by Nele Neuhaus
“Did you reach Oliver?”
“I’m meeting him this weekend,” Mark responded. “He said that he would help me if he can.”
Something else occurred to Alex.
“Did St. John ask you today about Syncrotron by chance?”
“Yes,” Mark said, looking at his boss in surprise, “he sure did. Is that a new client?”
“No.” Alex grinned and winked at him. “It’s part of my plan. We’ll lure St. John down a dead end and watch what happens next.”
Sergio lay on the couch in his Park Avenue apartment. He’d made one phone call after another to ensure the loyalty of his “friends,” but the result was devastating in almost every case. Most of them had someone make flimsy excuses on their behalf, and the ones to whom he spoke acted very reserved, or even turned him away.
“Fred Schumer’s out of his office.” Nelson hung up the telephone receiver. “His secretary doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”
Sergio sighed. Fred Schumer was the powerful chairman of the House Oversight Committee, an influential man who usually didn’t care about rumors. Sergio had known him for over twenty years. Schumer had been extremely helpful on several occasions.
“It doesn’t look good.” Nelson looked concerned.
“These goddamn cowards,” Sergio growled. “Gutless opportunists. They can kiss my ass.”
He was tired, and his injured shoulder was hurting, but at least his mind was functioning impeccably again.
“But we need them,” Nelson said, voicing his concern.
“I know!” Sergio’s anger flared. “But what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Massimo and Luca exchanged a telling look. The situation was serious. Sergio could lose his power if he lost the protection of his political connections. The television was on, and the newscast reported hourly about the latest developments in the anthrax case. Then Mayor Kostidis appeared on the screen. He stood on the city hall steps with dozens of reporters and TV cameras crowded around him. Sergio sat up straight. Massimo, Luca, and Nelson also fell silent and listened.
“Mayor Kostidis, what do you think about the terrorist demanding your resignation?” the NBC reporter asked.
“In my opinion, this is nothing but a clever diversion,” Kostidis replied calmly.
He was filled with energy and seemed to be completely in control of the situation, although he had barely slept since Saturday.
“What kind of diversion?” another journalist yelled.
“There was an assassination attempt on Sergio Vitali on Saturday night,” Kostidis said, “after a large shipment of cocaine was seized by the customs authorities at the Brooklyn port on Tuesday. The drugs were discovered on a freighter coming from Costa Rica, which is the drug cartel’s classic transportation route. The police and customs authorities received an anonymous tip. We’ve been monitoring Vitali’s connection with the port for a long time.”
“That goddamn bastard,” Sergio muttered with a stoic expression. The other men were silent.
“A gang war rages between Vitali and the Colombian drug cartel. Three men were shot dead at the port on Sunday evening—three Americans of Italian origin—who likely worked for Vitali. It seems plausible to me that the attempt on Vitali’s life was revenge for blowing the cover of a drug shipment.”
“But the perpetrator has been caught,” one of the reporters argued.
“That’s rather unlikely, isn’t it?” Kostidis smiled. “I assume that the man who confessed to this crime has been paid off by Vitali. He’ll be sentenced to two years in prison, and then he’ll be released again after one year for good conduct. The public is reassured that this is just one lunatic instead of a gang war.”
“How do you know about all this, Mayor Kostidis?”
“I don’t know anything,” the mayor replied, “but I suspect that the sole purpose of this scheme to poison groceries is to distract us from the assassination attempt on Vitali.”
“These are dangerous speculations, Mayor Kostidis,” one reporter said. “Do you have any evidence?”
“Not yet. But I’ll have it soon. I was a US attorney fighting against these criminals long enough to know their methods and ways of thinking.”
“You can’t call Mr. Vitali a criminal!”
“Really? I can’t?” Kostidis’s dark eyes sparkled. “Well, I’m doing it! He may own many serious businesses and donate millions of dollars to charities, but if you could take a look behind his mask of altruism, you’d see that he’s a criminal. Sergio Vitali is the godfather of New York City.”
Massimo, Luca, and Nelson threw covert glances at Sergio, but he kept a straight face.
“You’ve got to give it to this man,” he said eventually. “He’s pretty clever. It’s a real shame that he’s not on our side.”
“He’s dangerous,” Nelson replied in concern, “extremely dangerous. He’s seen through everything.”
“But he has no evidence,” Massimo objected. “He talks and talks, and that’s all he does.”
“Kostidis doesn’t need evidence,” Sergio answered grimly. “Every word he says rattles the people who are on our side. Not one of them will publicly side with us as long he utters such things on television. They can’t afford to because they’d lose their jobs otherwise.”
“Let’s do something about him!” Massimo shouted passionately. “Why don’t we sue him for libel and slander? How can he claim such things?”
Sergio threw a glance at his son and slowly shook his head. “We’ve got to do something,” he said.
“But what do you suggest?” Nelson asked. “I could try to obtain a preliminary injunction that prohibits him from—”
“That’s useless,” Sergio snapped. “Kostidis doesn’t give a crap about preliminary injunctions or libel actions. He’s obsessed with being right. As a matter of fact—he is.”
“We’ll shut him up!” Massimo said.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that easy,” Sergio countered. “He is the mayor of this city. He’s very influential and incredibly popular. There’s only one solution in his case.”
The room was dead silent. Each of the men understood what Sergio meant.
“No.” Nelson broke the silence and stood up. “You can’t kill the mayor.”
“Who said anything about killing?” Sergio stared at the television screen with a gloomy face. “An accident—a tragic, regrettable accident. A human life is so fragile.”
Nelson looked at his old friend and realized that he was serious. Sergio was in a precarious position: he was still recovering from the shooting, and he was distraught because of Cesare’s death and Constanzia’s violent reaction. Old friends were avoiding him, and the house of cards of sensitive relationships threatened to collapse. The trouble with Ortega and the port was the icing on the cake. Kostidis could cause severe damage. This crisis had come to a head. It was time for action. “He must disappear,” Sergio said at that moment, “the faster, the better.”
“We shouldn’t plan on that option right away,” Nelson objected carefully. “We could intimidate Kostidis and tell him clearly that it would be better for him to shut up.”
“Intimidate him?” Sergio laughed and immediately grimaced in pain. “How do you plan to intimidate this man? Kostidis doesn’t fear the devil himself!”
“We could…intimidate him physically.”
Sergio snorted disdainfully and held his empty glass to Luca, who instantly refilled it with whiskey.
“He’d crawl in front of the cameras to proclaim his allegations if he was half dead.” Sergio finished the glass with one gulp. “No, Nicholas Kostidis doesn’t understand threats.”
“But if he dies, they will immediately suspect you.”
“Once he’s gone, I’ll finally have my peace. Remember that the men who will investigate his death are on our payroll.”
Nelson van Mieren shook his head determinedly. He didn’t care if Massimo and Luca witnessed his insubordination.
“I won
’t be a party to that,” he finally said. “I’ve always been on your side, Sergio. I’ve fought quite a few battles and wars with you. We’ve built up all of this and managed to make it legal. I understood that we needed to get some people out of the way every now and then. But if you order the assassination of the mayor, then it will have far broader implications than we’ll be able to handle. His death would drag all of us into the abyss!”
Sergio stared in surprise at his oldest and most loyal companion. He wasn’t used to hearing such explicit opposition from him.
“I know you’re not afraid of anything,” Nelson implored “but we can also solve this problem. Right now it’s important to come to an agreement with Ortega. Everything else will turn out all right.”
“Kostidis is destroying everything I’ve built,” Sergio said in a sinister tone. “He ’s tasted blood and won’t let go anymore. You know that as well as I do!”
“If you plan on killing him, I want no part of it,” Nelson repeated in a low voice as he looked away. Sergio raised himself up with difficulty, but he hadn’t lost all of his strength.
“Nelson,” he said softly, “you’re my oldest friend. You’re the only person on this planet I would call a friend. However, you know that I can’t afford this. You understand that Kostidis has turned into an incalculable risk, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Nelson nodded, “but that doesn’t mean you need to kill him!”
Sergio stared straight through him for a long time. After a while, Nelson bowed his head.
“If you’ll excuse me now,” he said, “I need to go to the medical examiner’s office. The results of the autopsy should be available at one o’clock. I also need to post bail for Silvio.”
Sergio sat down again after Nelson left the room. He looked around aimlessly, looking gloomy.
“Luca,” he said eventually, “please prepare a plan for how we can silence Kostidis once and for all. I don’t care how you do it. The most important thing is that it happens fast.”
Luca nodded.
“And pick two of your best men. They should keep an eye on Nelson around the clock.”
“Okay, boss.” Luca bowed slightly and left.
“Papa,” Massimo said, turning to his father after silently following this scene, “do you think that Nelson will betray us?”
“No,” Sergio replied, sounding tired. “Nelson’s sick. He’s getting old. His nerves aren’t the best anymore. He was different back in the day, but he’s forgotten what it means to wage a war.”
“But Ortega—” Massimo started to say.
“I’m not talking about Ortega,” Sergio said. “I’m talking about Kostidis. His weapons are much more subtle than Ortega’s, but no less effective. He takes advantage of every sign of weakness. He’s clever, too.”
When Alex arrived at Sergio’s apartment, she had to admit that he seemed to be in control of his situation, although he was clearly still unwell. His face was leaner than usual, and his expression was more pronounced and colder. He looked like a general—proud, aware of his power. The apartment, which was usually deserted, was crowded with his men. Alex even had to put up with them searching her purse.
“I’m very sorry about your son,” Alex said, stopping a few feet shy of him. She made no attempt to kiss him. She had not forgotten that he’d knowingly put her life at risk.
“Thank you,” he replied, “it’s hard for his mother.”
“And for you?”
His eyes narrowed for a split second, and then he raised his shoulders.
“Cesare was a weak person,” he said. “He was a drug addict, a frail man.”
“But he was your son!” Alex was shocked by his indifference.
“And still, he didn’t mean more to me than anyone else,” Sergio countered. “Are you shocked now? Why should I pretend to be the grieving father if I’m not?”
Alex remained silent. If she thought that he needed comfort after all that had happened, then she was wrong. Sergio was miles away from any kind of human feelings.
“How are you, cara?” he asked.
Alex didn’t respond to his question. “How are you?”
“Getting better. They removed the bullet.”
Alex couldn’t believe it. He acted as if this were all as trivial as an appendectomy.
“I’m wondering why you’re keeping half an army of bodyguards in your apartment,” she said coolly. “The television said that they arrested the shooter.”
Sergio sat down on the sofa.
“Well, you never know.” His expression was inscrutable.
“Maybe you vaguely remember that I was standing right next to you when you were shot,” Alex countered harshly, “and without a bulletproof vest at that! It wasn’t this guy. So who was it then?”
“I know who it was,” countered Sergio, “but that doesn’t matter. It wasn’t meant personally.”
“It wasn’t meant personally?” Alex laughed in disbelief. “I think I’d take it personally if someone was trying to kill me!”
“I stepped on someone’s toes.” Sergio sipped his whiskey to numb the pain in his shoulder, at least a little bit. “And that was his response.”
Alex stared at Sergio. He felt more like a stranger than ever before. The presence of the armed men triggered the same uneasy feeling she had at the warehouse in Brooklyn.
“Come, sit down next to me!” Sergio asked her. Alex hesitated. She complied with his request but sat at the far end of the couch.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked stiffly. “I dropped everything because your son said it was urgent.”
“I thought about our conversation,” Sergio said. “You mentioned that you wanted to end our relationship.”
Alex kept silent and waited for him to keep talking.
“I understand that you’re angry with me,” he continued in an unusually reasonable manner. “I’ve made some mistakes. But I don’t want to lose you, and that’s why I’d like to suggest something to you.”
Alex didn’t want to hear his suggestion. He leaned forward and grabbed her hand before she could get up.
“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. Take your time and think about it.” He didn’t smile. His eyes were inscrutable. He looked at her for a while and then let go of her hand. He stood up.
“I’m divorcing Constanzia,” he said to Alex’s complete astonishment, “and I want you to be my wife.”
Alex didn’t think she had heard right. Marry Sergio? Just a year ago she would have thought about it, but she’d seen far too much of Sergio’s world. The things that she’d witnessed had revolted her. Sergio turned toward her.
“So what do you think?”
Alex struggled to keep her composure. He had her cornered. She searched desperately for the right words.
“That…comes as quite a surprise.”
“You could keep working or not. You could do whatever you want.” His voice was rough. “I’ll buy you a house and we could have children. Isn’t that what you want?”
Alex cringed at the thought of her life married to Sergio and completely at his mercy. People died by his order, and the memory of the dark warehouse in Brooklyn made her wince.
“Promise me that you’ll think about it?” He squatted down in front of her and grabbed her hands. The look in his blue eyes was serious, and something deep inside them alarmed Alex. Sergio was a man with many faces. There was a reason for everything he did. But why did he want to marry her all of a sudden? What had happened?
“I’ll think about it,” she replied to put him off. “I promise.”
“Good.” There was an irritating hint of triumph in his smile. She felt quite sure that this was part of a larger plan that she didn’t understand. She was glad that he didn’t try to kiss or sleep with her. Alex rejected his offer to be driven downtown. She just wanted to get out of this apartment, away from this man she couldn’t figure out and who terrified her so much.
Thomas Ganelli, the police offi
cer who was shot during the raid on the Bronx apartment building and who succumbed to his injuries a few days later, was buried at the Astoria Park Cemetery in Queens. The American flag was laid out on his casket, which was carried by his colleagues from the Forty-First Precinct. Accompanied by their spouses, rows of police officers wearing splendid dress uniforms were sweating in the sweltering heat of this July afternoon; they were in a state of shock and anger at the senseless death of their comrade. Of course, Police Commissioner Jerome Harding was also in attendance at this highly publicized funeral. Furthermore, officials from the Department of State, high-ranking officers of the NYPD, and the mayor of New York City were there. Harding delivered an emotional half-hour speech at the open grave, in which he demanded even tougher measures against every criminal. Nick Kostidis kept his speech short. He knew that Harding’s tone was inappropriate in this situation, and therefore limited himself to words of consolation for the family and the colleagues of the deceased. In addition, he thanked all the police officers for their dangerous and important work.
Frank Cohen stood in the very back and once again admired his boss’s talent to spontaneously find the right words in every situation. Frank was sincerely moved, even though he didn’t know this young police officer. When the funeral was over, Nick gave his condolences to the parents and the young widow and promised genuine assistance on behalf of the city administration, not just empty gestures. Then the two men walked back to the waiting limousine in silence.
“It’s a goddamn shame that so many young people must die,” Nick said as they were on their way back to Manhattan. He stared gloomily at the passing apartment blocks. “It’s completely senseless.”
“Ganelli’s parents were really consoled by your words,” Frank remarked. “The people could feel that you honestly mean it.”
“I wish that I could have said some honest words at his medal of valor ceremony instead of his funeral.” Nick leaned back in fatigue.