Contents
Title Page
Part 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part 2
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
The Italian Deception
Darby Philips
Copyright © 2019 Darby Philips
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9990570-0-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-9990570-0-1
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The reader will notice historical or common place names, locations, and historical backdrops related to the FBI, mafia, and certain areas of New York and Vermont. My hope is that none of these are misrepresented. The major names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Part 1
Chapter One
Calabria Region, Southern Italy
Paul Taylor knew that within 48 hours he’d either die or wrap up two years of careful work. He lay in bed thinking about the pivotal loose end who lay two feet away.
Portia stirred beside him. Her long black hair hung limply across her beautiful tan shoulders. “Good morning, my love,” she whispered in Italian, and caressed his neck with slow, wet kisses.
Paul pushed himself up, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled on top of her.
“Good morning, my love,” he repeated in Italian, kissing her as she’d kissed him.
Her fingers traced a line down his ribs until they reached his arousal. “I always love waking up with you like this,” she said, as she stroked him.
“I’m a pretty big fan of it myself.” He really wanted to stay and enjoy her fondling but he had to plan for the weapons’ exchange tonight and the final one tomorrow night. And then there was the problem of his partner, who’d been behaving erratically for the past few weeks. He buried his emotions and gently pushed off her. “As nice as this is, though, I have to meet a client for work.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?” he said, as he grabbed his clothes off the large blue reading chair.
“Putting up a wall up every time you talk about work. It’s like you become a different person.”
It was eerie how well she knew him. If she had been anyone else, he would’ve broken up with her a long time ago. Over the six months they’d been together, however, he’d realized she was everything he wanted in a wife. The problem was that she only knew him as Dario Giomani, international exporter. If he survived the next two days, he planned to tell her everything and ask her to marry him. Until then, he needed to keep her in the dark.
“We’ve talked about this,” he said.
“No.” She stood before him in a black bra and matching boy-short underwear. “I’ve talked about it, and you’ve promised to change, but you never do. It makes me feel like you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not keeping anything from you.” He hated lying to her. He vowed that once his work was done, he’d never lie to her again.
“You say that, but we always stay at my place, never yours. I’ve never met your friends, and sometimes you go away for days and I don’t hear from you. You treat me like I’m your permanent hook-up, not your girlfriend.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I deserve more.”
Paul knew she was right, but he couldn’t spend any time today making it up to her. If he overlooked any detail, the Grimaldis would torture him until he begged for death. And then they might come after her.
He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and opened the door. “I’m late. We’ll talk about this when I get back.”
“If you can’t be open and honest with me, then there’s no point in you coming back.”
Her tone stopped him cold. She meant it. And in that moment, he realized he might actually lose her.
In the past ten years, he’d lived in seven different countries and partnered with the most dangerous criminals on the planet. He never expected to find a woman he’d want to change his life for. Someone he’d want to settle down with to start a family.
A desperate urge to reveal everything boiled up inside him. But telling her the truth now would put both of them in danger.
Still, he couldn’t risk losing her.
He put his hands on either side of her face. “48 hours. That’s all I need to finish with this client. After that, we’ll talk about everything. I promise.”
“You’ve promised to talk before, but you never follow through. I’ve put up with your secrets and emotional distance for too long. I won’t accept it anymore. We have to talk.”
“Portia, I need to meet this client or I’ll lose him. I’m already late.”
“If not now, then tonight.”
Tonight was too soon. But he might be able to give her parts of the tru
th that wouldn’t compromise him. Set a foundation for the full truth.
“We can talk a little tonight. But I can’t tell you everything until tomorrow night.”
She pulled away.
Chapter Two
He grasped her hand. “I promise. We’ll go away. I’ll tell you everything.”
She pulled her hand free and didn’t speak for several heartbeats. “Okay. But if we don’t talk tonight, it’s over.”
He kissed her quickly and said, “I love you,” as he left.
She didn’t reply.
He was supposed to meet Eric at their normal rendezvous location at 7 a.m. Eric never showed or contacted him. Paul now had no one to back him up if bullets started flying tonight, and no idea who Eric had secured to attack the Grimaldis tomorrow night.
Eric had missed several meeting in the last two weeks and Paul wondered if his partner was about to betray him. Without Eric’s help, it took him all day to make the necessary preparations. Once finished, he’d driven to the weapon’s exchange.
Paul roamed through the maze of steel cargo containers in the storage area at the port of Gioia Tauro, looking for the meeting spot. The warren of pathways blocked the glare from the port’s huge stadium floodlights and threw the area into shadow. The containers muffled the cranks and groans of the machinery unloading the huge cargo ships.
He’d arrived early. That didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get ambushed, but in his years of work in North America and Europe, it had saved his life at least a dozen times.
In order to get close to the Grimaldis, he’d convinced them he was a broker of illegal goods. Tonight, he was facilitating a deal between them and the Mexican mafia, Los Zetas.
This was the Grimaldis’ home turf, and they’d set the meeting at the end of a narrow service lane deep within the container maze. Walls of cargo containers surrounded it in a “U” shape. One way in, one way out. Great place for a trap.
As Paul waited for both parties to arrive, he carefully searched every shadowy corner. No one was around, so he slipped into the darkness and waited.
He thought of Portia, waiting for him to return and explain why he’d been so distant. He thought about the life they’d have once this job was over. The children they’d have.
Muffled voices echoed from somewhere in the container stacks. Three men arguing in rough Italian dialect. Eventually, they reached the meeting area. One was tall, the second medium height and stocky, and the last, walking behind the others and looking like a reluctant participant, was short and thin. All three wore the dark jackets of customs inspectors.
The tall man reached under his shirt and pulled out two pistols. He offered one to the small man, but the man waved it away. The stocky man chuckled at the small one and took the weapon instead.
Paul’s pulse quickened. These were new players bent on betrayal. He had to determine if they meant to betray him, Los Zetas, the Grimaldis, or all of them.
At the sound of an approaching vehicle, the men hid their weapons.
A few seconds later, a black BMW SUV parked in the service lane, its lights illuminating the three inspectors. The headlights winked out, and the SUV’s doors opened. Giovanni and Antonio Grimaldi got out of the SUV and walked toward the men.
The pair didn’t look like brothers. Giovanni was in his mid-thirties, tall with a beard, a beefy frame, olive skin, and short hair. Antonio had the same black hair and dark eyes as his older brother, but he was average height and thin.
Distant Mexican hip-hop music reached Paul’s ears. It gradually grew louder and was accompanied by the whine of a powerful engine.
A silver Mercedes sports sedan with oversized wheels came to a stop behind the SUV. The music cut out, and Mateo Lopez, a member of Los Zetas, stepped out. He was a swarthy man with three-day-old stubble and wore an open-neck blue silk shirt and slick dress pants. A large gold watch hung loosely from his wrist.
Paul left his hiding place and stepped into the light, saying, “Let’s do this quickly.”
All eyes—cautious and wary, but not scared—turned to him.
“It’s been a long time,” Mateo said in Spanish, clapping him on the back. He returned the embrace and felt the bulge of two large guns in the back of Mateo’s waistband.
Paul said, once in Spanish and again in Italian, “We’ll speak English from now on so everyone understands each other, okay?”
They all nodded.
Mateo pointed to a blue container on the left. “That’s the one I put on the boat in Marseilles.”
Giovanni nodded at the inspectors. They ripped off the container’s security tape and opened the side door. They removed several crates labeled as pineapple juice and wrenched open their lids. Mateo walked over, shoved one of the inspectors aside, grabbed a plastic bottle from one of the crates, and tossed it to Giovanni.
Giovanni caught it, unscrewed the top, and poured a white powder into his hand. He offered some to Antonio, who refused.
“It’s the best cocaine you can get,” Mateo said proudly in a thick Spanish accent. He gestured to the containers. “This is just a taste. Much more if this works out.”
Giovanni snorted the cocaine, clenched his fist in pleasure, and nodded in approval. He then directed the inspectors to another container. The inspectors hauled out a single large crate from inside this second container and sat it down near the three smaller crates.
Giovanni ambled up to the inspectors as they worked to remove the big crate’s lid. “Faster!” he barked out.
The tall inspector eyed him angrily but still picked up his pace as he removed from the crate a row of boxes labeled as machine parts. With the boxes gone, the smuggled cache was revealed. Giovanni pushed the tall inspector out of his way and proudly displayed a Benelli M3 combat shotgun.
Mateo grabbed the gun and dry fired it several times. “Very nice.”
“There are a hundred in there,” Giovanni said. “We’ll sell you a lot more if this deal goes well. You want to inspect them now?”
Mateo shook his head. “We know where to find you if you cheated us, no?”
“And so do we.” Giovanni flashed him a wide grin. He then motioned to the inspectors and said, “Put everything back. Get the containers ready for transport.”
Paul hated turning a blind eye to the drugs and weapons. But it was the only way to set up the deal for tomorrow night. The one that would take down the Grimaldis and snare their cousin, who was a leader in the international mafia cartel, the Ndrangheta.
As the inspectors busied themselves with the crates, everyone else gravitated closer together, wary but also pleased. The deal was done, and it was payment time.
Chapter Three
“I’m curious,” Antonio said, handing Paul a small envelope. “Why do you want payments in diamonds instead of cash?”
“Too many ways to track cash now,” he said, picking out a diamond and holding it up. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out much, but it looked legitimate. “Diamonds are easier to transport, hide, and sell.” He peeked inside the envelope. Ten million dollars in uncut diamonds—they’d all fit in the palm of his hand.
“I’ll have to remember that,” Antonio said. “Everyone else we deal with always wants cash. But then, most of them have been caught.”
Paul kept his eye on the inspectors and tried to keep his voice neutral. “People always get tripped up by the money. No one seems to realize that banks are monitored. Diamond dealers aren’t.”
Mateo smiled and rested his hand on Paul’s shoulder, saying to Antonio, “That’s why we work with him, no? He is very good at the money.” He leaned toward Paul, squeezing his shoulder hard. “You know what will happen if this deal doesn’t work out, no?”
“No need for threats, Mateo,” Paul said, pocketing one of the diamonds as his payment and tossing Mateo the rest. He caught the diamonds and put them in his pocket.
The inspectors had finished loading the crates back into the containers and now stood fifteen feet apart. The tall
inspector had awkwardly moved in front of the left container; the stocky one had moved in front of the right. They had Paul, Mateo, and the Grimaldis in a neat firing line. The short inspector held a sheaf of papers in his hands, his gaze darting between his companions. The tall and stocky inspectors nodded to each other and whipped out their guns.
“No!” the short one yelled, dropping the papers and diving out of the way.
Muzzles flashed.
Paul tackled Antonio to the ground. Bullets whistled past them as they repeatedly rolled over each other until they were behind the SUV. Paul then popped up, drew his gun, and peeked over the hood. A ricochet zipped past his ear.
Antonio yanked open the BMW’s passenger door, grabbed a handgun, and joined him. “Dishonest scum,” he hissed in Italian.
The tall inspector ran toward Giovanni, discharging his weapon. Giovanni whipped out his own handgun and returned fire, backpedaling in a zigzag pattern to avoid the bullets.
The stocky inspector took aim at Mateo and fired. Mateo spun as if shot, fired both his gold guns, and yelled like a character in a gangster movie. The stocky inspector cried out and fell backward.
Paul thought letting them all kill each other would be a net plus to society. But that would torpedo tomorrow night’s deal, preventing him from capturing a leader of the international mafia cartel. So he rested his 9mm Glock on the hood of the SUV.
Antonio raised his weapon as well. They both took careful aim and fired simultaneously. The tall inspector fell and slid forward like a dead fish on ice.
The area quieted except for the hollow clanks of machinery at the far side of the port. Blue-gray gun smoke drifted upward. The smell of gunpowder irritated Paul’s nose.
“Antonio!” Giovanni yelled, coming around the SUV.
“Sto bene,” Antonio said, standing up. He switched to English, gestured to Paul, and said, “Thanks to him.”
Mateo inspected his wound, which appeared to be a minor graze on his left side. Cursing, he marched over to the stock inspectors’ body and kicked it over and over again.
Antonio watched the scene and shook his head.
Giovanni appeared puzzled.
The Italian Deception Page 1