by JL Curtis
Tony finally breasted the tide of passengers, and grabbed the old man in a bear hug. Laughing, the old man said, “No kissing, Tony. Americans don’t do that shit.”
Tony laughed and said, “Welcome, cowboy. Welcome to my humble country. Come, we must get you some good wine and food. You have grown way too skinny. Angela wants you to come to dinner tonight too! Come, we will escape from this place quickly.”
Leading the old man by the arm, Tony turned away from stream of other passengers and knocked on an unlabeled door, which was quickly opened. Leading the old man through, he walked briskly down the internal passage until he came to another unmarked door and again knocked. This door opened into what the old man thought of as a bullpen, with multiple Politzia and Carabinieri officers sitting at desks doing a myriad of tasks. Tony walked over to an enclosed set of desks in the corner, had a short conversation in Italian with the senior man sitting there as the old man idly played with his cowboy hat, noticing a lot of glances from those working there. Tony finally turned to the old man. “Passport, please, John.”
The old man handed it over to Tony, who in turn handed it to the senior man. A preemptory call to one of the young officers brought a variety of stamps, which were liberally applied to the old man’s passport. Handing it back to the old man, Tony said, “Now, let us hope the belly of the beast did not swallow your bag. Then I will take you to the hotel, so that you can nap, and I will go enjoy lunch with Angela.” He made gestures that indicated Tony was feeling a bit frisky today.
The old man nodded his thanks to the men and followed Tony out the door into the concourse asking, “What was that all about? Not that I’m complaining.”
Tony shrugged. “Well, we needed to have your passport stamped for permission to carry a weapon, and authorization for police powers here. That was easier to do there than wait for you to clear customs and then stand in line again.”
“Is Sergio coming to this conference?”
Tony smiled. “He and Inga should be arriving day after tomorrow. We also have reservations for them at the hotel. Inga and Angela have already been planning shopping expeditions, and I’ll be deeply in debt by the time this is over.”
The old man laughed. “You love it and you know it, Tony. You forget I know how you really treat Angela.” Arriving at the baggage carousels they made small talk, catching up and the old man gave Tony a quick and dirty treatment of the incident at the ranch and the fact that Jesse had been shot and Juanita and Toby killed. After an interminable wait, the bag finally popped out and the old man and Tony headed for Customs. Tony’s status once again worked magic and they walked out into a beautiful post card day.
Tony motioned to the taxi line saying, “If for some reason you need to take a cab, always take a white cab, and make sure they turn the meter on. First stop is the bank, then the hotel. My car is around here.” Leading the old man around the side of the terminal to a restricted parking area, Tony went over to a beat up Alfa Romeo sitting in the corner of the lot and popped the trunk.
The old man looked skeptically at the car, dumped the bags in and asked, “Is this yours or is it a work car? Or are you a really bad driver?”
Tony bristled. “John! You do not insult an Italian by questioning his driving.” Laughing, he continued, “It’s a work car, and the mechanicals are perfect. I can park this anywhere in Italy and no self-respecting thief would ever think of taking it. Plus, it’s a perfect undercover car for us. The radio antenna is built into the a-post, it has a bigger engine, upgraded suspension and brakes, and lights and siren when I need it. We normally change the plates every month, too. Let’s go!”
Getting in gingerly, the old man took off his hat and held it in his lap as he buckled up. Tony started the car and the old man noted it definitely didn’t sound stock. Reaching over, Tony opened the glove box with a key and turned on the radio secreted there. Forty minutes later, after a stop at the bank to let the old man exchange dollars for Euros, they pulled into the entrance for the Hilton Cavalieri. The old man said, “I thought the conference is being held down in Rome itself?”
Tony nodded. “It is, but this hotel is much nicer and it’s only ten minutes from the house. It’s easier for me to pick you and Sergio up and drive you in every day. Besides Angela would shoot me with my own gun if I made her travel to see Inga. Let’s get you checked in and I’ll go enjoy lunch,” Tony said with a smile.
The old man put his hat back on, and grabbed his bag and briefcase as he followed Tony up the through the entrance. He looked around at the ornate lobby and furnishings in amazement as they walked to the reservations desk. Tony quickly got the front desk manager and concierge involved in a short discussion, and the old man wondered what was going on, when Tony returned with a key and the smiling concierge. “Rudolfo, this is Captain Cronin. He is an honored guest of the Carabinari. Captain, this is Rudolfo, the concierge for the Cavalieri. Your wish is his command.”
Rudolfo gave a half bow. “Captain, may I be the first to welcome you to the Cavalieri. It is the finest hotel in Rome.” He handed the old man a card. “This is my private number. If there is anything you need please let me know. May I show you to your room?”
The old man replied, “Not necessary, unless there aren’t any directions on the floors. All I want is a shower and a nap.”
Rudolfo half bowed again. “As you wish, sir.”
Tony smiled and said, “I’m off. Rudolfo, we’ll see you tomorrow night for La Pergola. John, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Rudolfo smiled. “Eight-thirty? For five? I will let the chef know.”
Whistling jauntily, Tony waved at the old man and strolled out the door. The old man found the elevators and took them to the floor on his room key, found the room and entered what appeared to be a small apartment. It was easily one of the biggest hotel rooms he’d ever seen, and the furnishings were not typical hotel furnishings! He went over to the patio door and pulled the curtain back and whistled, he was looking down on Rome, with a spectacular view of the city.
Flopping his bag on the bed, he took out the hard case, removed his 1911 and magazines, dug out ammo and loaded up. Pointing the pistol toward the corner of the room and the balcony, he chambered a round, slipped the safety on and dropped the mag. Topping the magazine off, he replaced it, then slipped the pistol into his holster. Digging out his old Dopp kit, he adjourned to the bathroom, whistled again at the fanciness and completed his ablutions. Coming back into the room, he hung up his two suits and casual clothes and stowed the suitcase. Setting the alarm for two pm, he lay down and dropped off to sleep.
Waking to the buzzing of the alarm, the old man looked around for a minute, and then realized where he was. Shaking his head, he rolled out of bed, hit the bathroom and showered again. Dressing casually, he dug out his computer and caught up on emails, including sending one to Jesse to let her know he’d arrived. Stretching, he decided he needed something to drink, and looked around for a coffee maker. Not finding one, he decided to go downstairs and see if he could find something. Slipping his paddle holster on, he threw on a blazer and took the elevator down.
Wandering around he found what he guessed was a bar, and a bartender desultorily polishing glasses. He stood at the bar and asked for a cappuccino, drawing a look of disdain from the bartender. He asked, “What’s wrong with a cappuccino?”
The bartender said, “Senor, cappuccino is not normally ordered after lunch. Normal orders are espresso or wine with tapas or a cheese plate.”
The old men shrugged. “Okay, give me an expresso and some cheese and a bottle of water.”
The bartender said, “Sir, it is es-presso not ex-presso. For the water, gas or san gas?”
“Gas or san gas? Oh, no gas.”
The bartender nodded, and disappeared into the back of the bar. The old shook his head and tamped down his anger, vowing not to go off on this asshole with an attitude. Minutes later, the bartender returned with a liter bottle of cold water, sitting it and a glass in
front of the old man. He then fired up the massive machine behind the bar and pulled a single espresso in a tiny cup and set it in front of the old man.
The old man looked askance at it, and the bartender said, “Would you like an American coffee?”
The old man said, “Yes, please. I guess I should have asked for that to start with. Haven’t been to Italy in a number of years.”
The bartender whisked the espresso away and returned with it transformed into a café Americano, along with the cheese plate, some fruit and bread and butter. The old man stood silently munching on the plate of food and sipping the coffee and water, as the bartender went back to polishing glasses.
***
Arriving at Tony’s house, the old man surreptitiously looked down to see if he’d crushed the brim of his hat in the short ride thinking, my God! How do these people not routinely kill massive amounts of people in car wrecks, car versus pedestrian and car versus motorbike incidents? Tony had been talking, yelling at other drivers, and seemingly ignoring all traffic rules and never bothering to look at the road on the way to their house, along with every other driver on the road. That seemed to be the only way any of them survived.
Walking into the house with Tony, he was immediately met by Angela and the kids. Marcella, now eleven, was still shy, but her hair was nicely done and she was in what the old man suspected was her Sunday dress. Luigi, now nine, wasn’t shy at all, pulling on the old man’s blazer asking, “Can I wear your cow hat?”
The old man laughed as he handed it to Luigi. “Cowboy hat Luigi, and it’s going to be a little big for you.” Luigi’s gap-toothed smile made the old man’s day as Luigi handled the hat like it was made of gold, and put it on; only to have it fall down covering most of his head.
Everyone burst out laughing at that, and Angela gave the old man a quick hug and a peck on each cheek. “Welcome to our home, John Cronin. It is so good to see you again, and I know the kids have been looking forward to seeing you, too. Marcella, don’t you have something you want to say to Mister Cronin?”
Marcella, acting as grown up as possible, said, “Thank you for the necklace, it is molto bella, er- very pretty. Maman lets me wear it on special occasions. How do you say the name of the pietra- stone?”
The old man kneeled down. “It’s called turquoise, and it’s found in the southwest part of the United States, this necklace came from the Navajo Indians over in New Mexico, and it is set in real silver.”
Luigi handed back the old man’s hat. “I like my cow outfit you sent.”
Tony, Angela and the old man said in chorus, “Cowboy.”
Luigi smiled and continued, “I like the boots and hat. Nobody else at my school has one.”
Reaching into his jacket, he handed the card to Angela saying, “This is from Jesse and Aaron. They absolutely loved the rooster pitcher especially after they read the card and understood the meaning.”
Angela shooed the kids off to their rooms, inviting the old man into the living room. The delicious odor of baking bread and Italian cooking assailed his nose, and he decided he was really hungry. After a small glass of wine, dinner was served, and it turned out to be only four courses, much to his surprise. Angela actually was apologizing until the old man said, “Angela, another course and you’d be toting me out of here in a wheelbarrow! I don’t see how y’all can eat this much every day, and you still keep your figure.”
Angela blushed prettily as Tony laughed and said, “Well, there are ways one can keep the weight off.”
Chuckling the old man said, “So, what happened to you?”
Angela laughed at that, and then served homemade tiramisu for dessert, prompting a groan from the old man. After the kids were sent off to bed, she served coffee and a small glass of Limoncello, which Tony proceeded to tell the old man was home-made from the Sorrento lemon trees in the back yard, Grappa and sugar water. Angela chimed in that it was cheap Grappa, much to Tony’s dismay.
Interpol Conference
Tony picked up the old man and Sergi, the Viking as Tony jokingly called him, at 7:00AM outside the hotel and proceeded to scare the hell out of both of them on the drive into Rome and the Carabinieri training center. Tony never even noticed, and chatting merrily away, he led them into the cafeteria saying, “Cappuccino and crema, the only way to start the day.” Pushing through the crowd in front of the counter he yelled over his shoulder, “Vanilla or chocolate crema?”
The old man looked at Sergi. “Suggestion?”
“Vanilla. It’s really custard, and the chocolate doesn’t taste like real chocolate to me.”
The old man nodded and Sergi yelled back, “Vanilla!” Tony nodded and ordered from one of the harried bartenders. In a couple of minutes, he came back with two cappuccinos and pushed his way back through, getting the other cappuccino and the cremas.
Leading them to a table off to the side, he plopped down with a sigh. “And now the fun begins. We are on from ten to eleven, forty minutes of presentation, twenty of questions. After that, our first breakout is not until three. If you would like, I can give you a tour of the facilities here. This is almost a totally self-contained environment for training.”
Tony said, “The conference is being held at our training academy here, and not only Interpol but also our officer and warrant officer students will be attending. When I last checked, there were almost two hundred attendees signed up. Not only are we on the main speaker’s list, they also have us set up for two breakout sessions: one talking to illegal movement of people and the other on smuggling and item concealment.”
The old man replied, “Are we going to give the same spiel we gave at the National Academy?”
Sergi said, “Why not? None of the attendees here have heard that, and it pretty much encapsulates what we’ll be discussing in the breakout sessions.”
Tony and the old man both nodded. “Okay, that works for me,” the old man said, “But Tony, you really need to be the lead since this is being hosted by Italy.”
Tony shrugged. “If you want, I can do that. I can re-order the slide pack a bit, and I’ll have copies of the paper for handouts.”
The old man said, “Sure, that would be interesting to see how y’all do it.” Sergi nodded.
Tony took a sip of his cappuccino. “It looks like the Vice-Comandante Generale will open the general session this morning.”
Sergi put down his own cup. “That’s right, you are actually a military organization are you not?”
“Yes,” Tony replied, “but we fall under what is called special tasks. The anti-drug group works across all the other groups within the Carabinieri and local Politiza. I came from ROS, the Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale after we had busted the head Mafioso down in Palermo.”
The old man asked curiously, “So what rank are you now, Tony?”
Tony shrugged. “Tenente colonnello or lieutenant colonel, John. It’s not a big thing.”
“Damn, I didn’t know I was in the presence of senior officers! Should I come to attention? Should we be in the senior officer’s mess instead of the cafeteria? Sergio, what’s your rank these days?”
Sergi laughed. “I am only a lowly major.”
Tony looked at both of them. “Now don’t either of you start. Rank doesn’t mean shit in international cooperation you know that. John, you especially, you have more years of practical real world experience than either Sergi or I, regardless of your rank or lack of it. Anybody that doesn’t believe that is utterly stupid.”
The old man held up his hands. “Yes, my colonel, I hear and obey,” he said with a smile.
***
At 10:00AM Tony stepped up to the podium in the ornate auditorium. Looking out over the seats filled with uniforms of all descriptions and ages of people he said, “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I am Tenente colonnello Antonio Russo, Carabinieri, Direzione Anti Droga, our anti-drug task force. I would like to introduce my co-presenters, first Sergi.”
Sergi walked to the center of the stage a
nd introduced himself. “Major Sergi Laine, Keskusrikospoliisi or NBI, our equivalent of your Carabinieri. I am also a graduate of the United States FBI National Academy in 1986 and I am a field operations person specializing in smuggling into Finland.”
Tony stepped back to the podium and said, “I, too, am a graduate of the FBI National Academy, but in 1988. Our other co-presenter is John.”
Stepping to the center of the stage the old man said, “Morning, folks, I’m Captain John Cronin, Pecos County Texas Sheriff’s Department chief investigator. I am also a graduate of the National Academy, and my specialization is smuggling of both drugs and people. I also spent two years with our DEA, primarily in South America conducting field operations against the various cartels.”
Tony once more assumed the podium. “The paper we co-wrote is based on a small sample of smuggling operations the three of us have directly participated in either individually or together in Europe so this will be a small view of a much larger picture, but in our case we have complete documentation and photos and video in many cases. Four of the events are ones that we performed as part of Interpol operations and two of the events are joint smuggling events that both the cowboy-” He paused as he smiled at the old man. “-and the big Viking-” He waved to Sergi. “And I ended up working as a team during 1996. The first event was originally thought to be a simple cigarette smuggling case from Corsica but turned out to be a cartel operation from Colombia and Mexico via the Bahamas and the United States to smuggle both marijuana and cocaine into Europe disguised as a standard cigarette smuggling operation.”
Leaning on the side of the podium, he continued, “The second operation was from a lead that led to a much larger organization smuggling slaves out of Ghana on coastal freighters to the Mediterranean and drugs and slaves being transshipped to other ships and overland to both Macedonia and the Baltic regions.”