The Malhoa Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  Paulo’s body reacted immediately. His legs folded under him and he slumped to the ground, his eyes wide in shock. He stared up at the man, his mouth open in a plea. The man didn’t waste any time. He pointed the gun at Paulo and shot him another two times.

  Dogs were barking, people screaming and running away. A heavily pregnant mother pushed a stroller with a wailing child in the opposite direction, moving as fast as she could.

  “Bloody hell!” Manny moved to stand up, but the man facing Daniel shook his head.

  “It’s done.” The man turned back to look at Daniel. “No one touches our friends. Shot for shot. That’s the Gonçalves way.”

  With that he nodded at the other two men and they jogged away.

  By the time I looked back, Paulo was alone, the others gone. The man who’d killed Jake was lying on the ground, his arms flung out, lifeless eyes staring at the blue sky.

  “Oh, my God.” Inge rubbed her chest. “What do we do? What should we do?”

  Her words ignited movement in everyone. Vinnie jumped up and ran with Daniel to Paulo. No sooner had they reached him than Bianca and Thierry ran up to them.

  “We were too far away.” Thierry looked down at Paulo, then at Daniel. “Sorry, boss.”

  Daniel leaned over to look at Paulo. “It happened fast, Thierry.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Inge’s voice rose, her face pale.

  “It’s revenge for Jake.” Armando got up. He tried to hide how shaken he was by rolling his shoulders a few times. “The Gonçalves clan is one of the most notorious organised crime groups in Portugal. Notice how Paulo was shot exactly the same number of times as Jake? I’m sure it will be in the exact same places too. That’s how they do things here.”

  “Bloody hell.” Manny grunted when the sound of sirens came closer. He looked at Inge and Armando. “You two criminals better get out of here now. Meet us at the hotel. We’ll be there soon.”

  They didn’t hesitate. Armando grabbed his backpack and they ran in the opposite direction of the hotel. I didn’t have the brain energy to wonder why they weren’t taking a direct route.

  I hadn’t moved. I no longer felt frozen to the bench, but I was dumbfounded by this unexpected and violent event. I swallowed and inhaled deeply. We still needed to find and stop whatever it was the Collector was planning for today.

  Daniel walked back to us, the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked at Manny. “How do you think we should handle this?”

  “Let me make a few phone calls. We can’t stay here. Will Thierry be able to deal with the local cops?”

  “For sure.”

  “Good. The rest of us will leave now.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Frey! Move it. We can’t sit around here and wait to be arrested.”

  Colin was quiet. I glanced at him and inhaled sharply. He was pale, the distress on his face bringing more blackness to my peripheral vision. He cleared his throat and got up, pulling lightly on my hands. “Good to go, Jenny?”

  “No.” Yet I got up. I was surprised my legs were carrying me. I was even more surprised that the shutdown was only hovering on the periphery at the moment.

  Even though it felt like this had happened in slow motion, I was sure no more than ninety seconds had gone by from the moment I’d noticed the joggers to the moment they’d left. Ninety seconds that had ended a life. Ninety seconds that had taken away our chance to find out what the Collector was planning for today.

  A police car stopped at the bottom of the park and Manny clapped his hands. “Move, people. Move!”

  As one, we walked away from the crime scene. Manny was already speaking on his phone, he and Pink walking in front, Francine behind them, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. Colin and I followed, Vinnie and Daniel at the back. I didn’t know where Bianca was.

  We reached the hotel in less than five minutes. By the time we reached our suite door, Inge and Armando were waiting for us. Both exhibited different levels of shock, still breathing hard from their run. Interestingly enough, I didn’t observe any of the distress or sadness I’d seen after Jake’s death.

  A shudder went through my body. So much death.

  We entered the suite and quietly walked to the sofas.

  “Well, that just went to bloody hell.” Manny looked at Vinnie, then at Daniel. “Now there is definitely no way of finding out what Paulo knew about the Collector’s plans for today.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” Inge sat down on the first sofa, rubbing her chest with a fist. “First Jake, now Paulo. I’m a thief. I’ve never, not once seen so much death and violence. I can’t do this.”

  “I feel the same.” Francine joined Inge on the sofa, ignoring Manny’s surprised look. “I feel like that a lot. But then I think about the many people in danger because of the Collector. And I think about the few people who have the power to stop that evil bastard. I’m one of the few who can. Not alone.” Francine gestured around the room. “We need each other. Together we can do this.”

  “She’s right.” Manny sat down heavily on the other sofa. He looked at Armando and Inge, then at me. “I know this is not easy for you. But I need you to pull yourselves together. We need to stop the Collector.”

  “Then we have to get into Celma’s house.” Armando sat down on the edge of one of the chairs. “As soon as possible.”

  “Agreed.” Daniel held up his hand. “But we have to be smart about this. Let’s take a beat and plan it properly.”

  “I’ll send the security intel for her house to your devices.” Francine flicked her hair over her shoulder when her announcement was met with surprise and Manny’s annoyed grunt. “It took a bit longer than usual, but Celma’s security company can’t compete with the queen of the web.”

  Daniel nodded. “Okay then. With that intel, I think we have more than enough resources in this room to plan breaking into and entering a property illegally.”

  “Bloody hell.” Manny rubbed both hands over his face, then looked at Vinnie. “We need coffee.”

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  “SHALL WE GO OVER WHAT we learned last night?” Francine rubbed her hands together and looked at Pink. “We found a few doozies.”

  “Anything actionable?” I needed to take my mind off the memories of Jake, and now Paulo, being murdered in front of me. In front of us. If I allowed it, those events would run on a loop in my mind, paralysing me. I glanced towards the sofas. The men and Inge were discussing ways to effectively enter Celma’s house. Pink, Francine and I were at the dining room table. “Something we should tell them?”

  “Hmm, I don’t think we found something that would help them break into that house.” She looked at Pink, then back at me. “Why don’t you go first. What did you learn?”

  Pink, Francine and I had divided up our research. They had focused on all the intel in Bree’s email. I had done online research into President Katombi and Celma Rebelo. Some of the things I’d learned had been confirmation and some things about President Katombi had given a lot of food for thought.

  “The information I found on Celma’s professional accomplishments was much the same as what we saw on NzingaOil’s website. I haven’t been able to confirm that her degrees are all legitimate, but I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

  “When I met Wraith—Celma—I was seriously impressed with her smarts. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came by those degrees the right way.” Francine made a rude sound. “It might be the only thing she did the right way.”

  “In contrast to everything we suspect Wraith of, the numerous articles I read about President Katombi paint him as a staunch opponent to any and all corruption.” It had been a theme in everything I’d read. “There weren’t many interviews with him in English, but I found five that I watched. His nonverbal cues are congruent with his passionate pursuit of making Angola a leader in Africa.

  “One journalist described him as one of the handful of African leaders who has not succumbed to the lure of extreme privilege hi
s money and position of power could afford him. Too many African leaders consider themselves above the law and surround themselves with cronies who support them when they push the country into a dictatorship.”

  I realised I was digressing and cleared my throat. “President Katombi has been in power for seven years and has insisted on complete transparency. He’s made a few missteps, but his more recent nonverbal cues when he talked about putting the Angolan people first and narrowing the wealth divide are the same as his nonverbal cues when he started his presidency.”

  The others had stopped planning their entry to Celma’s house and were listening to me.

  I paused, then looked at Colin. “He also talked about his love for the arts. Two of his favourite artists he mentioned in three interviews are José Malhoa and José de Almada Negreiros.”

  “Bloody holy hell, Doc.” Manny scratched his stubbled jaw. “This is not looking good for President Katombi.”

  So much of what I’d learned about President Afonso Katombi had me looking at this case, at the Collector, from a different perspective. And it didn’t sit right with me.

  I hesitated for a moment. It was only when I’d started working with Manny, Colin and the others that I’d entertained the concept of a ‘gut feeling’. I’d come to understand it to be instinct. Our instinct was borne from years of experience and knowledge so ingrained that we didn’t know we knew certain things. I trusted my knowledge and experience to the point that I inhaled deeply and decided to follow this instinct.

  “I found an odd article when I checked into Celma’s school years.” I cleared my throat. I was still not comfortable with this, but it felt important. “I took into account your knowledge of Celma’s hacking skills, the profile I created on her and everything else we’d learned. Including your discovery of the three women receiving payments from Conhecedor, Almada and Oizys.”

  “Ooh, you have gossip.” Francine leaned closer. “Spill it, girlfriend.”

  “It’s not gossip.” I tapped my tablet screen and tilted it for Francine to see. “This is an article that an investigative reporter wrote about a hacking scandal that included three families. The police investigated it, but never found who had been responsible for any of it.”

  “What happened?” Pink had lost interest in his laptop, his eyes on me.

  “Celma went to boarding school in Oxford the year her parents died. She had just turned fourteen. The next calendar year, but same academic year, three boys and their families had their lives turned upside down.” I had been astounded when I first read the article. “Keep in mind that this school was, and still is, an elite establishment. It’s enormously expensive, which makes the students children of people in the upper echelons of society.

  “It started with the boys. Someone had accessed their school records and posted them all over the campus. It showed their reprimands and even notes from the school psychologists remarking on behaviour that indicated psychological instability. These notes were later proven to be falsified. Only one of the boys had visited the school psychologist and it had been for bereavement counselling when his grandfather had died.

  “Within a week, the fathers of the boys were targeted. One was a top-rated neurosurgeon, one a member of parliament and the third the owner of a multimillion-pound chain of fashion stores. In different ways, the dads were implicated in claims of fraud, sexual assault, extramarital affairs and a slew of minor and major crimes. It took years for them to prove none of these were true.

  “The mothers were next. One mothers was a housewife or, as she preferred to call herself, a ‘homemaker’. The second was a professor in psychology and the third a lawyer. They had their identities cancelled, their drivers’ licenses voided on the government’s system and had spoof articles written about their illicit behaviour at work or extramarital affairs at home while their husbands were working.

  “The article made a point of stating that the police would likely not have investigated had the families not been so influential. They couldn’t trace who had done it or even how it was done. But they were able to help the families prove that none of it was true.”

  “I’m sure it caused absolute havoc in those people’s professional and personal lives.” Inge’s eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown. “That’s extreme trolling, no?”

  “Yup. And it’s totally something Wraith would have done.” The conviction on Francine’s face was certain. “When I met her at that conference, she talked about destroying people online. She loved the movie The Net. You know the one with Sandra Bullock where her life was cancelled online? Yeah. Wraith said she could’ve given the writers a few tips that would’ve made the movie even better.”

  “There’s more.” And this was the reason I was following my intuition. “I think this event is important because of their mothers.”

  “The mothers?” Inge asked.

  I looked at Francine. “Louise Burton, the mother of George. Harriet Collins, the mother of Noah. Sophia Hughes, the mother of Thomas.”

  “Oh, my God!” Francine’s eyes were wide as she grabbed her tablet. “Louise, Harriet and Sophia. The names of the women who receive those monthly three-thousand-euro payments.” She tapped on the screen. ‘Yup. Louise’s maiden name was Jones. Louise Jones, paid by Conhecedor.”

  “I got Harriet here.” Pink blinked a few times. “What do you know. Harriet’s maiden name was Webb. Harriet Webb, paid by Oizys.”

  “And Sophia, née Turner, paid by Almada.” Francine looked up from her tablet. “What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Not yet. I needed to figure out why companies linked to President Katombi—Celma’s uncle—would pay monthly fees to women linked to an event that took place at Celma’s school twenty-seven years ago.

  “Why would she do this to these boys and their families?” Armando asked.

  “You’re assuming she did this on her own.” I’d wondered about this when I’d first made the connection. “It’s also possible President Katombi is behind this.” But I didn’t want to speculate any further.

  Manny rubbed his hands hard over his face. “This is just getting bloody worse and worse.”

  Francine looked at me. “Do you think all of this is connected to what the Collector is planning today?”

  “I have found nothing that would indicate such. This event, the mothers could be important.” I thought about this some more. “Or it could be absolutely nothing.”

  “Nah.” Francine shook her head. “You don’t see things and talk about it when it’s not important. This is important. We just don’t know yet why. Or how.”

  I recognised the look in her eyes. She was about to start throwing around conspiracy theories. I had to stop that. “What did you find in Bree’s email?”

  “Bree is good.” Pink took his tablet and tapped the screen. “She organised the data in such a way that it was easy to scan and find the most relevant... well, what we thought the most relevant info.”

  “I ended up”—Francine leaned closer, her eyes on Manny, her voice lowered—“hacking a few places.” She straightened and blew a kiss at Manny when he grunted. “With everything I learned from Bree’s intel and the stuff I found, I can now say without a doubt that President Katombi is connected to Conhecedor, Almada, Oizys and obviously NzingaOil.”

  “Connected how?” Daniel asked.

  “Payments set up to companies and accounts all leading back to President Katombi.” Francine’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Corruption, baby. Huge corruption. Things that scream fraud, money-laundering and types of corrupt crimes that he’s been fighting publicly. But also things that scream at me, telling me President Katombi is the Collector. And he’s been using Celma.”

  “Oh, hell. President Katombi?” Manny straightened on the sofa. “Dammit.”

  “But if President Katombi is the Collector and using Celma, why did he have her kicked out of the oil company?” Inge asked.

  “Maybe because all the investigations into Celma�
�—Francine pointed at her laptop—“only point to her. Not once is her uncle mentioned as a suspect in any of her crimes. As it is, this investigation had all Celma’s assets frozen, her name dragged through the mud, her kicked out of her top position in the oil company and much more. She’s still fighting some of those charges in court. If it comes out President Katombi is connected, it would be a political disaster for him and the whole country.”

  “Has she not been found guilty already?” Daniel asked.

  “Of some of the charges, yes,” Francine said. “But there’s been no sentencing yet.”

  It was quiet in the hotel suite for a few seconds, all of us lost in our own thoughts. Nowhere in my research had I found any clear indication of the nature of the relationship between President Katombi and Celma. Was she working willingly for him? Had he—as the Collector—gained her cooperation in the same way the Collector had done to numerous people? Armando included.

  And had those three families done something to him that had caused him to take such extreme steps towards revenge? Somehow I couldn’t reconcile this notion with the person I’d seen claiming to put the welfare of the Angolan people before any ambitions he or his government might have. The cognitive dissonance that came from this conflict of data felt important. We were missing something.

  “Where is President Katombi at the moment?” Daniel asked.

  “Good question.” Francine tapped her tablet screen the same moment Pink typed on his laptop keyboard. Her eyes widened and she looked at Manny, concern on her face. “He’s here.”

  “What do you mean here?”

  “He’s in Lisbon at the moment,” Pink said. “He’s meeting with President Pedroso to discuss an updated trade deal between Angola and Portugal regarding their Agreement in Scientific and Technological Cooperation as well as their 2018 tax agreement that is supposed to prevent tax fraud and evasion.”

  “Celma and President Katombi here in Lisbon?” Colin’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “That means if Paulo was right and the Collector has a plan for today, it will happen right here.”