The Orsinni Contracts

by Bill Cariad

  Maria tuned out Tony and projected her thoughts forward to the warehouse with its six opponents who would all be armed.

  “Luigi, what kind of gun is that you’re carrying?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “Walther PPK,” replied Costello, “Like the one James Bond uses,” he added.

  Maria opened one eye and saw that Luigi was still grinning following his addition. She closed the eye again with a memory-flash of Sergio Bond threatening to get in the way of her thought that it was good to hear the evidence of Luigi’s returning humour. She pushed the memory of Sergio away and thought about weapons. The Walther PPK had an eight round magazine and Luigi wouldn’t miss short range targets. According to Luigi, one of those targets favoured the knife for his personal use; another his hands; and Umberto would have his handgun. Given the company they would be in, it was entirely possible that the other three wouldn’t feel the need to be armed themselves. Luigi’s eight bullets and her own four knives against that scenario didn’t look too bad in her mind’s eye. But, of course, they had to get inside the warehouse before they could do anything.

  “Luigi, what do they normally use the warehouse for?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “They repair and store,” he replied, sounding puzzled, “stalls for the Mercato della vuccira.”

  Maria knew that the market Luigi was referring to was the biggest in Palermo. The heavy wooden stalls and wheeled carts used by its produce traders came in all shapes and sizes. She unhappily conjured a crowded image of broken stalls and carts in a people-filled warehouse already housing carpenter’s benches with their affixed steel vices; bone-breaking obstacles in the arena she seemed destined to fight within. She closed down the image and sent her thoughts into freefall. Umberto Galeoto would also be doing some thinking right now. He had sent Stanhope away with an ultimatum and would now be watching his own clock. Presenting Salvatore Lucchese with an Englishman along with the photograph hadn’t been the plan. Once the hands on that clock began pointing to the possibility of Canizzaro not being exchanged for Tommaso, Umberto Galeoto would start to think about the disappearing prospect of his promotion. Umberto Galeoto would start to feel frustrated. He might then begin to unload that frustration on Tommaso. To pre-empt that situation, Umberto Galeoto should ideally be given something else to focus on before it became too late.

  Eyes still closed, mind still open, Maria’s thoughts raced on as her driver obligingly kept his mouth shut and his foot down. She knew that Luigi would be wondering what he could possibly do when he reached their destination; wondering what Don Antonio Bartalucci would do to him when he reported failure. Sensing Luigi’s distress brought Tanaka’s voice into her head: A man of action forced into a state of thought is unhappy until he can get out of it. Words which fitted Luigi perfectly, she thought. She listened to the sound of the van’s engine humming through the kilometres. Throughout this, she thought now with a degree of shame, she had given little thought to the Baletto child. How might the ten-year-old Angelina have coped with all that she had been subjected to? The thought was quickly abandoned; the answer would come soon enough. If, thought Maria with a sigh, the way to get them inside the warehouse with an edge could be found in this Orsinni head.

  Maria opened her eyes and saw that they were now on the wide thoroughfare of the Via Maqueda. She glanced at her watch; 9-05! Luigi had made good time. She was now looking out at busy Palermo restaurants and closed department stores; side streets crammed with artisan workshops; an empty telephone booth up ahead, the skyline above it broken by the three red domes on the roof of the 10th century church of San Cataldo. She knew that between here and the sea lay the old Arab quarters with their maze of narrow streets and blind alleys. The Vuccira market Luigi had mentioned wasn’t far from here, close to their destination, the Via Alloro, and the words blind alley and telephone booth were repeating themselves in her head.

  “Luigi, stop the van at that telephone booth,” she commanded.

  The steel in her voice had been hard enough to discourage dissent and Costello halted the van at the kerbside within sight of the empty telephone booth.

  “I need a pen and something to write on,” said Maria, keeping her tone steel-loaded and watching as Luigi wordlessly produced her requirements from a jacket pocket. She began scribbling on the back of the envelope as Luigi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. When finally she added the phone number obtained from Stanhope, she passed the envelope back to Luigi and told him to read aloud what she’d written.

  Maria watched him just silently read through it first before he looked up at her with eyes which were questioning in the craggy face. She smiled and repeated her command and saw the huge shoulders being shrugged as he began reading to order.

  “My name is Guido. I am a Vatican emissary. I will arrive at your warehouse very soon. I have brought Canizzaro with me. He’s unconscious, but I don’t suppose that’s a problem for you. The Englishman and the child must be ready for departure when I arrive and be where I can see them when I enter your warehouse. The child must be blindfolded, she cannot be allowed to see me. ”

  Costello looked at her again when he’d finished reciting and the disbelief was scathingly voiced, “This is your plan?”

  “We haven’t got the time or the manpower,” replied Maria, “to go looking for them inside. We need them all where we can see them from minute one. We don’t want the child to see what we’ll be doing so the blindfold covers that angle along with her eyes. You put one of our passengers over your shoulder and present yourself at the front door. It’s dark. They’ll have to let you in to discover your load isn’t what they’re expecting.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “If we can find a way for me to come in behind them, Luigi, that’s where I’ll be. If we can’t find a back window or door I can deal with, then I’ll be going in the front door alongside Guido the Vatican emissary.”

  Costello didn’t respond vocally, but his lack of belief was still evident in every aspect of his body language.

  “Luigi, no one will ever know we’ve had this conversation,” began Maria, her opening instantly taking him by surprise as had been intended. “This is easier for me, Luigi,” she continued calmly, deliberately smiling again to convey the impression of ease. An ease she didn’t entirely feel; a lot could go wrong with her makeshift plan, “because I’ve been told about some of the things you’ve done for my father. So I know how capable you are. But Luigi Costello has absolutely no idea of what Maria Orsinni is capable of. He’s remembering a girl with pebbles who got lucky, without having ever seen the woman she has become. I’m going in with or without you, Luigi, but with would be preferable. Decision time, Luigi.”

  Costello had been watching her closely as he’d listened. She knew that this was a man who had fought many times on behalf of the Bartalucci family. She had banked on his hearing the voice of another warrior as he’d listened to her and she concealed her relief now as she read the new message his body language sent before he spoke.

  “The conversation might never be known about, but I wouldn’t be able to look Giovanni in the eye again if I let you go in there without backup. That guy Tanaka once told me you were a one woman army. I hope he was right. Okay, Maria, I’ll make the call.”

  When Costello went to the phone booth, Maria climbed into the back of the van thinking about Tanaka’s description of her. She allowed herself the smile with the thought that his ‘one woman army’ had gratefully just become a double-act. Rooting around the darkened interior, she located the crowbar which had done so much damage to the Bartalucci plan and Luigi’s faith in the Orsinni-described future. Her Sicilian blood was cool in her veins when she wiped the handy-sized tool on a trousered leg attached to one of the so-called ‘special cargo’. When she finally retook her seat upfront in the van, Luigi was only seconds behind her.

  “How did it g
o?”

  “Spoke to the undertaker himself,” replied Costello, restarting the van, “He told me that everything would be as I asked and that he looked forward to successfully concluding our transaction. The bastard sounded like a banker, instead of the gutter rat that he is.”

  Maria’s watch was showing 9-15 when they drove off. Costello turned the van left just before the church of San Cataldo and drove them into the Discesa dei Guidici, giving them a quick sighting of Fontana Pretoria, the huge and elevated 16th century fountain that was known to locals as ‘the fountain of shame’ because of its numerous nude statues. Costello drove on past the Piazza D’Aragona and into the Via Alloro. Almost immediately, he then turned right into the Via Castro Filippo and stopped when they reached the corner giving them a partial view of the Via Francesco Riso. A figure detached itself from the shadows and Luigi wound down his window to receive the report of the Bartalucci ‘watcher’. Maria heard the muttered words being delivered before her driver dismissed the man.

  “He would be useless to us,” qualified Costello in response to her unspoken query, “There are still six inside, he said, inclusive the brothers. It’s half-way down Francesco Riso, he said, on the right, opposite a parked Mercedes.” Costello paused to peer at their view, “I can see what looks like an alley just before the warehouse. We don’t want this van any closer right now, do we?”

  “I’m going to have a quick look around,” said Maria, “Park here, but turn so that you can get to the warehouse fast when the time comes.”

  The short crowbar tucked up inside the sleeve of her tunic top, her senses on full alert, Maria moved away from the van and began her approach to the warehouse building. She jogged openly, refusing the cover offered by shadowed doorways, acutely aware that time was leeching away. A warm breeze caressed her face, bringing with it the aromas from the nearby Arab souks of the Kalsa quarter; its name taken from the Arabic Al-Halisab (The Chosen) and making her think for a second about Tommaso having chosen to put himself in harm’s way for her sake. She had already identified this narrow street as one of those housing the ground-level premises of local artisans. Above the now shuttered shopfronts, towered the apartment blocks whose rear windows looked out on to the street which right now she appeared to have to herself. She wasn’t too surprised by this; the mainly pedestrian traffic would normally only be visible here during daylight hours. Street lighting was being provided by lamp-posts spaced along the length of the street and she saw that her target building stood between two of these. She reached the alley Luigi had spotted and crouched to mime a jogger attending to a footwear problem. She saw the Mercedes-Benz saloon car parked opposite the front of the warehouse and expected its keys to be carried by Umberto Galeoto. The front of the warehouse had a small door for people-traffic inset into its larger roller-type entrance door. A circa twenty feet high standard brick wall stretched down into the alley and halfway up the wall the light from a barred window revealed the back door she had hoped to find. She ran down the alley beside the wall of the warehouse until she came to the refuse bins standing outside the wooden door. She leant in with her ear against the door; no sound. She peered into the keyhole; the key was inside. She lay flat on the ground and looked for evidence of light showing through the gap between the stone step and the bottom of the door; there was none. She then rose to her feet and slowly depressed the door-handle; the door was locked. She hid the crowbar behind a refuse bin and then raced back to her starting point. Luigi was standing in the shadow of the van which he’d positioned as instructed.

  “All quiet,” she told him, breathing deeply, “It’s a Sunday night, nobody’s about. I’ve found a back door, Luigi. Let’s get you loaded up.”

  From the van’s cargo they chose one who was roughly the same height as Canizzaro and draped a piece of sacking over it. Keeping his gun-hand free, Luigi hefted the load on to his left shoulder and allowed the head to fall against his chest. If he was unlucky enough to be seen, thought Maria, and providing the witness didn’t get too close, he could maybe pass for someone carrying a drunken friend.

  “I hope you’ve got more than a knife,” said Costello.

  “I’ve got you, Luigi,” said Maria, flashing him a quick grin, “I’ll go ahead now and cover you till you reach the corner of the alley. Stop there and wait for my signal. I’ll rap the ground with the crowbar, then you move. When you get to the front door, this is important, Luigi, give yourself a ten count before you let them know that you’re there. Once you’re inside, do whatever you have to do to stay alive. Buona fortuna! ”

  Even as Costello was nodding his response to the good luck words, she was turning away from him to speed back to the alley. She waited on the corner until she heard him arrive behind her before she ran down the alley again. When she reached the wooden door she quickly repeated her checks; nothing had changed. She introduced the crowbar to the door and forced the lock away from the door-frame as quietly as she could. She rapped the ground twice with the crowbar and saw the shape of Luigi and his load cross the alley. She pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the semi-darkness of what appeared to be some kind of store room. It was empty of threat. Ahead of her, light seeping through from its underside, was the door which obviously accessed the warehouse. She didn’t think this one would be locked, and the placement of its hinges told her that it should open inwards towards her. She was proven right on both counts when its handle obligingly responded to her touch.

  The combat clock in her head was ticking five when she slowly eased the door open a fraction and looked inside at what she could see of the warehouse. From her currently narrow-angled viewpoint she couldn’t see anything to her left; the direction from which Luigi would enter the front door, but she didn’t want to open this door any wider just yet. A babble of voices reached her hearing, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. To her right she had a diagonal view of two units and one man with a black patch over his right eye, Marco Galeoto. Luigi had said Marco was the man who liked to get close, but there would be no time for protracted close-quarters engagements tonight. One of the units had a closed door marked Gabinetto but right now she didn’t know if anyone was using the toilet.

  The second unit’s door was open and she saw the end of a camp-bed as Marco went inside the room and closed the door behind him. They would have kept the child in there, reckoned Maria. Directly ahead of her, about twelve feet away, were two end-to-end and solid looking wooden carpenter’s benches supporting an array of tools and clutter. Tommaso was on the far side of one of the benches, in profile to her, mouth taped and hands bound behind his back. In front of Tommaso, a blindfolded and bound Angelina Baletto was struggling in the grip of a heavy-set bearded man. Tommaso tried to shoulder ‘Bearded ’away from the child but was punched in the face as the combat clock in her head ticked ten and she stepped inside the warehouse as the sound of Luigi’s door-banging turned heads....

  Broken wheeled carts and stalls stacked up on her immediate left... excellent cover and she could see between the gaps... eleven seconds gone... Four other targets... one weapon briefly visible... two of the targets, ‘Red Shirt’ and ‘Blue Jacket’, had their backs to her and were moving towards the front door but she had glimpsed the gun in ‘Red Shirt’s’ hand... the unit probably used as an office was diagonally ahead on her left... in its open doorway, looking away towards the banging sound at the front of the warehouse, stood the black-suited Umberto Galeoto and a bull of a man who had to be his brother, Gennaro... and the clock in her head was ticking thirteen when ‘Red Shirt’ opened the front door and she knew that Luigi would be stepping inside with the decoy load on his shoulder and a prayer on his lips....

  But even as ‘Red Shirt’ was opening the front door of the warehouse, Maria was already darting across the twelve feet separating her from ‘Bearded’. She couldn’t risk a knife; the child was moving about too much. Ignoring Tommaso’s shocked look of recognition, focusin
g on the obstacles she must avoid, she jumped up on the bench as the sound of Luigi’s first shot brought the head of ‘Bearded’ up to meet the steel toe-cap of her boot smashing into its temple... Two targets down... and she tuned out the sound of the screaming child whilst turning to see that Luigi’s second shot was failing to prevent ‘Blue Jacket’ from crashing into him and had also triggered the approach of Gennaro the bull bearing down on him.

  A snarling-faced Umberto Galeoto was also aiming his gun at her and she launched herself off the bench before he fired. In mid-air she drew and threw at speed, the knife which entered the back of Genarro Galeoto’s neck and stopped him dead. Luigi’s third shot was making sure of ‘Blue Jacket’ as she landed on her feet and sent her second knife to the heart of Umberto Galeoto as the man was bringing his gun to bear on her new position. She heard the rush of feet behind her and spun away to her left to draw a third knife before turning to see Marco Galeoto holding the child as a shield in front of him.

  Marco also held a knife in his hand, saw Maria, but it wasn’t a weapon for throwing. It was a large wicked looking thing with a serrated edge; a knife to rip out your insides if its handler got close enough. She heard the heavy breathing of Luigi coming up behind her but knew he wouldn’t risk a shot. Marco’s knife-blade was now being pressed against the whimpering child’s neck by a hand that shook, noted Maria, and the man’s rage and disbelief was all there in the left eye that looked to where his brothers lay and in that instant of his distraction she sent her third knife to his throat with such force that it took his whole body backwards before it fell away from the child... Six targets down!