The Malhoa Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  I turned my attention to the screen showing Colin’s camera footage. He was looking at a large safe, then looked up when Vinnie joined him. “Old-fashioned. The way I like them.”

  “Yup, everything in that wardrobe is old-fashioned.” Francine’s mouth twisted. “Inge would feel quite at home there.”

  The wardrobe held only men’s clothes. I could see more of the wardrobe from Vinnie’s camera. Colin was kneeling in front of the safe, his face a study in concentration.

  “Oh, hell.” Manny stopped at the entrance to the wardrobe. “I’m witnessing a crime.”

  “An art form, Millard.” Colin moved closer to rest his ear against the safe as he turned the dial. “Shh.”

  Armando leaned against the wall and watched Colin, his eyes wide in interest. Colin turned the dial a few more times, then sat back on his heels and opened the safe. “Well now.”

  “Whatcha got?” Vinnie stepped to the side to see past Colin.

  The safe was a little more than a metre tall and half as wide. It had three shelves, each full of documents, envelopes and a few small boxes. Colin took out a box and opened it. “Rolex.” He held out the watch for Manny to take.

  Armando took it before Manny could. “This right here is a good hundred thousand euros.”

  Colin took out three similar boxes and gave them to Armando. He took out a large envelope and pulled out the contents. “Bills, contracts for water, electricity, internet. All for this house.”

  “In whose name?” I asked.

  “Afonso Katombi’s.” Colin shook his head. “This looks like we were wrong and it’s the president’s house, not Celma’s.”

  “What’s underneath the papers on the bottom shelf?” Manny pointed to something small and black under the documents.

  Colin lifted out the documents and smiled. “An external hard drive.” He looked at Vinnie’s bodycam. “I’ll save this for you, Francine.”

  “Oh, I love that man.” Francine clapped her hands and winked at me. “I get to peek into something the Collector left for us. If it’s Wraith’s work, it might even be a challenge to access.”

  I sat back in my chair and ran everything I’d learned about this case through my mind. This didn’t add up. The mounting evidence against President Katombi simply didn’t correspond with what I’d seen during his interview. There was always a margin for error, but his nonverbal communication had been consistent throughout all the interviews I’d watched. He had a deep-seated hatred for corruption.

  The man I’d come to know through articles and interviews, the same man who’d distanced himself from his niece, would not have used her to bomb museums, burn down galleries and cause the death of innocent bystanders only to have the stolen paintings on his walls in this house. It didn’t reconcile in my mind. Yet the evidence was indisputable.

  “Holy hell.” Manny shook a document at Vinnie’s camera. “Doc, are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” I hadn’t noticed Manny going through some of the papers.

  “Frey, you deal with this.” He shoved the papers in Colin’s hands and took his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen and walked away. “I need to speak to President Pedroso. Now.”

  Colin took the document and inhaled sharply. “It’s President Pedroso’s schedule.”

  “Where is he now?” Vinnie asked.

  Cold flooded my system as I looked at the printed-out schedule in Colin’s hands. Right now, President Pedroso was meeting with President Katombi. In this hotel. They were together in a conference room on one of the floors below us. And the meeting was about to end.

  The red pen lines drawn over the date and time made my heart race. Someone had drawn a target, the bullseye on the time the meeting was supposed to end. Seven minutes from now.

  Whatever the Collector was planning was about to take place and everyone in our team trained to deal with it was more than thirty minutes away. It was only Francine, me and Bianca.

  “Doc!” Manny was shouting into Colin’s phone, his tone the one he used when he’d been trying to get my attention for a while. “I need you to snap out of whatever little pissy panic you’re going into, missy.”

  “Millard.”

  “I’m not in a panic.” Not yet. But it was close. The darkness that entered my peripheral vision was close to taking over.

  “Take Bianca and find the presidents.” Manny leaned even closer to the phone. “You know the Collector, Doc. You know how they operate. Right now, I don’t care if it’s the president or his niece. Just do whatever you can to stall them. We’re on our way, but I can’t get hold of President Pedroso or President Godard and we won’t reach the hotel in time.”

  “You’ve got this, Jen-girl.” The distressing concern on Vinnie’s face belied his confidence in me.

  Colin was pale, his eyebrows drawn together in fear. “Be careful, love.”

  I ended the call without saying anything. My autistic mind was being stretched to its limit. Any form of emotionality and I might not be able to stop the looming shutdown before I found the presidents. And before I stopped the Collector.

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  “MOVE YOUR TUSH, GIRL.” Francine waved her hand impatiently, her bracelets jingling. “No time to lose.”

  I stood frozen a few steps from our suite’s door. Even though I’d agreed that I should go down to assess the situation with the presidents, I’d had a hard time forcing my body to move. Francine had grabbed her tablet and bullied me to the door. I inhaled deeply, trying to force my legs to move.

  Two distinctive pops sounded in the hallway and my breath froze in my lungs. I knew that sound. It was the sound of a gun with a silencer being discharged.

  Francine stepped away from the door, her eyes wide. “What was that?”

  A single loud gunshot wrenched a loud keen from me. My hands were in my hair and I couldn’t move my eyes from the door.

  “Clear!” Bianca’s voice from the hallway sounded pained.

  Francine ran to the door and opened it. “Bianca!” She ran into the hallway, calling for me to follow. I couldn’t.

  How much violence could one person process? How many more gunshots could my mind handle before it shut down completely?

  “Genevieve!” Francine’s voice was thick with tears. “Please.”

  I pressed my thumb hard against my ring finger, hoping that the anchor I’d been using for decades would ground me. Next, I pushed Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 12 in A major into my mind and forced myself to take the three steps to the door. I took two deep breaths and stepped into the hallway.

  Bianca was sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her hands were pushing down hard on her thighs, her expression tight.

  Francine was on her knees next to Bianca, pressing a cloth against the other woman’s leg. “Towels.” She glanced at me. “We need towels.”

  I nodded and ran back into the suite. I grabbed two large towels from our bathroom and rushed back. Unable to say anything, I thrust them at Francine.

  “Thanks.” She looked at Bianca, her smile shaky. “This will slow the bleeding.”

  “Ambulance.” The word rushed from my tight lips. “We need to phone an ambulance.”

  “I’ll do that.” Bianca’s nonverbal cues revealed the pain she was in, but showed a calm control I was not experiencing. Her gaze was steady when she smiled at me. “I’ll be fine here, Genevieve. But you need to get down to the presidents.”

  “Daniel briefed you.” Francine wrapped the second towel around Bianca’s other thigh. Only then did I realise she’d been shot in each thigh. Francine was using the towels as pressure bandages to slow down the bleeding. I only hoped that these were muscle wounds. It would be painful, but not deadly.

  Another keen left my throat. “The Collector.”

  “Yeah.” Bianca shifted and groaned. Then she inhaled deeply and moved to sit against the wall. “He knows you’re here and thought one person was enough to take you out.”

&
nbsp; I followed her gaze to the open elevator a few steps from us. And gasped.

  A man was slumped against one of the elevator walls, his one leg folded under him, the other blocking the elevator door. There was a small hole in his puffy dark blue jacket, right over his heart. A large handgun with a silencer rested loosely in his lifeless hand, his finger still on the trigger. I shuddered.

  “Genevieve?” Francine got up and moved to stand between me and the view in the elevator. “I need you to be okay. What can I do?”

  Nothing. There was nothing she or anyone could do that would take away the darkness closing in on me.

  But then I thought of what Francine had told Inge. This was not about me. It was not about my inability to process or deal with this. It was about stopping the Collector. It was about finding the presidents. It was about preventing a geopolitical event that might have devastating effects around the globe.

  I didn’t have any plan in mind. Moreover, I didn’t even know if there was anything I could do or say to stop the Collector at this point. I had a faint theory about who it was. I had fluctuating theories about the Collector’s motivation. And no specific theory about an endgame. Only that President Katombi, President Pedroso and Celma played important roles in it.

  I forcefully turned up the mental volume of Mozart’s piano concerto and pushed hard at the blackness until I breathed easier. I pulled my shoulders back. “We need to get to the presidents.”

  Francine’s smile was brittle, but proud. “Then let’s do this.”

  “Hold on a sec.” Bianca held out her weapon, butt first. “You might need this.”

  Francine nodded and took the pistol from her.

  “Francine, no.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears.

  “I’m not meeting that bitch unarmed.” She untucked her red silk shirt and carefully pushed the weapon under the waistband of her black trousers at the small of her back. “Now let’s go.”

  I glanced at Bianca. “Call an ambulance.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She took her phone from her jacket pocket. “I’ll see if I can get Thierry here.”

  I nodded once and followed Francine to the door leading to the stairwell. Francine hummed as she tapped her smartphone screen. We reached the door and she stopped. “Hon, we have a problem.”

  I blinked in surprise, then realised she was talking to Manny. Her earphone was hidden under her long hair. I hadn’t even had the presence of mind to take my phone or think about connecting a call to Colin. I didn’t know if I would be able to handle such a distraction on top of the possibility of dealing with the Collector.

  Francine glanced back and her expression grew hard. “Bianca’s been shot. The Collector knows we’re here. You have to hurry. Let Vinnie or Daniel drive. You’re too slow.”

  A sudden fury rushed through me. For the last year, we’d uncovered tiny bits of information that sent us on one fruitless chase after another. And now this?

  Since Francine had been attacked, I’d lived in a constant state of anxiety. I was done with it. I was tired of being scared. Tired of the anxiety nibbling at my brain, making me feel as if I was three seconds away from dying. Tired of the darkness hovering around the periphery of my vision.

  This had to end. Without saying another word to Francine, I pulled open the door and went down the stairs. The small conference room was on the fourth floor, two floors below ours. I moved down the stairs as fast and as quietly as possible, reminding myself that now was the time for action. It was not the time to analyse. If I took as much as six seconds to consider my actions, I would go into a shutdown that would last for hours, if not days.

  We reached the door to the fourth floor and I stopped. I might be taking action, but I wasn’t being irresponsible. I didn’t open the door immediately. Instead, I leaned so close I was almost touching the door, taking a moment to listen for any movement in the hallway. When I couldn’t hear anything, I opened the door slightly and peeked through. And immediately wished I hadn’t.

  I leaned back and looked at Francine. “There are three men lying on the floor. There’s vomit.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Francine pushed past me, opened the door and entered the hallway. I had to call back my earlier ire to follow her. It wasn’t difficult. Being anxious all the time was exhausting. I was furious at the amount of energy I’d wasted on the Collector.

  I stepped into the hallway and walked to Francine. She was on her knees next to a short man, her face twisted in anger as she looked at me. “He’s dead. Oh, my God, Genevieve. He’s dead.”

  “O que você está fazendo?” A weak voice made me jerk around. A tall man was trying to push himself up, but his arms held no power. He flopped back onto the floor. “Você não deveria estar aqui!”

  Francine rushed over to him. “Nós estamos aqui para ajudar. Estamos aqui para proteger o seu presidente.”

  “Francine?” I kept my voice as quiet as hers. I didn’t understand Portuguese, but easily recognised the sounds and melody.

  “I told him we’re here to help. He’s worried about the president.” She didn’t look away from him. “O que aconteceu?”

  The man looked towards a food cart hiding the third man’s face from my view. “Food. Poison.”

  He tried to reach for his weapon, but Francine pushed his hand away. “Don’t do that. We’re really here to help. Just relax. Os médicos estão a caminho.”

  “Presidente Pedroso.”

  “We’ll keep him safe.” She touched his hand. “Descanse agora.” She got up, her facial muscles tight with fury. “This bitch is going to pay.”

  I managed a trembling nod and looked down the hallway. There were only four doors in this hallway and I suspected that President Pedroso had the floor to himself when he conducted these private meetings.

  It was easy to find the room they were in. Loud voices came from the third door. Francine pushed her tablet in the front of her pants and let her red shirt settle over it. She snorted. “Good thing these are my stretchy pants.” She pulled her shoulders back. “Ready to kick ass?”

  “No.” I didn’t want to have any physical combat at all. In fact, I didn’t even want to be here. “But I’m ready to confront the Collector.”

  “Same diff.” Francine walked to the third door and didn’t hesitate. She pushed the door open. “Hello, Wraith.”

  I stepped through the doorway and was met with a loud bang. Cold, then blistering heat rushed through my system as Francine staggered in front of me.

  For a moment, complete blackness covered my sight. One single breath and I could give in to the inviting safety of a shutdown. I wouldn’t have to deal with any more gun violence. I wouldn’t have to process my best friend being shot.

  But my best friend had been shot.

  Not only did she need me, but whatever was taking place in this room needed to be stopped. And I was the only one able to do so at this moment. Mentally, I turned up the volume of the piano concerto even more until it flooded my mind and looked at the woman standing in front of the windows, aiming her pistol at me.

  Celma Rebelo was dressed in a charcoal pant suit. A colourful silk scarf covered her neck and the sleeves of the jacket were long enough to reach her knuckles. Her hands were steady as she took a step closer to me. “You’re in the wrong room.”

  Dark wetness started spreading on the back of Francine’s silk shirt, a soft moan leaving her lips when she pressed her palm against her left shoulder. “Manny’s going to be so pissed.”

  “Who’s Manny?” Celma’s eyes widened in recognition. “Genevieve Lenard. Well, well, well. Clearly the idiot I sent to kill you didn’t succeed. I suppose it’s just as well we meet. You’ve been making my life particularly difficult this last year.”

  “Celma, por favor!” President Katombi’s face was ashen in shock as his eyes shifted from Francine to Celma and back. I narrowed my eyes. His shock was genuine.

  He was sitting next to President Pedroso at a round conference table. The room was sp
acious, the table set to seat twelve people, but could easily seat double that. The décor created a welcoming space. The light moss-green walls, the cream-coloured curtains and the dark wood furniture combined with selected artworks on the walls and a large bookshelf against the far wall conveyed warm elegance.

  On the table between the two men were numerous papers as well as empty coffee mugs and a large platter of snack-sized cakes. I couldn’t see any smartphone or device they could’ve used to alert their security to the threat Celma was posing.

  “What can we do to help solve this situation, Ms Rebelo?” President Pedroso spoke in slightly accented English, his tone and expression respectful, barely hiding his fear.

  “Nothing!” She looked away from us for a moment, her expressing turning from irritation to consuming hatred. “You’ve already done enough.”

  I stepped closer to Francine. I wanted to support her, but I was reeling. My neurodiverse mind didn’t allow for physical closeness. If I were to touch Francine now, the control that currently allowed me to register all of President Katombi’s and Celma’s nonverbal cues would be null and void.

  Francine’s face had lost all colour and I could clearly see the pain in her expression. It looked like the bullet had gone right through her shoulder. I couldn’t see the exact point of entry or exit, but it appeared to be high enough not to be life-threatening.

  I tried to suppress a keen, but wasn’t successful. Celma jerked and frowned, then turned back to us, her eyes on Francine. “I know you.”

  “That’s right, bitch.” Francine groaned. “You know me. I know you too. But you didn’t have to shoot me.”

  “You weren’t invited.” Celma’s top lip curled. “You should’ve gotten the message back in Strasbourg.”

  “When your goons mugged me?” This time when Francine moaned and staggered, I frowned. Her behaviour was off. She smirked. “Did you really think that was going to stop me?”