Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “Of course you can! Let me put it on you.”

  He put it on her left wrist and she sat and stared at it. All of her jewelry put together didn’t cost as much as this!

  Remember, Syd, money means less to him than to regular people. I shouldn’t take this, but it’s sooo beautiful, and I’ll hurt his feelings if I don’t. He has no concept of money, but I think he is sincere in wanting to give me a gift.

  “I love it, Hatch! I’ll accept it, but I shouldn’t, I know. You’ve only known me a couple of weeks.”

  “But what a two weeks!”

  “Can I wear it to dinner, or would that be too blatant?”

  “Wear it anywhere you want, anytime you want.”

  She put her arms around his neck and gave him a sloppy kiss as his hands found her bare breasts.

  “What time was dinner?” she whispered in his ear.

  Chapter 28

  Il Castello di Bragno, Rome, Italy

  Thursday, August 16, 2001

  10:00 A.M.

  A late breakfast had been served at 9 A.M. in the small dining room. By 10:00 A.M., Gina, Silvia, and Teresa were cleaning the dishes off the table and pouring more coffee for those who wanted it. Bill Coffer and Gunny had been invited to the breakfast so they could participate in the debriefing session on the previous day’s events, and aid in the development of an ongoing plan of action. Syd was glad Angelina Cifelli had taken her children and gone to visit her parents in Genoa and, thus, had missed the latest fray.

  All of them had been amazed at how Syd had dispatched the dangerous Roberto with the dagger, then saved Hatch’s life by shooting Tony, Lucchese’s chief enforcer, with Roberto’s gun. Syd had been more impressed by Sara’s handling of Teresa’s would-be rapist and torturer. Coffer briefed them on how the rubber boat had been disposed of, and told them the bodies were deposited in a back alley close to Bocca’s building. If they had families, at least their bodies could be claimed for proper burial. The other option had been the bottomless sea.

  Carmelo had seen the morning TV news and told everyone that it was being reported as organized-crime-related, probably executions by enemies of the Catena di Morte. No other details were given. Bocca was not mentioned.

  “Well, that part of the plan seemed to work,” mused Hatch. “Did they mention the Sicilian Mafia by any chance?”

  “Only indirectly. They did a quick background piece on the Catena and its enemies, the two leading ones being the Stidda and the Mafia,” replied Carmelo as he sipped his coffee.

  While Hatch thought that one over, Syd said, “What is Teresa doing here this morning? After her experience yesterday, I would think she would be visiting a shrink.”

  Sara answered, “Me, too. I talked to her about it, but she thought getting back to her normal routine was best. We’ll see how she holds up.”

  “She’s had a rough week. She’ll be glad to get back to school, I would imagine,” mused Syd.

  “Your week has been worse,” laughed Sara. “Some Roman holiday!”

  Syd shrugged and sipped her coffee, not knowing how to answer that statement. From across the table, Gunny stared at Syd in admiration. He had convinced Carmelo to tell him a little about her history when he had asked how Syd could have been able to take out two of the catenari attackers with such professionalism.

  That explains her ability with a sniper rifle—and her running style. Fucking Metsada! And that body! I wish she wasn’t sleeping with the boss. I’d love to get her in the strip poker game!

  Last night’s poker game had been canceled, of course, since everyone had been busy defending the castle, and dumping bodies in Rome.

  Maybe we can reschedule for tonight. I’d like another shot at the major again. She still has a body like a brick shit house!

  Hatch addressed Carmelo. “We need to bring this thing with the catenari to closure. Lucchese knows exactly what happened, even if Bocca didn’t live to tell him, except he thinks we’re the Mafia. This could mean he’ll just back off and leave us alone, or he may be angry enough to go to war with the Mafia and come at us again—maybe even expand things to hit other Mafia compounds.”

  Carmelo replied, “I agree, but he should avoid any kind of war if he expects to pursue this Monterra thing. But he isn’t known for always doing the smart thing. He is a hothead.”

  “I would like to tell Don Cerini Tessitore all about our little charade and let the real Mafia handle this from now on. He is still alive and well, isn’t he?” asked Hatch.

  “The last I heard,” replied Carmelo. “Getting an audience with him is impossible, however. He doesn’t even admit that he is who he is. Maybe you can write him a letter.”

  Hatch chuckled at Carmelo’s sarcasm and sipped his coffee.

  “Who is Don Tessitore?” asked Syd, not understanding quite what they were talking about.

  “The real thing, not just a movie role. He is the head of the Sicilian Mafia. He is the most powerful criminal in the world. His tentacles reach worldwide,” replied Carmelo. “He is 85 years old, but he still runs the organization with an iron hand.”

  “But impossible to get to, eh?” remarked Sara.

  “For most people, yes,” said Hatch. “But there may be a way.”

  “Wait a minute here!” exclaimed Syd. “I don’t believe my ears! Why are you worried about Lucchese going to war with Tessitore? Let the fuckers kill each other off and do the world a favor. I can’t believe you’re worried about warning Tessitore about our little scam. Do I sense a switch in morality here? You had no trouble wiping out the Wrath of Allah without warning them!”

  Hatch didn’t like the vehemence of Syd’s outburst, but he could understand how she could interpret his statements. It pained him to see her angry at him about anything. He put his hand over hers.

  “Talking to Don Tessitore has nothing to do with any moral concern for the death of very bad criminals. Although I may make it look like that to him—if I can talk to him—but my real purpose is to use him to diffuse Lucchese’s involvement in any claim against the throne in Monterra. I still don’t want Lucchese to succeed in that endeavor. Tessitore may want to eliminate Lucchese. That’s fine with me if that is the only way to deter Lucchese. It’s cleaner that way than me having to do it personally,” Hatch explained, hoping Syd would understand what he was trying to do.

  Syd digested the lecture and was still not sure it was a necessary action to pursue.

  “Wouldn’t you be taking a great risk seeing him on his turf and telling him all of this stuff?” queried Syd.

  “Possibly.”

  “You mean Van Lincoln, the tycoon, might get an appointment, safety guaranteed?” added Syd.

  “Not without help,” mused Hatch, hoping Syd was softening. “What I am about to say now is not to leave this room. Understood?”

  They all nodded. Gina and her helpers had left the room earlier.

  Hatch continued, “Bruno Finelli, whom you all know, was a Secret Service agent before he joined me—for eight years. There was never a more dedicated agent, but in 1994 the Attorney General mounted a big push against organized crime in the United States. By 1996, every person with any possible connection to organized crime had been investigated. Having an Italian name didn’t help. They turned up an FBI agent who had taken bribes from the Gotti family, so all government agents were reevaluated. That’s when they found out who Bruno’s mother really was.”

  He paused and drank some more coffee.

  Sara interjected, “I thought Bruno’s parents were well-respected lawyers.”

  “They are,” Hatch resumed. “Lanzo Finelli, Bruno’s father, married Bruno’s mother in the early sixties. He has never been to Sicily—or Italy, for what it’s worth. His wife-to-be, Blancha, had recently arrived from Sicily. They fell in love, married, and then Bruno was born.”

  “Cut to the chase! The suspense is killing me!” laughed Carmelo.

  “OK,” grinned Hatch. “Bruno’s mother’s maiden name is Tessitore. She
is the daughter of the esteemed Don.”

  Sara blurted, “Then Bruno is Don Tessitore’s grandson?”

  “Yes. When the Secret Service discovered this, what with the climate at the time, they pressured Bruno out of the Service. It broke his heart—the Secret Service had been his life. To make it worse, his wife left him. His mother had left Sicily so that when she had a family, it would not be involved with her father’s business. It caught up with Bruno anyhow. Bruno has never had any contact with that part of his mother’s past. As far as I know, he has never met his grandfather.”

  Hatch was silent for a moment and the others just looked at him and waited.

  Syd said finally, “I don’t see how Bruno could meet with the Don. He ruined Bruno’s life in absentia. I’m also surprised the Don let his daughter leave like that. Isn’t that some sort of fatal family breach?”

  “Often,” Carmelo picked up the thread. “Who knows what the actual circumstances were at the time? Sicilian blood runs thick and deep. If Bruno asked his grandfather for a meeting, it might be granted. He is 85 after all. He might want to see his grandson before he dies.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Carmelo,” said Hatch. “I hate to ask Bruno to do that, however. Being Tessitore’s grandson cost him his career and wife. He probably hates him with a passion, and wouldn’t want to see him under any circumstances.”

  “He might if you explained the situation to him. His mother may want to make peace with her father before he dies,” said Syd. “Who is the heir to the throne, so to speak?”

  “Blancha’s brother, Evio. Bruno’s uncle,” replied Hatch.

  “Is the Don’s wife still alive?” Syd continued, thinking that maybe the women in the family could break down the barriers.

  “Elene Tessitore is 82 and alive and kicking,” said Carmelo.

  “Maybe Bruno or his mother could make overtures to Evio or Elene to see if they would talk to the Don about seeing us,” said Syd.

  “I’ll have to talk to Bruno and see if he will even touch this situation at all,” mused Hatch, noticing Syd’s use of “us.”

  Carmelo pushed two sheets of paper to Hatch and said, “In the meantime, we have this. It was faxed in from our Rome office this morning. It’s a fairly complete Carfagno family tree.”

  Hatch glanced at it and passed it over to Syd, his mind on other things at the moment.

  “Too complex for me to concentrate on now. You take a look, Syd; see if there are any surprises,” mumbled Hatch, his thoughts on Bruno and Don Tessitore.

  Bill Coffer spoke up. “I’m having laser sensors put in to cover the moat. We don’t want another surprise like that. Also, on the perimeter access road that the sniper used. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to the compound. If you strike out with Bruno, I can probably get you in to see the Don the same way we dropped in on Bocca. Remember, that’s what we’re trained to do.”

  “Thanks, Bill. I’ll keep that in mind, but I may decide just to drop this entire thing if it involves any danger to any of us. Maybe just whacking Lucchese is safer.”

  When Coffer and Gunny stood to leave, Carmelo said he was going to the office and get some work done, attack the pile of action items on his desk.

  Finally, after the three men had left, Hatch said, “Because of the time difference, I can’t call Bruno until this afternoon. How would you two like to go sightseeing in Rome? I’ll even buy you lunch.”

  “Will it be safe?” asked Syd.

  “Should be, unless Lucchese acted quickly and sent some more hoods down here. We’ll chopper up to the Rome office and I’ll have Carmelo assign us a driver for the Cherokee. The driver can watch our back, just in case.”

  Syd added, “I’ve always wanted to throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain! This could be a fun day for a change!”

  Syd folded the Carfagno family tree papers in half and headed to her chambers to change clothes. She would look at them later.

  • • •

  The driver brought them back to the Triple Eye offices in Rome at 5:33 P.M. They had packed in as many touristy things as they could in the time they had. The two women were ecstatic.

  “What a day, Hatch! Thank you so much!” said Syd with enthusiasm. Sara agreed.

  “I had fun, too,” he laughed. “I was the envy of all those Italian stallions with two such beautiful women with me. I’m sure they all wished they had X-ray eyes!”

  As he said that, his pager vibrated. He looked at the code and was surprised to see the code for the President of the United States.

  What now? Another highjacking somewhere in the world?

  “Important?” asked Sara.

  “I don’t know. Probably. It’s the President again. I’d better go talk to him.”

  He left the women in the Triple Eye lounge as he went to find a private office. The lounge had a full bar, replete with a bartender. There were hot and cold free hors d’oeuvres, just like Happy Hour. Several off-duty employees were sitting around small round tables sipping drinks and munching on nuts. Syd and Sara ordered strawberry daiquiris and found themselves a table away from the others.

  “Does the President call Hatch often?” asked Syd.

  “Oh, no! He never calls Hatch, or the reclusive billionaire Van Lincoln. He calls a voice named ‘Bob’ and pours out whatever his current unsolvable problem is. He has no idea who he’s talking to,” laughed Sara.

  “How weird! Why would he do that?”

  “ Frustration, I guess. This is a new thing: the President having a Blue Phone. The highjacking in Cuba, for example, was his first call. The Prez has a Blue Phone with a speed dial hardwired to Hatch’s pager. Whenever he has an overwhelming problem where politics get in the way of solving it, he can call ‘Bob.’”

  Syd mused, “I wonder what’s going on now?”

  “We’ll know soon enough if Hatch wants us to know,” answered Sara as she took a slurp of her drink. “He doesn’t have to act on the President’s problems. Some things we can’t solve.”

  “I hope it doesn’t fuck things up. I was going to see if Hatch would take us nightclubbing tonight. Maybe do some dancing and singing,” grinned Syd.

  • • •

  Hatch had a long face when he returned 15 minutes later. The two women watched as he ordered a Stoli on the rocks from the bartender. He joined them at their round table.

  “Well?” asked Syd, impatient to know if the evening she had planned was a possibility.

  “In a minute. I asked Carmelo to join us. He’ll be here shortly. That way, I won’t have to say things twice.”

  “That sounds ominous,” clucked Sara. “Here’s Carmelo now. Get a drink, Carmelo, and join us.”

  When they were settled, Hatch said, “I have two subjects to cover, but they are related. First, the President. It seems that the Carfagno letter is causing an international incident—not just a shooting in our castle. Bronson did his research, by the way, so the President also knows about Lucchese. The Carfagno letter was tested and is authentic—at least it was written when it was purported to have been written. By the way, that document we rescued on the airliner in Cuba was the Carfagno letter. What a coincidence. The Italian government knows the U.S. has it and they want it so they can take it to the Hague. They are being obstinate and want to reclaim Monterra.”

  “So, why does the President care?” asked Carmelo.

  “There’s more,” replied Hatch. “In 1996, Monterra signed an agreement with Libya to buy certain products from them exclusively: oil, gasoline, many food products. About 80% of Monterra’s imports are from Libya. In return, Libya promised to defend Monterra against any problems with outsiders.”

  “There’s a pact with the devil. The treaty with Italy has a protection clause, too,” Syd reminded them.

  “Not much good if Italy tries to fuck them,” murmured Sara.

  “Right,” said Hatch. “So, the way the U.S. sees the situation unfolding is that the Italians will make a big push before the Court, saying that
the Prince of Monterra must have di Conti blood. They will demand that Prince Giuliano II submit to a DNA test. To do that, the crypt of Alfonso di Conti must be opened. They expect the Prince to resist that, using troops from Libya if necessary. The CIA expects that at that point, Lucchese will come forward and make his claim before the Court, demanding a DNA test for himself.”

  “What a bag of shit,” said Sara. “It sets the stage for a showdown between Libya and Italy, with the Lucchese factor complicating everything.”

  Hatch nodded. “The President is only six months into his first—and possibly last—term in office, and he doesn’t want a war in the Ligurian Sea to happen on his watch. He might have a chance at the UN Security Council, but they usually don’t like to mess with decisions of the Court in The Hague. Plus, Libya is giving lip service to the ongoing Middle East peace accords, so no one wants to piss them off. The Lucchese claim will throw a monkey wrench into everything.”

  “This is all very interesting, Hatch,” observed Sara, “but I don’t see how Lincoln’s Liberators can rescue this. It’s not our kind of gig.”

  “It is a different sort of challenge—you’re right about that,” agreed Hatch. “Very political. We may not be able to solve it, particularly the Italy/Monterra squabble. But the Lucchese thing is even more worrisome. Can you imagine Lucchese in charge of that billion dollar economy, and all of those casinos?”

  Syd mused with a wry smile, “The biggest laundromat in the world! Think of the dirty money he could launder. I wonder. If you tell the Don about this, what’s to keep him from making a deal with Lucchese so he can use the laundromat?”

  Hatch looked at her and pondered what she had suggested. He continued to be amazed at how sharp her thinking process was. He had to come up with a plan that would prohibit Lucchese from being a player in the Monterra game. Then Tessitore could not consider a deal with him.

  “Good observation, Syd! We’ll have to prevent that somehow,” Hatch replied. “That’s the only part of this mess we have a chance of solving. The President may have to solve the war in the Ligurian Sea himself. I know he hasn’t been in office long, but I’m not sure he has the guts to solve tough problems. For now, I’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Solving his political problems isn’t high on my list of things to do.”