The Storm Protocol

by Iain Cosgrove

  Ben always went to work early; partly because he was a hard worker, but mostly because it was the best time for driving fast, especially in the wilds of West Cork. In the light of the early morning dawn, when the conditions were just right, you could see for miles. He could throw the car into the corners, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing coming towards him; nothing to spoil his enjoyment of just pure driving.

  He glanced up; the way ahead was clear as far as he could see. As the corner approached, he turned in tight and kept his right foot firmly to the floor. He carried the speed into the apex, and felt the back starting to breakaway as it always did. He fed in just enough opposite lock to power slide through, before straightening up with a double shimmy. In no time at all, the next corner was upon him, and as he slid through corner after corner, the exhaust note growled back at him, echoed and amplified by the close cropped hedgerows.

  ‘It just doesn’t get any better than this,’ he whispered to himself.

  He shot through the entrance to the estate. Hand-braking the Mazda into the car park, he showered the front of the building with gravel and small stones. He put his hand on the bonnet as he got out, and nodded in satisfaction. It was scorching, red hot, a sure sign that man and machine had been moving and performing in perfect harmony.

  ‘Morning, Mr Collins,’ said Bill, as Ben walked through reception.

  Bill was one of the team of security guards that they’d employed, as the facility had started to take shape. Unlike most other security firms, this one was a spin off from David’s core business, and had a number of unique advantages over other firms. Not only did Bill have access to weapons, but he was well trained in their use, and application, and not afraid to employ them should the need arise. The facility was in very safe hands indeed.

  As Ben sat at his desk, the smile slowly faded from his face. He had to now try and find the words to tell David that there was a little bit of a hiccup. It was nothing they couldn't handle; Guido and Ernesto were their business partners after all, but he knew David’s initial reaction would not be positive, even though it had been the Mancini’s who had informed Ben of the issue.

  Ben had been through the calculations in his head the previous night; he believed in having all the ammunition he needed up front, so he worked them through again on the pad in front of him, realising his initial estimations were spot on. There would be no material disadvantage from a monetary point of view, which would be a relief in itself to David. The only problem was time, and this was the commodity that was most precious to his boss.

  David was getting increasingly anxious. He had moved his base of operations away from the city and out to the country. Even though David loved his Clonakilty bolt hole, he felt removed from the action in the city and felt more exposed to exploitation and danger. It was taking much longer than they’d originally planned to get the factory up and running and David had pumped a lot of his own money into it as well. Ben knew that David did not get nervous, and he also knew that at the moment David was extremely nervous. He was a hands-on business man. He had to be able to touch his business, so he was finding the distance very stressful.

  Ben looked up and caught sight of the framed certificate on the wall opposite; Harvard school of business. He was a long way from the Ivy League now.

  It was prophetic that his tutor at Harvard had told him once that he would make money at anything he did, regardless of whether it was legal or illegal. Ben had no qualms and no preference either way, it was just he’d found the illegal route to be a little bit more profitable and a little bit quicker.

  Where his exceptional intelligence came into play, was making sure that his name and his actions could never be linked to any of their illegal activities. He was more than happy for David to take the limelight, but it took a huge amount of energy and concentration to keep his own name purged from the records. He didn't really care about what his boss did, and whether it was against the law. He didn't give a second thought to the consequences of David’s decisions or his actions, as long as they could not be linked back to him. In that respect he was no different from most corporate managers; corporate responsibility was not a word in his vocabulary.

  Yes, his boss used euphemisms sometimes, and Ben pretended he didn't know what they meant; more for David’s sake than his own. He was not stupid; he knew what the company did and how it made its money, but as far as he was concerned, his conscience was clear. If circumstances ever conspired against him, he could use the age-old defence; one that had not been modified or changed in generations. I was only following orders.

  A shadow darkened his door, and a minute later, a cappuccino was placed on the desk in front of him. He could see the steam rising through the drinking aperture on the safety-lid. For a second, he smiled. David was nothing if not a creature of habit. Ben looked at his watch; always the same drink and always the same time. He wordlessly grabbed his coffee, got out of his chair and the practiced routine began once more. He followed David the twenty yards or so down the corridor to the corner office.

  David made himself comfortable as he always did, and leant back in his leather recliner with his hands crossed behind his head.

  ‘Thanks for the new girl by the way,’ said David. ‘Gave her a test drive last night, if you know what I mean.’

  They both laughed in a coarse and earthly fashion for a minute or so.

  No, you didn't, Ben thought silently to himself.

  Both of them knew that David rarely touched the girls. They gladly agreed to share his bed, because they knew he was not looking for sex, and it was a welcome reprieve from the harshness of the street. Neither David nor Ben would have vocalised the thought, but for vastly differing reasons.

  ‘First off,’ said David with a beaming smile. ‘What do you know about this?’

  He held up a copy of the Cork Examiner; the stark headline shrieked against the backdrop of a full size picture of a half demolished building.

  Eight dead as drug war escalates.

  ‘They all belong to Black Swan,’ David said with a huge grin, as he passed the paper over.

  He watched impassively as Ben read the story, his lips moving silently.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, boss, but it wasn’t anything to do with us.’

  ‘If not us, then who else?’ asked David with a puzzled expression. ‘This is bad karma, Ben. Apart from me and Black Swan, there is no one else who has that type of firepower. They took down eight guys, for fucks sake!’

  ‘It definitely wasn’t us,’ said Ben soberly. ‘Unless someone else is trying to muscle in on our territory; one of the Dublin gangs maybe?’

  ‘We would have heard at least a vague murmuring of a rumour, if that was the case,’ said David. ‘Wouldn’t we?’

  ‘An internal feud then? Maybe someone got fed up with their lowly position in the hierarchy.’

  David’s face cleared.

  ‘Ben, I think you might just have put your finger on it. There’s very little loyalty among these guys.’

  ‘You really think so?’ asked Ben. ‘Something doesn’t smell quite right to me.’

  ‘Let’s be extra vigilant,’ said David. ‘I don’t mind fighting a war on a single front; I don’t want to have to start fighting a war on two fronts, especially when I’m stuck down here and effectively blind.’

  ‘I’ll get the word out,’ acknowledged Ben.

  ‘Still, it does make me a little nervous,’ said David. ‘I feel very exposed in this neck of the woods. Anything could be happening in that city. Our guys wouldn't exactly be the most loyal.’

  ‘I think you'd be surprised at our guys,’ stated Ben. ‘Loyalty has its price, just like everything else and we pay top dollar.’

  ‘Even so,’ said David. ‘I’m getting a bit jittery. We need to get this plant up and running, and we need to do it real soon.’

  Ben hesitated and David saw the hesitation. Ben hadn't expected to have to confront the issue so quickly.

  ‘Spit it o
ut, man,’ demanded David. ‘I can see you’ve got something on your mind.’

  ‘The Mancini's rang me last night,’ said Ben. ‘There’s been a slight hitch.’

  ‘What do you mean by a slight hitch?’ asked David. ‘How slight?’

  ‘Apparently the protocol we are working to is incomplete. We need to stop all construction on the lines, until we can verify the revised protocol in full, and ensure that the currently constructed production processes need no further modification.’

  ‘So, more fucking delays,’ stated David, holding his head in his hands.

  ‘They’ve promised to bring the complete extended protocol with them tomorrow, when they finally come to meet us,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yeah, was going to ask you about that?’ said David, changing tack. ‘Is there anything that we need to be aware of prior to the meeting? What do we actually know about the Mancini's? Other than what we can read in the papers, of course,’ he added.

  ‘Information on them is quite difficult to come by,’ replied Ben.

  He looked at David’s expression and held up his hands in mock surrender.

  ‘Hey, I’m not giving you an excuse,’ said Ben. ‘I had to go to hell and back to get this information. And I had to be doubly careful they didn't find out I was prying; apparently they are fiercely protective of any information pertaining to their personal lives and reputations.’

  ‘As are we all,’ acknowledged David. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to stop you, go on.’

  ‘Ernesto and Guido Mancini,’ began Ben. ‘They were born in Little Italy to one Francesco Mancini and his wife Maria. Francesco had gone over to America from Napoli in the twenties, with a tiny bit of money, and some very big ideas. He was not a big physical man by all accounts, but he had an aura about him, a presence. He was able to rally people around him and create strength in numbers.’

  ‘So, the father was the driving force,’ said David.

  Ben could see where his thoughts were going.

  ‘Yes and no,’ said Ben. ‘Francesco worked hard, very hard, and galvanised the Italian immigrant population around him. He brought a work ethic and a sense of worth to the community. But this is where he was different from his sons. He was ruthless, yes, he bent the law, yes, but Guido and Ernesto took it to a whole different level. It was a large semi-illegal empire when they inherited it, but they built it into a criminal corporation.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ continued Ben. ‘Francesco was no angel. By the time he died in 1968, he had amassed a nice modest fortune and a substantial business empire; mostly property and small businesses, a mixture of legal and slightly shady activity. Guido and Ernesto took over when they were young; very young.’

  ‘What age were they?’ asked David.

  Ben thought about it for a second.

  ‘About the same age as you and John were,’ he said quietly.

  ‘So, they took over in 68,’ prompted David.

  ‘Yep, and they didn't have it easy,’ said Ben. ‘Just prior to Francesco’s death, there was already a simmering feud; one which he had managed to quell by sheer force of personality, but the alliance was uneasy to say the least. When he died, there were initial rumblings that the Mancini brothers would not be recognised as his true successors. There were two particular men in the area who were extremely vocal. Their names were Giuseppe Mizzoni and Gianfranco Forlani. Within a week of Francesco's funeral, both men had disappeared and there was no more talk of the brothers not being the rightful airs to the empire.’

  ‘So, they showed their ruthless streak early on?’ asked David.

  ‘They had to,’ said Ben. ‘Little Italy in the seventies was not for the faint hearted.’

  ‘So it was the two brothers who built up the business,’ stated David.

  ‘I think they were a product of their time, much as Francesco was a product of his,’ said Ben. ‘Francesco was extremely wealthy by the standards applied to people of the day, but he hadn't the same opportunities that Guido and Ernesto were presented with. The late sixties/early seventies, especially in America, and especially along the East Coast, was a real purple period when it came to the drugs trade. It gave Guido and Ernesto the opportunity to get in at the ground floor. It was an opportunity they grasped with both hands. Before long, they’d expanded their reach across the whole of the eastern United States. The West Coast was a much harder nut to crack, and to this day, they wouldn't have as much penetration there as they would like. But they were one of the first to apply true supply-chain logic to the drugs trade and hence they are now worth conservatively multiple billions of dollars.’

  ‘As you were reading that; as you were telling me that, I was getting goose bumps. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up,’ said David.

  ‘Yeah, some pretty scary parallels,’ said Ben.

  ‘Not only that,’ said David. ‘But you said it yourself. They were there at the start in the sixties and early seventies. They were able to translate that head start into a huge business success. I would see the current opportunity that we have in the same light. We are on the cusp of a new era, and I am in at the ground floor. I would even go so far as to say that we are in the driving seat.’

  ‘So you think the market is big enough for a new drug?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Just look what happened with ecstasy in the nineties,’ said David. ‘The key to this is going to be the marketing; to take a leaf out of Apples book.’

  ‘I don't follow,’ said Ben.

  ‘Tell people what they want, before they actually want it. Who ever heard of an iPod in the sixties?’

  Good point,’ responded Ben.

  ‘If this drug is as good as they say, then demand is going to be astronomical. If you control the supply....’

  Ben looked at David levelly.

  ‘You’ve invested a lot of money in this. Pulled a lot of strings and called in a lot of favours. If this doesn't work....’

  He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

  ‘You have to speculate to accumulate,’ replied David, ‘and I have a good feeling about this as an investment.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Ben.

  ‘Don’t be so pessimistic,’ said David, clapping him on the back. ‘You money men are all the same. The glass is always half empty with you. Now fuck off out of my office, I’ve got a few calls to make.’

  Ben was deep in thought as he strolled back to his own office. He’d been struck by the similarities between the two sets of brothers, as he was relating the history to David.

  He had an uneasy feeling that David had known much of the information before. It wasn't like him to risk so much on an uncertainty. Maybe he’d got caught up in the romance of the story. Maybe the parallels with his own background were too stark for him to see the wood for the trees. He felt David was adding two and two and making seventeen.

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter 41 – Aggression

  21st May 2011 – Eleven days after the Storm.

  War consisteth not in battle only, or the act of fighting; but in a tract of time, wherein the will to contend by battle is sufficiently known. – Thomas Hobbes.

  Street climbed wordlessly back into the car. He started it up, and screeched out of the parking space with barely a backward glance. Neither Roussel nor Foster was stupid enough to ask him how it had gone. They both recognised a situation when somebody just didn't want to talk; they were both investigators after all.

  As the car travelled on towards their destination, the atmosphere within the car was tense and strained. It was unusual and a little bit unsettling for Roussel and Foster to see their newfound colleague so upset. In a short period of time, he had become more than a colleague and it was difficult for them to see him in such obvious and emotional distress. They also knew how pragmatic he was; it was only a matter of time before that emotion was channelled into action.

  #

  I was trying to seize on something, anything really. There had to be some definable characteris
tic, an identifiable personal trait. I didn’t start off without a dad. Early on, there was definitely a man physically in the house, at least some of the time, calling himself my father.

  I didn’t know if it was worse to have never experienced it, but to be told in your mid forties that the man you’d worshipped, the stylised ideal you’d held aloft for so long, was possibly an imposter, a pretender to the crown; that was hard. That was tough to take.

  The words of the solicitor, John Maguire, had cut deep.

  ‘But your mother was never married.’

  Like all words of truth, the minute I’d heard them, I’d felt released. I was now free from all the doubt, the half remembered rows, the childhood insecurities.

  As the tyres ate up the miles, and my two new companions sat silently and respectfully in the back, I tried to conjure him up from the depths of my memory; the mystery man, my father.

  Everywhere were snippets; brief memories here, shallow memories there. And then, as I remembered the key points in my early life; birthdays, Christmas, first time to ride a bike, I could see my mother in perfect clarity, smiling, clapping, laughing, but with a shadow behind her eyes. I could also see an occasional ghost standing beside her, blurry and indistinct.

  ‘I don't remember much about my dad,’ I said at last, out loud. ‘And it looks like there was a good reason for that.’

  I glanced in the rear view mirror. They were listening intently.

  ‘The thing that upset me the most when I heard it first,’ I said. ‘Not the fact that he wasn't married to my mother. I could have easily dealt with that. Living out of wedlock, so what? It was the fact that it might have been a relative playing a role. And the thing that hurts the most?’

  I could feel my voice choking.

  ‘My mother was probably complicit in the whole thing.’

  ‘Don't judge her too harshly,’ replied Foster.

  ‘And what exactly would you know about it?’ I spat disdainfully.