Enzo lit up again and settled down to watch the tape. He slowed down the frames showing the killer at the reception, and said to Franco Dezzini, ‘do you recognise him from the photos we have in the Red Brigade file?’ Franco Dezzini looked more carefully at the stills and replied, ‘No, apart from today, this guy is a stranger to me. Must be a pro though, the way he is so cool when talking to me is a practised art.’
Enzo looked at Officer Dezzini with surprise. ‘Perhaps if you had thought of that before you let him in to see the prisoner we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.’ Officer Dezzini’s face grew red again. Enzo continued, ‘you better go along to the Senior Investigating Officer and give him your statement now.’ As Officer Dezzini stood up to go, Enzo relented a little and softened his approach. ‘Franco, I would probably have done the same as you, so don’t feel so bad about it.’
Franco Dezzini left the Commandante’s office with a smile on his face.
Chapter 9
The next day, Anna joined Marco at the hotel for breakfast at eight am. When he saw her, he immediately invited her to sit down and join him. ‘Did you sleep well?’ He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he called the waiter over and asked for another coffee. As they sat drinking it, Marco said,’ Is there something Anna that I should know. Last night, why did you call them terrorists instead of kidnappers, or criminals?’
Anna was silent for a moment before saying, ‘The two hostage takers are Mario Gilardi and Francesco Bari. They flew out of Pisa Airport yesterday afternoon for Glasgow. They are known to us as either members or supporters of the Red Brigades and are extremely dangerous. They are suspected of carrying out the bombing of a café in Sienna last year.’
‘I’ve heard of the Red brigades.’ Said Marco, ‘but what would they want with us?’
‘They are Marxist-Leninist terrorists who believe in extreme action to bring about a Socialist revolution, not just in Italy, but throughout Europe. In 1978, they were the group who kidnapped the former Prime Minister Aldo Moro and killed him. They will do anything to promote their cause. We pose a danger to them because of Mussolini’s involvement with Churchill during the war as exposed by the letters. Anything that shows Neo-Fascism in a good light must be eliminated, hence their interest.’
‘What do you mean by extreme action Anna?’
She quietly said, ‘They bomb, maim and kill anyone who they think is a danger to them or who dare to stand in their way. They are usually organised into small cells of four or five members, with a cell leader who is the only one who knows the identity of all the other members.
‘How did you find out about the involvement of Gilardi and Bari?’
‘The Secretary we arrested yesterday, whose name was, Laura Moscardini, told us about her involvement with the Red Brigades as an informer. She also told us she didn’t join the Communist party before when Enzo had spoken to her about it; because our bearded friend told her that she would be more useful working under cover in Police headquarters. She had a close relationship with Lorenzo Storti who is known to be a Red Brigade member, and we suspect she was his lover. Yesterday, someone posing as a SISI agent got access to her cell in the police station and killed her with a WW2 Luger. He tried to make it look like a suicide, however he placed the gun in the wrong hand as Laura was left handed. Also, how would she have gotten access to a gun?’ ‘CCTV images and forensics have drawn a blank as to the killer’s identity. He could be a ghost for all we know.’
He shook his head in disbelief at the turn of events.
‘Why have this lot not been arrested before now? ‘said an increasingly tetchy Marco.
‘Knowing something to be true and proving it is two different things Marco. It’s one of the penalties of living in a democracy. Fortunately, we have her confession before she was killed which has given us some leads.
He reached for the coffee pot and poured himself another cup. ‘What kind of plan did your superiors come up with to rescue my parents?’ he asked, keeping his eyes firmly on her face. Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat and said, ‘they are still talking it out, it all takes time.’
‘Time is something we don’t have Anna. We have until seven pm tonight and that’s it.’ Marco said in an angry voice. ‘I don’t feel inclined to retrieve the documents and hand them over to you and let my parents get shot by some Red Brigade baddies.’
‘I understand how you feel Marco, but we have to be patient and trust the powers that be to come up with some answers.’
‘I saw how the powers that be handled things when I served in both the British and Italian Armies and I have to say it usually involved covering up their mistakes. I need something more concrete, a plan of action, or Lorenzo gets his letters. These people are killers and I don’t want their next victims to be my parents.’
Anna understood the anger and concern Marco was feeling and probably if she was in the same situation, she would react in the same way. ‘Let me go and check if SISI have come up with anything more concrete. If not, I will let them know what you said and try to push them on.’
‘I have no confidence Anna in your SISI or State police, I only have confidence in my own ability to take these kidnappers, or terrorists as you call them, out myself. I still have time to catch a flight to Glasgow, and tackle these killers on my own, and I am prepared to do it if necessary.’
Anna was shocked at the aggression and confidence coming from this man. She really did believe he would carry out his threat to do it his way, and it scared her. ‘Please Marco, please, don’t react in this way. I know it’s hard to believe in others, but I ask you now to believe in me.’
Marco sat smouldering with anger at the table, but at Anna’s emotion filled plea, he appeared to calm down, and with softer eyes looked at her and said, ‘We don’t have much time left to save my parents Anna, do what you can to push them on. I’ll sit back and wait for a while.’
Chapter 10
In a Roman office sitting in front of the Operational Director of SISI was Gianpiero Marchi, known as Pippo to his friends and family. Pippo had been recruited into SISI through the Intelligence branch of the Italian Army in the early sixties, and had risen through the ranks of SISI until he had been promoted to head up the intelligence analysis and risk assessment section. Generally known as Operational Intelligence, he had placed his unit on full alert to handle this emergency.
His manner was brisk and efficient and when he had worked in the field, he had built up an enviable reputation for dedication to duty. He had asked to see the Director this morning regarding the Corti family and the hostage situation. He waited patiently as the Director finished reading the file he had prepared for him last night. Eventually he put it down. ‘Is this the same Francesco Bari that was involved some time ago with the Cosa Nostra in Palermo before he came up north?’
‘Yes it is. We still don’t know the reason why he has resurfaced in Lucca as a Red Brigade member, but we’re working on it.’ The Director tapped the desk with his pen, ‘has there been any intelligence of The Mafia and the Red Brigades working together in the past?’
‘No, Pippo said, we don’t know if they are, or if this is just a disaffected Cosa Nostra member who has put his politics before his oath to the Mafia.’
‘What’s your assessment of the situation Pippo?’
Pippo cleared his throat before answering. He knew that the Director only wanted the headlines and not an operational briefing. ‘I feel the situation is deteriorating Sir. We have gone from a simple retrieval of documents to a hostage situation in another country by the Red brigades, and a killing in a police station. There is also the added complication that one of the hostages in Glasgow is an Italian national. We have two other players on the loose, whom we suspect are active with the Red Brigades; however we don’t know what their plans are yet.’
The Director sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, as if looking for inspiration there. Eventually he said, ‘Is your take on this to alert the British throu
gh our Intelligence contacts over there, or do we go political and do it through our ambassador in London?’ Pippo was ready for this question. Again, he cleared his throat. ‘Going down the diplomatic route, although preferable, will take too long and we have only ten hours left to the terrorist’s deadline. If we shortcut and use our intelligence channels, it may ruffle a few feathers but we can live with that. The SIS Director over there knows how to play the game and I’m sure, once briefed, will set up an op with British Special Forces. We don’t have time to get to know their domestic MI5 personnel.’
He cleared his throat again before continuing. ‘There is another option sir’ although it may prove to be risky.’ ‘Go ahead,’ said the Director. ‘We could send a combat team in from our own Special Forces. My information is that they could be in position in five hours. I have them standing by at present.’ My feeling is we have to keep this as low key as we can until we know what’s in the briefcase. For all we know it may be full of wartime ration coupons and we could be made to look silly.’
The Director slowly nodded his head in agreement before saying, ‘Veto any op involving our people on foreign soil. The fallout from that would be too heavy for us to survive. I’ll phone Jack Bradshaw, The British Secret Service Director, on the secure line right now and advise him of the situation. He will have to get authority from his Home Secretary, so we had better get on to this right away. The protocol should be to contact MI5 for domestic operations and not the SIS, however I know Jack of old and I know he’ll understand the need for haste.’
‘This is good work Pippo; thank your Agent in the field for me. ‘The Director got up from behind his desk, crossed to his wall safe and removed a key. He opened a desk drawer with it and took out a red, secure line telephone. He looked up the number of the British Director of the Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6 as the public called it, from a red book he took from the safe, and dialled.
The phone rang three times before a voice answered, ‘Jack Bradshaw’. ‘Hello Jack, It’s Remo Notrangelo, We have a problem.’
Jack Bradshaw sat in his office at 85 Albert Embankment off Vauxhall Bridge in London, with his Personal Operational Staff around him. He was one of the new breed of M16 Directors.’ His background was state school and Durham University and not the Eton educated Oxbridge graduates who had run the service in the past. He was a small, fit looking dapper man, who spent his lunch hour practising Kata in his private office in the building.
Ever since his Army days in Hong Kong, he had practised Goju Ryu Karate for his mental and physical health. He enjoyed the feeling of confidence it gave him and the knowledge that if it got rough, he could give a good account of himself. He was known as a fair man to deal with and was well liked by his staff. This was one of the situations he felt he should take a sounding from them.
He had explained the situation as he had received it from the SISI Director and the permission for the Op he had received from the Home Secretary. He missed out the bad tempered reaction from the minister regarding the unorthodox channel the Italians had used this time. Jack had kept his frustration with the protocol brigade hidden. He was used to politicians sounding off about procedures. He usually just shrugged it off: he was more of an operations type. The Home Secretary had erupted about the Italians, and how he would have preferred it if they had contacted MI5. His reaction to this was to stick up his two fingers at the phone whilst saying ‘yes sir.’
‘How do we take this forward, and who do we use? ‘Bradshaw asked the assembled group. His Depute Director stood up and with a world-weary kind of voice said, ‘Sir, with the time factor we have and the distance involved to Glasgow I don’t think we have a lot of choice. I’ve made some enquiries and have perhaps found an answer. We have a reserve squadron of SAS – 23 SAS - based in Glasgow. It just takes the authority of the Director Special Forces to activate the on duty CTT {Counter Terrorism Team} and we could resolve this in a few hours. We have eight hours left and I think this is our best and perhaps only credible play.’
The Director turned to a staff member sitting near the back of the room. Frank, you’re Special Forces, what’s your take on this? Frank stood up to answer. He was conscious that every eye in the room was on him. Frank had been one of the SAS involved in the Iranian Embassy siege in 1980 and had since left the active side of the business through an injury to his leg sustained during a night jump in Columbia. It was a drug-busting op against the Mendellin Cartel and he had landed quite awkwardly causing his tibia to break and poke through his skin. Ever since then he had walked with a limp.
His knowledge of this type of operation was invaluable, as it came with the insight of practical experience learned on the job and was not just theoretical.
‘Sir, the reserve squadrons are trained to the same standard as the regular SAS squadrons. I think with the time we have we would be wise to activate their CTT as soon as possible. They have men right now on standby, trained for this type of emergency and only stationed about two miles from the hostage scene. Even so, it will still take a few hours for them to sort out their kit and weapons and for their team leader to come up with a reasonable plan. I don’t believe we have any other viable options.
The Director looked round the room, ‘any other suggestions? He asked. He was met by silence from his team.
The Director thought for a few moments before reaching for the phone on his desk. ‘Get me the Director Special Forces and buzz me when he’s on line.’
Eventually his phone buzzed three times.
‘Hello Tony, Jack Bradshaw here.’
‘Seems we have a job for your boys in Glasgow. Here’s the down.’
Chapter 11
Sergeant Tommy (Jock) Wilson was a forty-year-old red haired Glaswegian. He was born and bred in Cumberland Street in the Gorbals and had joined the Army as a raw eighteen year old recruit rather than face unemployment. If truth be told, it had probably saved him from Jail. He had been a member of a street gang called ‘the young Cumbies’ who, in his youth, had ruled the area around the Gorbals. Their main occupation was fighting other gangs in Glasgow using weapons like knives, hatchets, chains, and iron bars. Growing up in the Gorbals had toughened him to the point that he acquired a reputation as being a bit of a hard man, so the obvious choice for him was a military career. After his service experiences in Aden, Borneo and Malaya with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders he volunteered for SAS selection and was badged in 1970 as an SAS trooper at their Hereford base.
His SAS service had seen him involved in many operations overseas and at home and now at his age and rank he had asked to be stationed with the Glasgow reserve squadron to assist in their training. Even so, he had never expected the duty CTT of a reserve Squadron to be activated at such short notice, and by no less a person than the Director Special Forces himself. He was full of anticipation at the chance once again of seeing some action. He realised that something very important must be going down. He looked around the duty room at the other three troopers there:
Mike Fraser a thirty five-year-old ex Para Sergeant was an Aberdonian married to a Glasgow girl, and currently working as a Postman in Scotstoun, a district of Glasgow. He had left the Paras six months previously and applied for an SAS Reserve selection course on demob. He was the most experienced of the CTT troopers and had served 20 years with the Parachute Regiment in all theatres including The Trucial Oman Scouts and the Gurkhas. By the Regiments strict rules he had lost his Sergeants rank when he was badged SAS. Jock considered him his right hand man and felt lucky to have such an experienced soldier by his side.
The other two troopers, Craig and Brian, were both 25 years old and had been in the SAS Reserve for three years. This was the first time they had been activated. They had joined the Regiment about the same time and had gone through selection together, now they sat nervously waiting on what was to unfold. Jock knew they were steady types and would come through this with no problem.
Captain Peter Bradley, the Duty Officer, came strid
ing in with a stern look on his face. Jock could sense the tension in the air. Peter was ex regular SAS as well and knew Jock from past operations. He knew that Jock was the man to turn to in a tight spot.
The DO looked around the room to catch their attention. ‘Right lads, we’ve got a little problem to sort out, and we don’t have a lot of time to prepare. Hence our CTT being activated. Seems like some Italian Red Brigade terrorists have taken two pensioners hostage in a nearby tenement and we have been tasked to enter the top story flat, take the players out and free them. We have just received some Polaroid snaps of the outside of the building, and we have a rough diagram of the lay out of the flat, faxed through to us a few minutes ago from the hostage’s son.’ He passed the snaps around the room. He then walked across to a blackboard and pinned up the diagram for all to see. ‘As you can see the flat has one lounge, two bedrooms, one kitchen and one bathroom. The bedrooms and bathroom are at the back of the building, and the three public rooms are at the front.’ He stopped and looked across at Jock. You’ve been on similar ops before Jock. What do you think?’
Jock stood up, and walked up to the diagram. ‘How many players in there Peter?’
‘As far as we know only two, although some local boys may have joined the party. We also have intel that the two hostages are being held in their bedroom at the back here.’ He pointed at the diagram with his finger. ‘They may be on their own in there so be careful on entry.’
Jock thought for a moment before saying, ‘why would Red brigades be interested in two pensioners in a Glasgow tenement?’ ‘There’s some business going down in Italy, ’Peter said, ‘and the two pensioners are the insurance end to make sure it comes off.’
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