The Carducci Convergence

by Nicolas Olano

  Marco listened with growing astonishment by revelations present and predictable. His uncle was a player exponentially greater than he dreamed the man could be. Now he understood Patricia’s comments just before the attack at the restaurant. Sal’s New York persona was gruff, direct, ruthless and private, yet Patricia was telling him that Sal was a financial giant living in a parallel universe of sophisticated culture and travel. Even though Marco managed millions for the Carducci family, he realized that it was a mere pittance compared to what he was now learning. He was riveted to Patricia’s words.

  “As time went by, my father and Sal grew their financial activities and decided that Ernie Goldman should be informed of all their business, as Sal had blind trust in his loyalty and acumen. Ernie was not the least surprised and they had many strategy meetings, which little by little included other key players particularly from Wall Street, and later a few predominant political figures from the US, Italy and the UK all of whom were retired but held immense power over those in the limelight of the day. As their business developed they realized that laundering money was far more lucrative and held far greater growth potential, while being far lower in risk than any other illegal activity.

  “The truly big money, they realized, came from graft, political and corporate corruption, and other underworld businesses ranging from human trafficking to extortion. Trillions of dollars needed to be laundered every year. Of almost every government budget in the world at least a ten percent was siphoned off in kickbacks, nepotistic assignments, false business fronts, futile consultant contracts and so on – money that the politicians needed laundered efficiently. In some third world countries a hundred percent of some public works money disappeared into black holes of greed. The arms dealers of the world had billions to launder for their military clients and the many churches that fleeced their believers brought huge sums of money to the table. Biblically it was money that begot money that begot money in a never ending parade of human greed and immorality; millions became billions and these became trillions, and as money goes it returns to the source through the financial institutions of the world and to the coffers of the state through taxes, fines and fees. If you are the intermediary of these activities you are not only unlimitedly rich, you are also immensely powerful. That power became The Board.”

  Patricia stopped. It was hard to fathom and she knew a few moments would be needed to consider all she had said. She refilled her glass and sat back.

  After the enormity of Patricia’s recital had sunk in, it was Marco’s turn for disclosure, albeit now seemingly insignificant, financially speaking. He briefly explained to Patricia how the Carducci family’s businesses operated, emphasizing the high yield of some of the legitimate enterprises, particularly casino and partnership arbitrage. Then he explained the family’s “contentious” enterprises, as he preferred to call the Carducci’s role in the American mafia operations.

  As one of the top families, the Carducci had become facilitators and intermediaries of the activities of others, holding territorial rights that were enforced by Ian Carlo’s people but without direct participation in any of them. The family charged a fixed rate and never extorted more than what was agreed. This rule of Sal’s had allowed them to grow and acquire the wide ranging respect the Carducci enjoyed. The other was brutal retaliation upon anyone who broke the contract to such a level that nobody dared cross that line. In the last ten years only one such action was necessary when the Russians had tried to muscle in on the prostitution trade of one organization that was under the family’s protection.

  Over the years that Marco had worked with Sal, he had created, together with Ernie Goldman and his associates, an almost perfect laundering system. Now he understood that much of that was thanks to The Board. The one dicey area was the payoff process that funneled millions of dollars a month to the powers that be. US Senators down to street cops had to be compensated to avoid interference with the operations. Unfortunately some politicians were very greedy and unstable people who would turn around and demand more than the agreed numbers and then try to blackmail. The handling of these cases was fraught with danger but unavoidable. Ian Carlo and Ernie managed this. If reason did not prevail, records of the individuals were carefully kept and used to leverage a reasonable solution; otherwise, a final sanction would invariably be applied, an action that was rare and far apart, but that did happen occasionally. There were professionals in the world who, for a price, took care of this in such a way that nothing could be traced to the hiring party and in most cases these deaths appeared to be accidental or of natural causes, except when a message was to be sent out; then things were up front and bloody, gruesome deaths that made the point.

  Marco and Patricia talked until late in the evening that Sunday, having settled for light fare at lunch and dinner that was shared with only Ian Carlo and the bodyguards. They agreed that Ian Carlo would head back to New York City early Monday morning and meet with Ernie and some key people of the organization in order to secure new lines of communication and elevate everyone’s awareness.

  Marco had to meet several executives of various business enterprises that required attention. He had them come to Roslyn and met them one by one during the day until late evening. This included Natalia Lopez, who brought with her Marco’s briefcase and laptop. They were still in the FedEx box, confirming the well-placed trust that Marco had in Natalia. The last person Marco met with was Leon Goddard, Natalia’s boss. He was an alter ego to Marco in the management of the hundreds of franchises and several other companies under the umbrella of Carducci Enterprises. He spent several hours with him and they traced a good sustaining strategy that could support other businesses if they ran into problems. At nine he went to his room and packed for his trip the next day.

  Patricia was on the phone most of the day with her father and then several wine executives and vintners who needed updating on decisions and changes. She also finished late, packed, and was ready to leave. She and Marco met at ten for a glass of wine and final coordination. Ian Carlo called and suggested some changes. Marco should not use the Lear; instead he would have the use of Sal’s, now Ian Carlo’s, G550 so that if there was a tag on the Lear it would be for naught. They would take a chopper to Teterboro in New Jersey and then fly directly to Sarasota. Marco reviewed his Massimo passports and other documents and asked Patricia if she had alternative documents.

  “I do, of course. They are in my apartment. I’ll get them when we stop in Sarasota.”

  In Washington DC Special Agent Delany watched his world crumble as he keenly observed the slight but significant change in his bosses and his father’s friends and colleagues. The condolences were sincere but conveyed a distancing that told him his brilliant future was no longer guaranteed. He buried himself in the business of preparing his parent’s funeral with all the rigmarole and protocol that his father’s position demanded. After this he had to regroup and look at his options. He would talk to Senator Mason, his father’s closest friend and colleague and ask for advice. But that had to wait until after the funeral.

  Across the Atlantic, M&M watched with concern the developments in Washington. He did not buy for a second that the demise of Senator Delany, his wife, and Ms. Wells was accidental. He should have known something in advance; after all this was his business. He was the world’s best fixer. Delany was his client, or, better yet, represented a very powerful group that was his client, so how could he not have known? He had put in motion every resource and pulled every string but to no avail. The word was that it was an accident. He kept on looking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The luxurious G550 private jet belonging to one of the family’s businesses flew at 48,000 feet heading south-southwest. The plane had been used by Sal to accommodate his ever-increasing travel lust. The crew provided by the security service in Sarasota were ex-Air Force pilots and vetted service personnel. Patricia knew them well but they were strangers to Marco, who always flew his Lear. This princely indulgence had fu
ll accommodations for four passengers with lounge, seats, and ample berthing for them and three crew members. Two full crews were necessary on flights longer than six hours by Sal’s own rules. Tired pilots make mistakes and pilot mistakes cost lives.

  “We have about an hour and a half before we get to Sarasota,” Marco pointed out looking at the receding landscape under them. “Pete and your people will be waiting for us at the airport. I’ll send the G550 back to NY from Cayman. Ian Carlo may have to do some traveling of his own.”

  “I think we should send some security people to Tortola and have them get a feeling for the place. I imagine we are bringing some people with us?” Patricia sounded preoccupied for the first time.

  “Yes.” Marco tried hard not to show the concern he felt. “Luigi and Pete are coming with us and you should bring whomever you feel comfortable with. The plane can accommodate them all for the short flight. Later on they can travel commercial or we will see what’s needed.”

  The funeral took place in Wellington, Delaware with the attendance of the Vice President of the United States, at least half of the sitting senators, and many more public, private, and ecclesiastical figures. Senator Delany and his wife were laid to rest in the family mausoleum. It was a grand funeral, but all things considered Salvatore Carducci had a better and more sincere send-off than did the senator. Special Agent Joseph Delany, his wife, and daughter stood together with his sister Marla and her husband through all the ceremony and then went to the senator’s family home, just outside of Wilmington, where much fewer people than expected went to pay the family a last gesture of support.

  “I hope you’re not surprised, Joe. Washington is a fickle community and rarely offers more than it expects,” said Senator Mason to Joseph Delany Jr. who looked almost as dejected as he felt.

  Joseph Jr. did not know the senator had been among the last to see his father alive, or of his involvement – or of his father’s – in their work to neutralize The Board. “What am I supposed to do now, Uncle Archie? Even my boss and the director were avoiding me like the plague at the funeral. It’s as if I had contracted a social disease or something.”

  “Be realistic, Joe,” said the senator, assessing the reception. Most of the people that came after the funeral stood around in small groups talking quietly, looking uncomfortable and snatching glances at their watches. Soon there was barely a soul left and most of the food that had been laid out was going to waste. “You were flying high on your father’s coattail, which was fine, but now people are going to see how you land before they decide where they stand in regards to you. It’s simple math; the doors are still open to you, but you’re going to have to show some greatness of your own before they become your allies. For one thing, do your job. Do it well and far beyond what is expected and then come to me and I’ll make sure that you get the proper political juice out of it.”

  Mason leaned back and took a sip of scotch and then nonchalantly went on, “Where do you stand with the Carducci? Now that Salvatore is gone, they should be an easier target. Ian Carlo is not a brain surgeon and he will make mistakes.”

  “I’m not too sure about that,” Delany grumbled. “So far he has kept everybody in line and my people haven’t found the least flaw where we can get a grip. I have the IRS sleeping with them and not one dime seems to be out of place. We have undercover agents in every racket; confidential informants in every corner, but when it gets close to the Carducci all lines vanish. We haven’t been able to justify one search warrant and every judge becomes bookish and legalistic when it comes to them.”

  People continued to leave and only a few lushes taking advantage of the free alcohol were left. Even they stood as far away from Joseph as the room permitted.

  The two men looked around to make sure no other ears were listening; Carducci had friends everywhere in Washington. Delany grimaced at the nearly empty room; he hadn’t realized his father was so unpopular. “On the other hand,” he continued, “we have been served on a platter every startup gang that thinks New York is an open table. We get Russians, Colombians, Jamaicans, and some Middle Eastern wannabes every week. NYPD has all the business it needs to keep up the statistics and to be fair, they share it all with us. Our record is good, but definitively not great.”

  “Well, Joe, it’s time to make it great or you’ll lose credibility.” Mason stood up, a sign that the meeting was over. “You won’t be getting a free ride anymore. We’ll have to see what we can do.”

  Joe felt the void: the once ever-present greatness that followed his father vanished from his life. It was time to do or die.

  M&M got a break. A contract on a maid that disappeared from the Delany home a day after the deaths of the senator and his wife was going around Washington without resolution. She had disappeared into thin air. It was easy to find that the contract was put out by a crack dealer from Georgetown. Now it was time to find out who really wanted the maid silenced for good, and why.

  Back in Florida, Marco sat in the kitchen finalizing the plans with his men. Luigi and Pete would come with Marco. Patricia was bringing José and Cucho, her two bodyguards. The major was also at the meeting. He would man Marco’s house and Patricia’s apartment. No one from NY was necessary. Shuttered apartments and homes were common sights in Florida. Wealthy people used them during the season and during short periods throughout the year, but the rest of the time they were closed, locked up, and manned by minimum staff. Their trip to Caymans and Tortola to see the safety deposit boxes whose keys had been left to Marco was open ended. They couldn’t forecast with precision when they would be back and the necessary preparations had to be made,.

  “I need the yacht fully manned, fueled and with enough food and water for its maximum range. The crew must be totally reliable and high seas worthy. In a couple of days I’ll call you with a port of destination. We will need full armory for your men, mine, Patricia and me; defensive mode only, which includes whatever you consider necessary to prevent a boarding by hostile forces. I’m transferring two million dollars to your escrow account and will replenish that fund when and if you need it. This is apart from your fees, which I will cover as billed. Also I would like the flats boat loaded on the yacht, together with whatever fishing gear Luigi considers we should carry with us if a cover be necessary.”

  Marco pulled a flash drive from his briefcase. “Furthermore, here is a code protocol. If you receive any communication from us that does not conform to this protocol, disregard whatever it says and prepare a team for a possible rescue mission.”

  “Then you are expecting more trouble, Mr. Carducci?”

  “Yes, Major Allen, we are.”

  Three hours later Marco, Patricia and company were on their way to Georgetown, Grand Cayman. The G550 flying almost directly south at 44,000 feet over the island of Cuba. Marco was in a pensive mood as he headed for an unclear future. He was aware that whoever tried to kill him was not giving up so easily so that his sense of awareness was high but as such was taxing on his energy. He had his PA in NYC book him and all his people in a private villa just outside of Georgetown. The house had been vetted by Major Allen and determined to be safe and the staff had been in service for over ten years without a hint of wrongdoing. Four SUVs had been rented in the name of a Chilean corporation and waited at the airport for Messieurs Massimo and company.

  Patricia had been on the phone to her father for almost an hour and they agreed to meet as soon as possible; The Board had to get together with this new and significant member. Such a meeting would be tentatively set for Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands at as short of notice as security measures permitted. Those details were now in the hands of Major Allen who at this precise moment was talking with an associate of his who rendered security services for mining operations, protecting those who had to work in very dangerous countries. A contingent of 24 men and women from regions as diverse as Israel, Colombia, Kashmir, and South Africa were to be assembled under the orders of a retired British SAS captain and two lie
utenants, a young woman from Colombia, and a man from Iraq. In the two weeks of service that they expected to serve in this operation they would make more money than the average sales executive in the US could make in a year. Loyalty had been bought and vetted more than once and confidence in the team was high.

  Cayman immigration and customs people are trained to be efficient, courteous, and welcoming. The islands live off financial business and tourism, so upon arrival Marco’s party was processed in minutes, luggage passed without an inspection, and a catering cart was taken from the airplane for cleaning. The cart was loaded onto a waiting panel truck and left for the villa where it would be unloaded of sufficient defensive weapons to outfit everyone in Mr. Massimo’s entourage.

  At Teterboro, Joe Strasso prepared and filed an IFR flight plan with destination Isla Grande airport in San Juan, PR. When Marco, following Ian Carlo’s suggestion, decided to take the G550 instead of the Lear he told Joe Strasso to fly to Puerto Rico and stand by for further instructions. He would need him in Tortola or elsewhere depending of the circumstances. Joe was to take the Lear along the US coast until Vero Beach, Florida to refuel and fly directly to San Juan. He departed according to schedule at 12:30 p.m. One hour later when it reached a cruising altitude of 43,500 feet it exploded so violently that what rained down into the deep Atlantic off the coast of North Carolina was hardly detectable on the most sophisticated radar. Nobody saw the explosion of November-Charlie-Zebra-niner-niner-five because of the cloud cover. The distant boom of the explosion was heard by a few a minute or so later, but nobody knew what it was and cared even less. Only the flight control center was automatically notified when the signal for Private 995 disappeared from the radar. Several calls went unanswered and a general all points on the flight plan were notified of the possible loss of P995. A military flight control with different capabilities noted the explosion and tracked the event to coincide with the trajectory of P995. They notified the civilian air controls on the flight route that already had the advisory and NTSB officials received the proper notifications.