Chapter Thirty-Four

Sherlock stepped from the cab, outside the Diners' Club, and straightened his jacket. He was quite looking forward to this meeting with Oliviera. It had piqued his interest that the man wanted to meet with him. He couldn't imagine why. He'd asked Caro, the day before, how Gustavo Oliviera came to chair the press conference, she said he volunteered. That was interesting in itself. As Minister of Cities, he had a vested interest in the eradication of organised crime in Brazil, so, Sherlock reasoned, he had a legitimate reason to be there.

Having spent the morning at the pool with Molly and the boys, having a quiet family day, Sherlock agreed that a visit to the ice cream parlour was definitely over-due and that would be put right that very afternoon, after his meeting. He didn't expect it to take more than an hour. He'd left Molly, William and Freddie, ordering lunch from their sun lounger and returned to their suite to shower and change into his dark suit and a white shirt then caught one of the yellow cabs to bring him here.

As he entered the dining area, he removed his RayBans and told the maître who he was here to see. He was escorted to Oliviera's table and his host, who was studying the menu, rose to greet him with a firm hand shake.

'Mr Holmes, how good of you to come. Are you sure I can't interest you in lunch? The menu here is exquisite.'

'No, thank you,' Sherlock replied. 'Just coffee and a glass of iced water.'

Oliviera ordered soup and red mullet with a green salad and the waiter brought a caffetiere of coffee for Sherlock, and jug of iced water for the table. Sherlock left the caffetiere untouched, allowing the coffee to increase in strength.

'You must be wondering why I wished to meet with you, Mr Holmes,' the politician grinned.

'The thought had crossed my mind,' was Sherlock's acerbic reply.

'I've been researching you!' his host declared and Sherlock wondered if his host was expecting a round of applause. He stared across the table, waiting for the man to get to the point.

'I see that, in your country – in fact, in the whole of Europe – you're quite famous as a detective.'

'I get by,' Sherlock replied.

'No, no, Mr Holmes, you do more than 'get by'. Your services are in great demand, I understand.'

Sherlock gave a rather bored shrug. When would this man stop waffling and get to the point? He poured a glass of water and sipped it, just to pass the time.

'I'd like to make use of your skills myself, Mr Holmes. I'd like to give you a commission.'

'I'm here on holiday with my family, Minister. I'm not available for hire, I'm afraid.'

'Oh, I think you might change your mind when you hear what I have in mind.'

'I seriously doubt that,' he replied, depressing the plunger on the caffetiere, pouring a cup of the strong, aromatic coffee and adding two lumps of brown sugar.

'I'd like you to investigate the delegados, João Vitor Diaz.'

'For what?'

'For whatever you ask, Mr Holmes. You can name your own fee!'

'No, Minister, you misunderstand. For what will I be investigating the delegados? What do you believe he's done?'

'I believe he's involved in the baby trafficking ring,' Oliviera replied.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and took a sip of hot, sweet coffee. 'On what grounds?' he asked.

'Well…' And Gustavo Oliviera, Minister of Cities, went on to state all the reasons he had for suspecting the Chief of Federal Police in Rio of this grave crime. 'João Vitor Diaz is a local man. He grew up in the favela and has dragged himself out of the sewer but he cannot escape his past entirely. He comes from a family with serious organised crime connections and has always professed it to be his fondest wish to rid Rio of the powerful drug barons, who lure desperate young men and women into their clutches in a bid to escape poverty.

He was educated by the Jesuit Brotherhood and went to university. He has a degree in law but he never practiced, preferring to become a policeman and tackle crime head on.'

So far, so what? thought Sherlock. He already knew all this, having read Diaz' secret file, at the British Consulate, but he wasn't about to let Oliviera know that. He just sipped his coffee and waited for the pompous man to continue expounding his bizarre theory.

'But I suspect that this has always been just a cover, Mr Holmes. I have had my suspicions about Sr Diaz for quite some time. I don't think he fell as far from the family tree as he would have us all believe.'

'So, what do you want me to do about it?' Sherlock asked.

'Well, clearly, I cannot expect the police force to investigate the Chief of Police so I would like to employ you as an outside agent to investigate him for me.'

'Surely you have Internal Affairs officers, Sr Oliviera? Or the Civil Police could carry out the investigation. They have no affiliation with the Federal Police, do they?'

'Corruption, I am sorry to say, is rife within both police forces, Mr Holmes. I don't have any faith in the impartiality of such an enquiry.'

Sherlock put down his coffee cup and steepled his fingers under his chin. He couldn't deny he was intrigued by the proposition. He was investigating Diaz, anyway, as well as Oliviera and Alvarez and, with this man's assistance, he might gain access to more information. He had to admit to being tempted to accept the offer. But he didn't want to appear too keen.

'I'll have to discuss your proposal with my wife, senhor. We came here for a family holiday and to carry out some personal business. She might not take kindly to me taking paid work. She worries that I work too hard, as it is.'

'Well, perhaps I can offer you some incentives, Mr Holmes,' the politician replied, giving a hideously oily grin.

'What might those be?' Sherlock asked.

Oliviera reached into his inside breast pocket and withdrew his mobile phone. 'I am – or rather, was – a pilot, by profession.'

Sherlock knew this, of course. Gustavo Oliviera had been an officer in the Força Aérea Brasileira and had taken his civil pilot's license but had chosen to be a politician rather than a civil aviator, using his status as a military hero to boost his political career.

'I still keep up my flying hours, acting as my own pilot when I carry out my political duties both at home and abroad. I have my own private plane which I would be more than happy to place at the disposal of you and your family for the duration of your visit to my country, so that you might see more of what Brazil has to offer.'

As he spoke, he flicked through the photo album feature on his phone until he found what he was looking for and presented the image to Sherlock. The detective looked down at the image displayed there and, instantly, all the tumblers in his head clicked into place.

The sixth sense that had been buzzing in the back of his brain came into sharp focus and he knew, immediately, what had been niggling at him ever since Henrique had given him Oliviera's calling card, two days ago.

He recognised the plane. Well, not so much the plane itself but the insignia on its tail. It was the same insignia that was emblazoned on the calling card and Sherlock had seen it before.

He knew he had been staring at the photo for too long. He looked up into the eyes of the man opposite and smiled.

'Forgive me, senhor, you must think me very rude. But I am rendered speechless by your generosity.'

He looked at his watch.

'I'm afraid to say I have another appointment to attend and I'm running a little late.'

He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, offering Oliviera his hand.

'Let me sleep on your proposal and discuss it with my wife. I'm sure your offer of the use of a private plane will prove to be a powerful persuader. I'll let you have my answer tomorrow. Thank you for the coffee. It was delicious.'

He nodded, politely, then turned and walked toward the Diners' Club exit. He knew his cover was blown. He knew that Oliviera had seen the look in his eyes the moment he recognised the plane. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the Diners' Club as possible but he thought his chances of escape were minimal. He calculated that he had time for one phone call.

As he strode, purposefully, through the club doors, he took out his mobile and rang Molly's number. She answered on the fourth ring.

'Molly, where are you?' he asked as soon as she picked.

'By the pool. What's the matter?' Molly knew that something was up. For one thing, Sherlock hardly ever phoned, he usually texted. And she could hear it in his voice.

'No time to explain. Take the boys to the suite. Lock yourselves in and don't open the door to anyone but Caro or Henrique. Do not trust anyone, do you understand? Not the hotel security, not the police, no one. As soon as you and the boys are locked in the suite, phone Caro. Tell her Oliviera is our man. Tell her he has a private plane that must be grounded and its flight records seized. Tell her to come and get you and the boys and take you all to the British Consulate. Stay there until this is all dealt with. Have you got that?'

'Yes,' Molly replied, starting to gather up their belongings as she spoke. 'What about you?'

'I think he's on to me. I'm trying to get away but I think I'm rumbled. Tell Henrique to check the street CCTV in the vicinity of the Diners' Club. If you don't hear from me, it might give clues as to where I am.'

Molly could tell by his breathing that he was walking fast but not running.

'Sherlock, take care!' she blurted out and then heard what sounded like a sharp exhalation, followed by a clattering sound as his phone hit the ground. Then she heard nothing.

ooOoo

'William, we need to go back to the suite,' Molly said to her son, who had been sitting on the sun lounger beside her, playing on Sherlock's tablet. Freddie was asleep on her other side. She was stuffing their belongings into the bag, fumbling because her hands were shaking. She thrust the bag at William and scooped Freddie into her arms.

'Carry the bag, please, darling. We need to go right now!'

William didn't ask any questions. Much as he hated sudden changes of plan, if Mummy said they must go right now then right now they must go. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and trotted after his mother down the scented bower, into the hotel foyer and across to the lift. Inside the lift, Molly said,

'William, can you find the key card, please, darling?'

He could tell by Mummy's voice that she was upset about something but trying not to show it. He knew that the phone call which had instigated this sudden departure for the pool area was from Daddy. He hoped Daddy was alright as he fished in the pocket of the bag and found the key card for their hotel suite door. The lift reached the top floor and slowed to a stop then the doors opened.

'Trust no one. Not the hotel security, not the police, no one,' Sherlock had said. Hotel security would have a pass key to the suite. How could she stop them using it to get inside?

'William,' she said, 'I need something to jam the lift. What can you think of?' As she spoke, she stood on the threshold of the lift, to stop the doors closing again. She watched as William's eyes flickered from side to side, just as Sherlock's did when he was thinking really fast. Then Will plunged his hand into the beach bag, felt around and brought out his Rubik's Cube. It was about two inches wide, just about the same width as the groove for the lift doors.

'Clever boy,' Molly said and took it from him. Squatting down, she jammed it into the groove, up against one of the doors. It wasn't easy, since it was a very tight fit but the tighter the better, she thought. To make certain it was lodged in securely, she stamped on it a few times until it was flush with the floor. That would stop the doors from closing so the lift was out of action. There were still the stairs but at least it would buy them some time.

Molly took William by the hand and they ran to the door to their suite. He opened the door with the key card and they went inside, Freddie still sound asleep in against Molly's shoulder. She laid her snoozing burden on the sofa and smiled at William.

'Just sit with Freddie for a minute, please, darling. I just need to ring Auntie Caro.'

William nodded and sat next to his sleeping brother. Molly went into the master bedroom, closed the door and, taking out her mobile, speed dialled Caro's number. On hearing the other woman's voice, she nearly lost control but managed to hold on. She passed on Sherlock's message, exactly as he had given it.

'Oh, my god, Molly!' Caro exclaimed.

'No time for that, Caro!' Molly barked. 'Just do as Sherlock says and get here as quickly as you can. I don't know how long I can hold out before someone gets into the suite, so just impound the plane and come and get us! Just do it, please!'

ooOoo