by John Gubert
“This will destroy us,” he gasped. He knew about some of the documents. Others were unknown to him. “The market’s nervous already after your problems. This will be a killer blow.”
“Your choice,” Charles responded brutally. Maria grinned.
“Is it to be an agreed bid?”
“It’ll be an agreed one. The Di Maglio guarantees remain but my undertakings to the Bank of England and my support is released.”
“Your board?” he queried.
“No problem. What about yours?”
“I can persuade them. Eight dollars a share as long as the bad debt position is clarified by the auditors.”
“That’ll be done at the end of the week.”
“But I don’t bid for your shares. They are just cancelled.”
Charles laughed, “Good try, but not accepted. You pay us too.”
“How much will it cost us and what capital injection is needed?”
“At eight dollars a share, the company is valued at ten billion dollars. The US will be recapitalised through the Di Maglio guarantee but the UK side will need a capital injection of around two billion. But, once you are in the driving seat, the companies should be able to generate over a billion a year. So it would be money well spent.”
“I’ll decide that,” he retorted. “We get in touch at the weekend. Bring your auditors and other advisers.”
“I agree.”
“And the originals of the papers,” he added hastily.
“No. They will go to a mutually acceptable trusted third party and be given to you when the deal completes. I don’t trust your type. Not after all I have had to take from your trio of pals at IBE.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll get someone to tell you where to meet.”
“Will you tell the regulators?” Charles asked.
“Not till it’s agreed.”
“We’ll keep quiet as well.”
With that they left. “Is it in the bag?” asked Maria.
“Definitely. He’ll buy. First, it’s not a bad deal. Not a snip, but it appears reasonable. And second, he knows we’ll release the papers. And that scares him witless.”
The week continued. The depositors were calm. Some withdrew funds but there was no need for any panic. It was unreal. Everything was so quiet. It was almost business as usual. That was just as well, as it was now the turn of the evil Empire to grab their attention.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Santa Barbara, California, is a strange place for the start of a Mafia war but there it started. Giorgio Baroneli, nicknamed George the Baron, had been Maddy‘s second in command. As the news of Maddy‘s death filtered through, Charles sent a message to make him the new boss of the drugs Empire. The prostitution and extortion side would report to Paul Castell. Both were in the classical tradition of Di Maglio’s people, but they were new and untested. It was wise to have new hands in charge of an Empire that was about to collapse.
Baroneli had worked for Di Maglio all his life. He had been a killer, an enforcer, and a drug runner and, latterly, as one of the chiefs of the drugs’ division. He had boasted to Maddy that his speciality was garrotting. Apparently, he took great pleasure and pride in his ability to cause pain to his victims. He deserved to die.
Castell had lost an eye in a fight and wore a black patch over the vacant socket. He thought it made him look attractive. He was a twice-accused rapist. And his boast, apparently, was that it would have been more often, but the victims usually ended up dead. He had neither a wife nor a family but a series of girls, sometimes under age runaways, who stayed with him before he put them out to work in one of his streets or hotels.
The charming duo were in Santa Barbara, mingling with the holidaymakers. They were there because Castell‘s latest conquest, a sixteen-year-old called Jancie, came from Chicago. This was her first trip to California and she had longed to see the Pacific. Baroneli had a third wife and two children aged eleven and twelve. He was holidaying. Baroneli wanted to talk to Castell about the hit in Canada. The loss of trusted men in that fight had been a problem. Castell saw it as an opportunity to infiltrate Baroneli‘s area with his own men. He was now the stronger. It was perhaps the first time that this had been the case. For drugs had always been the money-spinner.
Both men had been at the funeral on Tuesday, but this weekend was their first chance to make a deal. When Charles heard of the meeting, he was sure that the deal involved him. They would have seen the death of Di Maglio and Charles’ reputed indifference towards the Empire as a wonderful chance to take over the operation. Unfortunately, neither, quite rightly, would really trust the other, and that hardly bode well for any agreement.
So suspicion ruled on both sides. But, to any spectator, all seemed sweetness and light as the two men walked along the street. It was 10am and not even the shops were open. They had decided to walk along to the seafront to talk, well away from inquisitive ears and possible bugs in the walls. They strolled up the broad esplanade with their bodyguards, relaxed as Santa Barbara was seen as a safe haven.
He was tall and dark, with wild Slavonic features. From the description, he must have been one of the Russians. As he walked up towards the two men, he drew a gun and calmly shot Baroneli in the head.
Castell used his split second of opportunity to save himself, ducking away and pushing his girlfriend at the gunmen. Once again, the gun blasted and the girl fell backwards. For a moment, she seemed to look at the red stain spreading over her dress. Then her face contorted into shock and she screamed. It was a sharp piercing scream that continued as she fell onto the pavement. But that scream shook the gunman, and his hesitation was his downfall. Castell fired three times. The man fell dead as the bullets punched into his stomach and his chest.
The scene was pandemonium. Baroneli‘s wife and kids started to scream as the girl collapsed into her final paroxysms of torment and died. The bodyguards joined Castell. They ignored the screaming woman and the terrified kids. A few passers-by approached but scattered as the men drew their guns and fired into the air. A man with a surfboard ran up to the scene. One of the guards shot in his direction. He stopped, but a large track suited woman, behind him, fell down clutching her stomach. She would be the first totally innocent victim in the vicious war that had now started. And she wouldn’t be the last.
“We get the fuck out of here,” called Castell. “Let’s move before the cops get hold of us.”
They hurried down the street. The bodyguards had their guns drawn. One man tried to secretly video them as they passed. The guard closest to him pulled the camera from his grasp and threw it to the ground. A well-delivered kick smashed it open. Another caught the man on his shins, the third in his stomach. He crumpled to the ground in agony. Nobody else tried to video them after that
They had no need to run to the car park. Two cars crashed through the sea front car park barriers and approached them at speed, ignoring shouts to stop. The back-up, as usual, was in place. They screeched to a halt. Castell jumped into the first. The guards jumped into the second and the mini convoy sped away towards the freeway. Their lawyers would argue the case and ensure that Castell was not troubled by the problems that they had left behind.
As the news came through, Charles ordered a meeting of the heads of the drugs business. He also ordered one later that night for prostitution and extortion. He would link into both remotely from London by videophone. They needed action. And the action he was planning was totally different from the action they would expect.
Charles called Delaney and told him where the first meeting would be. In four hours time, seven of the remaining top ten Drugs executives would be in the Westin St Frances in San Francisco. The video conference call would be set up there in one of the meeting rooms. It was deemed safer and more private. Charles had said he didn’t want the authorities to see the men gathering. They could achieve anonymity in the Westin with groups of sales and other executives on their training or
other indoctrination courses.
Delaney was given the time and did the necessary. They waited for news. 7pm came in London and Charles sat in front of the camera and waited. Out of sight but close to the monitor was Maria. Moments later she was joined by Jacqui. The seven men entered the room. They congregated around the table.
Guards would be outside but they would not be able to prevent what would happen next. At 7pm precisely, Charles called the meeting to order. The video camera in San Francisco wheeled round the table, activated the link with London and detonated the explosives. The blast tore through the room killing and maiming. Moments later the doors burst open as men swarmed around. Their drawn guns were pointless. The FBI had left long before.
Charles played the game and called for information. One of the men who had been round the table called back. “There are three or four dead. Two are badly injured. The rest of us are OK. Boss, who could have done this? Who knew?”
Charles looked worried, “Castell knew. I wanted him to pull his men together for a similar meeting later. The idea was to ensure everything was under control and decide strategy.”
But it was clear that strategy was now never going to be on the agenda. The murders began that evening. By nightfall, there had been attack after attack. The drugs boys attacked the prostitution chiefs. Then they in turn counter-attacked. Other Mafia bosses joined in as they sensed the Empire was disintegrating.
The authorities were active. They added to the chaos and the death toll. In the twenty four hours that were known as the end of the Di Maglios, seventy two people were killed, of whom sixty one were known Mafia. America’s gangland was being torn apart. It destroyed itself, helped by the FBI. Nobody knew where the intelligence came from. In reality, it came from Charles, via Delaney. But he was careful that it could never be traced back to him.
Charles flew out to New York to see the lawyers. Jacqui came too. This was a calculated risk as it was an ideal opportunity for a Mafia hit. As it was, they were safe. They kept out of the city and took a helicopter to the meetings.
Jacqui was cool and calm. She wondered if she should not mourn her father, but she didn’t. That wasn’t out of cruelty. He had destroyed her affection for him over years. He was only useful now for the help he would give them in death.
In the US, they appointed a new head for the casinos and the hotels, and added the legitimate drug and pharmacy operations to that. He was new to the whole organisation but they had been tracking him already for some time. The short-term package and the golden handshake on its successful completion dispelled his concerns and he signed up immediately. Lawyers helped him. For his role would be to sell the cocktail of businesses and help add to the amount available for the bank depositors, the investment fund holders and others.
They told the different Di Maglio criminal groups they could take over their operations; Charles and Jacqui said they just wanted out. There was a lull in the violence but then it broke out with renewed viciousness. The freedom given to gang members to seize their operations led to another outbreak of fighting. This time it spread from internal battles to outright warfare among the different Mafia groups.
They fought in New York in the East, San Francisco in the West and most major cities in between. They all espoused violence as gang attacked gang. Greed, old scores, traditional enmity all came to the fore. The fighting was vicious. The Mafia was weakened. Their old order was coming to an end. They awaited the inevitable new order that would take charge of the disorder and run the remnants of their orgy of destruction back to profit and greater glory. Drug shortages on the streets would mean higher prices. Higher prices would mean higher profits.
Charles and Jacqui knew they would have done little but cause a blip in the level of power exercised by the evil men of the global underworld. They hadn’t taken charge of the Empire. They had abandoned the world of real evil. But the world of evil did not know that they were behind all its problems.
If the evil men of crime ever sought to attribute blame to them, then it was for their amateurism. They would see Charles and Jacqui as having been incapable of following in the footsteps of the great Di Maglio. They thought they were too honest. They had, in their mind, too many scruples. They would blame Di Maglio for failing to have the right successor.
But Charles and Jacqui were part of another world. They had managed to exit from the world of crime that Di Maglio had created. Maria also watched its demise with a lack of concern that surprised them. She seemed now to have reconciled herself to the end of her association with that evil world. She would pick up her fortune and find a new life.
Charles was astounded at the speed of destruction. By the end of the week it was apparent they need have no further role in it. A few days after Di Maglio’s funeral, his Empire had moved almost totally to self-destruct. Now it was well and truly in the final throes of that process. It had taken Di Maglio a lifetime to build. It took them a lot of planning, a mass of intrigue, but then only a week or so to destroy.
If destroy was the right word for something that would automatically come back from the brink in a moderately different form. Evil destroyed would be metamorphosed into a new order of evil reformed. Di Maglio was dead. The Don had gone. Long live the Don. Would it take a week, a month or a year? The FBI struck for as long as they could but, by the end of that week, their information was no longer reliable. At the end of the second, they were spectators rather than agitators.
And as the weekend approached, Charles and Jacqui waited for the meeting with the auditors and the announcements they would make about IBE. Giovanni called, he suspected, perhaps he knew, but he was wise. He was an outsider and needed to close the IBE episode. Then he would retire a wealthy man. And a silent one, he would see no value in sharing his fears. One word and he was dead. He would be dead either by the hand of the FBI or Charles. And Giovanni would only do things for money. That was their insurance.
The day of reckoning came. The auditors gathered and made their presentation. All foreign exchange and derivative positions had been closed out. The loss was two point eight billion. Bad and non-performing loans for a total value of five point eight billion had been identified. They had also pinpointed a common feature on most of the bad loans. And that common feature was three noble directors and their families.
“Quite simply,” said the solemn grey auditor, “you appear to have been fleeced by the very people meant to engender confidence in the company. It is apparent that Sir Brian, Lord Dunkillin and the Honourable James have been involved in some of the lamentable losses the bank has incurred. McGarth also appears to have been brought into a systematic campaign of embezzlement. Other members of their families were involved. Half the capital of the company has been lost. In order to continue operations the bank needs another six to eight billion dollars.”
Later, the auditor would remark on Charles’ coolness. He would marvel at his commitment to save the bank. And that was reality, for they still had a few billion tied up in it. Charles responded to the auditor’s analysis, “The Di Maglio cash or bonds are worth around five billion and will cover much of that. We still, though, need the money we want to pay to investors in our funds. There remain businesses in Di Maglio’s estate worth between three and four billion dollars and that gives us eight to nine billion in total. How much of the losses are attributable to the US?”
“Your total loss is eight point six. Six point four are out of the US banks. They were being fleeced before you acquired them. One suspects by Mr Di Maglio. That made some of the tracking difficult.”
“Well, the cash is immediately available,” Charles reminded him.
“You need at least the six billion plus of cash in the US or the bank fails. There will be a run on it. It needs to have the strong capital base.”
Charles thought. Then he suggested, “I could make a bid for all the Di Maglio businesses. The estimated value of the companies for sale is three to four billion. I’ll bid three point five fo
r the companies and take a risk on selling out. That will give you the six point five billion for the US bank and another two billion for investors.
The grey auditor nodded approvingly, “When can you arrange the sale?”
The auditor was eager. That was no wonder. He had a vested interest. If the sale went ahead and the losses could be covered by the guarantee, then his firm would not have to make a claim under their insurance. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. He looked as if he were praying quietly to whatever God his noble profession supported.
Meanwhile Charles turned to the lawyers.
The US one said sombrely, “We need to get a judgement. I could arrange an emergency session. But the court will want a guarantee against conflicting claims on the estate.”
Charles doubted that anyone else had priority. He knew Di Maglio never took credit outside his banks. And the guarantee in their sale agreement had been tightly worded. Nobody could contest it.
“Can I get the IBE Group banks to waive any further claims on the Di Maglio guarantee?”
They nodded.
Charles told them to go ahead, “Then get the judges to rule whatever you need. Get the bank to sign the affidavit. And I’ll give a personal guarantee to buy out the businesses at three billion five. But this should extinguish also the need for the deposits I made earlier.”
“You could reduce them to two billion and restrict them to the UK based businesses,” said the grey auditor. “But the bad debts there mean that it will be needed at that level. And we need the money fast, both in the US and in London.”