Angel in the Shadows Read online

  ‘Nonsense,’ Aninda said. ‘I got away. I’m happy now.’

  ‘How did you get away, then?’

  ‘It was Satria’s doing. She set up the first school here and taught both boys and girls Pencak Silat. Come, or else we’ll be late.’

  They cycled a bit further and stopped in front of a small wooden building, which turned out to be a shelter and a school for the children of Bantar Gebang. They walked through a narrow, muddy passageway to a shack, where a man stood watch outside. His size, suit and earpiece all suggested he was a bodyguard. Aninda exchanged a few brief words with him before he checked them both for weapons. Then he allowed them to step through a badly fitted door into the dim half-light of the shack, which was crisscrossed by slender beams of sunlight that looked like lasers.

  In the centre of the room she made out the silhouette of a slight, bald man.

  Aninda respectfully greeted him: ‘Selamat siang, Bapak Hatta.’ ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hatta.’

  His voice had the sensitive quality of someone who can break iron with his hands through willpower alone.

  ‘I’ve got the greatest possible respect for my grandmother, Satria, so when she told me to listen to your story I couldn’t refuse,’ Hatta said. ‘Then again, why would I want to meet a woman who, if the media are to be believed, is an internationally wanted terrorist? Please convince me otherwise, Ms Hafez.’

  This caught her completely off guard. ‘So you know who I am?’ she stuttered.

  ‘I can’t take any risks. Naivety is fatal in my position.’ He said it in a mischievous way. ‘But your secret is safe with me. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that, like me, you’re on the run from the authorities for entirely different reasons than the media would have us believe.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ she said. ‘Together with two colleagues, I’m investigating the Russian industrialist Valentin Lavrov and the illegal strategies he uses to realize his international projects. I came to Jakarta because of the Sharada Project. We suspect that Lavrov bribed Gundono to get it off the ground.’

  ‘Tell me something new,’ Hatta replied. ‘Here in Indonesia it’s become something of a tradition for politicians to strike backroom deals with industrialists who are out for their own greater good rather than the country’s. Corruption may well be the most insidious of all wrongdoings in our country. It’s a practice that ought to be eradicated, but in most cases there’s no evidence whatsoever. And, even if there is, the investigators are either bribed, in the best-case scenario, or simply murdered. I’m afraid the Sharada Project is no different, especially after Saputra’s death.’

  Farah had no intention of giving up so easily. ‘The Sharada Project is lethal, Bapak Hatta. AtlasNet has sunk its tentacles into lots of Russian military projects. As early as the 1960s, the company was developing installations for use on board nuclear submarines, like the Kursk. And we all know what happened there. It exploded. The entire crew perished. The wreck was eventually raised, but not before nuclear waste leaked into the Barents Sea. If Parliament votes in favour of the Sharada Project, there’ll be several small reactors off your coast in a year’s time. If something were to happen to one of those reactors, it will spread to another, triggering a chain reaction with devastating consequences.’

  ‘You know I’m an outspoken opponent of the government’s nuclear-energy plans. It’s why we’re meeting here and not at my office downtown. The only way I may be able to delay or even block the project altogether is rock-solid evidence. Can you deliver that?’

  ‘Within the foreseeable future.’

  ‘That assurance doesn’t get us very far, Ibu Hafez. If you don’t come up with some evidence within the next twenty-four hours, I’m afraid it will be too late. Once Parliament has voted, it will be virtually impossible to block the implementation of Sharada.’

  ‘Gundono has something drastic up his sleeve to protect the project,’ she said in another attempt to convince him. ‘And, as far as I can tell, it’s not just related to the project. He’s talking about Indonesia’s future.’

  Hatta looked at her in shock. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, but I can assure you my source is extremely reliable.’

  Judging by the anxious look on Hatta’s face, she knew he took her remarks seriously.

  ‘Could Gundono be considering a coup?’ she asked.

  ‘I doubt that a nuclear-energy project alone would be the motivation for that,’ Hatta replied. But he didn’t sound convinced. It offered her another chance. Probably her last one.

  ‘My colleague Paul Chapelle has proof of Lavrov’s practices in South Africa. His modus operandi is to corrupt prominent politicians so he can control them. It’s likely that he applied this same strategy to Gundono. Gundono’s in a tight spot now. He’s got to do something.’

  But Hatta appeared to have run out of patience. She could tell from his reaction.

  ‘Ibu Hafez, this evening I have a meeting at an as yet unknown location with fellow party members and the leaders of some smaller political factions to see if there’s anything we can do to at least postpone the vote. But we have little hope. It’s true that the moderate Islamic movement, the Muhammadiyah, which normally backs the government, has spoken out against the Sharada Project, but it won’t be enough. We’ll need hard evidence of bribery, so I can get the others on board. I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing. I’m sorry.’

  In a last-ditch attempt, she grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Please tell me where that meeting will take place, Bapak Hatta. I’ll make sure I’ve got enough evidence by tonight for you to convince the others.’

  ‘You’re an indomitable woman,’ he said. ‘I understand why my grandmother sent you to me.’ He extricated himself from her grip and shook her hand. ‘As soon as the location is known, I’ll send you word.’

  ‘Terima kasih, Bapak Hatta,’ she said.

  He left the shack, accompanied by the bodyguard, who’d stood discreetly in the corner the whole time.

  She felt her spirits sinking. Paul’s response to her question about whether they’d make it still echoed in her head: I’m sure. That certainty was rooted in a naive idealism, in the romantic notion that if only you believed in something strongly enough, you’d be able to achieve your ambitions. What on earth had made her think she could go up against a multinational, here or anywhere else in the world?

  Her promise to come up with evidence was just as empty and shadowy as the interior of the shack in which they were standing.

  16

  A broadcast vehicle topped by a large satellite dish was stationed outside Lombard’s Blaricum villa. The logo of IRIS TV was clearly displayed on both sides of the mobile television unit. Radjen and Esther parked their car right beside it and entered through the wide-open front door, following the bulky cables running from the van into the hallway.

  All the windows in the living room were covered with blackout cloth. Spotlights on heavy tripods created a circle of light in the middle of the room, where three armchairs were positioned. A mannequin had been placed in each chair. The middle figure was bent slightly forward, as if it were about to say something; the left one had its legs crossed and looked like it was waiting to respond; while the right one seemed to just be listening. Men wearing one-eared headsets operated three heavy cameras on castors. Two men with smaller cameras on their shoulders swiftly moved from place to place. Radjen was about to enter the room when a man with the IRIS logo prominently displayed on his cap stopped him.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Police,’ Radjen said, waving his ID. ‘Where can I find Mrs Lombard?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ the man retorted. ‘Mission impossible, mate. This interview begins in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Listen, friend,’ Esther interjected, positioning herself right between them. ‘How’d you like to take a ride with me? And I’ll show you a good time at the station for obstructing a criminal investigation. Where is she?’

  Th
e man rolled his eyes and flexed his jaw in a weird way, as if he needed to swallow something before he could talk. ‘In makeup.’

  ‘And whereabouts is that?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Thank you, champ.’

  Radjen was the first to turn to head back to the hallway. The man sped past them and raced up the stairs. When they reached the landing, they saw him anxiously gesticulating in a large bedroom, where Lombard and his wife were each sitting in front of a mirror having their faces made up with an array of brushes, pencils and small sponges.

  Lombard went ballistic when he saw them enter, and rose so unexpectedly that he sent a powder box flying through the air.

  ‘The nerve of you charlatans is astounding!’ he shouted as a beige cloud of powder encircled him. Lombard looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead, and his eyes were bulging in their sockets. Perhaps a case of tightly wound nerves, but if there was one thing Radjen didn’t give a rat’s arse about, it was Lombard’s present state of mind.

  ‘We have a few pressing questions for your wife,’ he said, turning towards Melanie Lombard. She met his gaze with a condescending smile.

  ‘I’ll sue you for trespassing,’ he heard Lombard say, while the way Melanie Lombard rose from her seat and walked towards him made every sound, every other movement in the room, seem of less importance. In a form-fitting burgundy dress with long sleeves which accentuated her figure, she looked like a woman who could bring a man to his knees. And, even though it was the last thing Radjen wanted, he couldn’t deny that he found Melanie Lombard van Velzen quite intriguing.

  And, as it so happens, he had a weakness for intrigue.

  ‘Inspector,’ she said, with the sensuality of a French chanteuse, ‘my husband is under an immense amount of pressure. You of all people should understand this. I suggest we continue our conversation elsewhere. Then my husband can prepare for this television interview in peace and quiet.’

  Radjen nodded, and before he knew it she had calmed Lombard down and coaxed him back into his chair, and they were standing in what appeared to be a guest room, also used as a kind of storage space. Opposite a folded ironing board and a blanket box stood a wall unit filled with sailing trophies.

  ‘You told us you didn’t know Thomas Meijer,’ Radjen said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then what were you discussing with him ten days ago?’

  Melanie Lombard could also have pursued a glittering career as an actress, he thought. In any case, the amazement that appeared on her face seemed genuine.

  ‘And where did this happen?’

  ‘In the car park of Economic Affairs,’ Esther said.

  Melanie Lombard also looked at her in surprise as if she’d just realized she wasn’t alone in the room with Radjen.

  ‘I don’t recall, unfortunately.’

  ‘And what you gave to him, you don’t remember that either?’ Radjen asked.

  ‘Gave? No, I …’

  Something seemed to dawn on her. She glanced at Radjen with an amused twinkle in her eye. ‘So that was Meijer?’

  Radjen sighed. ‘What did you discuss with him?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mrs Lombard, please.’

  ‘I gave him instructions.’

  ‘Instructions?’

  ‘He had to give an injection set to my husband. Ewald is diabetic. He was going to be away from home a day or two, and he’d forgotten his insulin syringes. My husband didn’t want it splashed across the news that he’s been diabetic for about a year and a half. So it didn’t seem wise to call a courier. I decided to take what he needed to The Hague myself.’

  ‘Then why did you give the set to Meijer and not directly to your husband?’

  ‘Ewald was in Parliament for an emergency debate. His driver was going to fetch him and take him to Groningen afterwards. I know how discreet and reliable Haaglanden’s drivers are. I gave the insulin set to the man who was going to be his driver that day. I didn’t know he was Meijer.’

  Radjen looked at her in disbelief. She met his gaze with a contemptuous smile and said, ‘My husband can corroborate my story.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Radjen said. ‘I’m not sure that will be necessary.’

  One of Melanie Lombard’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘The issue is, you tell us things that at first sight seem clear as day, but as soon as we take a closer look, there are suddenly all kinds of discrepancies.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You told us that your husband called you on the evening of the accident to tell you when to expect him home.’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘But your husband didn’t call you. Not with his mobile phone and not from the phone in his apartment.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So you told us something not in accordance with the truth?’

  ‘You mean I lied?’

  ‘That’s another way of putting it, yes.’

  ‘The problem in our communication, Inspector, is that you think we’re on opposing sides. You’re convinced I’m not telling you the truth. But I’m not your enemy. And if that’s how my husband and I come across, it’s because of the pressure we’re under right now.’

  ‘Then maybe you could improve on that communication by explaining how in God’s name you knew what time your husband would be home?’

  ‘Well, God wasn’t really involved, Inspector. Ewald and I have a private line: via a prepaid phone. To keep our business and our personal lives separate.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything about this in either of your earlier statements?’ Esther asked.

  Melanie Lombard kept staring at Radjen.

  ‘Nobody asked me anything about it. And it didn’t occur to me to mention it. Sorry.’

  ‘We’ll need to take those prepaids with us,’ Radjen said. ‘So they can be examined.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Melanie Lombard now looked at him with a gentleness he’d not seen in her and that hardly seemed to fit her personality.

  ‘I’m totally convinced that we got off to a bad start, you and I,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘The interview will start in about five minutes. It’s time for me to support my husband. I propose that immediately after the interview I give you the prepaids and you can question my husband about this and the matter of the injection set. Can we agree on that?’

  Radjen’s eyes sought Esther’s approval. Then he nodded.

  ‘I greatly appreciate this, Inspector.’

  She glanced at him as if they now shared a huge secret. But there was a discordant tone in the way she exited the room. Radjen noticed that she was very slightly dragging her right leg. A motion in stark contrast with her almost aristocratic bearing.

  ‘I didn’t have time to tell you,’ Esther said, once she’d installed herself next to Radjen in front of the wall of monitors in the soundproofed broadcasting vehicle. ‘Your girlfriend Melanie had an accident during one of her sailing trips. Crashed on a reef near Tuvalu, an island in the Pacific. She was seriously injured and spent a few days there wandering about until they found her. Her gait is probably related to that.’

  He looked at her and said, ‘I have a very different idea about who I have a crush on.’

  She smiled and said, ‘I know.’

  On the wall of monitors, Radjen watched Ewald Lombard and his wife take their seats in the left and right armchairs. A tiny microphone was pinned on each of them.

  Esther said, ‘Good decision of yours, to stick around.’

  The director – a stocky, unshaven man, who, with his enormous head of curls and forlorn look, could have just stepped out of an Italian arthouse film – gave hasty instructions to his crew.

  Radjen asked, ‘What makes you say that?’

  The director counted down. ‘Five, four, three …’

  ‘Just one of my hunches …’

  ‘… two, one, action!’

  ‘Go
od evening and welcome to this special edition of The Headlines Show,’ said Cathy Marant, who, right after ‘action’, immediately turned to the camera. ‘We’re here with the couple who’ve been the talk of the town for the last few weeks.

  ‘Tonight we’re going to have a heart-to-heart with them about one of the most turbulent periods in their lives. We’d like to welcome you, Minister Lombard, and your wife to the show.’

  Melanie and her husband nodded pleasantly.

  ‘I’d like to start with you, sir,’ Marant continued. ‘You’ve put the Netherlands back on the map economically throughout the world, but now you’re having to defend yourself at home against the most bizarre allegations from a totally unexpected source.’

  The director snapped his fingers and cried, ‘Three.’ Radjen watched as Lombard appeared on the screen in a medium shot.

  ‘It was like a bolt from the blue,’ Lombard said.

  The director snapped his fingers and said, ‘Two.’

  Melanie Lombard appeared on screen.

  ‘At first we didn’t know what to say, so we didn’t say anything,’ she added.

  ‘And camera one!’

  ‘Can you tell me the reason for these outlandish accusations?’ Cathy Marant asked.

  ‘To this very day it’s still a mystery to me,’ Lombard replied. Esther gave Radjen a mocking look.

  ‘It seems,’ continued Lombard, ‘to have started right after that terrible accident in which a boy was run down by a driver who worked for Haaglanden Facility Management, the organization that provides the chauffeurs that ministers use. The driver concerned brought me home the night of the accident. The collision took place after that.’

  ‘What is even more tragic,’ Melanie Lombard added, ‘is that the driver left the scene of the accident and eventually took his own life.’

  ‘But why have you been implicated in this accident, sir?’

  ‘Three, zoom in!’

  Lombard had undoubtedly been instructed by his spin doctor to act like he was above this all. He had to give the viewer the feeling he was virtually untouchable as a suspect. But what Radjen saw on the screen was a man with a tense face beaded with sweat. There was no trace of his usual confident smile.