Angelo smiled with affection, ‘son, I’ve kept this secret from the world for 22 years and I have to pass it on now, as I don’t know how much time I have left.’
He took another sip of his whisky before speaking again. ‘Marco do you remember the stories I used to tell you of secret letters that passed between Churchill and Mussolini during the war, and how you dismissed them as storytelling?’ ‘Yes I do,’ said Marco. ‘Well they were all true and I am the guardian of their whereabouts.’
Angelo waited a moment to let this sink in before continuing, ‘do you also remember my old friend Sergio Rossi who died in 1965 and I went to his funeral in Italy?’ Marco nodded in agreement. He felt too stunned to speak. ‘Well Sergio wrote me a letter before he died and his widow gave me it at the funeral. When I read it I felt pretty much as you do now, so perhaps the time has for you to read it as well.’
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter, still in its original envelope, and gave it to him. Marco took the envelope and removed the letter from it; he opened it and began to read.
After some ten minutes, he stopped and lifted his head. His face had a bewildered look on it. ‘Dad, is this all true, the bodyguard bit, Mussolini and secret hiding places?’ ‘Yes son, all of it.’ Marco got up from his chair, walked to the study window, and looked out. ‘What’s this got to do with me dad?’ ‘I’ve got nothing to do with fascists and Communists; I just run an ice cream business?’
Angelo got up and joined his son at the window. ‘Marco, I brought you up to know the difference between right and wrong and I know you were never interested in politics, however this is different. ‘This involves rewriting history; it involves a truth that needs to be declared about those times that no one else is aware of.’ ‘We are the guardians of that truth and now that I am too old to take the next step with it, I have to pass it on to you.’ ‘Dad this is just history, I know it’s important to you but for the ordinary Joe it’s just history, dead and boring.’ ‘I’m sorry dad, but it happened over 40 years ago.’
Angelo gave a sigh of frustration before answering. ‘Marco, let me explain the relevance of these documents for today. Should the communists or socialist parties in Italy get a hold of them, then it would cause turmoil, as they would spin things to their advantage. They would make capital of the fact that Mussolini whilst saying one thing to the Italian people was secretly negotiating with the enemy. They would say that it shows you can never trust the right. That in itself could cause civil unrest in a country still divided between left and right and where the wounds of a civil war have still not healed.
Should the neo-fascists get them, then they would show that Mussolini was not the mad demagogue that the left make him out to be, but was a moderating influence on Hitler and a friend of Churchill. This would raise their profile in Italy as a force for good, much to the annoyance of the left.
There is also the spectre of the British Government not wishing to be embarrassed with their wartime leader negotiating with the enemy. It could be viewed as some sort of compromise being sought with Mussolini to help a beleaguered Britain and I am sure they would be anxious to keep these letters secret. I suspect that the British would go to any lengths to keep them so.
Finally, the Italian government would also be interested in keeping the status quo in Italy. If the publication of these letters could be the source of civil unrest, then the Italians would also want them kept secret.
Therefore, you see Marco, what on the surface appears to be irrelevant history could in effect be the catalyst for a very volatile situation developing. If Italy becomes unstable, then there is the possibility of other countries in Europe with a history of left and right conflict following suit. You should also remember that Italy has more members of the communist party than any other country, apart from the Soviet Union.
Marco sat down on a seat by the widow and looked out at the garden. He didn’t answer for a while as he took in what his father had just said. Finally, he said, ‘I don’t even know what Fascism is or was dad, perhaps it would help if you could tell me a bit about it.’
Angelo took another sip of whisky before continuing,’ At the turn of the 20th century Italy had only been united for 40 years and was still coming to terms with the new concept of nationhood. Italy was still an agricultural economy mostly run by landlords who rented out parcels of land to tenant farmers. As the tenant’s families grew and the farms were sub-divide amongst them, there was not enough land to grow sufficient food to feed the growing families. When the land was again subdivided amongst the new generation it caused real hardship and in some cases hunger.
This caused unrest amongst the contadini: the tenant farmers, and hence the rise of communism. When the war ended in 1918 and the soldiers returned from the front, they wanted and expected a better life than before. Many Italians emigrated to the new world, to Australia, and other places to escape the poverty but many stayed to try to bring about change. This led to the riots and fighting between those who had and those who had not. These were bleak times indeed with many Italians on both sides being killed and the government of the day was powerless to stop the violence. Into this maelstrom stepped a leader who offered a way out, a way of compromise, a way of unity. This leader, or Duce, was Mussolini. His answer was Fascism. A movement of unity for all classes, a third way. He invited corporate Italy to join with the masses to provide employment and prosperity for all under a strong government led by him. He saved Italy, and perhaps Europe from falling into the hands of the communists. No Trade Unions, no communism, and no exploitation of the workers. A fair deal for all. The people saw him as their saviour, and corporate Italy saw him as providing the means of profit. He built the Autostradas: the new roads, he built the new hospitals and railways, he built the biggest naval fleet in Europe. Coupled with this he recruited into the Army and the Police, which gave the people a feeling of security. He crushed the Mafia in the south of the country and he built new prisons. Italy entered into the 20th century as the envy of the world, that’s what fascism did in my estimation.
Marco took all of this in before saying, ‘what would you have me do dad?’ Angelo put his arm round his son’s shoulders and said, ‘son, over the years I’ve had plenty of time to consider all the angles in this, and I don’t believe there is an easy answer.
We could destroy the documents and no one would ever know they existed, or we could deliver them into the hands of the Italian Security Services who in turn would ensure that no political party would be able to capitalise on them. They would guarantee that they are used by the Italian State in a responsible way. I personally feel that the latter choice is the most credible.’
Marco asked his father, ’what about giving the letters to the British government?’ Angelo answered, ‘that would just be like destroying the documents as I don’t think they would ever see the light of day again. The British would more than likely destroy them or keep them secret for a very long time. They would look upon them as some sort of slur on Churchill’s name. The very fact that Churchill was compromised in negotiating with Mussolini would not be acceptable to the British Government or the British people.
‘What I ask you to do Marco is to make contact with someone in the Italian Security Service and probably take them to the site at the Devil’s Bridge to recover the briefcase. It will involve a high degree of secrecy in case one of the political parties find out what you are doing, I would not trust the politicians in the government as they have a vested interest, and the newspapers and media are mainly owned by Berlusconi who would have his own agenda.
‘How would I get in touch with the Security Services,’ said Marco, ‘I wouldn’t know where to start?’ Angelo took another sip of his whisky before answering, ‘I have an old friend Carlo Togneri who used to be in the Italian equivalent of the Special Branch of the Carabinieri, I’m sure he would be able to help you. He kept in touch with me over the years and is now retired in Lucca.’
‘Would I hav
e to tell him why I want to contact them?’ said Marco ‘Only in a general sense that you have some information that you can only give to the Security Services in person, that should be enough of a cover to satisfy him. He’s a clever man and quite sharp so he may suspect there’s more to it, but as long as you stick to that story it should be ok.’ ‘When should I do this?’ said Marco. ‘Angelo looked at his son for a few moments, and then said, ’I think as soon as possible. I’ll phone Carlo and tell him to expect you in the next few days.’ Angelo hugged his son and kissed him on both cheeks before saying, ‘Marco, be careful, be very careful, many people would do anything to get hold of those letters, anything: including murder.’
After a while when Angelo was alone he thought of Carlo and how they had worked together during the war.
They had first met at a fascist rally in Rome. Angelo had been with the Moschettieri for some time and was obviously a trusted member of this elite force. He was responsible for the Duce’s safety at all of the fascist rallies and it was his job to liaise with the Special Branch of the Carabinieri over security matters. They would tell him the status of potentially dangerous characters in the area that could pose a threat to Mussolini and they would try to put them under lock and key for the duration of Mussolini’s visit.
Over the years, a friendship had grown between them even though Carlo was not a fascist, anything but. They had discussed many times over a coffee or a glass of wine what it meant to be a fascist, or in Carlo’s case, what it meant to be a communist and they had never agreed. Angelo accepted Carlo for his beliefs and had never seen him as a threat to the Duce, or a dangerous man in any form. Carlo was a cultured man. A man of reason and a man of peace. To Angelo such a man could never contemplate violence, except perhaps in the course of his duty as a police officer. Angelo admired the man and always felt challenged by him when they debated the politics or events of the day. He saw Carlo as an intellectual communist just as he was an intellectual Catholic, meaning that he believed in his mind but did nothing about it in reality. He was very pleased that they had become friends, and to Carlo the same feeling of friendship applied in equal measure. Carlo believed that one day, when the war was over, it would take Italians of all varying persuasions to build a unified Italy.
Now he wondered if Carlo would help him again.
Chapter 5
23rd April 1987
The taxi stopped outside the apartment block on the Via Romano in Lucca. Marco paid the driver and stepped out onto the pavement. He studied the apartment block for a moment before entering the foyer. He looked at the list of names on the board and pressed the buzzer against the name Togneri. ‘Pronto’ said a voice through the intercom. ‘I am Marco Corti,’ he said, still holding the buzzer. The door to the apartment hallway opened with a loud click.
He entered the lift, pressed the button for the third floor, and found apartment 3B. He took a deep breath before pressing the bell on the doorframe. He waited for a while before a tall grey haired man opened the door. ‘Signor Togneri?’ said Marco, holding out his hand. With a smile on his face, the tall man shook hands with him and stood aside to let Marco into the apartment. ‘Call me Carlo,’ he said, ‘and you are obviously Marco?’ His English was heavily accented but Marco was pleased he could understand him. Although Marco could speak fluent Italian, it seemed to him good manners in this situation to speak in the language that Carlo preferred to use.
‘Come in and sit over here,’ he said pointing to a chair near a large window overlooking a park. Marco sat down and let Carlo carry on speaking. His father had told him that Carlo was a charismatic man who loved to talk, and he was finding out how true this was. Carlo was explaining to Marco that the flowers in the park were still out of season and if he had visited next month when they were in bloom, he would have seen a beautiful display of colour. Marco smiled politely, and accepted the espresso coffee Carlo handed him.
When he eventually sat down, his approach changed to one of asking questions about Angelo and his wife Elizabeth, and their life in Scotland. ‘Have you taken over the family business,’ he asked. Marco grinned, ‘I don’t think Italian fathers ever completely retire, but yes, on paper I’m now in charge.’ Carlo laughed at this, showing off a mouthful of perfect teeth set below a ‘Clark Gable’ type moustache. After a few more minutes of idle chat Carlo became more serious saying ’well Marco, your father said that I may be able to help you with a small problem you have.’ ‘Tell me about it.’
Marco had rehearsed this on the flight over and he was ready with his answer. ‘My father tells me that you may have contacts within the Italian Intelligence Services and that you may be able to introduce me to someone I could talk to about a situation I have.’ Carlo showed no sign of surprise at this. He was silent for a moment before saying, ‘Even if I am able to do this, could you tell me a little more of what this is all about?’ Marco nodded a few times before saying, ‘I have some information that I believe would be of great interest to the Security Services.’ ‘And what would that information be?’ said Carlo.
Marco realised that this was not going to be as easy as he first thought. ‘I can’t tell you what this is all about. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that it’s too sensitive and the less people who know the better.’
Once again, Carlo was silent for a while before saying,’ I know people I can contact within the intelligence community; however, at this moment in time I am not sure if I should. If I don’t know something about this, then I can’t possibly involve the Intelligence Services,’ he said taking a sip of his coffee. ‘You must understand that I have a certain reputation to uphold, a reputation that means that these people take me seriously and know that I won’t waste their time. For all I know you may want to discuss the weather in Scotland with them. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Marco realised that they had reached an impasse. Without some insight into the situation, Carlo was not willing to help and without his help, he couldn’t take this forward. ‘I can tell you this’ said Marco, ‘it involves something that was found in Italy and the importance of which I can only share with the security services of this country.’
‘Well Marco,’ Carlo said, ‘Thank you for sharing what you can with me. Just one more thing, can you tell me how old this find is?’ Marco thought for a second or two then said, ‘It belongs to the first half of this century, and I really cannot say anymore about this. If you can help me then please do so, if not, I should go now.’
Carlo realised that he had pushed Marco as far as he could. He stood up at this point and thought for a few moments about what had just been said. ‘Leave me the name of your hotel and room number and I’ll call you later this evening, hopefully with good news. I believe I know who can help us. Your father and I go back a long way, and I will do what I can.’
The meeting was at an end, so Marco stood to go, shook Carlo’s hand, and gave him the hotel information.
As he left, he wondered why his father was so friendly with this man. Yes, he was charismatic and charming, but underlying this Marco felt he could detect something else. What that was he didn’t quite know, but he didn’t like it.
When he was alone Carlo sat down again and thought over his conversation with Marco. He wondered about what he had found that could be so important to the state. Something from the first part of this century and apparently sensitive material.
He thought about Angelo and his past in the Blackshirts and his service in the Moschettieri with Mussolini. He remembered his friendship with Sergio Rossi and how he had even attended his funeral all those years ago. Could these be the lost papers that people had been searching for all these years?
Eventually he got up and made a phone call to someone he knew quite well. He also made a phone call to the Commandante of the local Carabinieri Station in Lucca, a man called Enzo Capaldi. He knew that Enzo had a SISI agent – the Italian Intelligence Service - operating out of there as a liaison officer between the two organisation
s.
Later that evening he made another phone call, this time to Marco. ‘I’ve made arrangements for someone to visit you tomorrow morning at eleven in your hotel room. The person will show you some ID, so you can rest assured of their validity. It was considered the best place to meet in secrecy.’ Marco thanked him and hung up.
Carlo then put on his favourite blue anorak and left his apartment. He walked for a little while along the street before he stopped at a jewellers shop with a large mirror in the window that the owners used to reflect the items on display. He pretended to look interested.
He used the reflection in the mirror to see if anyone was across the street watching or following him. He stood for a little while longer noting the cars on the road and the people that were walking past. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, he turned round and headed back the way he had just come. He walked on a little further before going down one of the narrow alleys that were commonplace in Lucca and slipped into a small bar. Through the dim lighting, he saw a bearded man sitting at a table on his own. He walked over and sat down beside him.
They fell into a deep conversation for a few minutes, frequently looking round the crowded room, making sure they were not being overheard before Carlo, appearing satisfied with the outcome got up and left. After some ten minutes, the bearded man also left the bar accompanied by two companions.
Legacy of Sorrows Page 18