The Malhoa Connection Read online

  Armando flinched. “I’m really sorry about that, Colin.” He looked around the room. “Seriously, everyone. I’m sorry. I don’t deal with this type of danger. Why did you think I flew all the way to Strasbourg to get your help? The Collector was too violent and I...” He glanced at Inge. “We were just waiting for the moment Paulo was going to kill someone.”

  “And then he did.” Inge’s voice was small, her brow furrowed in sorrow.

  Armando leaned forward, his expression beseeching as he looked at Colin. “I panicked when I saw it was a bomb. I’ve never dealt with anything like that. I’m the guy who’s in and out of a place with no one any wiser. At least not until hours or even days later. In all my years, I never once used a weapon.” He scrunched up his face, then looked sheepishly at Daniel. “Except maybe that cheap Taser.”

  Colin looked at me and I nodded. “He’s genuinely contrite and embarrassed.”

  Armando wiped his hand over his face and took a deep breath before facing us again. “I hope that I can now show you I’m reliable. A good person.”

  In the time I’d been working with this team, I’d come to realise ‘good’ had many different nuances. It almost never implied ‘legal’ or ‘honest’. And working with that broad a definition, I could confidently acknowledge that Armando was a good person. He didn’t have to prove that to us. But he might have to prove his reliability. Especially to Colin. And Vinnie, who held out plates to me and Colin as he glared at Armando.

  I took my plate and sighed with contentment. I loved Vinnie’s classic lasagne. He had become increasingly mindful of healthy variations of traditional dishes and this lasagne was no less delicious with the healthier cream and cheese options.

  While Colin and I ate our dinner, Daniel briefed Inge and Armando on the intel we had on the Collector. Listening to him allowed all the data we’d gathered over the last year to flow through my mind. That lingering connection was becoming distracting. I was so close to finding the nexus that bound everything together.

  Colin put down his empty plate and shifted to the edge of the sofa to reach the confectionery box. He took out a decadent-looking chocolate cupcake and looked at Inge, then at Armando. “So? What have you not yet told us about Jake and that assistant?”

  Armando inhaled, but Inge put her hand out, stopping him. She looked at Manny. “I want to work with law enforcement. Like you guys do.”

  Manny’s lips thinned, an immediate scowl pulling his eyebrows together. “Are you placing bloody conditions on your cooperation?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Inge lifted both hands, palms out. “Wow. You’re really prickly.” She looked at Francine. “Is he always like that or am I special?”

  “Nope. You’re no snowflake, girl. My grumpy bear growls at everyone.” Francine laughed when Manny turned a furious glare on her. “I rest my case.”

  Manny knocked on his knee, looking at Inge. “Talk.”

  “Will you at least think about legal work for me?”

  Manny’s lips thinned even more. “Talk. Now.”

  “Okay, then.” Inge looked at me. “Jake is... oh, God... he was a sweet boy. And he was in way over his head. He was really smart. Smart enough to survive working with those mafia-type people and making friends with them. I never could figure out how he managed it. I somehow think it’s because he’s—” She uttered a distressed sound. “Because he was so timid. He was really brilliant with cars and talked nonstop about it.

  “He thought I was a silly mommy-type thief who just got lucky with my jobs. Yes, he actually told me that one day in such a sweet way, I couldn’t even bring myself to be annoyed with him. God, he talked a lot. He babbled nonsense when he was around Paulo. He was terrified of that bully. When he was around me, he also talked a lot, but it was about his interests, his life.

  “I got the feeling that he knew something pivotal to our searches, so I indulged him. I made sure to make him feel that this silly mommy-type thief cared about him. And I actually started caring.”

  She paused a moment to compose herself. “He told me how scared he was of the mafia types he associated with. But he was also confused about them, because they watched his back. They protected him. I think they saw him the same way I did: a scared kid who needed protection from the world. They just did it because they got the bonus of luxury cars out of the deal. It made him feel safe, but not invincible. He wasn’t the type. He was scared of his own shadow.”

  “I think he was more scared of Paulo than he was of the Collector.” Armando shook his head. “Poor kid.”

  “Did he tell you anything about his source?” Colin asked.

  “No.” Inge narrowed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “Not really. He did once tell me he had an Angolan lover.”

  Francine jerked. Cold, then heat rushed through my system. The separate strains were finally beginning to flow together.

  Francine looked at me. “Bree?”

  I nodded.

  Manny looked from me to Francine and back, his expression concerned. “What are you two on about?”

  “Remember all the companies?” Francine looked at Vinnie.

  “Conhecedor for shipping,” Inge said before Vinnie could respond. “Oizys for insurance and Almada for investments. Right?”

  “Yes.” Francine looked impressed by Inge’s recall of the vast intel Daniel had shared with them. “But we also connected NzingaOil to Wraith’s chat rooms on White Elephant.” Francine looked at me. “I did some more digging into NzingaOil. The president of Angola is the majority shareholder of that company. That man was a multimillionaire before he was even elected as president.”

  Manny scratched his jaw. “How does Bree play into this?”

  Francine grabbed her tablet and started scrolling. “Remember when you shouted at me because I was reading Bree’s email about the Angolan heiress? Well... wait... here it is. This thing is also full of all kinds of documents about the Angolan president.” She scrolled some more. “And his family. Hold on a sec... let me run a searc... yeah... um... Oh, my God!” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “There’s an email sent to the CMO of NzingaOil, asking about rumours that NzingaOil was connected to art heists.”

  “Holy hell.” Manny reached for Francine’s tablet, but she pulled it out of his reach.

  “How many documents, Francine?” Pink asked.

  She scrolled a bit more, both eyebrows raised. “A lot. Shit. It’s going to take us forever to work through them all.” She fell back onto the sofa and looked at me. “On top of all of this, I found something else.”

  “Connected to NzingaOil?”

  She straightened. “Hey, did you know that Queen Nzinga ruled the area that is today Angola during the period of the slave trade while the Portuguese empire grew with colonies all over the world? She fought hard for independence against the Portuguese.” Her enthusiastic retelling tapered off when she noticed my expression. She waved her hand at me. “I know, I know. I’m totally off topic. I was going to tell you about my discovery.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Her smile was filled with affection. “I will. So, I’ve been finding my way into the finances of Conhecedor, Almada and Oizys. Following the money always leads to interesting finds. Well, these three companies share a fascinating similarity. For the last five years, each and every month, these companies paid money to three women. Three thousand euros apiece. Conhecedor has been paying a Louise James, Oizys a Harriet Webb and Almada a Sophie Turner. Every month. Three thousand euros. On the nineteenth of every month.”

  “Who are these women?” Colin asked.

  “No idea.” She threw her hands in the air. “I only saw this a minute and a half ago, so I haven’t yet had time to find out who these women are, what connects them and why they all have accounts in the same Caribbean bank. I’m going to need some time to look into them.”

  This was most unexpected. I didn’t know what to make of this new information. Instead of bringing me closer to answers, the add
ition of these three women moved the looming connection further from my reach. I closed my eyes and called up Mozart’s Violin Sonata No. 22 in A major. This time it came easily to me and I mentally played the Allegro di molto, the first movement.

  “Why Angola?” Vinnie raised both shoulders. “Apart from oil, what else do they have?”

  “Oh, the list is quite something.” Pink counted on his fingers. “Oil, diamonds, gold, copper, rich wildlife comes to mind. Apparently diamonds and oil count for about sixty percent of Angola’s economy. Almost all of the country’s income is from exports.”

  “Dude.” Vinnie gaped at Pink. “Do you have cousins over there I don’t know about?”

  Pink laughed. “No. Nikki and I have been thinking about going on a safari when travelling safely is an option again. We were looking at Tanzania, Rwanda and even Angola. I did a bit of research and somehow got sucked into reading more about Angola. It’s a beautiful country.”

  “What do you know about the president?” Daniel asked.

  “Not that much.” Pink tapped on his tablet and I took mine to also run a search. “Give me a moment. Yeah, so. Afonso Katombi became president seven years ago in a surprise, last-minute decision to run in the elections. He had been the CEO of an international bank until then and only had minor political experience. His victory came on the back of his promise to rid Angola of corrupt CEOs widening the rich-poor gap.”

  “Guys!” Francine bounced in her seat. “Ooh. I just got results from a search I ran and wow.”

  Manny grunted. “Speak, woman.”

  Francine took a deep breath, her eyes wide. “Conhecedor, Almada, Oizys and NzingaOil all have ties to President Katombi. With the exception of NzingaOil, it is not that easy to find those connections. President Katombi has financial interests in three of the companies. Well-hidden interests.”

  “And the fact that they are all connected to each other would connect Katombi even if his only connection was NzingaOil.” Daniel glanced at Manny, his expression grave.

  “Wait. What?” Vinnie frowned. “Are we now saying the Angolan president is the Collector?”

  Francine shook her finger at her tablet. “It certainly looks like that.”

  “No. It doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head. All the evidence we had was bringing the connection closer to the fore in my brain. And it pointed at Wraith. “The real question here is how does Wraith connect to President Katombi?”

  Francine and Pink revealed more about Angola and the president as they continued reading their search results. Vinnie was becoming more confused and I understood that. This new revelation about President Katombi added yet another murky layer to this already complex case. I blocked out the conversation in the living area and allowed the Allegro di molto to flood my mind.

  It didn’t take long. It felt like a key that slotted perfectly into a lock. My grip on Colin’s hand tightened and I turned to him. “The painting. The artists.”

  “Yes?” He gently rubbed my hand and I loosened my grip when I registered the discomfort I was causing him.

  By now, everyone in the room was looking at me, so I organised my thoughts before I continued. “These paintings were from Salvador, Brazil; Mumbai, India; Tangier, Morocco and so on. What about the artists? Where were they born?”

  “Huh.” Colin thought about this. “Every single one of those paintings was stolen in the country of birth of that artist. Brazil, Angola, India, Morocco, Myanmar and Sri Lanka.”

  “You didn’t say Angola before,” Inge said.

  “Yes. The José de Almada Negreiros that was stolen in 2016. He was born in Luanda.”

  It clicked. How had I not seen this before? “These are all countries that were colonised by Portugal.”

  “What does that mean?” Armando asked.

  I wasn’t sure yet what role this played in the Collector’s crimes, but I was convinced it was important. “I don’t know that much about Portuguese colonisation, but much of their earlier wealth came from enslaving Africans and native people to mine natural resources in their territories. By the late eighteen hundreds, more than four million Africans were enslaved in Brazil. They were working the gold mines that funded Portugal’s construction of palaces, cathedrals and settlements.

  “If I remember correctly, Mozambique was the last African colony that gained independence from Portugal in 1975. Angola became independent around the same time, after many years of conflict. And that was followed by a civil war that lasted around twenty-five years and killed more than one million people.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Inge said.

  “Oh. Oh. Oh.” Francine moved to the edge of the sofa. “The accents. Those guys who mugged me. Their accents could totally be Angolan. Portuguese is their official language.”

  More and more pieces were falling into place. But I was still missing an element. Possibly more than one element.

  The others continued speculating—or what they called brainstorming. I picked up my tablet and scrolled through the search result images of President Katombi. Most were official images and of him on a podium. I scrolled faster, not knowing what I was looking for.

  Then I saw it. I almost missed it and had to scroll back. My mouth dropped open slightly as probably the most significant piece of this puzzle fell into place. I blinked a few times and tapped on the photo.

  Staring at me was a dark-skinned woman with long black hair, smiling widely at the camera. But there was nothing genuine about her smile. She was dressed in a dark blue pantsuit and was standing with her arms crossed.

  I did a quick search and scanned her biography. This was it. I zoomed in on the photo and turned my tablet towards Francine.

  It took a moment before she noticed the image. Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God. That’s Wraith. Different hair, different... everything. But that’s her.”

  “Who’s that, Doc?” Manny frowned at my tablet.

  “Celma Rebelo.”

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  “WHO THE BLOODY HELL is Thelma Rebel?”

  “Celma Rebelo.” I gave Manny a sideways look for always mispronouncing names. “She’s President Afonso Katombi’s niece.”

  “Ooh, wow. Wraith is President Katombi’s niece.” Francine glanced at Pink as he also tapped and swiped his tablet screen. “You’re seeing this?”

  “Oh, for the love o—”

  “I will start with her biography.” I didn’t have patience for Francine’s melodrama and Manny’s impatience. “She was born in Luanda, Angola in 1979. She studied in England and returned to Angola in 2001 where she did her postgraduate studies and worked her way up at NzingaOil. Hmm. She worked her way up very fast. She started there in 2003 and by 2008 was on the management board.”

  “I found another bio for her. This is an investigative article into Celma. Seems more comprehensive.” Pink waited for me to nod before continuing. “Okay, so everything Genevieve said. But there’s more. Her parents were killed in 1992 in the Halloween Massacre in Luanda. She was only thirteen years old. That same year, she went to Oxford for her high school education. Every year is listed with her sport and academic achievements. After high school, she attended uni in the UK and only went back to Angola in 2001.

  “By 2013, she was declared the richest woman in Africa with a fortune of around two billion US dollars and then in 2015 her uncle became president. That next January, President Katombi denounced Celma as one of the corrupt CEOs. An investigation started into her finances, but she’d been smart. It took Angola and a few other countries years to get to the point of indicting her.”

  I leaned back, my frown deep.

  “What is it, Doc?”

  I checked my tablet again and thought about this some more. “I can’t find anything about her care after her parents died. Pink?”

  “Huh. Same here.” He scrolled down and back up a few times. “Nope. There’s a year-by-year description of her life, but nothing about family or friends caring for her after her
parents died.”

  “Not that this really means anything.” Armando raised one shoulder. “I mean, it’s really sad, but does it mean anything?”

  “Possibly.” I wasn’t willing to speculate, but something registered in my mind that hadn’t yet come to the fore, hadn’t yet made a connection.

  “Well, I don’t really care about all that.” Francine shook her hands at us. “Did you not see all the investigations and court cases against her?”

  “What did she do?” Vinnie asked.

  “A lot. Like really a lot.” Francine closed her eyes for a moment. “This is the woman Bree wanted us to look at. The heiress mentioned in her email. I didn’t even open the attachments she sent. If I had or if I’d looked for a photo of this Celma Rebelo, I might have put two and two together sooner.”

  “Don’t do that.” Colin sat forward, his expression stern. “Could’ves and would’ves lead to a dark and downhill road. We’re here now because you’re the one who ID’ed Wraith. You’re the one who got beaten up because you wanted a friend to follow up on your suspicions. You’re the one who got us White Elephant, the three women and President Katombi’s connection.”

  “Well, when you put it like that.” She blinked a few times. “Thank you.”

  “Now tell us what else you found in Bree’s email.”

  “Um... who’s this Bree?” Inge asked.

  “Someone we trust.” My immediate response came out harsh and I cleared my throat. “A friend.”

  “Okay.” Inge drew out the word, but didn’t pursue the topic.

  I was taken aback by the strong protectiveness that I felt towards Bree and grateful that I didn’t have to continue this line of conversation.

  “So...” Francine looked at me. “The part of Bree’s email I read fifty million years ago in our team room only said that there’s this Angolan heiress implicated in major fraudulent business deals and political interference. I never actually got to the juicy parts—her ID or anything else. Hold on, let me forward it to your devices.”