The Italian Divide

by Allan Topol

  * * *

  At five minutes before ten, Zhou Yun and Qing, who crossed the parking lot from the car Qing had driven up the mountain, entered the conference center. Qing remained outside the auditorium while Zhou took a seat reserved for him in the last row on the right side facing the stage.

  The Finance Minister of Russia approached Zhou, said hello, and sat down next to him. The auditorium doors closed and the conference director introduced Jane Peterson.

  In her speech, Peterson began, “The Federal Reserve is facing an dilemma. We can keep interest rates low in an effort to stimulate the economy; but we risk creating asset bubbles, which in the long run could endanger prosperity. We’re trying to walk a tight rope and …”

  Zhou looked around the auditorium. From his vantage point, he could see most of the others in the room.

  There were so many familiar faces from the world of finance who had come to meet him in Beijing, hoping to gain Chinese investment in their countries.

  As he looked at the press table, he could hardly believe his eyes.

  Elizabeth Crowder!

  She had to know Zhou was here. After the attack on her in Paris, she was foolish, even reckless to be here.

  Or more likely, it was something else. When Craig intended to kill Zhou Thursday morning, she might be planning to help him.

  For Zhou, her being here was a stroke of good fortune. Qing could grab her and take her back to the house on via Delta. Zhou would be able to use her as bait in luring Craig and make it easier for Zhou to kill Craig.

  Zhou had to tell Qing what to do but he didn’t want to leave the auditorium for fear this would cause a commotion, and Elizabeth would spot him.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone to send Qing a text message. A break was scheduled for 11:15. Delegates typically left the hall for coffee and to mingle. There was an exit close to Elizabeth’s seat at the stage level. She would undoubtedly leave through that door. It might be tricky, but Qing was resourceful. He would follow her and snatch her. Zhou told all of that to Qing in his text message. He couldn’t wait for 11:15.

  * * *

  As the Federal Reserve Chairman neared the end of the question and answer session following her talk at twelve minutes past eleven, Elizabeth was writing furiously on her steno pad, not wanting to miss a word.

  In a concluding sentence, Jane Peterson said, “We at the Federal Reserve are well aware of the enormous repercussions for the world’s economy of the actions we take on interest rates. You can be sure we will do everything possible to act prudently. Thank you for your attention and for your thoughtful questions.”

  The audience stood and applauded the Federal Reserve Chairman. On her feet, Elizabeth looked around the auditorium. Up the rows on the right side at the top was Zhou Yun.

  He was staring at her.

  Their eyes locked. She saw him pressing keys on his phone. She guessed what he was doing: alerting one of his men outside the hall to seize her at the break.

  This was precisely what Craig had warned her might happen, and she had brushed that off. She had been kidnapped by Zhou’s brother in Paris, and that had ruined everything for Craig. She couldn’t let that happen again. She had to find a way to elude Zhou’s men and get out of the convention center.

  While the audience was still clapping and the conference director was thanking the Federal Reserve Chairman, Elizabeth knew what she had to do. It was likely that whomever Zhou sent to grab her would be waiting outside the door closest to her on the lower level.

  For a few more seconds the center aisle consisting of stairs leading up to the doors in the back of the hall were still clear while people were applauding and before they began heading toward the exodus. That was her best chance to get away.

  She stuffed her iPad into her duffel and bolted for the aisle and up the stairs. She made it to the top just as the exit began from the auditorium. She hoped that by moving fast, Zhou would never have a chance to alert whomever he had sent to grab her.

  She rushed through the front door of the hall and out into the air. The skies had opened and a summer shower erupted. She tore down the driveway. Then she took off her low beige heels, placed them in the duffel, and raced barefoot down the steep one hundred thirty-eight stone steps, cutting through the woods.

  The steps lacked a railing, and they weren’t straight. From time to time, they turned ninety-degree corners. Rain-slickened, they were treacherous. Elizabeth had to watch her footing to avoid slipping

  After going down about twenty steps, she thought she was alone and safe, but then she heard footsteps racing behind her.

  Oh no!

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it was Qing—the Chinese man who had been in Parelli’s suite in Venice.

  She picked up the pace running as fast as she could. It wasn’t good enough. Qing was gaining. If she could get to the road midway down the stairs, she might be able to flag down a passing vehicle. It was a good idea, but at this rate, she’d never make it.

  She saw a sharp turn to the left approaching. Elizabeth made the turn, then ducked down and moved in close to the wall so the approaching Qing couldn’t see her.

  The instant Qing passed her step, she sprang up, swung her duffel, and smacked him in the back of his head. The blow knocked Qing off balance. He fell against the side of the low wall, over it and into the bushes.

  He was dazed but still conscious. She ignored him and continued running, realizing she only had a couple minutes head start until he resumed his chase.

  Her feet were hurting, but she kept going. At last she reached the road. The rain had stopped. The sun was shining.

  She spotted a white van coming down from the conference center. She ran into the center of the road and waved her hands. The van stopped. Something indicating “Eco Friendly Products” was painted on the side. Only a driver was in the van. Well, we’ll see if these environmentalists have any compassion for a human being, she thought.

  The driver rolled down his window and called to her, “Do you need help?”

  No, I’m out here, getting a sun tan, she thought. What do you think? “Oh, please help me,” she cried out. “I need a ride into town.”

  “Climb in,” he said.

  Those were the most wonderful words she’d ever heard.

  As he pulled away, the driver asked, “What happened to you?”

  “Fight with my boyfriend.”

  That shut him up. He dropped her at the end of the promenade, two blocks from the Eden Roc. She had no intention of telling Craig what had happened.

  Meantime, she’d have to be more vigilant. She was sure that Qing would try to find her; and Ascona was a small town.

  Ascona

  It was a long, torturous ride for Craig from the airport in Munich to Ascona. Traffic was heavy, and he was constantly encountering road repairs. Craig also made a couple of sudden stops and detours to satisfy himself that he wasn’t being followed. At five minutes past eight on Tuesday evening, he reached Ascona.

  After parking in a public lot on the edge of the Ascona shopping area, just across the bridge from Lecarno, he strolled around the town as a tourist might on a comfortable summer evening, following his three left-turns rule to make certain he didn’t have a tail. Satisfied no one was following, he walked on the via Albemarele promenade along the lake lined with open-air restaurants one next to another, about twenty altogether. Most of them were crowded. The promenade was also jammed with pedestrians. A few ducks were swimming in Lake Maggiore. No one paid any attention to Craig.

  He checked his watch. It was nine o’clock. Hopefully, Elizabeth was in her hotel room at the Eden Roc. Craig walked along the lake to her hotel. From the outside, it looked simple, not elegant. That changed the moment Craig entered the polished marble floor lobby and a smartly dressed concierge asked, “May I help you?”

  Craig glanced around at the freshly painted beige walls, glass cases filled with luxury goods, and guests dressed perfectly in expensive cl
othes, the women with striking jewels. All of that confirmed what Elizabeth had said about the Eden Roc. It had a quiet, dignified elegance.

  He told the concierge he was here to see Simone Morey. The man picked up a phone, dialed, and handed it to Craig.

  “I’m downstairs,” he said. “What’s your room number?”

  “404.”

  “I’m on my way up.”

  Once he got into her room, he took out a piece of paper and pen from his pocket, and wrote, “Have you checked for bugs?” and handed it to her.

  She looked annoyed. “That’s insulting.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ve trained you well.”

  “You’re infuriating. My life didn’t begin with you.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that—”

  “You never give me any credit.”

  “Only trying to be careful. I’m sorry. I spent a long day in the car.”

  “Wow, you’re strung really tight. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll order some food from room service. Meantime, go stick your head under a cold shower. It’ll relax you.”

  “Before I do that, I want to congratulate you on your Parelli article. What fabulous journalism, and you completely devastated Parelli. I’m in awe of that. Truly I am.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. Now go shower.”

  While they ate, and drank Rion Chambolle Musigny, Craig asked her about her interview with Luciano—and complimented her some more on the article.

  Until they finished eating, Elizabeth refused to talk to Craig about Zhou. “You need an hour off.”

  By then, he was feeling more mellow. Craig moved away from the table and walked over to the window. The curtains were drawn tight. He opened them a crack and peeked out at the swimming pool below and the lake stretching out as far as he could see.

  He cut across the room to the door, opened it and glanced into the corridor. It was deserted.

  “Let’s talk about Zhou,” he said.

  Elizabeth picked up her wine glass and moved away from the room service table. They settled in comfortable orange leather chairs facing each other.

  “I assume you have a plan to kidnap Zhou,” she said.

  “A good one, but it could get a little dicey. Zhou knows that Barry Gorman is Craig Page.”

  She looked chagrined. “How in the world does he know that?”

  Craig explained about Tyler.

  “What a traitor,” she said.

  “Well, anyhow, I called Zhou from Washington and spoke to him as Barry Gorman. We set a meeting at his house Thursday morning at ten.”

  “Where he’ll no doubt have a handful of assassins on hand to kill you.”

  “For sure. So I have to grab him before he can kill me.”

  “From his house?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How much do you know about the layout of the place?”

  “Now who’s being insulting?”

  “Touché.”

  “I had Giuseppe send someone to visit the place. He gave me the layout of the whole inn. Zhou will no doubt be staying in the largest room on the top floor. Hopefully, there won’t be an locals in the house when we move in, but we don’t know for sure.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Gee, you’re impatient. President Worth and Betty gave me four special ops troops for this operation. The strange thing is that Worth wanted to know all of the details of the operation, and he wants Betty to keep him informed, even on minute details in real time.”

  “So he can abort?”

  “That’s what he said, but it’s more detail than I’ve had to give other presidents about an operation. I guess each one’s different,” he added thoughtfully.

  “You still haven’t told me the plan.”

  “I’m picking up the four special ops troops Thursday morning at 2 a.m. somewhere outside of Ascona. Tomorrow, I’ll find a good place to meet them. We’re moving in on Zhou an hour later. Zero hour is 3 a.m. The five of us go into the Zhou’s house, and use tear gas, and grab him.”

  “It’ll be risky for you,” she said grimly.

  “I know that. If I don’t make it, I want to be buried near Francesca and her mother.”

  “You’re going to make it, Craig. You never talked like that before. Don’t do it now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will I have a role in this?”

  “A major one. I remember you know a lot about boats. So here’s what I want you to do.”

  Stresa

  When Elizabeth woke up at 7 a.m. Wednesday morning, Craig was already out of her bed and gone from the hotel. She had breakfast from room service.

  As she ate, she thought about everything Craig had told her last evening. Suddenly, she understood what was happening. She was convinced that between Craig and Zhou, only one of them would get out of Ascona alive. She didn’t dare call Craig to tell him what she thought for fear Zhou would pick it up and that would spoil everything. Besides, nothing Craig could do about it. She just hoped Craig was the one who survived.

  She put on a tourist outfit of khaki shorts, New York Yankees tee shirt, sneakers, and a wide brimmed hat.

  From the moment she left her room, she looked around anxiously. No sign of Qing or anyone else Chinese.

  At the dock, in the center of the promenade, she boarded a public ferry to Stresa at the southern end of the lake.

  As they cut across the lake in the cool morning air, under a blue sky, a young couple from New York tried to strike up a conversation with her.

  She said, “Yes, I’m from New York. But I’m getting too much sun.”

  She left them to go to another part of the boat. Over her shoulder she heard the stringy blonde say to her husband with a sandpaper beard and stomach hanging over his belt, “Some people sure aren’t friendly,”

  Elizabeth didn’t care. She didn’t want to make any new friends today.

  When she got off, she wandered around the dock for a while until she saw a large white sign with red letters, “Marcello’s boats. Short-term and long-term rentals.”

  “I’m looking for Marcello,” she said to a short squat man in his sixties with a leathery weather beaten face. He was wearing a sea captain’s cap, jeans, and black leather boots.

  “I’m Marcello.” “Who are you?”

  She recalled what Craig had told her to say and she repeated it, “Giuseppe rented a boat from you, the Matterhorn, for twenty-four hours. He asked me to pick it up.”

  Marcello was snarling. She had a pretty good idea what was bothering him. She had to play it tough.

  “You have a problem?”

  “I didn’t know I was going to turn my best and fastest boat over to some girl.”

  Exactly what she suspected. The men who operated on the seas were convinced you needed a penis to operate a boat. It was the same in New York or Italy.

  “Giuseppe paid you a lot of money to rent that boat. He won’t be happy if you don’t give it to me.”

  “Too fuckin’ bad. Let him get his ass down here and take the boat himself.”

  “You figure I won’t know how to handle it. That I’ll ruin your boat.”

  “Never met a girl yet who knew how to control a boat.”

  She took a deep breath. Marcello wasn’t easy. Craig had given her Giuseppe’s phone number in case of an emergency. She considered calling Giuseppe, but rejected it. She’d be damned if she’d do that. This was her part of the job. And she intended to do it herself.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a wad of euros. “Tell you what. I’ve got 5,000 euros here. You take the Matterhorn and you give me your next fastest boat. We’ll race across the lake and back. If you win, you get the 5,000 euros and I don’t get the Matterhorn. If I win, I keep the money and I get the Matterhorn for twenty-four hours just as you promised. How’s that sound?”

  He puckered up his lips and eyed her with hostility.

  Finally, he smiled.

  “You got bal
ls, girl. I’ll say that for you. Let’s race.”

  He gave her the black Laguna. It looked like a powerful boat, but it didn’t seem as if it would be a match for the sleek white Matterhorn. He pointed to the town of Pallanza on the other side of the lake. That would be the midpoint of the race.

  “Over and back,” Marcello said.

  As they climbed into their boats, Elizabeth was wondering if she’d done something stupid. She could not only lose 5,000 euros, but she might not get the Matterhorn. What’s more, she was afraid that it would be too late to call Giuseppe. Male pride would prevent Marcello from relenting after he whipped her in the race.

  This is great, she thought. She would be blowing Craig’s operation before it even got out of the gate. And all because of her own vanity.

  “Start first,” Marcello called to her and she took off.

  By the time she was midway across the lake, passing the three Borremei islands, she had the Laguna opened up to full throttle. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw she was leading by a couple boat lengths. She was pushing her boat hard. It was vibrating but keeping up the speed.

  By the time the two boats reached Pallanza, turned around, and headed back to Stresa, people in other boats and on the shore were watching them. She was still in the lead by a couple of lengths. She glanced over her shoulder at Marcello. He looked relaxed, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  A sick feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. What if Marcello was toying with her? What if he could pull ahead any time he wanted to?

  She tried to banish those thoughts and gripped the wheel hard. As they reached the middle of the lake, passing Isola Bella, she still had the lead.

  Suddenly, she heard a roar behind her. Marcello had opened up the Matterhorn. As he passed her, he tossed away his cigarette and laughed.

  She had been right. He had been playing with her. She felt miserable. Craig would never forgive her for blowing his operation. She would never forgive herself.

  When she eased into the dock, Marcello had already tied up the Matterhorn and had a cigarette dangling from his lips. She tied up the Laguna. Humiliated, she took the five thousand euros and held it out.