The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

“Who was your source?”

  Sergio heard David Foster’s indrawn breath before the man replied.

  “One of the senior RMCS technicians with a grudge.”

  “A grudge?”

  “The reason he called me in the first place, Sergio. He had volunteered to take part in the research programme. He has, no, that’s wrong now, he had a young nephew in the final stages of terminal cancer. He wanted to treat the lad and his mother to an all-expenses-paid trip to Disneyland. He went to the top man and put himself forward for the secret experiments. He told that top man why he needed the money, even showed him a photograph of the dying boy, but he was rejected.”

  “Well, I suppose...,” began Sergio.

  “What my source said he couldn’t forgive, Sergio, was the way the top man giggled as he said the nephew surely wouldn’t want to frighten Mickey Mouse.”

  “What...!”

  “What my source said, Sergio, was that the top man has a sickening habit of giggling at the most embarrassingly inappropriate moments. Brace yourself, Sergio, apparently he even giggled when my source was reading to him one of the newspaper descriptions of Sophia’s injury and her daughter’s death.”

  Sergio felt the blood rush to his face and could barely manage to get the words out.

  “What is this top man’s name?”

  “His name is Calendar. Evelyn Calendar.”

  “Isn’t that a woman’s name?”

  “Normally, yes, but some men do bear the name. Maybe his parents had wanted a girl.”

  “What else do you know about him?”

  “Not enough. He’ll be on a file somewhere, but I can’t get to it. And I can’t be heard asking too many questions about Shrivenham. The description I got from the source was hopelessly vague. A small man who apparently doesn’t like women, who doesn’t talk much to his staff, and spends all his time in the laboratory or operating theatre.”

  “Operating theatre?”

  “That’s apparently where these experiments are being conducted.”

  Sergio used the silence now to unscramble his thoughts. His last question had been purely a reflexive one, he was more consumed by the fact that they now knew the name of the man whom his sister had heard giggling as she had lain helpless to prevent what had been done to her daughter. And he was once more remembering the pledge he had made to disembowel the creature who had sexually abused and mutilated a seven year old child.

  “David...,” he began, hearing the croak of his own voice as if from a distance.

  “I know, Sergio, I know,” interjected David. “I’ve already had all the thoughts you’re probably having right now. I remember what we said we would do when we found him. If it makes it any easier for you, let me be the one to say I don’t think either of us can afford to ruin our lives by topping the bastard. But we can try to figure out a way of getting him into the open so that he can be questioned by Duggan.”

  “Yes,” responded Sergio, ashamed at the relief he felt, “yes, we can try to figure out a way.”

  “Sergio, there’s something else I need to get off my chest. Not really the best moment, I know, but I’ve met another woman I think I can start again with.”

  “That is wonderful news,” responded Sergio, and meaning it.

  “Her name is Sally. She’s an interior decorator with a good reputation. She’s divorced, has an eight year old daughter named Catherine. She knows all about Shrivenham, and you, Sergio. We’re in love, Sergio, and I think you will like her.”

  “I look forward to meeting her, truly, David, I’m happy for you both.”

  “I guess we can wrap this up for now, Sergio, what do you say?”

  “Yes, you have given me much to think about,” replied Sergio. “I will call you in a day or two.”

  Sergio re-cradled his phone and stood up to wander about the apartment with his turbulent thoughts. They may have finally discovered the name of the man they had sought for over two years. But they still couldn’t get to the man himself. David had found a woman to build a new life with, and he felt as if he had now also lost a brother. David Foster may have found the man and Sergio Sabbatini may have lost his nerve.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Time Bomb

  New York City, Lower Manhattan, Mid July, 1985

  The meeting of the Gambino family’s supreme council was taking place in a private dining room on the top floor of a hotel overlooking Battery Park and the Hudson River. They hadn’t come for the view, and they wouldn’t be eating together, and they were one short of their normal number of members. Spitting in the face of all those present today, the missing member had ignored an earlier ruling of this council. A defiance which could have been detrimental to all of them, had lady luck not reportedly dealt them unexpected cards twice. Which basically meant that five angry men were now sitting round a table arguing about how and when Luigi Rinaldi should meet his maker.

  “Put the bastard on a rack, for a week,” voted one of the five.

  “A bullet in the back of the head, today,” voted another, and was seconded.

  “Feed him to the fish,” voted the fourth man.

  “Stick a time bomb in that fancy car of his,” growled the fifth man, “right below his dwarf-ass.”

  The fifth vote was immediately supported by the other four members. From tomorrow morning, when he climbed into his fancy car and perched atop his customised seating, Luigi Rinaldi would be sitting on top of a time bomb. The five men began discussing how long the disobedient dwarf should be allowed to sit before he disintegrated.

  New York City’s ‘Little Italy’ District, Manhattan’s Lower East Side, Mid July, 1985

  “Yesterday,” said Tanzen Kimoto, “the phone call was again late and I watched my wife trying to hide her pain.”

  “But they did call,” responded Forza. “So you know that your daughter is....”

  “Still alive?” interjected Kimoto. “Oh yes, she is alive. Had I not heard her voice, you would not be standing before me now.”

  Carmine Forza stood perfectly still, unwilling to provoke an attack because of some movement which could be misinterpreted. Whenever Kimoto came near him, he never knew whether it was to deliver words or the killing strike he might never see coming. He silently cursed Wan Cheng-Jian, and whichever member of his Triad was supposed to make the arranged daily phone call which linked Kimoto to his kidnapped daughter. This was the fourth time Kimoto had reported having been forced to watch his wife suffer, and each time Carmine Forza had been made to suffer also. For a split second he thought of surprising the man by launching his own attack, and then his mind froze as he saw the eyes of Tanzen Kimoto reading his thoughts.

  “It would not be wise,” said Kimoto quietly. “I would not take your life while they have my daughter, but I would make you wish that I had.”

  “I didn’t know,” said Forza, but knowing he’d used these words a dozen times already, “that they would keep on using this place as a clearing centre after the first deal. How could I? How could I know that they would keep your daughter this long?”

  Tanzen Kimoto tuned out the insect before him. He now knew where his daughter was, but also knew the place couldn’t be breached by one person. Even one with his considerable skills. And there was no one else who could help him. No one else whose life could be put at risk alongside his own. He turned his back on the insect, and left to give his attention to the students waiting in his dojo.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Calendar Dates

  Rome, Italy, Canizzaro’s Villa, 29th of July, 1985

  “Did you just say... New York?”

  “You’ve earned it,” declared a smiling Canizzaro. “You’ve worked hard, your training has been intense, and your actions with the LUP business has stopped the rot and given the company an excellent new manager
. We will be there for ten days,” he continued, the smile broadening as she stepped forward and hugged him.

  “The last ten days of August,” he resumed, looking into her eyes and seeing her mother. “I have meetings to attend there, but we will still have some time together. And while your uncle is taking care of Vatican business, you can explore what the Americans call their ‘Big Apple’. You can take a few of those devastating new evening outfits and send New York males into raptures as they gaze upon my beautiful niece.”

  “Vatican business? As in leaves you too exhausted to do anything else, Vatican business?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured her, “Signore Kennedy has already done the difficult part. I just need to help him find the last few pieces of a financial jigsaw.”

  At the sound of his name, Maria pictured the man with green eyes. “Is this jigsaw connected to that kidnap you mentioned?” she queried.

  “Forget about business, and kidnapping,” he replied, “think about your holiday.”

  “New York,” repeated Maria, still taken aback by Canizzaro’s surprise.

  “You will enjoy yourself,” he said, “and it will give you a break from all that training.”

  Maria immediately thought about the New York telephone number on the card given to her by Tanaka. When she had shown the card to Wan Lai Tang, he had recognized the number. The Chinese master had smiled and said his little Samurai would have to work very hard to become good enough to impress Tanzen Kimoto.

  Via Claudia Apartment of Sergio Sabbatini, 29th of July, 1985

  The phone rang as Sergio was preparing to step into the shower, and he cursed under his breath as he padded naked back into the lounge.

  “You sound breathless,” said David Foster’s voice in his ear, “ I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything pleasurably strenuous.”

  “I just passed a hallway mirror on my way to the phone, and seeing myself naked always leaves me breathless.”

  “Oh hell, look I’m sorry....”

  “Relax, I’m alone, I was just getting into the shower when the phone rang.”

  “I just took a call from our friend, Duggan. The CIA people babysitting Calendar are gearing up to accompany him on a four day trip to America next month.”

  “And how does Duggan know this?”

  “Pillow talk. One of the CIA babysitters has a thing going with one of Duggan’s policewomen. He hasn’t said as much, but I think the wily Chief Inspector has employed a honey-trap. It seems Calendar is attending meetings at the CIA’s Langley HQ in Virginia, but that will only take up two days of his time. The thing that apparently has the CIA in a lather is the fact that Calendar insisted on extending the trip to four days. He’s spending the last two of those days at the Plaza Hotel in New York’s Manhattan district.”

  “Which days in August will he be at the hotel?”

  “The last two.”

  “Well, we both know,” began Sergio, already sensing where this was going, “that friend Duggan can’t question him in New York.”

  “Nobody could,” agreed David, “Nobody could get near enough to question him, but I thought maybe you and I could just go and take a look at him.”

  Sergio shivered and wasn’t sure whether it was because he was in his birthday suit, or because he suddenly knew what he must do to salve his conscience and restore his pride.

  “Take a look at him?”

  “It’s all we can do,” said David, “Duggan has given me descriptions of the two senior CIA babysitters, and one of those is a big bald black guy so he will be easy to spot. We’ll find Calendar by finding the babysitters. I know what I said the other night, Sergio, and I still mean it. But I think we should take this opportunity to see him for ourselves. I would imagine your policeman’s gut-feel is just as reliable as my own, so maybe just seeing him will tell us he’s the one. And if we ever do get the evidence to convict him, I will know what he looks like when I go to arrest him.”

  “Okay,” said Sergio, knowing he had no acceptable alternative, “So how do we organize this?”

  “I’ll make the reservations for both of us and get back to you,” replied David. “I will book us in for the last three days of August. You go and have your shower.”

  Sergio padded back to the shower thinking about how upbeat his brother-in-law had sounded; clearly the new woman in his life was having a positive effect upon him. Sergio was also wondering what explanation he could offer to Colonel Kovac for the forthcoming need to visit America’s New York city.

  Outskirts of the Vatican City, 29th of July, 1985

  The Rome Lodge of Italy’s Grand Order of Freemasonry was gathered within the ancient fortress setting of Castel Sant’Angelo for the initiation ceremony which had heard new members swear their oath of allegiance to Il Grande Massoneria Ordine. In times past the castle had served as medieval citadel and prison, and even as the residence of popes during periods of political unrest, so its walls had contained many forms of man-made oaths over the ages. The Castel Sant’Angelo had been standing for several centuries and the Grand Master of the Rome Lodge had been standing for twenty minutes, but his speech was drawing to a close.

  In an opulent room on an upper level of the castle overlooking the River Tiber, and behind the Grand Master now, was the terrace which had inspired Puccini to emulate its view in the scene from his last act of Tosca. Also behind Grand Master Frederico Monza, was a commemorative flag. Supported by its transportable housing, and unfurled, the colourful flag had been carefully arranged so as to display the benign looking face of a white-haired man who might have been a priest, or an eminent scholar perhaps. Neither image was the case; the face belonged to the late Guiseppi Mazzini, revolutionary terrorist leader, Sicilian gangster and reputed Mafia founder, and acknowledged founder of Italian Freemasonry. In front of the man now nearing the end of his speech, was his influential audience of government officials, bankers, financiers, and leading businessmen.

  “...until our next meeting on the last day of September.”

  The audience stood to applaud the Grand Master, and then began splitting into variably sized self-interest groups to conduct private conversations. One of those private conversations was now unfolding between a financial advisor to the Vatican and a senior carabiniere officer.

  “Congratulations once again, Colonel,” said a smiling Claudio Canizzaro.

  “Thank you,” replied Enrico Kovac.

  “Of course,” continued Canizzaro, still smiling, “had you taken the oath some time ago, you would have been unable to share your knowledge of me with Capitano Sabbatini.”

  “He is a resourceful man,” replied Kovac, “He would have found out anyway.”

  “I like the man,” confessed Canizzaro, “and no harm has been done.”

  “He thinks highly of your niece,” responded Kovac.

  “And you mention my niece, because...?” queried a no longer smiling Canizzaro.

  “Because,” replied Kovac calmly, “I thought you should know that my normally ruthless young officer has been determined to spare her from any unpleasantness.”

  “Unpleasantness?”

  “Sabbatini could make Giovanni Orsinni’s last days on earth unpleasant ones. Which in turn would embarrass and upset your niece. He has chosen not to do that, and has instead successfully argued the case for concentrating our resources on the new Bartalucci hierarchy.”

  “Thank you for sharing that information,” responded Canizzaro, smiling again as he spoke.

  “I too like Sabbatini,” confided Kovac, “which is why I am concerned about his future.”

  “He chose the path upon which he walks,” responded Canizzaro.

  “It is the possibility of his straying from that path which concerns me.”

  “Corruption?”

  “He lives and breathes
the carabiniere, and would never dishonour it in that way.”

  “Then what exactly concerns you about this young man who thinks so highly of my niece?”

  So Colonel Enrico Kovac told Claudio Canizzaro all about the personal horrors his young officer had experienced in England’s Shrivenham, and of Sabbatini’s planned visit to America’s New York City in August.

  “He hasn’t told me why he is going,” said Kovac, “but I think Sabbatini is unofficially going after a paedophile, and the consequence of possible success could be the end of his career.”

  Alfredo and Anna Catalani’s apartment, The LUP building, 30th of July, 1985

  “...Happy holiday to you.”

  Maria Orsinni smiled as her ‘surprise party’ singers finished. She blew out the candles on the cake made by Helena Sabbatini. Sergio’s mother cut the cake. A slice went to Canizzaro, then Sergio, then the Catalani couple and Graziella, then the forthcoming holiday girl, and lastly Helena herself. Maria smiled wistfully with the thought that so far the day had been packed with surprises, but watching a Sicilian mother distribute food wasn’t one of them. She dutifully praised the cake, and, witnessed by Graziella. Helena promptly began reciting the recipe. Maria inwardly groaned with the knowledge of what would be the next Orsinni culinary challenge. The talk shifted to female gossip territory, and the two men drifted away out of earshot.

  Maria stifled the sigh, she would have preferred male company but would not offend the women who had put themselves out to be here. Unbeknown to her, Anna and her uncle had engineered the surprise party which was doubling as a thank you to the carabiniere. Sergio’s mother had been flown in from Sicily, and only this morning Graziella had left the villa ‘to visit a friend’, and a conspiring Canizzaro had tricked an unsuspecting niece into a shopping trip which had actually made the LUP building’s luxury apartment the first port of call.

  “...and my Sergio still blames himself for the fact that the pedofilo is still free.”

  Maria’s full attention was now regained by Helena Sabbatini, whom she addressed, “Mi Scusi, I was thinking of something else for a moment You said... the paedophile?”