The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  “Special cargo?” she asked, sensing this would be a Bartalucci refinement not up for refusal; hearing the Orsinni steel in her father’s voice with his reply.

  “Don’t let it disturb you,” he said, “Luigi’s success will result in his leaving people behind in the warehouse when you go. When Salvatore arrives, he must see nothing to connect the Bartalucci family to what he will find. Three members of a clan rivalling Galeoto’s clan will be executed before you get in the van. Their crime was paedophilia and is punishable by death. Luigi and his team will distribute the fresh evidence designed to deflect any doubt which may linger in Salvatore’s mind.”

  Maria stared across the desk as she thought about the decreed fate of what had been described as ‘special cargo’. There could be no doubt as to the sheer ruthlessness and chilling efficiency of the Bartalucci family, personified now by a calm looking Giovanni Orsinni. She had just heard coolly described, the final end-game moves of her Orsinni versus Orsinni verbal chess game. A Sicilian style chess game, in which even her own father had positioned her on the board alongside the other Bartalucci pawns. Her father might be officially divorced from them, but he would still go to his grave placing the Bartalucci family above his own.

  So now she knew it all: For his own reasons, the Bartalucci Don was exacting punishment and making a profit from the moves he had choreographed. For a grand finale, he was probably expecting Maria Orsinni to present him with a potential-filled photograph. Salvatore Lucchese would even take comfort from his losses; the ransom could be recouped elsewhere, and the Bartalucci-created warehouse scenario would remove both the Galeoto problem and his fear of Bartalucci reprisal had he failed to deal with the clan boss himself. The voice of one of her French tutors was in her head now, quoting someone named Jean Cocteau; If it has to choose who is to be crucified, the crowd will always save Barabbas.

  Maria’s sigh now was deeper with the additional thought that Don Antonio Bartalucci must become her Barabbas if she was to protect Canizzaro and bring back Tommaso and the child. “Airport security?” she queried, keeping her tone casual.

  “Arrangements are in place,” he replied, his tone dismissive.

  “I need to change my clothes before I leave,” said Maria, rising to her feet. “and I will also need to speak to Stanhope. I presume you will stand Canizzaro down,” she ended, hoping that Luigi would tell her what she needed to know about the Galeoto brothers, but knowing that the Englishman would have seen things in Palermo which could be useful to her.

  “Your case has been put in your room,” said Orsinni senior, “and Signore Stanhope will be here when you return. I will call your uncle.”

  The déjà vu feeling returned at full blast when Maria undressed in the bedroom which was exactly as she had left it almost nine months ago. She felt as if she had lived a lifetime since then. From her suitcase she now selected the black stretch slacks to be worn with her steel toe-capped boots, a fresh pair of nylon tights, a zippered tunic top, and the handcrafted bra. She placed the photograph in her tunic pocket, then removed her knives from the vanity case and rejoined them with the bra. She dressed quickly, and was soon back in her father’s study to find that Luigi and Stanhope were its only occupants.

  She found out from Stanhope that the phone number he had been given for all of his negotiations was that of the warehouse now holding Tommaso and the child. The Englishman described for her what he could remember of the warehouse layout. He said that he had seen Umberto Galeoto carry the briefcases containing the bearer bonds and the diamonds into a room which looked like some kind of office. Maria noted, but didn’t react to, Luigi’s scowl at the disclosed form of the ransom. Stanhope also said that he had seen a total of six Galeoto men there, and Maria mentally filed that away without comment. Luigi just smiled.

  The Englishman asked what was going to happen before time ran out for Kennedy, and Luigi smiled again and told him that Signorina Orsinni had a plan. Stanhope was still asking what the plan was when Luigi led him away for more of Signora Costello’s coffee and exchange English lessons.

  Ten minutes later, Maria once more sat beside Luigi Costello in the car he was now driving to L’aerporto Ciampino. She casually asked him what he knew about the Galeoto brothers, but he just smiled again and told her she needn’t concern herself with them. She hid her own smile with the thought that the veteran Costello might consider her to be just a girl with no pebbles to throw on this occasion. The generation gap train of thought brought her English tutor’s voice into her head now, quoting someone whose name escaped her; It is the one war in which everyone changes sides. She decided not to press Costello for more information. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about Tommaso.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Sicilian Double Act

  Carrying no luggage or passports, they arrived at L’aerporto Ciampino and were met by two Mafioso faces Maria recognized. One of them relieved Luigi of his car-keys and left to take care of the car until the return of its owner. The other one took them inside the Terminal and began demonstrating the considerable power and influence of Don Antonio Bartalucci.

  Bypassing the queues of people shuffling forward to reach busy check-in desks, their designated escort led them to an unmarked door which was opened to his knock by a Meridiana Air uniformed man. The escort stepped aside and ushered them to proceed without him. Motioning them to follow, the Meridiana official in turn led them through another door and into a series of corridors which eventually brought them out onto the airfield itself. From there a Ciampino Security badged man wordlessly led them straight to the steps leading up to the six-seater Cherokee plane. The trim looking young man at the foot of the steps, wearing smart casual slacks, tee-shirt and a cream-coloured linen jacket, introduced himself as their pilot and said his name was Pietro. He didn’t show any surprise at not being offered their names by return. Within minutes she and Luigi were aboard and strapping themselves in as Pietro began receiving his clearance to taxi towards a runway. The forty-minute flight passed quickly and without incident or conversation.

  As they were unbuckling seatbelts, Pietro told them to wait on board whilst he dealt with the necessary formalities. Which obviously hadn’t been troublesome because he rejoined them within a surprisingly short period of time. Their pilot led them down the steps, and, ignoring the distant Punta Raisi Terminal building, took them towards a gated and manned security checkpoint set into the airfield’s perimeter fence. Pietro was obviously expected, saw Maria, because even as they reached it the gate was being opened from within the guardhouse. Leaving them outside, the pilot went inside the guardhouse and Maria watched through the toughened glass window as he briefly conversed with a man in uniform before rejoining them.

  “This gate is used by ambulances and other priority vehicles,” said Pietro, “When you return, just drive your vehicle up to here and give them this.”

  Maria saw Luigi take the proffered object which looked like a business card as Pietro spoke again.

  “You can drive straight up to the plane, which will still be where it is now. But I must take off at our arranged time of eleven. So please don’t be late,” he ended with a polite smile.

  Minutes later, Maria was walking alongside Costello and heading for where he had told her they would find the waiting van. It was 8-15pm, she saw by her watch, silently conceding that the first stage of the operation had been faultlessly performed. But as she walked beside Costello now, she was noting her immediate environment with a degree of unease. Had her father been aware of this topography surrounding them now? This was not an area dedicated to pedestrians; what passed for a pavement beneath her boots was barely wide enough for two people. If she and Luigi were stopped and questioned; nothing had been said about what reason could be given for being out here on foot at this time of night. A glance to Costello’s face revealed that her unease was unshared, so she didn’t voice it.

 
The night sky was a star-studded canopy and natural daylight was substituted now by the strategically placed security lights which shone down to expose their presence and progress. On either side of where they walked, behind high security fencing topped by coiled barbed wire, stood the maintenance hangars and sundry other buildings serving the Punta Raisi airport around the clock. On her right, across the broad expanse of road and beyond the fence, revealed by opened hangar doors, the towering body of a passenger plane could be seen being attended to by maintenance crews scurrying around the inert beast like an army of ants.

  “This is it, just ahead,” said Costello.

  They were nearing one of the side streets on their left, saw Maria. The corner buildings on either side of it looked like they could be offices, she thought, but no lights showed from within to signal current occupation of any workforce.

  Maria rounded the corner with Costello and saw that she faced a horseshoe-shaped cul-de-sac being used as a parking area for various types of vehicle. Her quick visual scan told her that the curved end of the cul-de-sac was probably used by drivers to turn their vehicles around so that they could face towards the entrance to the road. Facing her now on her left, in front of two trucks, was a private car. On her right, also facing her way, another truck stood behind a large camper van.

  Even as she and Costello began walking forward, she could see the van being rocked on its axle by unseen forces. The sounds of violent confrontation, amplified by the confined arena, told her that the van’s so-called special cargo was on the move to subvert its fate.

  “Merda!”(Shit!) exclaimed Costello, quickening his pace towards the van.

  As they drew nearer to the van, its side panel suddenly slid open and Maria saw Luigi’s hand movement producing the gun. She already held the knife which she didn’t release as a man emerged from the van clutching his left arm.

  He was quickly followed by a second man with a bleeding head wound, who stumbled and fell to the ground on his knees.

  “Biagio, what the...?” began Costello’s growled question.

  Maria sheathed her knife and listened as the man still clutching his left arm at the elbow, identified himself by spitting out his interruption, “Well the bastards are dead, Luigi. But it didn’t go as planned, as you can see.” He paused as the kneeling man came upright and leant against the van. “Nico here,” resumed Biagio, “is probably going to be suffering from more than concussion when the Don gets to hear about this. Nico didn’t tie one of them right. Who must have untied another one on the way to here. Christ, Luigi, they were so fucking fast. They attacked us as Enrico was fitting the silencer to his gun and one of them had a crowbar he must have found on the floor of the van. Enrico now has a smashed kneecap; Vincenzo’s face is a mess, and it feels like they’ve broken my arm....”

  Maria could see the veins bulging in Luigi’s neck as one of his huge hands gripped Biagio by the throat and slammed him against the van.

  “A simple job,” snarled Costello, “All you had to....”

  “Leave him alone, Luigi,” snapped Maria, “That won’t help us.”

  Costello’s grip on Biagio didn’t slacken but his head turned towards Maria and she injected the steel into her voice. “We’re wasting time we don’t have, Luigi. Do we know if they brought another vehicle?”

  Maria saw that the man who had been called Nico had roused himself sufficiently to realize that Biagio wasn’t able to answer any questions. A finger was shakily pointed.

  “We have Vincenzo’s car over there,” said Nico, grimacing with pain.

  “Luigi and I are taking the van,” said Maria, watching the grip on Biagio being released, “The rest of you can use Vincenzo’s car to get away from here. You can drive, Nico. Start getting your other two transferred. Where are the keys to the van?”

  “In the ignition,” croaked Biagio, trying to hold his damaged arm and massage his throat at the same time.

  Maria could see that the silent Costello was still struggling to adapt to the new circumstances. She also knew that her taking command wasn’t doing his ego any good in front of the other two, who suddenly became three as the one she recognized as Vincenzo by the damaged face appeared in view.

  “I heard all that,” was said through a bloody mouth which managed to make its owner understood despite the obvious absence of several front teeth, “and I don’t know who the Signorina is, but she’s talking sense. I’ll need some help with Enrico,” he ended.

  “I suggest you don’t delay, Biagio,” said Maria, crisply adding, “otherwise Luigi will lose what little patience he has left and end all your useless lives right here, right now.”

  The threat was enough to galvanise them into action and when the car carrying the sorry looking quartet drove away, Maria’s watch told her it was 8-35pm. Whilst the transfer had been taking place, she had carefully checked inside the van to ensure that the special cargo was as dead as it was supposed to be. She didn’t think that her father had lied to her about why they had been chosen, so she comforted herself with the thought that the deceased trio in the van wouldn’t be abusing any more children. Obviously craving solitude to reflect upon the changed circumstances, Costello had climbed into the driving seat of the van during the transfer. He was still staring through the windscreen into an uncertain future when she climbed in beside him.

  “Luigi, where is this warehouse and how long could it take you to reach it?”

  “East,” replied Costello, “Near the Via Alloro. It’s about thirty-five kilometres from here. I could do it in forty... maybe thirty minutes,” shrugging his shoulders as he added, “But what does it matter? I can’t go in against six men by myself and expect to come out again.”

  “Start driving, Luigi, you won’t be going in alone.”

  “Look, Maria...,” he began.

  “We’re wasting time, Luigi. Drive, we can talk on the way.”

  “Maria...,” he began again.

  “Okay, Luigi, I’ll drive. You sit here.”

  His facial expression conveying exasperation, Costello keyed the ignition and began driving them out of the cul-de-sac as he spoke. “Listen, Maria, this isn’t the same as in Catania six years ago. You got lucky then. This is different. The Galeoto brothers would kill you without giving it a second thought.”

  “Not if I stop their thinking anything at all.”

  Costello drove in silence for a moment before he responded to that. “I recognize... that,” he began slowly, “tone of voice... and it’s....”

  “One which doesn’t belong to a novice,” interjected Maria before smoothly adding the rhetorical question, “So we’re heading for the old Arab quarter?”

  “You know it?”

  “I know it. You’ll be able to increase your speed when we hit the road to Uditore. You didn’t pick that team, did you?” Maria sensed now that the combined beginning of positive dialogue and a probably surprising question had pulled Costello out of his negative frame of mind.

  “Like hell I did,” he replied, “Brocca runs things in Palermo. He selected those clowns.”

  “I didn’t believe for one moment,” said Maria, “that a professional like you would have chosen amateurs. So Luigi Costello can’t be blamed for what happened back there. But he can take the credit for turning disaster into success. Think about that, Luigi. Okay, there’s the major road sign for Uditore, you can put your foot down now.”

  Costello obeyed the command and was even smiling, but he was still shaking his head as he spoke. “Just what do you expect us to do when we get there?”

  “Well, Luigi, you told Stanhope I had a plan. So maybe you could just remind me what it was.”

  “Okay, okay,” responded Costello, “I made a bad joke. But I’m not laughing now, am I?”

  “You told me,” Maria reminded him, “that I’ve got maybe thirty minutes to t
hink of something, so give me a bit more time. Now tell me what I need to know about the Galeoto brothers.”

  Maria waited. Making him think of something he knew about would change his mindset and she concealed her relief when the voice which finally answered her was that of the pre-cul-de-sac, hugely reliable Luigi Costello.

  “Umberto is the brains of the trio,” said Costello, “and rarely gets his hands dirty. They call him the undertaker because he always wears a black suit. When he chooses to, he uses a handgun. He recently pistol-whipped my cousin so I had intended dealing with Umberto myself.”

  “You may still get your chance,” said Maria and saw the doubtful glance flicked at her.

  “Marco is the skinny one who wears an eye patch.” resumed Costello, “He apparently favours the knife at close quarters and is considered expert. Gennaro is the one built like a bull. I was warned that he has the strength of three men, kills with his hands, and should not be allowed to get close. I don’t know anything about the other three that Stanhope said he saw. Is that enough information for you? Do you still think we can perform a miracle when we get there? ”

  “Just get us there, Luigi, and we’ll see what we can do. Now unless you come up with your own brilliant idea, keep quiet and keep driving. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

  Maria closed her eyes and did some calculating. To get back to Pietro’s gate; allow for van-to-plane transfer time; allow for Pietro to reach his allocated runway and take off at eleven; they would have to arrive back at L’Ciampino airfield by 10-30pm at the latest. If Luigi’s estimation was correct, they would reach the warehouse at 9-10pm or 9-20pm. Call it 9-20, she told herself, which was calling it a forty-minute trip back to the airfield. Which meant they would have to start the return journey at 9-50pm. Which meant that they would have thirty minutes to penetrate an unfamiliar arena, take down possibly six opponents, find the problem photograph to be switched, transfer the special cargo to its final resting place, bring out the child and Tommaso, ‘and maybe even find time to scoop up the diamonds and bearer bonds’ came into her head sounding like the voice of Tony the New York taxi driver.