The Santini Vendetta

by Christopher Fox

  “Quite a situation going on down in Costa Rica,” Lorenzo said.

  “You might say that,” Kyle responded.

  “Does this guy Alberto think he can get away with this? Challenging one of the most powerful organisations in North America. This is like the mouse taunting the tiger.”

  “He seems to have the upper hand right now, wouldn’t you think?” Kyle said.

  “He thinks he does, and that will suit our purposes for now.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Anger showed on Lorenzo's reddening face. “Do you really believe we are going to roll over and give into this overzealous spic? A money-hungry Latrino thinks he can extort money from us and demand we send two of our men back there to be slaughtered? I think not.”

  Kyle remained calm and composed, despite Lorenzo's outburst. “It would seem that the two men he wants are guilty of murdering his father.”

  “So he says. There were no charges brought against them. The police treated it as a nuisance complaint, a case of mistaken identity and that he and his mother just wanted someone to pay for the unfortunate shooting. They chalked it up to a robbery gone wrong and closed the case.”

  What bullshit, Kyle thought. They had nothing, not even a telephone to call 911. Why would anyone want to rob them? Clearly, the police had little interest in bringing charges against one of the Santini family.

  “So, where do we go from here?” Kyle said. “Alberto is expecting me to return to Costa Rica with the two men and $10m.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” Lorenzo said bluntly.

  “Aren’t you concerned about the safety of your son and his family?”

  “Of course I am. But if I give him what he wants, there will be no end of similar kidnappings to extort money from us. Even the government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, for obvious reasons.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “We need him to believe we are cooperating, that we need time to raise the money. It’s Friday now and the banks are closed for the weekend. Nobody has $10m in cash lying around—it wouldn’t make sense. We need to cash in available stocks and bonds to raise that amount of money—and the stock markets are closed tomorrow and Sunday. Much of our investments aren’t liquid and are tied up in real estate. Even if we tried to leverage it for a loan, it would take weeks to do the paperwork.”

  “OK,” said Kyle. “I’ll tell him you need more time. Shall I say Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday for now, sure.”

  “Fine. Is there anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. The hotel room is yours for as long as you stay here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kyle got up and walked to the door, opened it and gave a nod to Lorenzo’s assistant as he walked to the elevator. She politely nodded in return and said, “Press P4 and our driver will take you back to your hotel.”

  “Thank you,” Kyle said as he entered the elevator cab and pressed the P4 button. Sure enough, the driver was waiting for him, with the car door open, and drove him back to the hotel.

  * * * *

  Lorenzo pressed a button on his phone and Carlita, his assistant, answered.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tell Al and Enzo to come in here right away.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Alphonso (Al) Santini was the oldest son and headed the drugs and money laundering divisions of the family operations. Enzo Santini was second oldest and is head of gambling and prostitution. Al entered his office first and sat down in the chair previously vacated by Kyle.

  “What’s the scoop on this Alberto guy?” Lorenzo asked.

  “Alberto Caporalos. His father worked in one of our restaurants about twenty years ago. We apparently tried to recruit him as a pusher, but he refused. Marco and Sergio went to his home to encourage him, but something went wrong and the guy was shot. Wife and son IDed them and pulled them from a line-up, but we had solid alibis for them and they dropped the case.”

  “What have you found out about any close friends or relatives?”

  “Not much so far. We traced him to a small town, San Rafael, just outside San José, but haven’t been able to do any further research on him yet. Got someone down there now asking around. He and his mother were illegal aliens and were sent back to Costa Rica after the shooting incident. We should be able to locate his mother.”

  Enzo then walked into the room.

  “Have you got the team together?” Lorenzo asked.

  “Yes, we have eight men available, which should be enough. That’s as many as we can carry aboard the Gulfstream. Marco and Sergio are among them and I put Marco in charge. They have full riot gear, automatic weapons, grenades and body armour. Should be a walk in the park.”

  “Let’s not underestimate this guy,” said Al. “He was able to overcome Peppe’s security detail.”

  “True,” said Enzo. “But they were not expecting an attack and were caught off guard. It will be different this time. We will be the ones prepared and equipped.”

  “When is the team leaving for Costa Rica?” asked Lorenzo.

  “This afternoon. Scheduled time is 3:00 p.m. which should get them there by 8:00. We don’t expect any issues with Costa Rica customs as we have been there many times and they never search the plane.”

  “Good,” said Lorenzo. “Keep me posted. And Al. Find the guy’s mother.”

  Both men got up and left the room. Lorenzo made a note to himself to call Kyle later.

  * * * *

  Kyle called Alberto as soon as he got back to his room.

  “How did the meeting go?” Alberto asked.

  “As good as can be expected. I don’t believe he intends to agree to your demands.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. It would be more of a pride thing with him. I may have to demonstrate how serious I am and that will mean people will get unnecessarily hurt.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “That’s not your concern right now. I presume he is asking for time to raise the money?”

  “Yes. He said Tuesday.”

  “He’s stalling for something, but I expected that.”

  “How is everything at the hotel?” Kyle asked.

  “Fine. The staff is looking after the guests and the kitchen is keeping everyone fed. Talked to Frederico of the San José police. They do not want to risk harm to any of the guests or staff, so are staying away for now. Any local police are there for rounding up rowdy tourists, so not worried about them.”

  “That’s good,” said Kyle. “I know Frederico well—he stays at the hotel often. I’ll let you know of any developments from my end.”

  Kyle broke the connection and pondered what his course of action should be now. He didn’t trust Lorenzo and it wouldn’t surprise him if he planned to launch a rescue attempt on his son and family. That could be disastrous and result in further unnecessary bloodshed–and Anna could be at risk. He could do nothing now but wait. Kyle had become infatuated with Anna, married recently and just returning to work from maternity leave. Initially reluctant to hire her because of the attraction he felt when interviewing her, she was by far the best applicant, and he was sure he could handle the situation. As time went on, it became increasingly difficult to ignore her and he sensed signals she put out as well. He would make excuses to talk to her about an insignificant issue with the hotel, only to have the conversation eventually revert to a discussion about her personal life, or his. Rather than hand various papers requiring his signature to him over his desk she would walk around and stand next to him intoxicating him with her scent. As the months went on, the side-glances, chance meetings in confined spaces and light, affectionate touches, all served to build a bridge that was slowly meeting in the middle–which would be disastrous for both of them. Kyle realized that he actually missed her smiling face and that he looked forward to getting back to the hotel to see her again.

  His phone rang and he looked
at the display—unknown number.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Kyle,” Lorenzo said.

  “What is it Lorenzo?”

  “We need some information from you.”

  “What information?”

  What the hell was Lorenzo’s game now? Kyle thought.

  “Let’s have dinner at one of my clubs at 7:00 this evening. My driver will pick you up.”

  Kyle was reluctant to have more contact with Lorenzo, but his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Sure. Gotta eat somewhere.”

  * * * *

  In one respect, Kyle was enjoying the royal treatment by the Santinis. Luxury hotel, limousine service, and now dinner at an upscale club. His regular ‘taxi’ showed up on time and drove him to the Picasso Club where the maître d' directed him to a private dining room, seated him, and summoned the hovering waiter.

  “Mr. Santini will join you shortly,” the waiter said. “May I offer you something from the bar?”

  “No thank you,” Kyle declined. “Just water, with lemon.”

  “San Pellegrino?” he referred to the popular Italian sparkling water similar to France’s Perrier.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  The waiter returned with a large bottle of San Pellegrino and a glass filled with ice and a slice of lemon. He poured the fizzing beverage into the glass and placed the bottle on the table.

  “Thanks,” said Kyle.

  He took a sip of the effervescing drink as Lorenzo entered the room and took a seat opposite him.

  “Good evening Mr. MacDonald. I hope you are being treated well.”

  “Can’t complain,” said Kyle as he put down the glass.

  “Just water?” Lorenzo queried.

  “For now.”

  Lorenzo summoned the waiter and asked for a vodka martini.

  “So,” Kyle asked. “You invited me here. Said you needed information from me.”

  The waiter returned with the martini that drowned three olives on a toothpick. Lorenzo took a sip and nodded approval to the waiter.

  “He’s been making martinis for me now for over 5 years and knows exactly how dry to make them, but always waits for my approval.”

  “A little encouragement and gratitude goes a long way,” Kyle said.

  “Indeed it does.”

  “The information…”

  “Ah. Yes,” Lorenzo composed his thoughts. “Maybe we should order our meal first. I highly recommend the Beef Braciole.”

  Kyle did not open the menu and agreed to Lorenzo’s suggestion.

  Lorenzo turned to the waiter, “A plate of antipasto and two Beef Braciole—with a bottle of Amarone.”

  “Certainly sir,” the waiter said as he collected the menus.

  "Excellent selection of wine," Kyle commented. "Amarone della Valpolicella, one of Italy's finest exports. Made primarily from the Corvina grape from Verona Province in the Veneto region."

  "Who cares about all that shit," Lorenzo scoffed. "I drink it because I like it and it is expensive."

  So much for Lorenzo's cultural achievements.

  When the waiter was out of earshot, Lorenzo continued, “We do not want to give in to this terrorist’s demands. I regret the incident that happened 20 years ago—sometimes my men get overly aggressive. But it is done and nothing will bring his father back.”

  “I’m sure he knows that all too well. It is more payback or restitution he wants.”

  “So he wants to become a rich man as a result of his father’s death?”

  “I don’t think that is a good way to put it. He and his mother were deported back to Costa Rica after his father’s death and suffered hard times there trying to survive. Had your people not senselessly murdered his father, they could have made a reasonable living here in the US. The deprivation of his family’s livelihood can carry a monetary value, as courts often do in such cases.”

  “But ten million dollars?”

  “Maybe that could be a point of negotiation,” Kyle offered. “Offer him five million and see if he bites.”

  “Why not start at one million? That will go a long way in a third-world country.”

  “Costa Rica isn't a third-world country.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. It will sure buy a lot of burritos and tacos.”

  “They are Mexican dishes,” Kyle commented.

  “Whatever,” Lorenzo said, waving a dismissive hand.

  Lorenzo, in his ignorance, had no clue on the lifestyles of people in Costa Rica, a very typical issue for many people when it comes to other countries—the world revolves around them.

  “You still haven’t told me what information you want from me,” said Kyle.

  “First of all, I will need your cell phone. I can’t risk any information I give to you going back to the hostage takers.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Innocent people will die.”

  Kyle pondered the words, then handed over his iPhone. Lorenzo took it and slipped it into his pocket.

  “We plan on mounting a rescue attempt for my son. To eliminate any collateral damage, we need complete details of your hotel layout and where the hostages are being kept.”

  Just as Kyle and Alberto had expected; a raid on the hotel to free his son and family.

  “No matter what I tell you, innocent people will get killed in a shootout between your men and his. You are also risking the life of your son and his family.”

  “My son knows the risks associated with being a Santini. The more information we have the better we can target the terrorists.”

  “Your guys are not trained in the tactical ability to rescue hostages. Also, Alberto isn’t stupid; he will anticipate a rescue attempt and be prepared for it. His men will surround your family with an order to shoot as soon as any sign of a rescue is detected.”

  “That is a chance I am willing to take, but I need the layout of the hotel to minimize collateral damage.”

  The waiter returned with the wine and ceremoniously removed the cork in front of them and poured a sample into the host’s glass. Lorenzo performed the ritual of swirling it while noting the density of colouring, raising it to his nose, taking a sip and rolling the velvety and rich liquid in his mouth. He signalled an approval to the waiter who poured several ounces into Kyle’s glass, then topped up Lorenzo’s. After setting the bottle on the table, he removed the chargers.

  Lorenzo held up the glass and gestured for Kyle to do the same.

  “Here’s to a successful rescue with no collateral damage.”

  Kyle was reluctant to give any indication of approval for the raid, but felt that such a toast, given that the raid will no doubt take place anyway, was reasonable.

  “Cheers,” Kyle said. “To no collateral damage.”

  They clinked glasses, and each took a sip of the excellent Italian red wine.

  “So,” Kyle continued. “When is this raid supposed to take place?”

  Lorenzo looked at his watch.

  “They should have landed in San José by now. My team is just waiting for information from you on the hotel layout.”

  “If you can give me access to a computer, I can download floor plans from my files.”

  “Under supervision, of course. Wouldn’t want you to alert this Alberto guy.”

  “I see no benefit in notifying him. I’m sure he is expecting a raid anyway.”

  “Suspecting and knowing are two different things.”

  Lorenzo reached down into a satchel and came up with a laptop computer.

  “Login details?”

  Kyle gave him the website address and password for his hotel’s page. Lorenzo pecked at the keyboard and turned the screen to Kyle.

  “Access the file with the drawings,” he said as he passed the computer over to him. Kyle clicked through several directories until he came to one with the CAD drawings of the hotel. He turned the computer back to Lorenzo and said, “There y
ou go.”

  Lorenzo punched a few keys on his cell phone and sat back. Almost immediately, Carlita came into the dining room and Lorenzo gave her the laptop.

  “Get these drawing files to Marco.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said as she walked away with the laptop.

  “Now,” Lorenzo continued, “where are the hostages being held?”

  “At the time I left, they were all in the Pelican Room, one of my conference rooms. Alberto gave certain staff latitude to provide services for the guests, especially the kitchen.”

  “Where is Peppe and his family?”

  “Peppe was with the hostages when I left and his family is in the room, the honeymoon suite, on the sixth floor.”

  Lorenzo was keying in information on his cell phone as Kyle was speaking.

  “Thank you. That should do it.”

  Lorenzo looked up at the waiter standing with a plate of antipasto in hand.

  “Ah. Just in time,” said Lorenzo. The waiter placed the plate between them.

  “Now,” Lorenzo said. “Let’s enjoy our meal before all this talk gives us indigestion.”

  Six

  The Gulfstream jet landed at Tobías Bolaños International Airport at 8:10 p.m. and taxied to the private terminal. Louie and Andrew deplaned and entered the terminal building, then came out shortly after followed by a customs agent. The agent climbed the steps to the plane and requested passports from all the passengers. Louie had explained that they are all attending a conference at the Hotel Playa Hermosa. The agent stamped the passports and left the plane inspecting none of its cargo. Marco opened his laptop and saw the email from Carlita with the file attached. He opened the file and scanned the drawings with Sergio, along with the text message from Lorenzo about the suspected locations of the hostages, Peppe and his family. Marco then opened Google Maps and searched for the hotel, set the image in satellite view and zoomed in as far as the system would permit. Access would be challenging as there was very little foliage surrounding the property except a few landscaping shrubs.

  “How about a beach approach?” asked Sergio.