The Carducci Convergence

by Nicolas Olano

  Meredith shipments in their own vehicles had started suffering a series of setbacks that obstructed transactions and triggered complaints from customers and sometimes from their own subsidiaries and associates. Little things, like being detained at weigh stations for inconsistencies, hours of delay because DOT held the trucks for small deficiencies or expiration of the “oh so many!” licenses required for interstate transport, or a train failed to couple, and so on. Cranes did not work, silos did not empty, and ships missed crew members. Eventually there was a lot of pressure to move repressed cargo and that’s when the sales efforts of the multimodal division of Carducci Enterprises, Scorpio Multimodal Brokers, started to pay off. Thousands of tons of cargo were booked on trucks, trains and ships to destinations within the US and the world. The efficiency achieved in short time by the head of this division promptly drained the overflow and got more contracts from the Meredith companies because managers did not want problems, they wanted action, and here is where they got it. Now Scorpio Multimodal Brokers, centrally located in Memphis, Tennessee, used their weight to maximize tonnage efficiency and, amazingly, profits were being made a year before expected.

  Now with all the details of every load that Meredith was moving at his disposal, Ian Carlo ordered the plan into action. Money was smuggled into containers, drugs in boxes of goods…lots of money, lots of drugs. It was going to cost tens of millions of dollars but by the time they were finished, so would be Meredith. It started slowly, just enough so that Joe Delany could claim special knowledge of criminal activities by the Mafia and tell local authorities about the suspect cargo, always after it was delivered. Soon he was getting attention. Calls were coming in from local law enforcement all over the country thanking the FBI for their help and asking for more. Naturally his superiors wanted to latch onto his success and he was promptly promoted to head a task force of his own. Every day the capture of money and drugs increased and so did the problems for Meredith subsidiaries that didn’t know how to deal with this. Then as luck would have it, a couple of small amounts were stashed in containers that were heading for the Middle East and when they were detained the cops couldn’t believe their eyes. In one container they found fifty million dollars in hundreds and in another close to thirty million dollars, this in addition to the small stashes of a hundred grand that Ian Carlo’s people had placed there. No more was needed; if there is more than ten grand being transported from one state to another or worse, out of the country, the Feds get testy.

  Edward Meredith had called his friends in high places but they could do little when combined local, state, and federal authorities were forced to work together on the information received from the FBI task force. They had tried but the evidence was too damning and they had to retreat before they got tainted. All they could do was pray that all these isolated cases were not connected to Meredith and would be dealt with at local levels, but Edward lost all hope of that when he found out Joe Delany, his ex-friend, the one he had thrown to the wolves by order of Senator Mason, was the top dog of the task force. Panicked, he called Mason, who called the others now that they had a target for their discontent. The meeting did not go well. Most of the politicians, knowing that campaign money and other valuable benefits would be short on the Meredith side and possibly poisoned if the investigation went to the top, declined to assist and those that did promoted conciliation at any cost. The only rabidly stubborn one was Congressman Terry Taylor, Joe’s brother-in-law, who wanted to have him whacked. He was acting like a spoiled kid who had been shown up by another kid. He got no sympathy from anyone else and not even Uncle Archie gave him the time of day. It was every man for himself moment.

  “What a bunch of pussies,” thought Terry. “Where I come from these things get settled out of court. I’m from Texas and no shit kicker FBI momma’s boy is going to fuck up my re-election.”

  All his campaign money came from a couple of Meredith-managed cattle ranches and some feed factories, as well as from well-orchestrated Catholic Church campaigns that were also being jeopardized. It looked like he would be riding around in a Greyhound Bus instead of a corporate jet like he had last time. And that fucking wife of his, sitting on a prenuptial was not going to give him any of “Daddy’s hard earned money,” as if the son of a bitch had ever made an honest buck. No, he had to put a stop to this himself.

  Edward Meredith was in a black mood. Since his mother was killed, instead of sympathy and time to grieve all he was getting was shit from all quarters. The managers of every one of the divisions were bitching about something or the other and bringing problems and not solutions…but then what solutions could there be to problems that had no apparent cause. It was just a relentless rain of shit coming down on him. It was probably Ana from hell, where she surely was, advocating for his misery. That’s when he thought, I can turn this around. He called in his secretary and asked her to have the G550 ready for wheels up at short notice. Then he made one important, no, crucial phone call.

  “Your Eminence,” he said, “my mother who now is with the Lord made some rash decisions in her later days. Mistakes that I want to correct immediately. If Your Eminence would be kind enough to see me, I will fly forthwith to Rome.”

  “No, Your Eminence, I prefer to speak to you in person and in private.”

  “Thank you, Your Eminence; I should be there no later than noon tomorrow. I’ll stay at the pied-a-terre that we keep in Via Lugari and be with you at your convenience.”

  “Thank you kindly, Your Eminence, and the Lord be with you too.”

  “Hell,” he thought, hanging up, “Dupree did me a favor getting rid of my mother.”

  Edward smiled and thought that Mason and company could go suck eggs. It was his money that kept all their so called positions of power. Let’s see how well they did without it and without an easy way to launder all their graft and the cash that their “friends” generated from trafficking everything from drugs to influence. He would see how some of these senators and congressmen would explain to their less presentable constituents that they couldn’t manage their cash any more or get their usual kickbacks without getting caught, hung and quartered by the press. He called his PA, a woman named Margarita Lefebvre who handled all the “Dark Division” as his mother used to call it. He instructed her to complete all in-hand transactions but not to receive one dollar from anyone until further notice.

  Within a couple of weeks half the criminal organizations in the country and thousands of politicians, police, churches, charities, NGOs, military, and corporate executives were choking on their own money, not only in the US but in several other countries as well. Margarita used the excuse that the FBI was interfering and that until that was solved no money could be received.

  Naturally the FBI was bombarded by all sorts of people claiming that the persecution of innocent people by the FBI task force was not in their purview and must cease immediately. A rumor that it was the FBI planting the money and the drugs to show results took traction so complaints that civil rights were being violated were “patriotically” pursued by politicians all over…Now the big fellas at the FBI didn’t know what to do. First they had hitched their wagons to the success of the task force and now they were at odds with powerful people demanding the end of that successful effort. So some brilliant assistant deputy director of something or other suggested that the best thing to do was to promote Joseph Delany Jr. out of his present position and fill that post with somebody less enthusiastic. The idea received great approval and minds were set to work. Where could they place him? What if he didn’t accept? Wasn’t he a friend of Senator Mason? Wasn’t Congressman Terry Taylor his brother-in-law? Since no one came up with an answer, the same luminary that suggested Joe’s promotion now asked, why don’t we ask him where he would like to go?

  “What happened?” thought the sheik. “Three weeks and not a cent has come in from these infidels.” At the beginning there was a deluge of money, almost two billion dollars in less than a month and then it petered
out and now nothing. “The old lady died and it looks like these others are a cadre of incompetents.” The sheik was fuming because there were many people in the region that were involved in this and they had to be paid, no matter what.

  Marco and Patricia had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of work and a very disturbing life together in the Sarasota house. Once Patricia had said that maybe it was a good idea if she moved back to the apartment and Marco had insisted that it was a very bad idea as there was no evidence that they were not still under the threat to their lives and that she would be better protected at the house.

  Patricia had not insisted and now little by little her personal things began to appear all over the house. A picture here, a small sculpture there, much of her clothes, music that softly impregnated the household with classical notes from the greatest composers of all time, little things that made a great difference. Ian Carlo came and went a few times but in three months Marco had only gone once to New York. Francisco and Ernie had also visited; once together and another independently. Their plans were going well. Their logistics broker, Scorpio, was growing in leaps and bounds while Ian Carlo’s business was flourishing under the guidance of Francisco. Tons of money that was accumulated in depots, barns, houses, containers, moving vans, and train cars started to find its way to their organizations and as demand grew, so did the rates and the profitability of the enterprise. The vacuum pipelines in two other locations were now on line and all three were working at full blast. Marijuana and cocaine prices tanked but the market of marijuana grew considerably. The law was indeed looking the other way when it came to the now ubiquitous reefer.

  When Edward Meredith had made his peace with the cardinal and told Margarita to open the doors to the monies that were to be again transacted through the IOR related banks, there was less than an enthusiastic response from the field. While money did come in because the need for laundering was so great, it was less than half of what it was before. This had not been to His Eminence’s pleasure and Edward had to spend more time than he could afford pursuing old relationships that he had discarded in his rage. When his mother died he thought his ass kissing days were over and yet here he was, lips puckered, looking for the proper butts. He was a multibillionaire and he had no joy. Where did he go wrong, he wondered? Not a born leader, Edward started losing power to the division heads who now took decisions that, had Ana been alive, would never have dared. Meredith as a whole had enough inertia to go ahead and the managers had been hand-picked by Ana so they knew what they were doing; but where there was no strong leadership, the pushing and shoving started to get nasty. Fortunately for Edward, the sheik was taking it out on Archibald Mason and Lord Houghton and not on him. Humphrey was feeding the sheik some money from Europe and Africa but not what had been promised. Nobody was happy.

  M&M had made a killing. His alliance with Francisco Lujan had paid off marvelously and he was far from a greedy man. He had told Senator Mason that he could not accommodate him at the moment but would keep in touch if things changed. Mason had also been quiet since the problem was now with the sheik and not the cardinal.

  Cardinal Dupree was sitting in his private office with Monsignor Testa discussing the events. While the termination of the Meredith witch had been a success, there was still the outstanding inconvenience of Marco Carducci.

  “Are you fit for travel?” asked Dupree.

  “I believe so, Your Eminence,” answered Testa, who had needed far more therapy for his knee and sternum than he expected. It had only been two weeks since he had felt a hundred percent again. “Exercise and prayer,” he said, “can cure anything.”

  “Well, you still have an outstanding job, Enrico, and the Lord’s work must be done. Carducci has been the thorn in our side that he was expected to be. The Board is stronger than ever and they have expanded their presence to areas that previously were ours alone. Our influence in many parts of the world has been weakened and our Church, the one, the only Holy Roman Catholic Church, has lost millions that would have saved so many souls. This weighs heavily upon us and we must act now. It is upon me to shore up Edward Meredith, for he has proven to be less than worthy of our expectation, yet it is his organization that we need, so of him we must make a man. You must go and finish what we started. Marco Carducci and Lujan’s daughter must not live to derail our duty to God. Is that clear? Will you fail us yet another time?”

  “I will not fail or I will not return. With your blessing I will prepare to leave,” said Testa kneeling before the cardinal.

  Time was kind to Marco and so were the ministrations of Patricia that helped him through his daily exercises and reminded him of his therapy appointments. By this time he was eighty-five if not ninety percent recuperated. He still had a twinge of pain and tension when he tried to learn how to fly cast, but little by little the muscles became nimbler and the pain subsided. Patricia and Pete spent a few hours every week teaching Marco the basics of the cast but it did not come naturally to him and his mind drifted. Early one morning in a bit of frustration Patricia stood behind Marco and, reaching around him, she held his arm and guided him through the basic back and forth motions.

  She told him to imagine a large clock face and that his casting arm was like a hand on the clock. “Back cast to two o’clock, stop, forward cast to eleven o’clock, stop, repeat, back and forth, back and forth, keep the line moving on flat plane and never let it droop…”

  Trying to ignore her close physical presence, Marco concentrated and the line formed a tight loop above his head, straightening out on the back cast, doubling back up into a loop as he changed direction, then straightening out again on the forward cast.

  “Very nicely done!” Patricia praised enthusiastically, while her breasts held against his back. His heart rate got faster; his mind was bombarded by desire. At the back cast her pubis pressed against his buttocks…it was too much.

  Marco turned around, unceremoniously dropped the rod, and took Patricia into his arms, looking her straight in the eye, and without a word kissed her passionately, deeply, with a hunger he had never felt. He was not surprised when she kissed him back in the same manner. Slowly they fit well into each other’s arms and held the kiss with passion propelled by their bodies and tenderness sought by their hearts; two adults who knew what they wanted and where this was going. A few minutes and an eternity later Patricia stood by the bed in absolute nakedness; her total exposure made her look even younger and the promise of Marco’s dreams was fulfilled and exceeded by reality. She was a perfect Venus and he had become a worthy specimen of male as his therapy exercises and the healthy diet that Patricia had encouraged defined his muscles and his abdomen rippled with at least the beginning of a genuine six-pack.

  They came together in the most natural of embraces and his penetration was answered by a deep sigh of passion, love, and relief as if she had been waiting her whole life for this instant. Their first embrace was short but deeply satisfying, both of them releasing at the same time, propelled by months of restraint and deepening desire. Marco’s years of experience with women who understood the art of lovemaking had taught him much and the second time was a different matter. He concentrated on giving this woman all of himself and soon she was in a world of unbridled pleasure, to her before unknown. The gods of love and passion took over Patricia and she let him ride her like Bellerophon on Pegasus in the quest for the Chimera. After a third time at which Patricia took him from above and showed him what pelvic muscles can do to a man’s staff, revealing to him a different angle to those magnificent breasts that held their own in this battle and dance. Afterwards they lay spent and totally satisfied in time suspended. Finally they showered and stumbled down for breakfast. If Matilde’s smile were any wider her teeth would fall out of her mouth.

  Pete, Luigi, and José were all smiles and courtesy, awkward as hell but nothing to be done about it. Marco’s soul was drenched in happiness like it never had been in all his thirty-eight years of life and to his surprise his mind felt s
harper as he sat before the computer and dove into a myriad of transactions, emails from overseas companies, and a load of information and questions that came in with Leon Goddard’s latest report.

  Patricia was feeling differently. For her it was like she had been turned off some months ago and suddenly had been powered up and came online. She felt like this was the natural continuation of her life and acted accordingly. She went up to her room, put on a tight tank top over a high-compression sports bra and some loose-fitting gym pants. She went down to the beach, where Luigi and José were waiting. They all put on light fight gloves and spared through a few Katas and then engaged in competition, fighting in free style. In a first match she confronted Luigi. She drifted naturally into a Krav Maga style while Luigi countered with the most traditional of the Japanese Martial Arts, Shorin Ryu. They moved rapidly, attacking and defending, standing or on the ground; both disciplines contemplated all possibilities of aggression from single to multiple attackers. As the practice became more involved they found personal expression in their moves and a bystander could see battle and rhythm in the same scene. Patricia won several bouts and so did Luigi, then José entered the arena and exchanged partners so that at all times there were two against one. This went on for about an hour and a half, at the end of which they all felt the exhilaration of the adrenaline rush that had kept them going, but Patricia was living the experience at a higher level. Her life was back.