The Carducci Convergence

by Nicolas Olano

  “What’s your new job?” Marco asked.

  “Information distribution for the East Coast.”

  “Oh! Now that’s interesting…” said Marco.

  Monsignor Testa was testing his leg. He had been walking a few miles a day for the last few days and now he was running along the beach heading west, parallel to the little landing strip and the seventh hole of the golf course. He was taking it easy; just an accelerated walk really, but he felt his muscles come to life. In a few minutes he was sweating copiously and he felt it was cleansing him, taking out the bitterness and the fury. His chest was also feeling much better and his lungs were filling with air, life giving fresh air. Dupree had been sending him coded messages pressing him back to Rome but he was not ready yet. He needed at least a week of controlled exercise before he was going back. And that was that. He was leaving a week from today and not a minute earlier. He jogged for an hour and then swam for a few minutes in the lukewarm sea. He returned to his room, stood because he could not kneel yet, and started the routine of his daily prayer.

  Not too far from Hispaniola, at La Havana International Airport, M&M was taking his first class seat on a flight directly to Madrid and from there a short flight to Milano. His chauffeured car would be there waiting for him and in no time he would be home. Home to M&M was a beautiful Mediterranean villa overlooking Lago di Lugano in the Ticino, the most southern canton of Switzerland. The city of Lugano was a short ride away and Lake Como was minutes by car. He worked from his home or from ample offices in Lugano where he had a staff of twenty working his pool of clients and sources that were many and widely spread around the planet. As soon as he got home he would get in touch with Francisco Lujan and maybe, just maybe, he would start communicating directly with Marco Carducci. He leaned back in his seat and watched Cuba recede below his wings.

  Just south of McAllen, Texas, a vacuum-forming plant that had recently been inaugurated to the fanfare of a local high school band and a speech by the usual dignitaries was working at full blast. Its business was assured by several clients related to The Board. It would be working twenty-four-seven. The first capsule arrived with a WHOOMP and a release of air pressure. It carried a compressed package of high-quality marijuana and three kilos of Colombian cocaine. This would happen ten times today. The value of the merchandise had multiplied by five from the moment it left a plastic bottle factory in Mexico to the moment it arrived in McAllen. Tomorrow morning it would leave in a container that carried vacuum formed trays for a medical instruments manufacturer in Minneapolis. Now it was time to return the capsule loaded with fifty kilograms of hundred dollar bills or about five million dollars, which had arrived in drums marked Polyethylene and Polystyrene; and if someone opened one of the barrels, that is what he would find…for the first twelve inches or so. Those dollar bills would then be packed tight into a container that would leave from Veracruz for Greece, where arrangements had been made to disperse the funds to a dozen or so banks, where it would be sanitized and transferred to hundreds of accounts around the world. All of this managed efficiently by The Board’s computers and protected by the powers that be for which the deal was done.

  When Francisco got off the phone with M&M he saw his opportunity to move in on that association of bandits. Driving a wedge between the cardinal and his cohorts would be a pleasure. He and M&M both knew the sheik’s network and could make it hobble the Vatican Bank without The Board ever showing their hand. Now Francisco had the upper hand and M&M could afford another thousand trips to Cuba and have a fortune left over. He would talk to Ernie, Marco and Patricia before the day was over and taper this new development into the plan they had…but he had to make a lot of arrangements before that. He had his lunch brought down from the Club de Banqueros on the top floor and asked them to include a bottle of Alto de las Hormigas Reserva Malbec, a delectable wine that he enjoyed. It was time to move some money.

  Joseph Delany walked into his office with a smile for the first time in weeks. Somehow he felt liberated. Free from the obligatory deference to this cadre of assholes that were his “superiors” and from that little ass kissing dork that was his brother-in-law who, since his father’s death, had been trying to act as the pater of the family because Archie Mason had been favoring him on the hill and his star was rapidly rising.

  Joseph sat at his desk and for the first time in a long time he felt purpose to his life. He powered the computer, put in his password and scanned his index finger on the machine that came to life with the seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Each symbol and color in the FBI seal has special significance. The dominant blue field of the seal and the scales on the shield represent justice. The endless circle of thirteen stars denotes unity of purpose as exemplified by the original thirteen states. The laurel leaf has, since early civilization, symbolized academic honors, distinction, and fame. There are exactly 46 leaves in the two branches, since there were 46 states in the Union when the FBI was founded in 1908. The significance of the red and white parallel stripes lies in their colors. Red traditionally stands for courage, valor, strength, while white conveys cleanliness, light, truth, and peace. As in the American flag, the red bars exceed the white by one. The motto “Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity,” succinctly describes the motivating force behind the men and women of the FBI. The peaked beveled edge that circumscribes the seal symbolizes the severe challenges confronting the FBI and the ruggedness of the organization. The gold color in the seal conveys its overall value.

  Bullshit, he thought. He himself had followed the directives of politicians pursuing goals that had nothing to do with justice. He did recognize in most agents the “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity” of the agency’s motto, but the farther up the ladder these blurred and vanished being replaced by political kowtowing, because unfortunately their careers depend on the elected representatives of the people, who in reality did not represent any people. He remembered Dr. Evil – of pinky to the mouth fame – saying “Freedom failed”…and then his Cyclops #2 said, “There is no world anymore…only corporations.” He went to the query bar and typed in “Sheik Faruk Al-Enezi.”

  Marco and Patricia had gone to the Third Avenue residence for the night but were reluctant to part one from the other and so spent long hours talking about their lives and how they were brought into their present strife. They found comfort in their stories where privilege and wealth had been mired by deep personal loss. Marco realized that he had used the excuse of vulnerability to shun love and personal commitment. This warm and beautiful woman had found an emotional refuge in an older man who, far from his apparent persona, had offered her unconditional love without any interest in her wealth or her father’s position. Sal was a man unto himself and that was a treasure to be valued. She had lost the pale morality of Catholicism at an early age and did not shy from Salvatore’s role as a capo mafioso, because after all, that was what her father was. The hours passed unperceived and accompanied by the warm glow of a bottle of exquisite Barolo from the cellar. It was 2:30 a.m. when finally Marco hit the sheets, only to fall into an erotic dream where Patricia was bathing luxuriously, soaping herself intimately while he watched. Her movements were slow and deliberate and when finally she stood from the bath and he was about to see her in desired nakedness he awoke to a violent ejaculation and the vision erased slowly from his mind. He went to the bathroom shed his boxers, put on some pajama pants, and went back to a dreamless sleep.

  In her master suite Patricia was awake with desire for this younger man, a desire that made her feel wanton because of their relationship, because of her recent widowhood, because of the way she thought she should act. But desire and arousal always triumph and she held her hand between her legs, tightening and releasing until a surprisingly strong but deeply welcome orgasm arched her body in waves of pleasure. Spent, she drifted off to sleep.

  In the days following the visit of Ana and her son, Dupree noticed the drain of funds from several accounts that the bank held for the senators and the
Meredith. He also noticed the call for funding that came from several dioceses in the US and sub-Saharan Africa. He immediately placed a call to Ana Meredith but was told that she was in a spiritual retreat and could not be reached; her son Edward was not available either. Then he called Humphrey with the same results; his Lordship was in Ireland fishing and could not be reached. Money was draining rapidly from Spain, Portugal, Paraguay, Latvia, Estonia, and not one major cash deposit had come into these or other banks in his network. The banks in Jersey, Barbados, Bahamas, Canada, Australia, and India were rejecting credits issued by his banks. So far over twelve billion dollars had left His purview. Mason was in the Senate in session and would return his Eminence’s call as soon as possible. No, his assistant did not know when this would be. He called the bishops of several key cities and asked them to personally contact his quarries but later negatives were received from all over. No one was available. He called Enrico Testa; the time for nice was over.

  Enrico Testa was packing his bag and preparing to leave for Rome via Miami when the call from Dupree came. He listened for a minute or two and answered with the humble “Yes, Your Eminence, God’s will be done,” that had been his mantra for years at the service of the Holy See. He opened his bag again and changed passports. For this trip he would be Joao Pernambuco. He then cancelled the reservations for Enrico Testa and bought a ticket for a direct flight to Atlanta. He reserved a full sized car at National and made reservations for hotels in several cities. He would buy new clothes in Atlanta. Then he went to the shop in the hotel lobby and bought dye for his hair. The sun of Santo Domingo, his hours of running on the beach and the breeze from the sea had given him a deep tan. He put on dark contact lenses and once finished the man who looked back at him from the mirror matched Joao’s passport photo.

  As the G5 flew west Ian Carlo’s thoughts were on Marco; he was getting the feeling that Marco was falling for Patricia. Odd, was what he thought. It was almost like falling for his stepmother, but there were odder things. It was about time that Marco settled down; nobody can live off bread alone, much less off hookers only, no matter how beautiful they were. Ian Carlo knew that Marco had not made use of the service because Lucrecia Ovechkin, the manager, had called him to find out if anything was wrong with Marco. Well, Ian Carlo thought, I wonder if he’s getting any. Now Ian Carlo set his mind on business. He was on his way to meet with Tommy Liguria. Tommy had proved to be a true blood and it was particularly convenient because Ian Carlo was going over to show him some big money. Tommy was no slouch; he had grown his family’s business in Vegas in the years he had been helping his old man who these days spent more time playing bocce than paying attention to the business. Years ago the Liguria had been big in the casino business but now that was corporate stuff. Ian Carlo was sure they still had a hand in it but like the Carducci everything was handled via multi-layered international corporations and little if any hanky-panky happened there anymore. The Liguria had their corner of the drugs, the call girls, the off-strip betting, and the unions. They sold protection and they collected for third parties and skimmed off everything. Now, Ian Carlo thought, it’s time for Tommy to join the big boys.

  Marco and Leon Goddard had spent two full days discussing business. Leon presented his overall plan showing Marco a very ambitious growth based on acquisitions and expansion of present business by intense promotion that would slow the earnings, which at the time was convenient, and would assure a deeper relationship with the clients and consumers. Everything was mid-to-long term but the cash-heavy corporations needed to invest now to grow later. It was a plan that would generate close to fifty thousand new jobs over the next five years and if successful could quadruple that number over the decade. The hold Carducci Enterprises had on multimodal transportation was being verticalized and a top man had been hired to head that division. Marco had plans for that. Leon also wanted to turn Carducci enterprises into a public company with an IPO planned for eighteen months in the future. That part was something that Marco had to really think about. Leon’s arguments were good and addressed the need of transparency, security, and anchoring of the existing assets. In the future other corporations could be created to, as Leon put it, “manage the alternative funds.” On the other hand,, Marco was not comfortable with more government regulators. With a general agreement to all things planned except the IPO that was to be decided later Marco approved and told Leon to limit his reports to once every fortnight.

  On the airplane to Atlanta with only 45 minutes to spare, Testa went into the bathroom and took out a fingertip kit and carefully stuck a film to each. Then he applied a protein and lanolin based lotion to his hands that would make the fingertips register as natural to the sensors on the screen at immigration. Now the fingerprints would correspond to those in the database for Joao Pernambuco but the makeup would not last more than a couple of hours and time was critical or the deception would literally peel right off. Fortunately it was a slow day at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and he was walking to his connecting commuter flight to Kansas City within the hour. He had plenty of time to get on the train that took him to his terminal and for a light lunch at one of the sit-down restaurants. He reviewed carefully his “insulin kit” to make sure it was in working order. He changed the CO2 capsule that propelled the tiny darts and adjusted the pressure to minimum for the time being. Nobody needed an accident. He put the injector in his shirt pocket and the kit in his briefcase.

  Marco and Patricia crossed in the air with Testa as they flew in a NetJet Falcon to Sarasota. A new Bombardier 6,000 transcontinental Jet would be delivered to one of the off shore corporations based in Barbados but it was still a couple of weeks away. They had bought it by recommendation of Ian Carlo and Ernie who thought it would be essential in the near future. They had lucked on it as the plane had been booked by a Venezuelan billionaire who had fallen in disgrace with Maduro and had to cancel the order and lose his ten million dollar deposit. Now the jet was being re-fitted to Patricia’s specs because the design chosen by the Venezuelan was tacky as hell. As much as Marco loved the Lear he did not want to have the constant memory of the previous one’s sad demise. The other advantage was that the Bombardier is Canadian manufacture and fitted particularly well with the structure of the company that bought it.

  They landed in Sarasota and as the door opened inside the hangar, they felt the hot breath of Florida; fruit laced with ocean and a touch of what…coffee? Luigi and José would take care of the luggage and Pete would drive them directly to the house. Two Allen Security SUVs accompanied them. It was no time to take risks. When they arrived at the house, Major Allen was there to review with Marco the security procedures that he had established, but it turned out that it was Patricia who asked the questions and made suggestions. Major Allen thought to himself, “So, we’re back to the way things were…” and looked at Marco and Patricia as a couple. It was probably the first time that happened.

  Patricia said she wanted to take a swim and left to change into a bikini she bought in Tortola but hadn’t worn. Marco went to make himself a drink but Matilde beat him to the bar and asked what he wanted. He watched her fix a mojito with fine Cuban rum, he saw her muddle the fresh mint, mash the lime and instead of sugar she added raw cane syrup; then he had a sip of the ice cold drink and turned to look towards the pool only to be stricken by the sight of Patricia. In Tortola she had used the pool a couple of times but wore one-piece bathing suits. Marco had not been around either time and this was the first time he saw her body almost entirely. He tried to look nonplussed but Matilde burst out laughing and let go with a lot of gibberish in Spanish that made Patricia blush and dive into the water. Marco turned towards the bar and again got an earful from Matilde while she prepared Patricia’s favorite drink, a Sazerac. It calls for rye whiskey, bitters, absinthe and a twist of lemon. She took it to her and they engaged in a short conversation and both looked back at Marco and laughed. Patricia swam back and got out of the pool, wrapped herself in a kind of
sari and walked over to Marco while Matilde brought her drink to the bar.

  “Sorry about that, Marco, it’s just that Matilde has some crazy ideas occur to her.”

  “Like…?”

  “She has decided that as you are the new patron, that entitles you to me.”

  “What?” Marco raised his eyebrows and his eyes kind of bulged.

  “Don’t worry, Matilde is half Kuna Indian and that is their custom. If a woman becomes a widow she belongs to her husband’s brother or closest relative. In our case that means you.” Patricia spoke with a mischievous smile.

  Marco was still recovering from the sight of this magnificent woman; slender but firm and with curves in the right places. Her breasts were high and needed little help from the top as was her well rounded and perked butt that stretched the fabric of the panty in oh, such a wonderful way! He had to turn well into the bar to hide the bulge in his trousers and was at a loss for words like he had never been before. All he managed to say was, “Oh my God it’s hot out here,” and took to the mojito like an orphan to a wet nurse’s breast.

  Patricia noticed his arousal. It was impossible not to see. Now she understood why Matilde was so excited about the “patron” being horny like a dog. Against her own will she found that she was flattered since the man provoked in her reciprocal feelings. It had been so little time since Sal’s death and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. So many things had happened. Things that were transcendental to her life and Marco had been with her almost every waking minute since the day they were attacked in Sarasota. Events had not allowed them to be aware of each other but with a few days respite they had been warming to one another’s presence; but the warming was turning to hot and that required some soul-searching.