The Italian Divide

by Allan Topol

  He seemed surprised. “Why do you say that?”

  “Roberto has suddenly increased his advertising in the last couple of days,” she said, as she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She showed Luciano the picture she had taken in the suite in the Palace Hotel. “That night in Venice, this man was coming out of a meeting with Roberto. It’s apparent the Chinese want to gain a foothold in Europe. Roberto has opened the gates to let the Trojan horse in. That’s right isn’t it?”

  Luciano put down his cigarette and began crying. Finally, he looked up and said, “You’re asking me to betray Roberto.”

  She thought that Luciano was on the verge of breaking and telling her everything. She had to give him a nudge to get him there. “I’m asking you to save Italy. Only you can do it.”

  “Roberto and I have been like brothers for 65 years.”

  “You have to do what’s right. During the thirties many Italians were indifferent to the rise of Mussolini. In return they got disaster for Italy. It will be the same with Roberto. You can’t let it happen.”

  “But loyalty is loyalty. Betrayal by any other name is betrayal.”

  “That’s the whole point. One way you follow your obligation to Roberto. The other way, you keep your loyalty to your country. Which means more to you?”

  Luciano was uncertain, hesitating. “You give me a difficult choice.”

  “I didn’t create the situation.”

  “You can stop him without me.”

  “I can’t. That’s why I’m here. You’re the only way.”

  Elizabeth had been sitting with her back to the door of the house. She heard a rustling from that direction and she glanced over her shoulder. Maria was standing at the open door. Elizabeth wondered how long she’d been there.

  Maria stepped out onto the patio. “Tell her, Luciano,” Maria said.

  He looked at Maria. Then turned to Elizabeth.

  “He wasn’t merely betraying Italy, but his family, too. That farm, vineyard, and winery have been owned by Parellis for more than 150 years… . No longer. He sold it all to a Chinese man.”

  “Do you know who the buyer was?”

  “Zhou Yun, the Chinese Finance Minister.”

  God, Craig’s not as paranoid as I thought.

  Luciano continued. “The farm and winery were mortgaged to their full value of about 200 million euros.

  “Roberto borrowed even more than that. He needed money to pay off the loans and obtain cash for his campaign. I argued against him doing it, but he wouldn’t listen. He was in a desperate situation because he had spent so heavily on his campaign. He told me he’d lose the farm and wine business regardless of what he did at that point, because Alberto Goldoni would foreclose. I argued that Alberto was reasonable and would work with him, but he said it was too late for that. So he reacted positively when a Chinese man came to the suite in Venice and said that his boss, the Chinese Finance Minister Zhou Yun, could help him financially.”

  Again, Elizabeth showed Luciano the picture from her cell. “Is this the man who came to the suite in Venice?”

  “Yes,” he said weakly.

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened after the meeting in the suite in Venice?”

  “A few days later, Zhou Yun came to the farm for a secret meeting with Roberto. I was excluded from their discussion. Afterwards, Roberto told me what happened.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward on the edge of her chair. She wanted to remember every word Luciano said. She didn’t dare interrupt him by taking notes. Holding her breath, she waited for him to continue.

  “Roberto made a secret deal with Zhou. He sold the winery and vineyard to him for one billion euros. The money is deposited now in a Swiss bank so Roberto could pay off his loans to Turin Credit, Alberto Goldoni’s bank, which held the mortgages. The closing was deferred until well after the election to avoid public disclosure.”

  “One billion!” Elizabeth said. “I thought you told me the property was only worth 200 million.”

  “The transaction was all a sham—a way of disguising the Chinese contribution to Parelli’s campaign. They want Roberto to win.”

  “What did Parelli promise Zhou if he won?”

  “A voice in his government. Large contracts. The things that major contributors who decide an election regularly receive. That’s it. Now you know the whole disgusting story Roberto told me about his deal with Zhou. As soon as he told me, I was sick. I walked out of his house, and I haven’t seen him since. He sold out our country—Italy. He sold out his family. He was desperate for money. I know that. I can understand why he did it—but I can't condone or forgive him."

  Luciano was crying again.

  "Thank you for talking to me," Elizabeth said and she stood up.

  Luciano stood as well. "Remember you won't mention my name."

  "No. Of course not."

  Maria offered to walk Elizabeth to the front door, but she said, "I'll go through the yard around the house."

  She and Maria locked eyes. "Thank you," Elizabeth said.

  As she walked away, she heard Maria say to Luciano, "It will be alright."

  She got into her car and raced back to Milan as fast as she could drive and maintain control of the car.

  Once she was in her hotel room, she began typing at her computer:

  The Italian Divide

  by Elizabeth Crowder

  Italy faces its greatest existential threat since the German army entered the country in 1943. This time the would-be conquerors are not using soldiers and tanks. They are using money and economic might. They are coming not from the north, but from the east.

  Zhou Yun, the Chinese Finance Minister, is making an effort to restore the greatness China had in the eighteenth century. He intends to repay Europe for the humiliation China suffered in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries at the hands of Europeans.

  Italy is Zhou's immediate target. He has launched a daring two-part plan to dominate the government of an enormously powerful northern Italian state formed by Roberto Parelli. At the same time, he will control many of the most important banks in that new state. This is the twenty first century. Whoever controls the banks controls the economy.

  Zhou has found a willing partner in Roberto Parelli, who heavily mortgaged his family's farm and winery.

  Western North Carolina

  Early the next morning before the sun was up, Craig, with only two hours sleep, was in a CIA plane en route to a secret Special Forces base in the mountains of western North Carolina. Betty had made the arrangements for him. Then last night around two a.m., her final words sternly delivered were, “Once you get your operation set up and before you fly to Ascona, you must stop in Washington. I have to know all the details so I can keep the president informed. No Lone Ranger stuff this time. The president has gone out on a long limb for you.” Craig promised to do what she asked.

  As the plane landed at a small airport in the center of a North Carolina pine forest and taxied to a stop adjacent to a small wooden building, Craig watched a tall burley man in a military uniform walk toward the plane while the stairs went down.

  When Craig reached the ground, the man introduced himself. “Colonel Hal Dempsey. I’ll be in charge of planning your operation.”

  Craig climbed into a jeep with Dempsey behind the wheel. “I’m aware of what you’ve done with the CIA and that you were formerly the director, Mr. Page.”

  “It’s Craig, please.”

  “Okay, Craig. I don’t know much about your operation. According to my CO, we’re supposed to supply four of my men for an operation in Ascona, Switzerland. I was told this is high priority authorized by the president and CIA director.”

  “That’s right. Our objective will be to kidnap Zhou Yun, an important Chinese businessman and China’s finance minister. We want to get him on a boat and take him to Stresa, Italy, on the southern end of Lake Maggiore where the Italians will put him on trial f
or the murder of an Italian national. Hopefully, that is.”

  “Good. We’ll be able to do that. Let me tell you how I want to plan this.”

  Craig took an immediate liking to Dempsey. The man had a take-charge attitude and he exuded self-confidence.

  “Sure. Tell me.”

  “I’ve assembled four of my men in a conference room in our operations building. Darrell, Glen, Doug, and Tony. All near the top of my organization chart. Combined, the four have more than twenty-five years of combat experience in Iraq and Afghanistan.

  “Tony is fluent in Italian—he’s self-taught. His mother was born in Sardinia. She met his father when he was stationed in Italy with the Air Force at our base in Magdalena.

  “I like to plan an operation like this as a group effort. The six of us will sit at a table, kick around ideas, and reject alternatives until we have something we’re all satisfied with. Does that sound unorthodox to you, Craig?”

  Whatever works.”

  “Well it does because it takes advantage of the experience my guys have had in other operations. Also, they’ll be putting their lives on the line. I want them to be comfortable with whatever plans we develop.”

  Craig liked this approach. He also liked the looks of the four battle-hardened men seated around a conference table drinking coffee and joking about baseball teams when he and Dempsey walked into the room. All the talking stopped and the four rose to their feet.

  The Colonel introduced Craig as “America’s super spy and former CIA director.” Craig felt himself reddening. As the men sat down, the colonel pointed to a coffee pot in the corner. Craig walked over and poured a cup.

  While doing so, he looked around the room. A large screen resembling a giant television was attached to one wall. It was dark. Maps and photographs were taped to another. Craig recognized Ascona at the northern Swiss end of Lake Maggiore. Betty must have briefed Dempsey. Somebody had been busy this morning. Laptops and printers were set up on two folding tables against one wall. Duffel bags had been tossed into a corner. Craig guessed they held the four men’s gear.

  Dempsey had a laptop on the table in front of him. He booted it up and images flashed on the screen. First Lake Maggiore. Then Ascona.

  “We obtained lots of good images from satellite and drone photos,” he said. He zeroed in on the dock area in the center of Ascona near the intersection of via Albemarele, the promenade along the lake, and via Borgo, the main shopping street of Ascona. A dozen yachts were tied up.

  “The objective,” Dempsey said, using a laser pointer, “is to bring in a boat. Tie it up there. Then load the target onto the boat and take him to Italy. Do I have that right, Craig?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put the target’s picture on the screen.”

  Craig did. “He’s Zhou Yun, the Chinese finance minister and wealthy industrialist.”

  Dempsey paused for a minute to study the picture. Then he continued. “Our destination will be Stresa where the Italians have ample police and carabinieri.”

  “Will the Italians cooperate with us?”

  “Absolutely,” Craig said. “Giuseppe Mercuri, director of the EU counterterrorism agency, is based in Italy. He’s been in this with me from the get go. He’ll do whatever he can to help. Also, there’s a reporter, Elizabeth Crowder, who will be in Ascona. She’s tough as nails and she’ll help us. She’s also good with boats.”

  “I like that,” Dempsey turned to Craig. “What else can you tell us to help on the planning?”

  “Giuseppe should be able to arrange for Elizabeth to get a boat in Stresa. She can take it up to Ascona. I’m supposed to meet with Zhou, the target, next Thursday at 10 a.m. at a private residence outside the center of Ascona, which he’s taken over. Perhaps, I could knock him out then and the five us could hustle him over to the boat.”

  Glen, with carrot red hair, interjected. “I prefer working at night, and I like the element of surprise. How about Wednesday evening or early Thursday morning?”

  Dempsey said, “That’s much better. Besides, Craig, you might be walking into a trap on Thursday morning. The target has to sleep. So he’ll be at this house at some point the night before your meeting. Suppose we set the pickup for Thursday at 3 a.m. Target and much of his security should be sleeping. That’ll give us the element of surprise Glen was talking about. What do you know about the house where he’ll be staying?”

  “The address is number 16 via Delta. I asked Giuseppe to have one of his people check it out. He sent me a schematic.”

  Craig forwarded it to Dempsey’s computer and it went up on the screen. Three floors with four bedrooms on each of the top two floors. Dining room, kitchen, and living area on the first floor.

  Dempsey pushed some buttons on the computer. “Satellite photo of the residence.”

  The picture on the screen showed a tidy looking three-story building with white stone walls and brown shutters on the windows. The house was isolated, set back from via Delta in front by a large grassy area; behind it was another grassy area, then the River Maggiaone. On one side were open fields; on the other, the Hotel Park was about two hundred yards away from the property. A heavy metal fence surrounded the property. It was about twelve feet high. In front was a gate that opened to a driveway that ran to the front of the house. The grounds were carefully tended with grass and an abundance of flowers.

  “We have to assume,” Craig said, “that the target will have bodyguards heavily armed.”

  “So we go in with tear gas and masks,” Dempsey said.

  “I like that,” Craig replied.

  Darrell interjected. “We’ll need a vehicle to drive in and then to transport the target to the boat.”

  “Ambulance,” Doug said.

  Dempsey looked at Craig. “Do you think your friend Giuseppe could get us a Red Cross ambulance? That would also help us avoid the police.”

  “He should be able to do that.” Craig didn’t have the faintest idea if that was possible, but Giuseppe was resourceful.

  “Alright, we have the broad outline,” Dempsey said. “Let’s focus on details. Craig, my men will be carrying lots of arms. How do you think we should get them into Switzerland?”

  Craig had already thought about this question. “Equip them at the American base on Magdalena off the northern coast of Sardinia. It’s Italian territory. Giuseppe will help move them into mainland Italy, then overland and give them a place to wait until Wednesday evening. They can cross into Switzerland by car at the Lake Como border crossing. Giuseppe will grease that one. I want to pick them up in the ambulance at a meeting point in the hills above Ascona Thursday at two a.m. I’ll forward the exact location Wednesday during the day.”

  “That sounds good,” Dempsey said. “Meantime, we’ll maintain satellite and drone surveillance of Zhou’s house. To make sure he’s there at zero hour. Everybody good with that?”

  “Yes, sir,” rang out around the room.

  “You’ll split into two groups of two. Darrell and Glen are G1. Doug and Tony G2. For the assault, you’ll have automatic weapons with suppressors and also tear gas and masks. G1 will take out any guards at the front gate and blast it open. All four of you race to the house. Craig will drive the ambulance in and park it in front.”

  Dempsey was talking fast. He paused to take a breath. Then continued. “G1 will secure and hold the first floor and the building entrance. G2 and Craig will move up the stairs to the second and third floors. Doug will secure the second floor. Tony, you’ll move up to the third with Craig. We’ll provide you, Craig, with a powerful sedative administered by syringe to disable the target. Speed is critical. Knock down doors that don’t open quickly. You have to get in and out before the Swiss police come. Figure you’ll have twenty minutes max. Less would be better. Everybody clear on that?”

  All heads in the room were nodding. Dempsey turned to Craig. “It’s your operation. Over there, you’re in charge. That isn’t something I’m used to doing. Turning command of my men to an
outsider, but with your record it’s justified.”

  “Thank you for your confidence, Colonel.”

  “Anybody have any questions or issues with the plan?”

  Darrell spoke up. “Suppose the target eludes Craig and is escaping? Do we shoot to kill?”

  Dempsey pointed to Craig.

  “No. Just hit him in the leg. I need him alive.”

  “Anybody else?”

  No one else said anything.

  “Alright. Enough talking. We have plenty of work to do to nail down the operational details and not much time.”

  As Craig rode in a jeep back to the airport, he had a queasy feeling in his stomach. This operation in Ascona was beginning to sound a lot like the attack he had tried in Bali—when attempting to kidnap Zhou Yun’s brother. There, he had led four courageous and talented young Spanish men with wonderful lives ahead of them, into a bloody ambush in which all four of them had died and Craig had barely escaped. He couldn’t bear to think he’d be doing the same thing to Darrell, Glen, Doug, and Tony.

  Ascona

  Zhou’s unmarked private jet arrived at Milan’s Malpensa Airport at five o’clock Monday afternoon on a beautiful summer day with a robin’s-egg blue sky and not a cloud. As he climbed down the stairs to the tarmac, he looked up at the mountains in the distance. Their peaks were still covered with snow.

  Each of the past two years he had brought with him to the Ascona conference several top ranking officials in the Finance Ministry whose assignment had been to gather information about world economic developments from other delegates, particularly those from Europe and the United States. This year he brought only eight security men, whom he had borrowed from the military and were dressed in civilian clothes, and Qing. Their bags contained rifles, automatic weapons, and pistols.

  Though he planned to deliver a speech Friday morning, touting China’s successful investments in Africa, Zhou had no interest in economic issues at this year’s Ascona conference. He had come for one reason: to kill Craig Page. After twenty-one long months, he would finally be avenging his brother’s death.