, a realisation coming over me. Vinnie had had me simplify this for the benefit of Thierry and Bianca. They hadn’t been with us from the beginning of our case against the Collector. The more I thought about this, the more I realised that I’d had to do this many times in the past, often instigated by Vinnie. And having to break down complex intel to simpler terms had just as often helped me reach actionable conclusions.

  I blinked a few times and nodded at Vinnie.

  He winked at me. “Now I understand everything.”

  “Hmm.” I spent a moment thinking about whether I’d missed any important information. “Oh. Yes. Inge discovered that Almada’s owner is registered as E.I. Dolon. No indication if it’s a man or a woman.”