2 The Dante Connection (16 page)

“For what?” The micro-expressions flying across his face told me he knew. He was merely stalling.

“Tell me.” I poured about an inch of amber liquid in a glass and placed it in front of him. On a coaster.

“Jenny,” he started, but stopped. His mouth moved a lot and his breathing indicated deep distress.

“Tell me, Colin,” I said again, gentler this time. His distress was now so clearly displayed across his body that I felt my chest tighten. Against my nature, my entire life experience, I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. His skin was warm under my hand, his muscles strong. With his other hand he took mine and enfolded it in both his. He held onto my hand as if it was a lifeline. My chest tightened even more.

I felt so inadequate to deal with this. All I could do was sit and wait until he was ready to talk. It took a long time, a tumbler of whiskey and a lot of deep breathing before I noticed the slight change in his posture.

“After that last case, Interpol was desperate to put an end to Kubanov.” His voice was hoarse from stress, his hands holding mine tightly. “I’m a thief, Jenny. Not a spy. An artist, a forger. But they wanted a spy. Those bastards.”

I realised that he wasn’t aware of confessing his crimes to me. He was too caught up in whatever had taken place and its lingering effects. His eyes were locked on the bronze sculpture from Hungary on the side table in the living area. I knew he wasn’t seeing it.

“Kubanov has been on many countries’ watch lists for a long time,” he said softly. “Apart from his less violent crimes, he is well known to be dealing in arms and drugs. But he’s good. Until now he has been untouchable. Everyone knows, or they think they know, that he is bankrolling many syndicates, but there has not been one single trace of evidence to connect him to any of the crimes. The same as with our case with Piros in the summer. The connection between them was there, but we didn’t have anything concrete to take to a prosecutor or judge to even arrest the arsehole for an interrogation.”

Something clicked in my head. “But someone found incriminating evidence and you were the best person to retrieve it from Kubanov.”

“Yup.” The corners of his mouth pulled down in bitter anger. “Interpol had received reliable intel of the location of this evidence against Kubanov. I was perfect for the job, especially with my reputation. I am after all a renowned thief and forger. Interpol has always encouraged me to maintain my reputation within the industry. That has opened many doors to the really bad guys.”

“As opposed to the plain bad guys.” I shook my head. “What is the distinction between a really bad guy and a plain bad guy?”

“Bad guys only sell forged art. They don’t kill people, they don’t hurt anyone.”

“A victimless crime.” I had heard that a lot. Thinking about the complicated life Colin was living made my mind cringe in reflex. The duplicity involved in maintaining his criminal reputation yet simultaneously finding ways to catch criminals would force my brain into a panicked spin. What price was he paying on a moral and emotional level?

“A victimless crime indeed. No one gets hurt, the insurance companies pay out and the forgers get to create art. But really bad guys, well, they’re bloodthirsty. Selling art is only a means to an end. They often use art as currency for drugs and guns.” He shuddered. “Or arms much more destructive than guns. They are ruthless criminals who do not care about art, creating or the beauty of a well-placed brushstroke. They induce violence all over the globe by supplying guns to developing countries. These are the people who put guns into the hands of child soldiers.”

“And Kubanov is one of those?”

“Without a doubt. What sets him apart is that he actually does appreciate art. He has a fetish for it and that is why Interpol decided that I was the best guy for the job. This was a joint operation with a few other agencies and I was the linchpin. My reputation was supposed to get me close enough to Kubanov to find that evidence. They had no one else with the right connections or who was trustworthy enough.”

I thought about what he had said. There were so many questions that it was difficult to limit it to one point only. My chest hurt when everything fell into place. “Oh Colin. That is where you were? You went to Russia and were captured and tortured by Kubanov?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything else. My mind was reeling with this revelation. I had known that Colin worked for Interpol, but never, not for one minute, suspected that he did any dangerous work. I had naively thought he solely stole back works of art that were taken during wartime.

“Who supplied the information about the evidence?” I asked. “What kind of evidence was it?”

Colin got up so fast, the chair tipped over and landed with a loud noise on the wooden floor. He walked to the window and stood with his back to me. There wasn’t one relaxed muscle in his posture and his breathing was laboured. He grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and shook his head as if he was having an internal conversation. His black t-shirt stretched across his back, clearly showing the muscle definition. I saw his ribcage moving with unnatural breathing patterns. He was trying to regain control. I waited.

“Kubanov is a genius, Jenny. He fucked with us.” He turned around, folded his arms and looked at me. “And he’s fucking with us again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Colin walked back, picked up the chair and sat down at an angle facing me. “He wanted me in Russia. He trickled out just enough information to titillate, specific info that would require an expert to come after it.”

“And you were that expert. How do you know this?”

“I figured it out while Kubanov was breaking my fingers. And he told me some of it. He was very proud of himself.” He shifted closer and took my hand in his again. I didn’t mind. He was in so much turmoil, if offering my hand could help, I could get past my dislike for physical contact.

“Where does Manny fit into this?” I asked.

“He was the bastard who had received the tips. He doesn’t know of my connection to Interpol, but he had the audacity to recommend that they recruit me for this job. He was going to blackmail me into helping him catch Kubanov.”

“Manny told me that he was getting close to finding Kubanov when his superiors took the case off his hands and ordered him to stop investigating.” I leaned a bit closer to Colin. “His recommendation and hypothetical blackmail are not the real reason for your rage. Why are you so angry with him?”

“He didn’t check his intel, Jenny!” He turned his face away, struggling for calm. A few seconds later he looked at me again. “He is a bloody good detective. Why didn’t he get suspicious when he started receiving all these great tips? Tips that fell so neatly in my specialisation, making me the perfect person for this job. He should’ve checked it all.”

“Did he have time? The way he told the story, it sounded like your bosses grabbed the case from him before he could follow up on it.”

“Whose side are you on? Manny’s?”

“Hey.” I put my other hand over his and waited until he was looking at me. “I’m not taking sides, Colin. I’m only asking questions.”

“Questions that put you on Manny’s side.”

I straightened in my chair and pulled my one hand away. The other stayed. “You are being irrational and emotional. I don’t take sides. I listen to the facts and subsequently decide what I believe to be the most neutral truth.” My voice softened. “But if I had to choose sides, it would be yours.”

Colin’s eyes widened and then he closed them for a moment. When he looked at me, I identified emotions that I didn’t know how to interpret. “Jenny, you… Thank you. Just, thank you.”

We studied each other for a long time. He must have seen something that reassured him even more because his facial muscles relaxed. As did his grip on my hand. I hoped this indicated his willingness to listen to reason.

“As much as Manny grumbles and complains, I know that he respects you,” I said softly.

Colin snorted. “How can you even think that?”

“It’s not a matter of thinking. It’s in his body language, something I know. I seldom trust what people say, but I believe what my eyes see. Manny likes you and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to like someone he thinks is a one hundred percent criminal. He doesn’t want to respect you, but he does. I would have to observe Manny when he is asked this question to know his true answer, but from what I know about him I can comfortably surmise that he would never have done anything to put you in danger like that.”

“Still on Manny’s side.” His accusation didn’t carry any resentment, rather a tinge of humour.

“I also think that Manny can be trusted with your secret.”

“What secret? That I’m working for Interpol?” He was shaking his head emphatically. “No, Jenny. He can never know this.”

“Why not? It would make him much more agreeable to work with.”

“No.” His lips closed in a thin line and his hands tightened around mine again. There was clearly more to Colin’s work at Interpol and Manny’s involvement than I knew about.

“Tell me what happened in Russia.”

He blinked a few times. “I was told that an old contact had informed Interpol he knew where Kubanov kept his records. According to this informant, Kubanov had an entire level under his house, or I should rather say mansion, that was not shown on any plans. That basement level housed a safe room the size of an average Parisian apartment, a fitness centre, a swimming pool and another recreation area. It was supposed to be vast. Taking into consideration that his house on the ground level covers almost fifteen hundred square metres, it isn’t difficult to imagine all of that fitting into an underground space like that.

“The plan was for me to go to Russia under one of my more infamous names and make contact with Kubanov. I was to offer him a twelve-carat pink diamond with its legit papers. He had implied interest in such a diamond.”

“Did you have that diamond?”

“Of course I did. It came from a heist I pulled when I retrieved some paintings stolen during the Second World War. I had help to make sure the diamond was clean. I knew that Kubanov would not be able to resist something so unique and legal. He could show it off in public knowing that it wasn’t a blood diamond or stolen. Well, I arrived in Russia, dropped my name in a few places and waited. If all had gone to plan, I was going to insist on being invited to his home so that I could get an inside view of the place to see possible entrances to the basement level. I was also going to plant some bugs.”

“Surveillance devices.” I remembered from the time Colin and Vinnie had bugged my apartment that they didn’t call these devices by their correct name. “But that didn’t happen.”

“No. I was there for two days when some guys broke into my hotel suite one night and forcefully took me to Kubanov’s house. He does indeed have a basement level, but I never got to explore much. I was taken to an empty room and spent the next six days there. He would taunt me, asking how I liked his secret room with all his secret records. That is how I came to the conclusion that he had lured me there.”

“Why you? Why the elaborate effort to get you there?”

“Why didn’t he just take me out?” Colin gave me a humourless smile when I frowned. “Why didn’t he just have me assassinated? I had a lot of time to speculate about it and I think that he wanted me to suffer.”

“For what?”

“For ruining his art forgery business last summer.” He sighed. “I don’t know how he knew that I was involved in that case, and it has me worried.”

“Do you think that he wants to take revenge on all of us who were involved?” My voice raised in pitch. “Is that why you are so convinced that Kubanov is behind the email, code and bomb? He is after me now?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Jenny. But this is the direction that my thoughts are going in.”

I saw his hesitation. “There is more. Tell me.”

“Everything else is pure speculation. A hunch.” His lips lifted in a half-smile. “You might not appreciate my wild theories.”

“Usually no. But your previous hunch would have prevented me from stepping on a bomb if I had listened to you. So, tell me your wild theories.”

“Okay. We already agreed that Kubanov never does his own dirty work. He has someone else, someone strategic, do it for him. He uses people. He plans every move very carefully like the best chess player. But I think that we triggered something in him last summer. I think that he took the loss of his forgery ring as a personal attack and wants to exact revenge on us. He will use his intermediaries to get to us, but ultimately he wants to destroy us personally.”

I thought about this carefully. “Your theory is maybe a little too wild for my tastes. Are you sure it’s not coloured by your suffering under his hand?”

“Of course being tortured by Kubanov influenced my theory, Jenny. That is why I think this game he is playing is so personal. He could’ve killed me here at home. He could’ve killed me when I landed in Russia. He could’ve had his thugs torture me. Why did he choose to do this himself?”

I swallowed away my fear. My intense anger and resentment at Colin disappearing out of my life suddenly seemed petty and juvenile. I was surprised when my vision blurred. I blinked away the tears and took a few shaky breaths. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sincerely sorry.”