[African Diamonds 01.0] The Angolan Clan

by Christopher Lowery

  Gino was a good looking man. About thirty, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Just looking into them made her feel weak at the knees. And he looked at her and talked with her in his charmingly accented French in a way that no man had ever done. As if he found her attractive and interesting and someone special. Not a punch bag who looked like a horse. She was smitten.

  He told her he was from Genoa, but based in Lugano, selling computers in northern Italy and the Italian part of Switzerland. He was visiting Geneva for the weekend. Gino asked her out for dinner that night and she hesitated, thinking of her mother, then quickly made up her mind. Her mother wouldn’t know if she’d missed a night’s visit, or even a week’s, for that matter. She would visit her early, before dinner. She accepted and her romance began with dinner at the Café de Paris, near Cornavin station.

  Later, in Gino’s hotel room, Gloria had the most unforgettable night of her life. She discovered that sex was exciting, satisfying and fun and she loved every minute of it. With his help and encouragement, she threw aside her inhibitions and used her body as if it had been made only for that purpose.

  They were both replete with passion when she fell asleep in his arms at two in the morning but she woke up at six and quickly aroused him again. They spent the weekend together at her apartment and she felt guilty at visiting her mother so little, but not so guilty that she could deny her newly discovered passion. Gino had to leave for Milan on Sunday evening but he promised to call her on his return the following Friday. She passed the week in a dizzy haze, waiting impatiently for his call and running up to meet him at the train station at Cornavin like a lovesick teenager.

  For six months he managed to get most weekends off and they spent them at her apartment. She now had someone else to cook for besides her mother. She spent every evening of the week visiting her so that she wouldn’t have a guilty conscience when she hardly visited her on the weekend. Even when she was with her mother she was counting the hours to Friday evening, when he would get off the Milan train in the station and take her in his arms.

  Gino was everything that Grégoire wasn’t. He was funny, loving, tender and apparently madly in love with her, despite her looks. He was interested in her mother’s condition, although he never visited her, it would have confused her too much. He asked her about her job, about IDD and the diamond business. She was proud to be able to show off her knowledge and he admired her for holding down a high profile job on a part-time basis.

  Then in April, 2007, he told her he’d been transferred back to Genoa and would no longer be able to travel to Geneva at weekends. She was heart-broken, but suspected he was returning to a wife and family in Italy. In any case, she could do nothing, her idyll was over. It had been the happiest and most fulfilling period of her life, but her mother needed her more and more, so perhaps it was just as well. She wept all day when he left, then cooked supper to take to the nursing home.

  A few months ago, Gloria had begun to suspect that something was wrong at IDD. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but after a while she called Charlie Bishop, her boss, who lived in Marbella. The poor man had suffered a heart attack last August and she hadn’t seen him since October, but she felt obliged to advise him of her misgivings. It was her duty.

  At his request she had looked more deeply into the matter and her suspicions increased. There was something wrong and she knew how to confirm it. She would be alone in the office on Tuesday and could access the bank statements she needed to be sure. If she found what she expected, she determined to call Charlie and warn him before he arrived for the annual meeting the following Friday.

  FORTY-NINE

  Friday, April 18th, 2008

  Marbella, Spain

  Jenny was up at seven and immediately checked the laptop for emails, but there was nothing. She walked around the garden and up the staircase to the lake, past the little ponds and waterfalls so painstakingly tended by Juan. The sun warmed her skin. Ipswich seemed to be a million miles away. A dark, dank place in winter, where she had spent such a miserable time over the last four months. She felt a change in her physical and mental state, a kind of metamorphose. The Spanish climate and relaxed way of life had brought a feeling of wellbeing to her body. And just getting a sound, natural night’s sleep was invigorating. She was starting to feel good about herself again.

  Leticia arrived with Emilio at eight and saw the breakfast already prepared. When she protested, Jenny simply replied, “We’re both co-owners of the house now and today it’s my turn to do the household chores.” It was going to take some time before the younger woman came to terms with her new status in life.

  They drove to the beach and Jenny watched her trying to teach her son to swim. The sea wasn’t yet warm, but Emilio splashed about without caring until his mother was as thoroughly soaked as him. Then they walked along the beach for a drink at one of the Chiringuitos.

  Leticia seemed to be shaking off her depressed mood, and listening to her chatter away in her fast improving English, Jenny began to bless her good fortune. After the trauma of losing both her husband and father-in-law, she had inherited what were effectively a sister and a nephew and she found that she had never felt so happy and comfortable with the people around her.

  As they sat with their coffee, she explained to Leticia her thinking of the previous evening. Charlie had told them not to waste any time and that the next stop was in Switzerland. Despite her apprehension, she knew that Leticia was right. They had to follow his instructions. His story had to be finished.

  She took out her pocket diary and went through the dates with Leticia. “The funeral is on Monday and the Angolan Clan meeting will be held on Friday. Why don’t we try to get a flight to Geneva next Wednesday, the 23rd? That should give us time to organise ourselves. I imagine we’ll just need a document from José Luis to prove that we are Charlie’s surviving relatives. Then we could visit the bank on Thursday and attend the meeting on Friday.”

  “And we’ll meet Charlie’s three partners.” Leticia thought for a moment. “It’s going to be strange, isn’t it? We have read all about them, but we don’t know them at all. And for sure they won’t be expecting to meet us.”

  “Right, that’s settled.” Jenny jumped up, the school teacher in her taking over. Let’s get back to the house and start making arrangements.”

  Jenny looked through the various files in the office, but she could find nothing to do with Klein, Fellay, or the Angolan Clan business in Geneva. “I’m not surprised,” she said to Leticia. “After what José Luis told us, I didn’t think he would have kept anything here in Spain. Everything must be in Geneva. I suppose we’ll find out when we get to the bank.”

  She got the number from international enquiries and called right away, asking for the person who dealt with Mr. Bishop’s account, since Charlie had not specified any name. Charlie makes things very difficult, she thought to herself. There must be a reason. She didn’t realise that the reason was not to make it complicated for her, but impossible for anyone else.

  After speaking with two people whose jobs were clearly to provide a security blanket around their customers, she was put through to a Mademoiselle Rousseau. Jenny explained the situation to her and after a few moments, she was transferred to Monsieur Eric Schneider. Although he wouldn’t admit that he’d ever heard the name Bishop before, Schneider, a pompous sounding man, told Jenny that if she represented a client who was now deceased, she needed to provide documentation to prove she was the new beneficiary. He specified the items needed and Jenny noted them down.

  She was about to call the lawyers when Francisco rang to confirm the funeral arrangements for Monday. After noting the details and the name of the English-speaking priest he had asked to hold the service, she told him she needed to speak to them about another matter. A moment later José Luis also came on the line.

  Jenny was circumspect in her explanation. “It seems there may be an account with a bank in Geneva and we intend to go up there on Wednesday. We wo
n’t put you in a difficult position, José Luis, but we need some documents signed by you as executor of Charlie’s estate.”

  She read from her notepad the documents which M. Schneider required:

  A copy of Charlie’s death certificate.

  An affidavit that José Luis was the executor, signed by a Spanish Notary.

  An affidavit from José Luis, naming Jenny and Leticia as beneficiaries.

  These papers, plus their passports, should get them past the Swiss Guard at Klein, Fellay. Leticia held a Portuguese passport, since her parents had become naturalised citizens in Cascais. An Angolan passport might have been more problematical at the Swiss immigration.

  José Luis confirmed that everything could be prepared and notarised by Wednesday morning. Jenny was again impressed at how things seemed to get settled so easily in Spain.

  “If you’d like,” Francisco added, “I could accompany you to Geneva. It’s a lovely city and I know it quite well. I could perhaps be useful and even show you around a little.”

  “Yes,” José Luis agreed. “If Francisco was to go with you, it could be helpful and not improper. He is not an executor and is not required to make tax declarations, etc.”

  Jenny was amused at the way that José Luis could separate what was acceptable or not. The two lawyers were only five metres apart in their offices. Chinese walls, or Spanish walls, perhaps, she thought. What a sensible system.

  She rang off and explained to Leticia. “We’ll have to think about Francisco coming to Geneva. I’m not sure it’s a great idea. But right now we’d better get our trip organised.”

  “I’ll call my friend, Louisa,” said Leticia. “She has a travel bureau in Marbella. Shall we go in business class?”

  “I’m used to easyJet,” Jenny answered. “Do you think we can afford it?”

  Louisa advised her that Iberia operated daily flights to Geneva, via Madrid. If they left Malaga in the early afternoon, they would be in Geneva by six in the evening. Perfect timing.

  “Let me see if there’s a special excursion ticket I can get you. It’s an expensive flight.”

  “We’ll be travelling in business class,” Leticia said, to her friend’s surprise.

  Louisa was still keen to save her money. “I know a small family hotel near the lake, only ten minutes out of town. It’s charming and not too costly, not like the big fancy places. Shall I book two rooms for you?”

  Leticia happily agreed and the agent gave her the details of the Hotel de La Grange. “It’s just by the Parc La Grange, with views over the lake and the mountains. You’ll love it.”

  In order to help her put aside her forebodings about what awaited them in Geneva, Jenny had started to compile a To do list in her note pad. She took it out and ticked off several items. Travel plans and lawyer’s documents organised, the women could forget their Geneva trip for now and prepare themselves for the funeral on Monday.

  At Klein, Fellay, Mr. Schneider dictated a note about his conversation with Jenny to his assistant, Mlle. Rousseau. When she got back to her office she made a call on her mobile phone. “Bonjour chéri. I have some news for you.”

  It was now seven days until the meeting of the Angolan Clan.

  FIFTY

  Friday, April 18th, 2008

  Washington DC, USA

  Project Fairy Tale was proving to be a gold mine of precious information and Sonia Nicolaides was digging away at it, carefully and expertly. She was now in the process of preparing a chart, showing the interconnecting structure of those members of the ring she’d identified. This, in turn, would permit her to compile a hierarchy of these members. To establish their position in the process of creating and distributing the material and running the sickening international trade in innocent children. So that she could work out who were the top dogs, the people they should manage and cultivate in order to tie up the whole network. By setting a trap all the way from the top to the bottom of the stinking pile.

  One of the reasons it was so time consuming was that all of them used pen names. Da Silva was a good example. He had three pseudonyms, of which “silver.rod” was the most revolting. Many of them also used fake email addresses from a remote Internet Provider, often several in a row, to hide their origin. It was often impossible to know where they were physically located. Some names corresponded with the members of rings in her other dossiers. This didn’t surprise her, dealers and users of such filth were bound by a common sickness and it was contagious between groups. It could help the investigative work to find out who and where these people really were, a combined effort between many different sections of the department, behind the scenes and on the ground. And enormous international cooperation between the agencies and police forces of just about every western nation.

  She opened up da Silva’s computer and downloaded the messages for his four accounts. There were five messages in the dirty addresses. One of them asked why he hadn’t joined the weekly “chat-room” the previous Wednesday. The ‘I am travelling’ message had been sent, but she dreaded to think how she would cope with this problem when she went live. Another was a reminder that his subscription to the ‘Top Shelf Video Club’ was due. She didn’t want to imagine what further horrors might be in store, but she knew that she was going to have to cope with them. Casting these thoughts aside, she dragged the messages into the corresponding files for further examination over the weekend. It was time to start playing the game. She would ask her Case Director permission to open up communications the following week. She’d also have to ask for a credit card number to renew the subscription. They seemed to have an unlimited supply of anonymous credit card numbers in the financial department.

  There remained one new message, the first she had received on the clean r.da.silva address. She read it a couple of times then looked up the names of the sender and the recipients in all the address books. The names and addresses appeared nowhere in the computer. She realised that da Silva had been cleverer than they had imagined. He must have systematically erased all messages of any importance on the r.da.silva address, together with the names and addresses of the senders and recipients. She didn’t know why they had been erased, but assumed it was to avoid any possible contamination with the other, dirty addresses. As far as she could see, the message was innocuous and had nothing to do with her investigation, but she couldn’t leave it to chance that it might be a thread that would lead somewhere.

  After thinking for a while, Sonia called an ex-colleague at the NYPD and asked him to do her a favour. He was just about to leave on a weekend trip, so he promised to look into it on the following Monday. It would take him a day or two to get the information, but he was pleased to be able to help. He had never plucked up the courage to invite her out when she worked alongside him, and had been gutted when she had left New York. Maybe this was his lucky day.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Saturday - Sunday, April 19th - 20th, 2008

  Marbella, Spain

  On Saturday, Jenny accompanied the da Costas to the market and then to the beach. Surrounded by her family, Leticia was in a more cheerful mood, which infected Jenny in the same way. They passed a pleasant, relaxing morning, putting the mixed emotions of the last week behind them for a while.

  Lunch was a happy, family affair. Delicious, freshly grilled fish at a chiringuito on the beach, near the Hotel El Fuerte. Leticia explained their travel plans to her parents and they willingly agreed to look after her son while the women were away for three days. They dropped off Emilio and his grandparents at their apartment and went off to the fashion shops at Puerto Banus to spend a little of their inheritance on some warm clothes for the trip to Geneva.

  On the way back to York House, Leticia took a detour through the area surrounding the Las Manzanás urbanisation. She told Jenny that there were four golf clubs within a radius of ten kilometres, and several more a little further away.

  “They call this area “Golf Valley” because there are so many campos de golf. Many rich foreigners
are living in the big villas around here.” Leticia was pointing out some enormous properties, most of them with huge walls to keep out prying eyes. Only the roofs could be seen from the road.

  They look more like mansions than villas, thought Jenny, but not many of them compare with Charlie’s property.

  There was a huge amount of construction going on, even in this exclusive and expensive neighbourhood. Driving around the perimeter of the Las Manzanás urbanisation, above York House, the paved road ended and they came upon a narrower lane, just a dirt track covered in gravel. The track turned and ran for a couple of kilometres until it came past a large forested area then alongside a wide, rolling valley, populated by small groups of olive trees and flowering bushes, with a small river running through it. It seemed that the land around the river was being shaped into a golf course by massive earthmoving machines. Hills were being flattened and new hills recreated to replace them. But there was no one working on the site, the machines were standing idle and the whole area was deserted. There was no activity at all.

  Further along, at the side of the track there was an enormous, crater-like excavation for an apartment development. A large, painted sales sign was erected in front of the huge hole, which had a wooden barrier around it. The sign announced a magnificent new golf course and country club on the site. It had an artist’s impressions of the course, with the apartment building and swimming pool in front. The development was called AVENIDA PARC, but the empty shell of the building standing there looked derelict and abandoned. The biggest crane Jenny had ever seen towered over them, reaching up out of the depths of the excavation. There was enough construction equipment in and around the hole to build a city. Judging from what was going on everywhere else on the coast she had no doubt that was the intention.