Patricia paused, for a moment shaken by the reality of what she had just said and what she was about to reveal. Marco and Ian Carlo had not moved since she had begun talking, but sat in rapt attention as she continued.
“Among the possible enemies that would take this sort of action, and who have the necessary capabilities to act, would be a group of Middle East billionaires who have an organization similar to The Board. After years of economic dominance this group has lost clout within the international political community, opening opportunities of which we took advantage. These include the Chinese, who really don’t like anyone with enough power to put a kink in their vacuum as they suck up the natural resources of the world, and a faction of the US Congress, puppets of more powerful individuals, whom we see appear and disappear with impunity in manipulation of war throughout the world. This last is by far the most dangerous as it is very diffuse and hard to pin down to a specific agenda or even know all the players. Besides that, they wield tremendous power within military establishments at home and abroad, particularly within Great Britain where some lords of the realm with mighty influence over British armed forces need the constant activation of war to maintain their wealth and influence. These are wars that we have sometimes thwarted for economic gains or upstaged our opponents when the conflict is unavoidable. In both cases it has cost them billions of dollars.
“Until now our greatest strength has been anonymity and fluidity. The Board does not have a headquarters or any geographic address. It has no visible governance and a profile that is indistinguishable from that of myriad organizations, countries and individuals whose interests coincide with ours at any particular moment. Utilizing the cat’s paw has always been a standard procedure for The Board.”
Once again Marco, and now Ian Carlo, were flabbergasted by the dimension of what Patricia had just presented. Their man-dominated world was coming to a not totally dislikable end.
Thousands of miles and several time zones away M&M considered his options. He was deciding on which side of the board he would make his next move. He could ally with Lujan, he could go with the Yankees, or he could just lie low and watch what would happen…maybe even see if the ragheads were willing to do some business. M&M was the ultimate service broker who had no real loyalties but appeared so to those who could pay, in one way or another, for his very expensive services. He had organized on very short notice the elimination of Los Locos for two opposing parties, Lujan and the Yank. M&M always thought of Senator Joseph W. Delany as “the Yank.” Why both wanted Los Locos dead or decommissioned was not clear but it presented an interesting conundrum, one for the price of two…how profitable!
At his large estate in Maryland, Senator Delany was entertaining Cardinal Jean Dupree from the Vatican Bank, Congresswoman Tatiana Wells from California, Sub-Secretary of the Treasury Tomas Maldonado, and senior Senator Archie Mason; they were also expecting Lord Sir Humphrey Haughton of Her Majesty’s Exchequer. All were Catholics, except the Anglican Brit, of extreme right political affiliations. The conversation of the day centered on the latest capitalization of war efforts in the Middle East by all the parties concerned and the net benefit to the arms industry where billions of dollars represented by that group had been invested since 9/11. More to the point, Syria was the main focus of their attention. Barriers had been lifted on sales to the rebels, which simply made the deals that they were already doing a lot easier. Once they had discussed all of the advantages, moneys that were to be invested, profits that were to be distributed, and payments that were due, only one point was reported by Senator Delany that was somewhat disquieting to those present and consequentially to all those whom they represented:
“The sanction on the heirs to The Board, the Lujan woman and Marco Carducci, was not successful. I think the choice of the Mexicans proved, in hindsight, not an advantageous one. We used them because they had complained to one of our associates about Lujan’s interference with their business and that made me think that it would deter any suspicion of our participation. We gave them all the information about the targets and their location through a sterile intermediary and after their failure I have sanitized traces of our involvement by eliminating Los Locos through the proven but highly expensive services of M&M. I see no consequences of significance from this setback, but we must continue to interfere with the integration of Carducci into The Board. All our information indicates that he could become a formidable asset to them and an equally significant obstruction to our activities. Francisco Lujan’s daughter is the induction point of Carducci into The Board and therefore she too must be eliminated – but all in due time.” He looked at the quietly concerned faces in the room around him, absorbing his disappointing report. “Ah, here is Lord Humphrey and it’s time to enjoy this fine evening. I’ll bring him up to date later as he is staying overnight.” They all entered the elegant dining room and joined other guests that had been entertained by Mrs. Delany while the senator concluded his meeting.
The senator, his wife, and Ms. Wells did not survive the night. Even though they were rushed to Georgetown Memorial, they all died of a paralyzing shellfish poisoning before dawn. It all started about half-an-hour after the party had been served Chesapeake oysters as starter. Mrs. Delany felt her lips and fingers go numb and a high she hadn’t experienced since her days at a sorority at St. Maria Immaculata. Soon the senator collapsed, followed by Ms. Wells and the cardinal. Within minutes the mansion was illuminated by the red and blue flashing lights of police and rescue vehicles. The hospital staff did everything possible for the VIPs but by 4:00 a.m. three were dead and the cardinal was in intensive care, yet now expected to survive. A few more of the guests had presented with symptoms but were already recovering without significant consequences.
Upon confirmation of the deaths, Sir Humphrey made two calls and went back to Ronald Reagan International where his G550 Gulf-stream jet was ready for departure. The State Department made sure that no reference was made of Lord Humphrey’s presence at the fatal dinner. Only Tomas Maldonado was to brief the other five senators of the conclave on the events of the evening. No possible connection could now be made with them and the failed attempt on The Board. The cardinal needed to report to no one.
Special Agent Joseph Delany learned about the death of his parents on Sunday morning, as he and his wife were getting ready for Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Senator Delany’s chief of staff called him with the news just after she herself had been notified by the Maryland state police. Devastated by the news and obliged to personally take care of all pertinent arrangements he asked for and immediately received a compassionate leave of absence, which by coincidence delayed the ongoing investigation into the Carducci family and subsequently his path to political glory. Climbing the political ladder on the clout provided by his father’s powerful position had just been curtailed by the man’s untimely demise.
The cause of death in the autopsy results for all of the deceased victims had been a rare but powerful form of saxitoxin, which is common in mussels but rare in oysters. It eventually paralyzes all neurotransmitters and brings death by heart failure. What could have been interesting if somebody was looking was that all the non-fatal cases with the other guests were from a totally different factor…but nobody really looked.
Next morning Marta Escobar, a kitchen maid at the Delany residence, flew back to Venezuela and bought a small but well-located house in Maracaibo where she moved with her aging parents and four parrots.
Marco and the others were unaware of the deaths in Maryland that night and proceeded with their planning, completely oblivious of the continued sanction on their lives. Marco was particularly in the dark as to the importance the enemies of The Board had placed on his and Patricia’s life.
“At this point,” Ian Carlo concluded, “we must follow Sal’s instructions and Marco should go to the Caymans and on to Tortola. Then maybe we can all learn how this plays out.”
They all agreed and plans were made to fly back to Sara
sota on Tuesday, which would give Marco and Ian Carlo time to tighten the strings on all their businesses and secure the management of all in capable and loyal hands. Marco and Patricia spent Sunday together, relaxing in the security of the Roslyn estate, taking time to talk about their lives. Marco was especially curious of the period of time Patricia had been involved with her father’s business, but she warned him that it was a long story that would have to be told in one stretch so it made sense.
“OK, so here we are and as far as I know we have nowhere to go or anything else to do. You have my full attention.”
Patricia smiled willingly and started her narrative,
“I always thought that my father’s business was wine. He has extensive viniculture in Argentina and Chile, and some partnerships all over the world. You have seen some of his wines at the house in Sarasota. Most of them come from vintners associated with him or from wholly owned vineyards. He is fascinated with wine, its history, its making, and above all in creating perfection, which is unobtainable. He taught me about wine since I was twelve and he allowed me to sip and then spit wines of all types, harvests, and origins.”
“When I was twenty he sent me to Davis University in California where there is more information about wine than anywhere in the world, but it’s technical knowledge, which will never replace a good palate. One can educate a palate to some degree and be proficient enough when needed, but a real wine palate is born. It’s a gift of nature and a rare one at that. A good taster can demand six figures for the evaluation and classification of a flight. My father believes that those who have the best olfactory levels are those best suited for wine testing, as the whole experience will depend as much on the olfactory sense as it does on the tongue if not more. Anyway, I spent a couple of years learning about wines and then went home to help my father with his business. That was what I did until I met Sal. He was an investor looking to buy into some vineyards in Argentina and ended up being my father’s partner in Salta where the unique and fantastic Torrontes is grown, and also some of the world’s most exquisite cabernet.”
Marco leaned back into his chair, but found he didn’t want to take his eyes off Patricia as she continued.
“Over the next few years the partnership grew and extended to several other parts of the world. In the meantime I was away at school getting an MBA and getting my fill of New York. One night I was out with my roommate at a small Italian restaurant and someone sent us a bottle of the best Chianti I have ever tasted. It was from Sal. He recognized me and treated us to the wine. Sara, my friend, and I invited him to the table and spent hours talking with him about wine, New York, Peru, Argentina, my mother, his wife who had passed, and the fun he was having being my father’s partner in the world of oenology. The next day when I came back from school I found a huge basket of roses and a case of the Chianti waiting for me. Sal had gone all out to impress me, and he had. The man had a crude worldliness that I found fascinating, but most of all he had an indomitable joy for life.”
Marco, who had only known the serious side of Uncle Sal, was astonished by these revelations. Patricia saw his expression but continued her story.
“Sal had made my father aware of our budding but chaste relationship, as I had also done, and on my father’s next visit to New York he sat me down after dinner and explained to me who Sal was and what he did. I did not shrink from him and the next time we went out to dinner I asked him about his business and about his life. The first thing he did was point out the men that followed him around. I already knew his driver as Sal never drove himself, and sometimes there was another man in the car with us who Sal said was his personal assistant, but beyond that I had never noticed the discreet entourage that followed us everywhere. He also pointed out that he and my father had agreed that I should be protected and that I have an entourage of my own; two bodyguards day and night.
“That night I went with Sal to Roslyn where he had just remodeled the house. We spent every weekend there until I had to go back to Peru to help my father with several large vineyard acquisitions. Sal and I didn’t see each other for a few months although we talked on the phone almost every day. He then started visiting us every two or three weeks, flying in on Friday and flying back to New York on Mondays. Sometimes I flew back with him and sometimes my father and I had to travel to New York on business and I would stay a couple of days extra. In those days he had a G3, which became the venue for most of our romance before he proposed, first to my father and then to me. During all that time, he made a point of not introducing me to you or Ian Carlo for reasons that are not all too clear, but he never stopped talking about both of you. He was up front about his business but never discussed details of the darker aspects of it and told me that that was in the hands of others….”
She paused again for a few seconds, lost in memory, and then continued.
“We got married in Cartagena on a Thursday evening with only my father, Ernie, and Sara in attendance. It was grand; a handful of locals were in the church and for some reason spread the word to others and by the time the ceremony and mass were finished there was a crowd of well-wishers with rice and flowers that rained on us as we left the church. We stayed there for our honeymoon and did nothing special. We just kind of blended into the old city, had great food, danced every night, went sailing to the Rosario Islands and lay by the pool at the hotel drinking rum with passion fruit juice. Time flew by and we eventually went to New York because Sal was getting anxious about the business. I stayed in Roslyn for the first week while Sal got back into things. That weekend he said that he wanted to change his lifestyle. He wanted more time with me in a different life. He also said that you were better at business than he was and that Ian Carlo was tougher, while Ernie was Ernie and no flak would come from there.”
Marco gently interrupted, remembering that moment. “I talked about that with Ian Carlo – suddenly we were in charge without much warning. Uncle Sal simply told us that we were responsible of our part of the business and that he would be following up now and then and to rely on Ernie for whatever we needed. The next thing we knew he was off to God knows where.”
“Yes, at that time we started traveling and he accompanied me to Argentina to buy some wine for my father. That was when we met Antonio Arquiza, an exceptional vintner and a fantastic fly fisher. He invited us to his estancia in Patagonia, which was crossed by a section of the Rio Malleo, one of the best dry fly trout streams in the world. We watched him fishing one morning and I found it to be oh so graceful. It was a dance, rhythmic, elastic, full of longing yet patient. I was fascinated and when Antonio had finished and brought with him some lovely trout for breakfast I asked if I could try to fly-fish. He responded with great enthusiasm and immediately arranged for a good friend of his to teach me. After lunch we met with Martin Carranza who brought along several rods, reels and gear. Martin began by teaching me how to thread the rod by looping the line as I took it through the guides so that if I let go it would not snake out again. Then he taught me how to tie a leader to the line with a loop. Soon Martin had two pupils, as Sal was asking questions and seemed to be genuinely interested, so he repeated the exercise with him and in no time we were set up to cast.
“Antonio took us to a lago, a small pond, not far from the house where we were free of obstructions so the lesson could take place without tangling our lines in the many willow trees thick all around the river. For our first casts Martin tied on a fly of which he had clipped off the hook so that we wouldn’t stick ourselves. I stepped up first and Martin stood behind me and took my wrist in his hand and, letting out only the rod’s length of line, started to demonstrate the arch of the cast. In two hours of instruction we had achieved a modicum of skill being able to cast thirty feet of line without snapping off the fly or imbedding it in our ear. At this point Martin and Antonio decided that it was time to fish for real in the Malleo.”
Patricia became soulful in her narrative.
“That afternoon was a dream. We both caught fish
under the tutelage of Martin and Antonio and we shared such an experience – it was deep and peaceful, not void of excitement yet it soothed the soul in the arms of nature. As evening came and with it the end of the hatch, we broke down our rods and walked silently back to the estancia, each in a meditative mood – teachers and pupils all happy with the results of their efforts. That evening Martin stayed for dinner and was joined by his wife and sons, a lively bunch of intelligent, vivacious people. We dined in the quincho room, which is the equivalent of an open hearth where metal spears held to the embers a splayed baby lamb, short ribs locally called asado de tira, blood pudding, and a variety of sausages, all to be drizzled in chimichurri sauce. A communal carrot and tomato salad was constructed and a huge loaf of bread was baked in a breadbox directly in the quincho. Bottles of fantastic Malbec rounded out this meal that lasted deep into the night. We were in great company, enjoying great food and wine at the end of one of the best days of our lives!
“We fished together for another three days, a non-stop angling tutorial that included an exciting float down the Rio Chimehuin. Each day our fly fishing skills improved and we caught increasing numbers of trout. On the final night we camped under the stars near the confluence of the Rio Aluminé, both of us intoxicated by the sudden richness of our life together.
“The next morning we returned sadly to the estancia, packed our belongings and said our goodbyes, and drove south to San Martin de los Andes where the G3 was waiting for us. We flew to Bogotá where my father was busy setting up a communications center and a call center to service a big deal contract with a German multinational that was growing in Spanish speaking countries. By this time I was aware that my father’s business interests extended far beyond wine, and Sal participated in them with growing commitment. Both my father and Sal shared with me total access to the details of their enterprise, which was admittedly startling in its sheer size and complexity. The source of the investment money was a very lucrative intermediation in the distribution of cocaine and in the subsequent legalization of the funds generated. Sal had access to distribution organizations throughout the US, Canada and Italy, which covered all the European market. My father had created associations with the greedier banks of the world, from Switzerland to tiny island nations whose only real source of money is the laundering of it.”
The Carducci Convergence Page 6