The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  Nevertheless, and despite the age-gap, dialogue had always flowed smoothly between them over a range of subjects: None more so than the subject of investigative police work. David reminded himself that as with the young man beside him now, the teenage Sergio had always possessed an impressive intelligence and maturity beyond his years. The young Italian had never wavered in his determination to emulate his late father by joining the carabiniere, even in the face of his mother’s understandable opposition. The woman had already lost Sergio’s father, a former carabiniere officer, who had been killed in the line of duty. David was now also reminded of the special trip he’d made to Sicily in order to plead the young man’s case before a formidable Italian mother. A familial action which, Sophia had prophesied at the time, her brother would never forget. Already having come to regard Sergio as a young brother, David had reckoned it was the least he could do and had enjoyed supporting a member of what he considered to be his family. That particular trip had brought him closer to the mother of his wife and Sergio, and he knew he must phone the woman later to let her know how the service had gone today. It was ironic, thought David now, that years later his own decision to leave the SIB and join a new investigative unit being formed within London’s New Scotland Yard, had been an easier one to make because of the encouragement he had received from the knowledgeable Sergio and his supportive mother.

  The mutual respect between he and Sergio had grown throughout the passing years, and this devastating loss for both of them had served to strengthen the bonds of friendship. A friendship which had supported them both throughout the hellish nightmare of days following firstly Marina’s death, then later their joint discovery of Sophia’s body in the bathroom with her wrists opened. Never voiced between them since, each knowing it would never leave them, was the memory of Sophia’s blood under their shoes as they had wept over the body of the woman they had both loved.

  “I am glad our mother could not be with us today, Mi amico.”

  Sergio’s voice closed down David’s channel of thought, and opened up another one. From the time that Sophia had discovered he was an orphan, she had referred to her widowed mother Helena as ‘our mother’, and Sergio had seamlessly continued to do so. The woman in question was a naturally strong character, but had been forbidden to travel currently because of a broken leg. Which both men had agreed was a blessing in disguise. Neither of them had wished her to see the anguish of her daughter after Marina’s death, and had since been hoping that the combination of distance from the horrors of Shrivenham and support of friends in her Sicilian village would, to some extent, cushion the second blow of losing Sophia.

  “I will always cherish,” said David, “the honour of having been a part of your wonderful family.”

  The Italian’s response more than surprised him. Frequent visits to Sophia’s homeland had made him aware of the potency of a Sicilian vendetta, but he had never expected the reply his heartfelt declaration now elicited.

  “David Foster,” Sergio formally opened, quietly but firmly, his eyes still fixed on the headstones before him, “never forget that you personally added to, and enriched, our family over the past eight years. We are now a sadly depleted family, but still a family nevertheless, and you, my brother-in-law, are still as much a part of it as myself. And so I tell you that in this matter of our loss, in our mother’s eyes I am a Sicilian first and a law enforcement officer second. So when we find this animal who has decimated our family and broken our hearts, either you help me disembowel him or I do it myself.”

  Sergio turned towards him as he finished, and David saw the implacable resolve in his eyes. Realizing what it must have taken for a man like Sergio to have voiced such an intention, knowing the man himself would be aware of the likely consequences of such an action, David chose his own words of response with great care.

  “I think this one will be difficult to find, Sergio. What we know was done to Marina points to a paedophile who doesn’t just need child sex to get his sickening kicks. This one has an even more twisted agenda. This one has access to, and knowledge of, some form of precision tooling. Which, as you know from our argument with the Chief Inspector, suggests to me that the person we’re after might be one of the technicians the military have working in one of their specialist laboratories here. The problem is, some of the projects they work on are top secret. So our man could remain invisible behind the protective screen of military security, and probably London’s intelligence spooks to boot, until the unhappy Duggan’s team run out of both steam and ideas.”

  David paused, allowing time for his words to be absorbed before they were added to. He watched Sergio, who remained silent, his dark Italian eyes revealing nothing of what he might be thinking. Showing no sign of the pain he must still be feeling. Pain they both shared. David turned away from the headstones and Sergio did likewise in silent accord.

  “Despite the evident frenzy of the attack,” resumed David, using dialogue to redirect their thoughts and propel their legs away from the headstones, sensing Sergio understood as he came with him, “the forensics team found nothing at the crime scene which the police can use to take their investigation forward. They’ve got semen trace they can’t match to the DNA data bank, so he has to be caught before it can be cross-checked. And in any event, as you know, usage of that data bank to convict anyone still hasn’t been tested in a court of law in this country. So I think our paedophile is not only dangerous but knows the law, and was clever enough not to have left any other kind of forensic evidence. Which probably means this wasn’t his first time, and, until he has been caught, probably won’t be his last.”

  “And don’t forget,” said Sergio through clenched teeth, “the bastardo found it amusing.”

  David fell silent at hearing the reminder. Sergio was referring to Sophia’s understandably short and painfully recounted memory of the attack upon herself and her daughter. The woman had privately sworn to them that at some point she thought she had heard Marina’s childish giggle. But since all three adults had known that the child would certainly not have been giggling at any stage of the incident, the shocking conclusion reached had been that it could only have been the sound of the perverted attacker which had lodged in Sophia’s subconscious mind. David took a deep breath before addressing Sergio again.

  “We should not allow this animal to ruin the lives of those our mother has left to her. But if there is a way we can find him, and protect ourselves whilst personally removing him from the planet, then God help us both because I will help my brother-in-law to do just that.”

  “Summarised like an Englishman, and thankfully concluded like an Italian,” responded Sergio.

  Muffling Sergio’s words, and causing him to lower his head and hold on to the plumed hat crowning his uniform, the wind suddenly howled around the men’s ears as they came to a halt just short of the waiting jeep. David nodded acknowledgement to the grim-faced duo of Jones and Harper, who began climbing aboard the vehicle in readiness for departure.

  “Now I know,” remarked Sergio, shivering slightly as he spoke, “why you English always look so miserable. This weather would remove even the Mona Lisa’s smile.”

  David dredged up a grin with his response. “You’ll soon be back in the sunshine, so quit moaning. Thanks again for being here for me, Sergio, you’ve been a real brick.”

  Presuming he had just been complimented, the Italian mentally added this last phrase to his vocabulary for future verification as he studied his brother-in-law. The immediate impression conveyed by the tall willowy-framed and blue-eyed man’s physical appearance, was one of frailty. Which was definitely deceptive, Sergio had already learned. Such had been the mental and physical stamina of the man throughout his ordeal, Sergio thought David Foster himself might have been built from real bricks.

  “I feel bad about leaving,” confessed Sergio, “while the animal is still here somewhere.”

 
“We’ve discussed this,” replied David, “so quit hitting yourself over the head. You have a career to get back to. Besides which, you will have access to resources enabling you to follow what the local police get up to here. When I get myself bedded in at Scotland Yard, I will also be keeping tabs on this place. We will liaise as and when we deem it necessary. Sooner or later we’ll get a break, Sergio. The bastard will crawl out from under his rock and we have to hope that we might be able to get to him before anyone else.”

  “I cannot tell our mother we might get to him,” responded Sergio.

  “So tell her,” said David, “that whoever he is, he’s a dead man walking.”

  “Now that I can tell her,” said Sergio, smiling as he stepped forward to embrace David. “Till we meet again, Mi fratello, take good care of yourself. Don’t let those London hot-shots take advantage of your simple country ways.”

  They both managed to smile at that, each aware of the need to retain a sense of humour no matter how dire the circumstances, and both equally aware that outright laughter was still a long way off.

  “I’ll try not to let that happen,” said David.

  David was moved by the man’s obviously genuine affection and use of the word fratello, meaning brother. He was convinced that Sergio Sabbatini was destined to become a man of substance within his beloved carabiniere. He was also determined that he too would do well at Scotland Yard. So, given the hurdles which lay ahead for both of them, to each have a brother inside police ranks in two different countries would do no harm whatsoever. ‘But a brother in crime was an entirely different matter’ he told himself silently. He found himself wondering how they would both deal with their pledge to personally dispose of the creature who was responsible for irrevocably changing their lives.

  David watched the Italian climb into the jeep and sketched him a wave before turning on his heel. It was a short walk to where his own transport awaited him, its voluntary driver no less a personage than his former commanding officer. A man who had attended his wedding to Sophia and had adored her. A man with plenty of local clout. The kind of clout David hoped he could make use of by proxy whilst he was in London.

  Chapter Four

  The Growing Darkness

  Shrivenham, Oxfordshire, England, April 1983

  Still inside the complex of buildings housing The Royal Military College of Science, in the area designated as his sacrosanct private quarters, and once more seated at the desk in the room he used as his office, the man was again deep in thought.

  He was naturally reluctant to use the word, even in his mind, but he knew that he had been lucky. In his exacting world of scientific precision, luck rarely played any part. Pressure of work, confining him to the laboratory, and that irritating man’s repeated threat to divulge and denounce their latest breakthrough, had of course dictated the circumstances. Bringing the need for release within his other equally private world. A need which could not be denied. Forcing him to operate closer to home, so to speak, and he suppressed now the giggle which threatened to escape with his choice of words.

  The press coverage revealing the woman’s nationality had initially jolted him. But he had calmed himself with the rationale that rather than seeking to establish any kind of link to the Italian mother, the police would focus their attention on the main event. Which would lead them nowhere. They would round up all the usual suspects, but his name was not on their register. He had further assuaged his anxiety by reminding himself that his officially sanctioned overseas liaisons with others within his fraternity, provided the valid reason for having visited Italy’s capital. The reminder had intoxicated him. Ah sweet Rome. Such innovation!

  Nevertheless this recent episode had been a salutary lesson. Which had made him determined not to depart again from his normal routine. A routine which would of course once more be perfectly satisfactory towards serving his needs. Pressure was no longer a factor which need concern him. The irritating man’s threat would not be repeated.

  The man closed down these thoughts, picked up the glass-fronted picture frame from his desk, and rose to his feet. He turned on his heel to face the wall behind his desk. With his back to the desk, and carefully holding the glass-fronted picture frame, the man Sergio Sabbatini had vowed to disembowel smiled to himself as he looked at the scene before him. He knew he wasn’t looking at what the plebeian masses would expect to find in their traditional gallery, but as far as he was concerned he was looking at works of art. Symbols of a unique art form, but art nonetheless. His art. The art of science. He was standing before what he sometimes thought of as his trophy wall, but knew that wasn’t strictly accurate. Others had hunted the same quarry before him, but none had surpassed his own achievements: His brilliance.

  He stepped forward and refilled the space on the wall, standing back slightly to adjust the positioning of the replaced picture frame. He must decide now which one he would take down and stand on his desk. He liked to alternate them, to remind himself of how much progress had been made, and how near he was to the summit of achievement. He began reading one of the other framed and glass-fronted texts mounted on the wall.

  Extract from survey of implantable microelectronics & scientific paper entitled

  ‘Telemetry is coming of age’

  ‘Electronic systems that can be implanted totally within the body have progressed in the last twenty years from single transistor devices, to complete multifunction devices with integrated circuits that can also incorporate memory and microprocessor logic functions.

  The implants that surgeons can place in the brains of patients under anaesthetic on the operating table, use wave lengths close to the microwave part of the electromagnetic spectrum.’

  The man decided to leave this one on the wall, and moved slightly to read the next.

  Extract from ‘The Use of Electronics’ (1972)

  ‘It would be ironic indeed if science, which was granted and is still granted the freedom to invent weapons of total destruction, were not granted a similar freedom to invent methods of controlling the humans who wield them. The technique of telemetric control of human beings, offers the possibility of regulating behaviour with precision on a subconscious level and avoiding the cruelty of depriving man of his subjective sense of freedom.’

  The man was still undecided and then his gaze alighted on the one he thought would join him at the desk. He read it now, to be absolutely sure of his choice.

  Extract from ‘Simbionic Technology’ (1983)

  ‘In five or six years, by 1988 or thereabouts, portable quasi-human brains, made of silicon or gallium arsenide, will be commonplace. They will be used by an intelligent electronic race, working as partners with the human race’.

  The man was satisfied with his choice and carefully removed it from the wall.

  May 1983 extract from London’s Daily Telegraph.

  Mystery Disappearance of RMCS Expert!

  ‘The sudden disappearance in Oxfordshire last month of 49 year old Lt-Colonel Anthony Godley, who commanded the ultra-sensitive Work Study Unit at the UK’s highly prestigious Royal Military College of Science, remains a mystery to concerned friends and family.’

  Chapter Five

  Finding the Way

  Rome, Italy, January 1984

  The two black-costumed combatants were the sole occupants of the gymnasium. Spasmodically rising and falling, the sounds of their exertions resonated around the spacious floor area. Trained observers would have instantly categorised the older looking and smaller one, the male, as a martial arts master. They would have looked at the cropped greying hair, and the life-blasted face, and guessed his age to be a little short of forty summers. But the taller one, the young female, would have defied easy conclusion. Even trained observers would have had difficulty attributing what they would have seen being done, to the dark-haired lovely looking girl of indeterminate age they
would have witnessed actually doing it.

  To any uninitiated onlooker, the figures might have appeared to be interpreting an intricately choreographed ballet for two. To that kind of viewer, at first glance, the performers would have conveyed an impression of imbalance given their height differentials. The pace and rhythm of their movements would have puzzled, constantly switching speed, coming together then disengaging yet hardly seeming to actually make contact with one another. What hopefully would have been appreciated by such an onlooker was the overall fluidity and grace with which the performers moved throughout their musically unaccompanied performance.

  She struck suddenly, an almost entirely unexpected move executed with impressive speed, and with pin-point accuracy her fingernail lightly flicked the pressure point at the base of his neck. The accupoint his Chinese counterparts had named The Celestial Chimney. As she flowed away from his counter-move she smiled, and he masked his sadness as he signalled an end to their final session. This had been a deliberately constructed and demanding session, utilising several difficult disciplines, and concentration had been necessarily fierce. Some moments would be spent now on altering their individual mindsets. They had ceased to be combatants. They would now once more become benign examples of master and pupil, and close friends.