The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  “But why don’t I know about you?” she asked, forcing herself to look at him.

  Canizzaro’s face wore a sad looking smile as he shrugged his shoulders and replied, “The answer to that question lies in the history which you should know of in order to understand its consequences. Our parents split up not long after that photograph was taken. Giovanni stayed in Sicily with our unfaithful father, and I left with our betrayed mother. Having taken sides, Giovanni and I didn’t speak to one another for many years. Our mother brought me here to Rome, she had friends here who helped her build a new life. She reverted to her maiden name of Canizzaro, which is the name I’ve used ever since.”

  Too stunned to respond, Maria could only watch and wait for what might come next. Canizzaro rubbed his eyes before calmly continuing, “I was just beginning to build my business in the art world when I learned my father had been shot dead by a vengeful husband.” He paused, his deep breath audible in the silence, “My mother died months later, and I still try to deny the fact that she died of a broken heart.”

  Maria saw Canizzaro pause again, as if bracing himself, before he quietly resumed, “Then your mother and I met and fell in love. I told her everything of course, which a young man foolishly does when he opens his heart to love. So a young and impressionable girl learned all about a dead father’s infidelities and a dead mother’s broken heart. And all about Giovanni. And, as a young girl foolishly does when she thinks with her heart, she went to Giovanni in an attempt to bring about a reconciliation between he and I. But all that happened was that my brother’s silver tongue obviously worked its magic, because she never returned to me.”

  Canizzaro stopped speaking and a palpable silence descended over the room and its occupants. Watched by his wordless audience, the story-teller rose from his chair and moved to what was seen to be a drinks cabinet. The gurgle of wine being poured into a glass was heard, and then the teller of tales returned to sit down opposite his audience once more.

  Maria could hear Tanaka’s voice in her head telling her to select a mindset, but she was struggling to find one which could help her through this. Struggling to marshal the thoughts which were scattered in her head. Unavoidable now were the fateful comparisons between the personal history she had already lived through, and the one she’d just been listening to. An unfaithful grandfather she’d never known; a man who had sown his seed of infidelity in the grandmother she had also never known. A grandmother who had birthed Maria’s unfaithful father; the man who had betrayed Maria’s mother and disabled her family. And the man who had told her this story, the man opposite her clearly expecting a response, was apparently her Uncle! Maria felt as if she had aged ten years in the last two minutes.

  “My mother never told me,” she said quietly, and saw him reprise the sad looking smile with his softly spoken response.

  “I imagine she took your age into account, my child, and wisely decided not to.”

  “But you have told me.”

  “Leaving aside the root causes,” he replied, “your father’s way of life and his position within the Bartalucci family, and my business life and connection to the Vatican, kept he and I apart for all the obvious reasons. Silence benefited us both, and you and your brother were too young to be told of us. The changed circumstances now dictate a new necessity, and you are older now, Maria. Your capacity for understanding is more seasoned now.”

  Maria heard the man’s voice soften as he leant forward to continue, “Making this old man very happy, your father contacted me months ago. Whilst your mother was very ill. He was very frank about what had caused her illness, and sounded sincerely repentant. He was also lamenting the loss of his son’s respect, but he was chiefly concerned about you. He told me you were both determined to make your own lives away from the Bartalucci family. He said that arranging something for Paolo wouldn’t be a problem, but that he was worried about what would become of you.”

  Enthralled, Maria was then surprised as Canizzaro stood up and held out his hands to her. “Why don’t we stretch our legs, my child,” he said with a smile.

  She allowed him to pull her upright, and for a second time fought the sudden urge to hug him. They linked arms again and he led her back in the direction of Graziella’s kitchen.

  “Giovanni couldn’t tell me,” resumed Canizzaro, “exactly when the need would arise, but he asked for my help when the time came and I said yes. After your mother’s memorial service, which I attended by the way and you were magnificent, my child, he rang me again. While I was in London actually, so intimate communication was difficult. But I agreed to the hastily arranged appointment with Brantano, thinking it would suffice until my return from London.” He paused as they arrived back outside the door to his so-called favourite restaurant.

  “Which of course it did,” he said, the smile broadening on his face.

  “Which it certainly did,” agreed Maria, glad to have found her voice again.

  Canizzaro laughed at that, and Maria smiled and made to open the door to Graziella’s kitchen. But her arm was again squeezed to indicate she could keep moving.

  “I know you must be tired,” he said, “and I realize you will have questions for me.”

  They had reached the end of a corridor and Maria was led around a corner to face ornate wooden double-doors which were closed.

  “But I thought you might agree,” resumed Canizzaro as he brought them to a halt, “to hold most of the questions until tomorrow?”

  Maria nodded her agreement, it would give her time to think about everything she had heard here tonight. Canizzaro’s smile of awareness made her respond in kind.

  “I’m being selfish, of course,” he continued, releasing her arm and placing his hands on the carved wooden doors, “I just wanted our eventful day to end on a high note.”

  Canizzaro opened the doors and stepped back to wave her through as he spoke again, “This was a ballroom in its former life, but hasn’t catered to that function for several years.”

  Maria was dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She was standing at the entrance to what she could see was a superbly equipped gymnasium. As she saw the dojo mat and practice mirror, further realization increased her amazement. It was an exact replica of the gymnasium she had left behind earlier today.

  “As you can see,” said Canizzaro, the pleasure evident in his voice, “its new function will be of more interest to you.”

  “But how...?” she began, the question sticking in her throat, glad of his responsive rescue.

  “When your father and I spoke all those months ago, he told me about your dedication to the martial arts and your need to train. I told him about this defunct ballroom, and one thing led to another. He sent photographs of the gymnasium you’ve been using, and the people specialising in this sort of thing did the rest.”

  “It’s a joy to behold,” said Maria straight from the heart.

  “You should know, my child,” said Canizzaro, “that your father insisted on paying for it.”

  Surprised by that, Maria turned towards Canizzaro as he continued with a smile, “So you should consider this a gift from the brothers Orsinni. Your father said the other gymnasium was built for his son, and he wanted this one built for his daughter.”

  “The brothers Orsinni,” echoed Maria, still coming to terms with this evening’s revelations, and the addition was out before she could stop it, “Sounds like a circus act.”

  Canizzaro laughed with his response, “Juggling our speciality.”

  This time she refused to deny the urge, and stepped forward and hugged him. “The very first hug,” she said into his ear, “for my very first uncle.”

  “One or two per day would be very nice, my child,” he said, gently returning her hug before stepping back to brandish the key in his hand, “Your own key to your private gymnasium.”

  Ma
ria took the proffered key as Canizzaro’s voice changed with his continuance, “Your father has told me you possess exceptional skills. And that carabiniere officer, Sabbatini, was obviously impressed with the means by which you defended yourself today. Your father also told me that a shrewd brain lies beneath the beautiful hair of your young head.”

  Maria watched him turn, obviously preparing to leave but stopping to add, “And, on the evidence I have seen, I am inclined to agree with Giovanni. I have widespread business interests, Maria, and after today my fear is that some of those could be harbouring another Brantano, or others using positions of trust for their own ends. Perhaps you could help me to find out. But we can talk about that in the morning. Goodnight, Maria,” he ended, and walked away without waiting for a response.

  “Thank you,” she said to his departing back, and was then surprised again when he waved to her without even turning round or breaking his stride.

  “Thank you, uncle,” she whispered, then turned to stand in the doorway of her new gymnasium. “Thank you very much indeed,” she whispered again.

  Maria took two more slow steps into the gymnasium, her eyes drinking in the scene before and around her. She could already feel the weight left by this eventful day, begin to lift from her shoulders and mind. She smiled now as she moved across the smooth wooden floor to reach the dojo mat, hitched up her skirt, and flowed into the lotus position.

  ‘Not by any stretch of the imagination, how I had expected this day to end.’

  Maria followed that thought with some decisions. Tomorrow she would speak to her father. Tomorrow she would recommence her training. Tomorrow she would contact the internal arts master recommended to her by Tanaka.

  Maria flowed upwards to her feet with the thought that Canizzaro would appear to be offering her a new form of contract. She made another decision: First thing tomorrow, she would give her new uncle another hug.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Creature Comforts

  January 1985, Shrivenham Village, Oxfordshire, Royal Military College of Science

  He had to confess, but only to himself of course, that he was rather enjoying the attention of the Americans. As indeed were his so-called masters, falling over themselves to accommodate the wishes of those brandishing the almighty dollar. Of course he really shouldn’t mock. After all, the American finance buying them a slice of British pie meant acceleration of the programme which could now be completed within the next two years. He could feel his testicles tightening and the blood rushing to his penis, and the heat spreading to his brain with the thought that 1987 would herald the culmination of his dream. Presenting him with the keys to the scientific kingdom of power beyond measure.

  The Americans were so over-the-top with their expressions of praise and admiration for his work, but he had been extremely careful to conceal his ego behind the responsive mask of modesty. Of course being indispensable had its drawbacks. The bountiful Americans were, it seemed, determined to wrap him up in the cotton wool of ‘specialist protection’ whenever he travelled outside the secure compound. He had assumed now that over the recent past those unwanted ‘shadows’ he had painstakingly divested himself of, had been the unofficial precursor to this more open declaration of their intent to ‘keep a friendly eye on him.’ Which naturally presented its own problems. But then he had always held the view that problems were merely challenges in disguise, and the giggle escaped now with his choice of words.

  A cloud of disappointment briefly settled over his thoughts. He regretted the fact that private trips to his Roman friend would no longer be possible, but, between Luigi Rinaldi’s incomprehensible ranting about some woman called Orsinni, the man’s message had been final. Brantano’s imprisonment had sealed off the venue in Rome. Such a pity, he had liked Ricardo and had derived so much pleasure from their Via Del Moro entertainments.

  The cloud moved in his mind to reveal the glint of a silver lining. American recognition of his importance to the programme had brought its promised perks, and further professional visits to the land of the free were now very definitely on the cards. Now there indeed was a market-place worthy of the consideration and planning which it had been afforded.

  America the brave; housing fresh prey in New York and home to his very own midget. He gently chided himself for thinking this last thought. Had it not been for the resourceful Rinaldi’s connections, he could never have capitalised on the financial potential which diversification seemed destined to realize. Nor could he have so efficiently organized the distribution network for the end product of their soon-to-be-filmed entertainments. And he certainly never could have set up the numbered account to conceal the promised proceeds from their endeavours, for the machinations of Swiss banks were outside his comfort zone. But he was learning, on all fronts.

  America; the proverbial land of opportunity. And who better to exploit New York’s opportunities than someone who had a genuine reason for being there? Who better than its very own Luigi Rinaldi? His brand new and unwitting pupil, a newly discovered kindred spirit, a talented soul-mate without heart. One who had been already moving in the right direction, and had simply required guidance. One whose activities could never be traced back to yours truly!

  He could honestly say to himself now that he had never, not once in his entire eventful life, surrendered to complacency. But he was beginning to realize how the omnipotent Roman Caesars must have felt. He barely suppressed the giggle.

  Chapter Twenty

  Carabiniere Conflicts

  Rome, Italy, February 1985

  “You could of course use the Orsinni woman,” suggested Colonel Kovac.

  And so, right from that moment, the conversation brought to Sabbatini’s mind his newly discovered word Obscurantism. “Use her?” he responded, feigning failure to understand.

  “Your report on the Via Del Moro business,” said the impatient sounding Colonel, “makes it clear you may have saved her life. A fact of which,” he pointedly emphasised, “I’m sure she’s perfectly aware. So she owes you something in return, Sergio. So why not collect?”

  “Collect?”

  Sergio saw one of the Colonel’s eyebrows lift in surprise before its owner spoke again.

  “I will blame,” Kovac said with an exaggerated sigh, “your recent lack of sleep for an apparent inability to open your eyes to the opportunity offered by this Orsinni woman.”

  “Offered?”

  “Or,” said Kovac behind a frown, “ I could just hit you over the head with a blunt object.”

  “There’s probably,” replied a straight-faced Sergio, “something in regulations which is intended to discourage senior officers from doing that sort of thing.”

  Sergio now saw the man’s facial expression change, and recognized annoyance.

  “Capitano Sabbatini,” responded the Colonel, his tone of voice signalling the end of banter, “What, exactly, bothers you about my suggestion?”

  And there it was, realized Sergio, there was the direct question demanding an answer he couldn’t voice. An answer to the conflict currently secreted inside his policeman’s head and his Sicilian heart. The former telling him he should capitalise on a suspected mutual interest, and the latter wildly beating its rejection of the logical course of action a policeman would be expected to take. A simple question from a far from simple senior officer waiting now for an answer. ‘So what do I tell him?’ wondered Sergio.

  Looking across the desk at Kovac, Sergio was reminded that he faced a man who possessed interrogation skills superior to his own. With those skills came patience, and Sergio realized the man would continue staring at him until he received the answer to his question. They had been discussing ways and means by which Sergio’s newly formed squad could acquire inside information on the Bartalucci family. And the squad commander was not only bothered by the idea of taking advantage of Maria Orsinni, the squad commande
r was bothered by Maria Orsinni full stop! He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and he couldn’t recall any other female having had this effect on him. But he could hardly explain this to Kovac, or anyone else for that matter. The newly discovered word floated across his mind once more: Obscurantism. And he saw again the fitting dictionary definition, Obscurantism; opposition to reform, or new knowledge, because Sergio knew that many within carabiniere headquarters were refusing to accept what the intelligence reports had said about Maria Orsinni.

  Sergio allowed his gaze to wander as he gathered his wits and sifted them for words he could safely use in reply to his fellow officer. Occupying most of the wall behind the Colonel’s desk was a handsomely framed and gloriously coloured oil-painting. From past visits to this room, Sergio knew he was looking at crafted scenes depicting carabiniere units which had served with distinction in several theatres of war. Captured on canvas, was the emotive centre-piece scene showing the carabiniere flag back-dropping the gold and silver and bronze medals which had been awarded to the regiment’s colours for military valour in the first and second world wars. ‘Courage under fire,’ he thought, ‘might be something I’m about to need myself.’ He took a deep breath, brought his eyes back to the still waiting Colonel, and quietly but firmly delivered his answer to the question.

  “I just think,” began Sergio, carefully selecting his words, “that Maria Orsinni should be allowed to get on with her new life without official interference from us.”