by Allan Topol
“The Nazis found out about it and decided to punish Mario. They wanted to make an example of him. When the SS showed up at his farm, they gathered all of Mario’s family and everyone else there into the yard in front of the house. Mario was forced to watch as they raped and then shot and killed his wife and four daughters. Roberto, his youngest, and only other child, was six months old. He survived because Mario’s good friend Rinaldo held the baby and pretended it was his own. After the carnage, Mario pleaded with the Germans to kill him, but the officer in charge said that leaving Mario alive to remember what occurred would be a worse punishment.”
The waiter came with the food. They stopped talking for a few minutes and ate. Then Elizabeth said, “That’ a helluva story.”
“Yeah. I heard it from Mario. I interviewed him a couple of times. After the war, he turned the wine business over to a man he hired away from Gaja. He devoted his life to politics to prevent atrocities like this from happening again in Italy. Rinaldo became his chief advisor—and confidante. Mario was in Parliament for many years and the minister of agriculture and finance. But of course he was never prime minister.”
“So Roberto has politics in his blood.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t plunge in until a year or so ago. Before that he was a lawyer with a prominent Milan firm. He’s very high energy. He also had a justly deserved reputation as a playboy, which in Italy isn’t easy to obtain. As you’re no doubt aware, marital fidelity isn’t, shall we say, as widespread in Italy as in some other places. Simply put, he loves high living and he fucks anything that wears a skirt.” Hanson said it with contempt.
Elizabeth couldn’t wait any longer. “Tell me about Yale.”
“Ah. Good old New Haven.”
“I went to Harvard myself.”
He smiled. “I won’t hold that against you.”
She ate a few mussels, waiting for him to continue.
“When I was a senior, I was Editor in Chief of the Yale Daily News, which I thought was a big deal.”
“It was.”
“Not big enough, as you’ll hear. Well, anyhow, I had it all, or so I thought. I was madly in love with and engaged to a fabulous woman— smart and a drop dead gorgeous blonde with a figure that turned men’s heads. Her name was Diane Taylor, a junior at Vasser. She came down to New Haven one evening for a political program in the law school auditorium about Europe’s future. One of the four speakers was the US Secretary of State. Another was a graduate law student, Roberto Parelli, who was charismatic and gave a superb speech.”
Hanson sounded bitter. The smile was gone. His mouth turned down. “After the program ended, I rushed up to interview the Secretary of State. Through the corner of my eye, I noticed Diane talking enthusiastically to Parelli. Before I was finished, Parelli was leaving the auditorium with Diane in tow. She called the next day and asked me to come to Vasser and collect the ring. No apologies or explanation. She married Parelli a month later and dropped out of Vasser.”
“And did they live happily ever after?”
“Hardly. Ten years later and two children for her, I was still single and agonizing over what could have been. I had taken a job at the Herald, playing a long shot that if I were in Europe I might hook up with her again.”
“And?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impatient?”
“They do all the time.”
He didn’t laugh. “I heard rumors that Parelli was a playboy. Lots of affairs. So I called Diane. We had a torrid affair for about a month. She told me that she would leave him and run away with me. Then she called and ditched me again. This time, I got an explanation.”
“I’ll bet this was good.”
“Actually, it was. Roberto had gone to dinner with his father in Rome. Mario liked Diane. He even provided the funding for Diane to open a boutique in the fashion district of Milan. He wanted to save Roberto’s marriage for the sake of his grandchildren. At dinner, Mario had tried to convince Roberto to stop running around with women. They ended up in a shouting match. Roberto stormed out of the restaurant. Half an hour later, when Mario was walking back to his hotel, Libyan terrorists shot and killed him.
“Grief stricken, Roberto told her what happened with his father at dinner. He swore he was done with other women. So she took him back. She still loved him. A few months later I met Jacqueline and married her. From that point on, I tried to forget about Diane. I have no idea if Roberto has been faithful to her or not. But I doubt it. Men like Roberto are serial adulterers.”
Elizabeth recalled her conversation with the prostitute in Venice. “Well he hasn’t been. I can tell you that.”
Hanson finished his wine and poured some more. “It doesn’t matter. I got her out of my system long ago. I wanted to talk to you today because I’d like to encourage you to find a way to destroy Parelli. Not because of my personal issues with Diane. Not because he’s a lying cheating scum bag. We have plenty of leaders in every country who fit that description. There’s something else. If Parelli is elected, his political program would be a disaster for Italy.”
“You mean because the south is so much poorer than the north and couldn’t make it as an independent nation.”
“That’s part of it. A division between north and south would heap misery on millions of low-income people living in the south. They need the support they get from the central government. Even with that support, the south is in dreadful shape. Annual gross domestic product in the south is 21,000 per capita compared with 43,000 in the north. Sixty percent of young southerners have no job. Without it, poverty levels would rise and infant mortality as well as other health indices would go off the charts. The south lacks the manufacturing base of the north. Without it, the economy in the south would crumble. Do you think it’s possible to sustain standards of living on an economy that only exports olives and olive oil. Even the best wines are in the north. But it’s more than economic issues.”
Hanson was sounding emotional. “I love Italy. And who doesn’t? With all of its defects, and there are plenty, it is a great country. Italians are a wonderful people with a creative independent spirit. And Parelli wants to destroy it.”
“He’s never said where he’d divide the country.”
“You’re absolutely right. And for good reason. It can’t be done. Would Rome be in the south? Would it be a divided city? Rome is the pulse of Italy. As much as Milan and Turino. Politicians like Parelli never worry about the practical problems. They shoot off their mouths with a grand vision. All there would be is endless fighting. Of course, there are enormous differences between people in the north and the south. That’s always been the case. But so what? I know it’s a trite expression that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but that happens to be true for Italy.”
Elizabeth recalled the research she had done for her article following Parelli’s speech in Venice. “On the other hand, southern Italy did exist as a separate political entity from the north for eight hundred years until the country was unified in the 19th century.”
“So what? That was a different time and a different world. Massachusetts, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and other states of the United States existed as colonies of England. That doesn’t mean they should go back to being separate entities.”
“Do you think the people in Scotland have to stick with England if they want independence? Or in Catalonia if they want independence from Spain?”
“That’s the point. You said if THEY want it. In Italy, the vote isn’t just by southerners deciding to stay with the north. Northerners will be voting overwhelmingly to kick them out in order to increase their standard of living. You think that’s right?”
“Polls show that Parelli has support of a majority in the south.”
“Hanson sneered. “The church misleads them. The Vatican wants a real state it can dominate. Not the tiniest nation in the world.”
Elizabeth didn’t argue. She realized Hanson was right.
He continued, “Pare
lli has to be stopped, and you’re an incredible reporter with a golden pen. You can do it.”
The waiter cleared their dishes and asked about dessert. Hanson paused and asked for an espresso. Elizabeth had seen the waiter serving a luscious looking profiterole to a nearby table, but she had gained a couple of pounds lately. Do I or don’t I?
“Just an espresso,” she told the waiter.
The coffee came a moment later. “Do you have any ammunition for me to use against Parelli?” she asked.
“I’ll give you two suggestions. First, develop a relationship with Luciano, Parelli’s closest advisor and chief of staff. Rinaldo, Mario’s best friend, was Luciano’s father. Luciano is a professional political advisor. As soon as Parelli went into politics and formed his New Italy Party, Luciano went to work for Parelli. But here’s the point: Luciano, like his father and Mario, is an honorable man. At some point, Parelli, the scum, will do something to alienate Luciano. That could be his undoing.”
She was nodding. “That’s very helpful. What’s the second?”
“In his personal and business life, Parelli spends money like water. Diane told me that during our brief fling. Prior to Berlusconi’s entry into politics, money was not the driving force in Italian elections. However, Berlusconi had a marketing background, and he followed the model of an American campaign with huge advertising expenditures. Parelli has taken a page from Berlusconi’s playbook. So he needs lots of money. And you and I know that candidates in this type of campaign will make concessions to contributors to keep the money flowing. As they say in Washington, ‘follow the money.’ That may be how you can nail Parelli.”
“I really appreciate everything you’ve told me.”
“Don’t thank me. Just destroy Parelli.”
Milan
Craig and Giuseppe met at 9:00 in the morning in the Milan headquarters of the carabinieri, the Italian national police. The gray stone structure the agency occupied was in the shadow of the Duomo in the heart of Milan. The director was a friend of Giuseppe’s and had promised Giuseppe when he took the EU job that he’d have, “An office, a secretary, and whatever else you need. Anytime.”
After studying Craig’s list of the jewelry that had been stolen, Giuseppe gave a long, low whistle. “The lady has expensive taste. Those are unique pieces that will stand out.”
“They could have been bought for Federico’s first wife.”
“Well one of them sure has expensive taste. I already spoke to Jean-Claude. He’s expecting the list.”
Craig liked working with Giuseppe. He moved fast and was always focused. Besides, for Craig, who except for his time in Argentina, had been racing cars for the last year and a half, it was good getting back into the groove of the hunt for terrorists and criminals he had enjoyed doing for so long.
Giuseppe grabbed his jacket and tucked a Beretta into his chest holster. “We’re off to Federico’s bank.”
“Did you call? Are they expecting us?”
“Nope. I want the element of surprise. Man by the name of Dominic Leonardo is the acting CEO. He had been Federico’s second in command.”
“Good. Let’s go ruin his day.”
The bank headquarters were housed in a majestic stone building with four large columns in front on the square across from the La Scala opera house.
A secretary ushered Craig and Giuseppe into an ornate conference room where Dominic was waiting. Looking at the man, Craig observed he was quite short, almost bald, and very scared.
Giuseppe pulled out his ID and held it out to Dominic. With a trembling hand, the banker took it and seemed to be staring at it.
“Director of EU Counterterrorism,” he said. “What’s this about?”
“I’m investigating Federico’s death.”
“But why do you want to talk to me? Surely you don’t think I stole the jewelry. I wasn’t even in Biarritz on Saturday.”
Craig took an instant dislike to the man.
Calmly, Giuseppe replied, “We’re trying to determine if this was more than a simple jewelry theft.”
Dominic handed back Giuseppe’s ID and stared hard at Craig. “You’re the race car driver. Enrico Marino?”
“Yeah, that’s who I am.”
“What are you doing here?”
Giuseppe responded before Craig could open his mouth. “He was a close friend of Federico’s and is helping me with background. I’m using him as a consultant on this case.”
Apparently resigned that he would have to talk to them, Dominic sat down at the heavily polished wooden table. Craig and Giuseppe sat across from him.
“You think that terrorists killed Federico and made it seem like a robbery?” Dominic asked.
Giuseppe looked sternly at Dominic. “We believe that your bank is laundering money for organized crime. That’s what led to Federico death.”
Dominic’s head snapped back. “You’re not serious.”
“Why not? If the Vatican bank is doing it, so could yours. I want you to produce copies of all transactions the bank entered into in the last year for over one million euros. Also, all overdue loans.”
“Do you have authority to ask for that?”
“If you prefer, I could get an order from the Ministry of Justice. Then they’ll send their people to check all your records. When that happens, sometimes the media hear about it. Nobody quite knows how.”
“Okay. You made your point. That won’t be necessary.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“You’ll have the information in an hour.”
“Now tell me about the acquisition of your bank by Pacific Sun Bank from Singapore.”
“They only bought a 19 percent interest.”
“Which gives them effective control.”
“What would you like to know?”
Craig detected a quavering in Dominic’s voice.
“Was Federico in favor of the transaction?”
Dominic looked away and responded. “Of course. As the largest shareholder, he would make a great deal of money from the sale of this stock.”
“Are you certain of that?”
Before responding, Dominic fiddled with a ring on his finger for a full minute. Finally, he said, “Absolutely. We discussed it last week.”
More quavering in his voice, Craig thought. He’s lying. Hiding something.
If Craig were in charge, he would have sprung across the table, pinned Dominic to the back of his chair, and threatened to strangle the man with his bare hands if he didn’t tell the truth. But that wasn’t Giuseppe’s way.
“We want to meet separately with the three highest ranking officers of the bank after you,” Giuseppe said.
Dominic hesitated, then said, “I’ll put you in a conference room. My secretary will have them to come to see you one at a time.”
“Good. While you arrange that, I’m going to the men’s room.”
“I’ll go also,” Craig added.
Once they were both in the men’s room and satisfied no one else was there, Giuseppe said to Craig, “He’s lying through his teeth about Federico and the acquisition by the Singapore Bank.”
“Agreed. We may have hit pay dirt.”
“Perhaps one of the other top people will break.”
“While you’re interviewing them, I want to go to Federico’s office. I’ll talk to his secretary, Donna. I’ve gotten to know her through my relationship with Federico. Also, I want to look at his files.”
“Okay. We’ll split.”
“What do you intend to do with the bank records he’s assembling?”
“Turn them over to investigators in my office. And I’ll also have them come here to make sure he’s not hiding anything.”
Donna looked happy to see Craig. “Oh, Mr. Marino, it’s been awful.”
She was a heavyset, gray-haired woman who had worked for Federico for a long time. On her desk she had pictures of half a dozen of her grandchildren—ages ten and younger, Craig guessed.
Craig wanted
privacy. “Can we go into Signor Castiglione’s office to talk?”
“Certainly.”
She led the way. He closed the door behind them.
Craig had been in Federico’s office several times before. He loved the racing memorabilia and model cars that Federico had scattered around. He also had pictures of Craig winning a race, albeit not a major, in Provence in April.
Craig sat behind Federico’s desk, taking the chair of authority. She sat in what must have been her usual place, facing him.
“In view of my friendship with Federico, I’m helping the police investigate his death.”
“Had he lived another week, it would have been twenty years that I worked for him. I liked Signor Castiglione. Everybody did.”
Not everyone, Craig thought.
She continued. “He was a gentleman, considerate and kind. Not just to me—to everyone who worked for the bank.” She began to cry. “I’m sorry. After twenty years, he was family.”
Craig handed her his handkerchief. “I can understand that.” He decided to jump into the key issues without any warning.
“There have been rumors of his bank’s involvement with organized crime.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I was aware of all of Federico’s bank work. That was the nature of our relationship.”
Craig believed her. “Then let’s talk about the investment in this bank by the Singapore bank.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Can you show me Signor Castiglione’s files relating to the investment by the Singapore bank.”
She looked extremely upset. “Those files aren’t here any longer.”
“Well, where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did they disappear?”
She didn’t respond.
“You should know, Donna, that Giuseppe has authority to go to the Justice Ministry and have witnesses who don’t cooperate charged with obstruction of Justice, which is a crime.” Craig had no idea if that was true, but he decided to toss it out. “Are you aware of that?”