The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  The picklock was gathered up as soon as she closed the door behind her, and the reverse corridor moves were completed as her combat clock told her that she was ten seconds over her best dojo rehearsal time. With the adrenalin still rushing through her body, and her heartbeat sounding in her ears, she put her earrings on and knuckled Welbeck’s door.

  “That will be Carlotta, Theo,” said Albright, not believing for one moment that it was, knowing that the woman had only been gone for two minutes. But he had to keep following the script, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, “She probably found the earring in the elevator,” he added, more in hope than expectation, watching Welbeck opening the door, wondering why the hell he had ever allowed Maria Orsinni to....

  “Well, Harry, looks like you were right,” said Welbeck, holding the door open and grinning over his shoulder to Albright, “She may not be wearing much under that coat, but she’s definitely got two earrings and she’s looking hot to trot, wouldn’t you say?”

  Harry Albright stared past the grinning figure of Welbeck to the woman standing in the doorway. Her right thigh provocatively protruded from the slightly opened trench coat and her cleavage was difficult to ignore as she smiled at him, miming with one hand the motion of an elevator whilst pointing to her ear with the other hand. Which was their code for telling him that she had got the job done, and only his years of operational experience were what kept him from revealing to Welbeck the enormous feelings of relief, and disbelief, which were now coursing through his mind and body.

  “Yeah,” said Albright, “that’s definitely an elevator impression, Theo, and I guess it’s time Carlotta and I caught the next one going down. We’re done here, you and I, right, Theo?”

  “Sure, Harry,” replied Welbeck, his grin widening as he added, “I wouldn’t mind going up and down with Carlotta myself. But I’ll come with you to the lobby, which is the least I can do for the guy who has just gifted me the wringer I can use on Kilpatrick’s balls when the need arises.”

  Albright’s arm was recaptured by Carlotta as he stepped out into the corridor, and he saw Welbeck’s eyes tear themselves away from the woman’s breasts as the man spoke.

  “Hang on a second, Harry, I just want to let Curtis know where I’m going.”

  Albright continued his charade of appearing more interested in the beautiful and sexy woman clinging to his arm, than he was in watching Welbeck knocking on Calendar’s door. He saw Welbeck’s frown after a moment, then the man unsurprisingly produced a pass-key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock as he spoke again.

  “Won’t be a second, Harry.”

  But it was a full minute before an ashen-faced Welbeck reappeared.

  “Something here I gotta’ deal with, Harry. You and your friend may as well leave now. I’m probably going to be tied up for a while.”

  “Sure, Theo, it was good to talk...,” began Albright, but he was already addressing a closed door because Theo Welbeck had disappeared back inside room 408.

  They were inside the elevator taking them down to the hotel lobby before a still amazed Harry Albright felt sufficiently able to control his voice. “He didn’t even look at you when he came out of that room.”

  “I must have lost my allure,” replied Maria, quickly attending to coat buttons as she spoke.

  Presenting a more publicly acceptable image as she held on to the Albright arm, Maria walked out of the Plaza hotel knowing she would never return to it. Outside, as arranged, she and her escort parted : Albright going to his parked car, Maria going to her taxi. Ten minutes later, Tony parked in the familiar alleyway and Maria was once more ushered inside the rear entrance to Jolanta’s coffee shop. Wherein a brotherly hug gained a blonde hooker access to a sister’s staff room. A re-emerging Maria’s gifts of a new trench coat and glitzy earrings clipped to a twenty-dollar bill, bought she and her driver coffee and bagels. One restful hour later they began their return journey to the Upper West Side and Harry Albright’s townhouse. Traffic was bumper to bumper. ‘It’s gonna’ double our journey time’, grumbled Tony.

  Eyes closed, using her Chi to control her breathing, beginning to relax for the first time since she had entered the Plaza hotel barely two hours earlier, Maria spent the journey time thinking about having fulfilled her Sicilian pledge to Sergio; visualising how she might have improved upon her timing inside room 408; and wondering whether or not the contrived scene left inside that room would be convincing enough for the CIA analysts. Maria stirred, opened her eyes, and stretched her body to ease the muscles in her legs. She frowned with the thought that she wouldn’t have to wait long to learn whether or not her scene-setting had been successful. The next part of the plan was in the hands of Albright, who would be phoning Welbeck later to discover whatever he could without arousing the man’s suspicions.

  At 11.45am a weary Tony parked up and said he’d have coffee at Ricardo’s Restaurant, and Maria once again mounted the steps leading up to Albright’s already opening front door. The still smartly suited man stepped outside to greet her with his announcement as he relieved her of the Macy’s bag containing the distressed duct-tape, the blonde wig, and the torn fishnet stockings. He told her that the man who owned the place they were going to had an incinerator, and Maria concealed both surprise and amusement as she listened to him telling her that they were on their way to an early lunch at Ricardo’s Restaurant.

  “We’ve got to let some time pass,” said Albright, “before Theo hears my voice in his ear asking questions. Another hour or so should do it.”

  Inside the restaurant, Maria smiled as Tony demonstrated his impression of discretion personified and made no sign of recognition as Albright led her past the driver’s table and into an alcoved area containing only four tables positioned to maximise diner-privacy. Albright consulted her on drinks, then left her with the menu as he went to keep his appointment with an incinerator. He returned as she was giving her order to the waiter, whom he clearly knew.

  “I’ll just have my usual, Jack, thank you,” said Albright.

  The waiter left to relay their orders to the kitchen, and Albright raised his glass to her as he spoke. “The Macy’s bag, and its contents, are no more.” He took a sip of his drink before continuing quietly, “Maria, before our food gets here, why don’t you tell me exactly what Welbeck found waiting for him in room 408?”

  Leaving nothing out, Maria told him and watched as his eyes widened.

  “Well, that should give them something to think about,” said Albright, “How the hell did you do all that in such a short time? It still sounds impossible.”

  Maria didn’t mention the hours of practice which had made the impossible possible, nor the fact that she was beginning not to care about what the CIA analysts might conclude. She had honoured her pledge to Sergio, and that’s all that really mattered to her, she told herself. She silently chastised herself when the mozzarella pizza was placed before her, immediately deciding that her last thought had been fuelled by hunger. Because fulfilling her pledge to Sergio would definitely have been impossible had it not been for Harry Albright. But the conscience-driven man seated opposite her now and attacking his lunch, hadn’t just presented her with the opportunity to get close to her target. He had also presented her with a challenge, and had convinced her that Calendar should be taken down without exposing to condemnation those within Harry Albright’s beloved CIA who still deservedly commanded his respect. So Maria ate her lunch whilst now telling herself that it did matter what those CIA analysts would think about the accident scenario Albright had challenged her to create. She couldn’t have foreseen the bedroom scene in room 408, and had improvised as best she could given the time strictures. But would it prove to be convincing? Between the needed and much enjoyed mouthfuls of food, she deftly fielded Albright’s questions on all things Orsinni, and politely listened to him talking about his past CIA life. She heard
the proud young warriors voice in the body of the old man facing her now, and thought of her father.

  Tony was still drinking coffee when she and Albright were on their way out of the restaurant, and as she passed her driver she leant towards him to whisper the words ‘shouldn’t be too long now’. Maintaining his discretionary role, Tony merely nodded understanding.

  A little later, seated once more in front of the desk in Albright’s study, Maria watched as he began his telephone conversation with Theo Welbeck. She heard him say that he had ditched Carlotta at the party and had come straight home because of his concern about his former colleague’s behaviour as they had been parting at the Plaza hotel. She saw the frown of concentration on his face as he listened to whatever was being said to him. And she read the body language message before he finally finished the call and recradled the telephone.

  “We’re clear and clean,” said Albright, smiling his relief.

  “How clean?” responded Maria.

  “Theo was actually thanking me for getting out so quickly,” replied Albright, “He said he didn’t even mention me, said he couldn’t see the point in muddying the waters. So as far as the CIA are concerned, I was never there.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” responded Maria, smiling to soften her addition, “So you are clear and clean.”

  Albright reacted instantly. “We are both clear and clean. Even if they knew about her, which they don’t, and never will, the best analysts in the business would never connect a hooker called Carlotta to the events which took place in room 408.”

  “Even hookers have been known to kill people,” said Maria, again smiling, enjoying her role of devil’s advocate.

  Albright returned her smile, “The way those two were found together apparently clinches the suspicions Theo was already harbouring about Melcher. The analysts know that they had only just checked into the room, so nobody else could have undressed Melcher and put Calendar into women’s clothes before Theo found them.”

  “That was indeed fortuitous,” acknowledged Maria.

  “How would you have handled it if that hadn’t been the case?”

  “We’ll never know,” replied Maria.

  “The considered official opinion,” resumed Albright, “which will never see the bright light of disclosure, is that two sickos must have had some kind of kinky sex game going on. They think that Calendar must have stuck the needle into Melcher’s arm during the horseplay, and that an enraged Melcher then lost it completely and stuck the needle into Calendar’s jugular.”

  “So our association,” said Maria, rising from her seat, “has reached a satisfactory conclusion.”

  Albright stood to shake the proffered hand. “It has been a privilege to have been associated with you, Maria Orsinni.”

  “Arrividerci, Signore Albright. I will leave you with your clear and clean conscience.”

  Turning away from his smile, Maria left to round up her taxi driver.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Adjustments

  It was just before four in the afternoon when Tony dropped her off at the Waldorf. Maria collected her room key from the reception desk and turned to see her uncle emerging from the elevator and striding towards her. Signalling trouble, he was wearing the same clothes she had seen him in at yesterday’s breakfast table, but before she could think any more about that he was babbling an explanation of his presence as he reached her.

  “I’ve been waiting in my room,” began an unshaven and clearly distressed looking Canizzaro, “I came down....”

  “What is wrong?” interjected Maria, controlling her voice whilst her thoughts uncontrollably fled to an accident involving Tommaso.

  “We shouldn’t talk here,” replied Canizzaro, “We need privacy,” he added, steering her towards the elevator and making her think of Welbeck.

  The elevator was shared with another hotel guest, enforcing silence. But Maria could almost feel the tension emanating from her uncle’s body, and she had already noted the eyes heavy with fatigue. Her thoughts were racing through a multitude of possible reasons, none of them benign, for his appearance at this time and in this condition. She held herself in check until they were alone in the corridor and heading for what she decided would be her own room.

  “What has happened?”

  “You will be angry with me,” replied Canizzaro.

  “I’m already angry with you because you have been lying to me,” she responded, keying her door and waiting until they were both inside the room before adding, “and because your lies have probably got everything to do with why you’re standing there afraid to tell me the truth.”

  Maria watched as her uncle’s body shuddered with his words.

  “The Lucchese people have changed the handover date,” said Canizzaro in a verbal rush.

  Maria was silent. She watched her uncle’s eyes slide away from her stare, and felt the chill of dread creeping into her heart. “Where have you been going to when you were supposed to be with the Getty museum people?” She saw from his reaction that she had zeroed in on the crux of the matter and steeled herself now to receive his answer.

  “To Signore Stanhope’s hotel,” replied Canizzaro.

  “For what reason?”

  “Signore Stanhope has been talking to the kidnappers from there. Trying to hold them to the original date. But they said the girl would die if their new date was not agreed to, or if I didn’t appear before them at the handover.”

  Maria silently absorbed Canizzaro’s words, whose body language was already telling her that it was a far from complete statement. “Why did you consider this to be something you should lie to me about?” She watched his tired looking eyes seek out a chair, watched him move to sit down, and knew he was buying himself time to formulate his reply.

  “Signore Kennedy didn’t want you to be involved,” said Canizzaro, quietly.

  Maria was again silenced. She had been waiting for the sound of his name on her uncle’s lips. Now she had heard it, she was angrier. “So Signore Kennedy told you to lie to me?”

  “Signore Kennedy said that if you became involved in order to protect me, you would be placing yourself in danger. He told Stanhope that this would be unacceptable to him. Stanhope was in favour of telling you immediately the Lucchese people changed the date. Kennedy told us both, quite forcibly, that he didn’t want you coming to any harm.”

  Maria felt those words reach her core and fought now for the mindset she would need to handle the rest of this conversation. “Where is this hotel? Do you have the number?”

  “They checked out last night,” said Canizzaro, not looking at her now.

  Maria felt the blood roaring in her veins and suppressed the sudden urge to shout at her uncle. Controlling her temper, keeping her tone of voice mild, she asked the question to which she had already guessed the answer. “Where have they gone?”

  “Sicily,” replied Canizzaro, looking at her now and holding his hands up as if to ward off a blow, “I could not stop them,” he added, “Kennedy was determined to stop either of us going and Stanhope had to go regardless of who went with him.”

  Maria knew she couldn’t put off any longer, the questions she now had to ask.

  “Where, and when, is the handover?” She held her breath, tensed for his answer. Then she heard the words, sounding like gunshots in the quiet room and shattering her mindset.

  “Palermo, tomorrow,” replied Canizzaro.

  “Where in Palermo? What time?”

  “Noon, but I don’t know where. Kennedy wouldn’t allow Stanhope to tell me. He said he would give the Lucchese people enough money to persuade them to forget all about me.”

  Reminding her of their dinner table conversation of a few nights ago, Maria once again picked up on his phrasing. She let him hear the steel in her voice. “The Vatican could
have had any number of people front for them to cover up the past of their senior cleric linked to this kidnapping. So I’m only going to ask you this once, uncle of mine, so you only get one chance to tell me the complete truth. Why are the Lucchese family so determined to have you at the handover?” She watched as he drew breath, his body language telling her that he would be relieved to unburden himself of the truth.

  “The photograph,” he began, “which was found on the kidnapped child, was taken with my permission. It shows mother and daughter together with the cleric, and Mario Baletto. It also shows me. They wanted it that way. I was the one who fronted for the Vatican after the child was born. With the consent of both parents, I was the one who arranged for the child to be adopted by Mario. The child’s mother is the sister of Salvatore Lucchese. ”

  Following her assurance that she would think no less of him after hearing his revelations, which had included the name of the catalytic cleric, an exhausted Canizzaro had obeyed the order to retire to his own room and get some much needed sleep. Maria then paced the floor with her busy thoughts, quickly arriving at some of the easier to reach conclusions. Clearly, the Lucchese hierarchy blamed Canizzaro for exposing their money laundering operation which had been dependant on his LUP company staying under officialdom’s radar. So they would also have blamed him for triggering the linked Carabiniere raid which had led to the loss of their enforcer, Busoni. So far so predictable.

  Maria stopped pacing and phoned down to reception. She gave a family emergency as the reason behind her urgent requirement and was told they would make the necessary enquiry and call her back. Deciding to chance it, she quickly undressed and took a shower. She was towelling herself dry when her phone rang and moments later she recradled the instrument of bad news: There were no available seats on flights to Rome before her already scheduled flight time of eight tomorrow morning. The timing issue had returned to haunt her.

  Maria dressed as she thought some more about what her uncle had told her. If the Lucchese hierarchy had resented his ‘brokerage’ role in the Vatican cleric/Baletto affair, then why hadn’t they reacted sooner? She couldn’t answer that. But by demanding Canizzaro’s presence at the handover, they were obviously reacting now and apparently looking to settle several scores at the same time. Would Tommaso’s offer of more money to forget all about her uncle be enough to satisfy them? She didn’t know enough about the Lucchese people to answer that one either. She sighed with the thought that she didn’t know enough about the Lucchese set-up, full stop.