The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9

by Jonas Saul

  “Get him out of my sight,” Delarusso shouted at the officers on either side of Parkman.

  Along the way to the small Italian police cars, Parkman saw Kierian being forced into the backseat of another car.

  Sorry, Sarah. You’re on your own.

  Chapter 50

  Sarah and The Cowboy went outside to the pergola in the back. The old woman had just finished hanging up bed sheets to dry. She collected her basket and headed back inside.

  The flat fields extended for miles until the mountains rose in the distance.

  “Italy’s gorgeous,” Sarah said. “I just wish I could enjoy it more.”

  “Once this is all over, maybe you could.”

  She sat in a lounge chair and brought her knees up to her chest, still wearing Darwin’s jacket like a safety blanket.

  “Tell me about GMOs. Why are you so against them? Let me play devil’s advocate here.”

  “Sure, but first I’ll ask them to bring more coffee. An Americano this time.”

  “Perfect.”

  She waited by herself, breathing in the fresh air, taking the time to relax, gather her thoughts, and mentally prepare for what she still had to do. Her mind wandered to Aaron, her parents. What were they going through at that moment?

  “We’re all set for coffee.” The Cowboy took a seat across a small circular table between them. “About GMOs … Henry Kissinger once said, ‘who controls the food supply, controls the people …’”

  “But how could GMOs lead to controlling the food supply?” Sarah asked. “You can’t own Mother Nature.”

  “Exactly, but you can patent your own design. Once companies like Monsanto designed a seed that led to a pesticide-producing crop, it became patentable. They made the seed. They own it. They can patent it.”

  “Pesticide-producing crop?”

  “That’s a crop that produces its own toxic insecticide. When an insect bites it, the toxin attacks the insect’s nervous system and kills them.”

  “And humans eat this crop? With the toxin still in it?”

  He nodded. “Humans, pigs, cows …”

  “What? How? I thought cows ate grass.”

  “They used to. Now many of them are corn and soy fed. Pigs fed with GMO corn had an almost three hundred percent increase in severe stomach inflammation compared to those fed non-GMO diets.”

  “Why hasn’t this been stopped then?”

  “Big business. Lots of money involved.”

  The door opened behind them. The younger woman stepped out onto the back deck with a tray in hand.

  “Here’s a couple of coffees. I brought bread with mortadella.”

  “Grazie,” Cowboy said.

  The woman set the tray down and headed toward the garden.

  “What’s mortadella?” Sarah asked when their host was far enough away.

  “It’s really just a large Italian sausage, made of heat-cured pork. Similar to bologna in America, but tastier.”

  “Is this safe to eat after what you just told me about pigs?”

  “It is here. This B&B is completely organic. That’s why I’m here.”

  Sarah ripped off a piece of the bread and laid the mortadella on top. After biting in, she washed it down with the hot coffee.

  “Holy shit …”

  “I know. Good, eh?”

  “We have to discuss your plan to get them out into the open,” Sarah said between bites.

  “We will, but first, a couple more things about GMOs.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “A growing amount of data has come out connecting GMOs with health problems and environmental damage. Experiments have proven that eating GMOs can cause cancerous tumors, infertility, and birth defects.”

  “Sounds like radiation poisoning.”

  “Funny you should say that. The same company that created nerve gas and Agent Orange, which is still affecting babies being born in Vietnam today, brings you pesticides and insecticides and GMO food. Pesticide is just another word for a modified version of nerve gas.”

  She stopped chewing and stared at him. “How come I don’t know this? How come the general public isn’t aware? Why hasn’t the FDA protected us?”

  He winced. “I hate those three letters. The FDA is bought and paid for already. But over here in Europe, countries are fighting back. Did you see what they did in Hungary?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “They torched five-hundred hectares of genetically modified corn to eradicate GMOs from their food supply. GMOs are banned now in twenty-seven countries around the world, and labeling is required in over fifty.”

  “Torched? As in fire?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “To avoid cross-pollination. Fire destroys the DNA and breaks down vegetable matter to carbon and mineral ash. Cornfields that were once dangerous are now rendered harmless. The intense heat destroys the engineered DNA created in a lab by people who think they can outsmart Mother Nature. Even France has a ban on Frankencorn.”

  “This is serious. How come I don’t know any of it? I understood that eating healthy meant organic but not all the reasons. I feel sick now.”

  She set her coffee down and stretched her legs, the sun warming her skin.

  “Here’s how it breaks down,” he said as he leaned forward and held the index finger of other hand. “Almost all the soy, corn and canola oil in the world is GMO now.” He pulled one finger down. “Practically every processed food found in grocery stores contain some form of corn, like high-fructose corn syrup, soy, cottonseed or canola.” He lowered another finger. “Crackers, cookies, cereals, and snack foods are all considered non-human food because of all the chemicals in them.” He lowered another finger. “For example, blueberry muffin mix doesn’t actually have any blueberries in it. It’s a chemical additive created in a lab to look and taste like blueberries, colored with two different blue dyes.” He lowered his last finger. “Whatever contains artificial sweetener contains GMOs, too.”

  “So what can people safely eat? What’s human food?”

  “Anything in a recognized organic store, cows and other animals that aren’t fed GMO corn or soy—basically cows that are grass fed and people should plant their own gardens. The rule of thumb is, if it’s processed food, it’s not human food. Hundreds of years ago, nothing was processed. Even our wheat has been compromised.”

  “Okay, too much in one sitting,” Sarah said as she set the bread back down on the tray.

  “Italy’s proposed ban on GMOs came in with eighty percent public support. That’s why today’s conference was so important.”

  “Doesn’t the European Union govern that sort of thing?” Sarah asked.

  “The European Food and Safety Authority is Europe’s FDA. Individual governments are able to introduce safeguards if they feel the food supply is threatened or there are environmental risks.”

  “Anything else I should know before we expose these assholes?”

  He smiled and adjusted himself in his seat. “We’re winning. Slowly, but globally, we’re winning.”

  “How?”

  “There was a March Against Monsanto which happened last May where two million people participated in solidarity protests around the globe to raise public awareness of Monsanto’s toxic legacy. The next one is taking place this coming October twelfth where an expected four million people will attend. Since then, their stock prices have decreased as investors realize they’re not a good long-term investment anymore. We’re finally getting to them.”

  His eyes watered as he looked away, the shadow of his hat not able to hide his joy.

  “What’s your plan for tonight?” she asked. “Tell me the details.”

  He wiped his face, took a long sip from his coffee and stood. He walked a few feet away and kept his back to her.

  “I will write up everything I know and suspect to be true.” He turned around. “I will name names, cover the money trail that leads to the Minister of Finance and to the senior officer of the State Police. Then I
will connect them to Marconi and the sniper at the farmhouse today. Once that’s done, I will add that you tried to stop it all and say that I shot you.”

  “But why would you shoot me? They think we’re allies.”

  “In investigative journalism, nobody’s my ally. Only my editor. But I will convince them that we fought. You wanted to hunt them down yourself and I couldn’t allow that. I wanted them to face justice. You tried to leave. We argued. I shot you. I will email this to Capelli, the Finance Minister, and Delarusso at the state police and tell them that I feel terrible, the guilt is tearing me up. They are to help you at the hospital and let you leave or I expose the story.”

  “You do know that you’re going to have every legal authority come down on you for this, right?”

  He shrugged. “That’s where you come in.”

  “How?”

  “You’re supposed to be shot. When they send De Luca or some other hit man, you deal with him and we’ll have all the evidence to nail these guys to the wall. You just have to be at the Umbertide hospital at midnight tonight.”

  “Why tonight? And can you write all that up that fast?”

  “It’s already written. That’s what I’ve been doing here. My investigation is complete and I chose tonight because all those men are still local.”

  “What about Frank De Luca?”

  “He’s the one we’re trying to bring out of the woodwork. He’s not a ghost, he’s a cockroach. But you’re going to have the light switch in your hand, and when you flick it on, you will catch all these men trying to kill you. I have a friend who works at the hospital. He’ll do me a favor. That’s why I thought the hospital was the best location for you.” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “Oh, this is going to be great.”

  “Glad you think so. You don’t get shot.”

  Chapter 51

  Sarah rode into Umbertide with the young woman who ran the B&B. The woman had a dozen questions about America, but mostly was convinced the country was made of money. Whoever lived in the land of plenty had to be rich.

  Sarah attempted to allay those assumptions, but decided to leave the nice Italian woman with her visions of grandeur.

  Three blocks short of Umbertide’s hospital was a stunning residential area, where quaint two-story homes lined each side of the streets, tiny balconies on the second floor of each house. Flowers and gardens indigenous to the Italian lifestyle littered the windows, lawns and gates of almost every home.

  Sarah got out and walked the rest of the way as her driver turned around and headed back to the B&B south of the city.

  The email had been sent in the late afternoon to the head of the State Police for this area, Antonio Delarusso, and the Minister of Finance, Silvio Capelli. It outlined everything The Cowboy had discovered regarding their involvement with the major GMO corporations. It detailed their plans as representatives of Italy to aid in that venture and how they had been paid handsomely in campaign money, contributions and other donations in their name.

  Finally, the emails said that Sarah Roberts was in need of medical care and would be dropped off at the Umbertide hospital at midnight exactly. She was to be given the best doctors and the best care money could buy, then allowed safe passage to the United States. At that time, the information in the email would be destroyed. The reason The Cowboy gave was he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, or in jail for attempted murder since he was the one who shot Sarah by accident. If Sarah was hurt in any way, he would have no choice but to follow through with his threats and make all the information he had public knowledge.

  Sarah checked her watch, which miraculously still worked after all that she had been through.

  11:05 p.m.

  Almost an hour left to prepare.

  An ambulance pulled along the street, driving slowly as if looking for an address. The driver was The Cowboy’s friend and he supposedly owed The Cowboy a favor. He had agreed to sneak an ambulance out and pick Sarah up.

  She stepped out onto the road and caught his attention. The vehicle slowed. At the passenger door, the driver nodded at her.

  “Sarah?” he asked.

  She nodded back at him.

  “Hop in,” he said in accented English.

  When she opened the door, the interior light turned on. She ducked low and slammed the door, killing the light.

  “You wanna hop in the back?”

  She climbed out of the front seat through a little door and into the rear.

  “Lie down on the stretcher and pull the white blanket up over your head. I’ll drive us back to emerg.”

  She did as she was told. The ambulance started moving again. She closed her eyes and breathed steady.

  “How well do you know Ernesto?” the driver asked.

  “Ernesto?”

  “He didn’t tell you his name?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think he would. Ever since people started calling him The Cowboy, he stopped giving his real name. He never liked Ernesto Eugene Everton. We met fifteen years ago on a story he was doing here in Umbria. He did the right thing by my family. Got me out of tragic situation. Now I’m doing him a favor. Although I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be smuggled into a hospital.”

  “It’s better you don’t know but I can assure you, none of it will fall back on you.”

  “Ernesto explained that. I trust him. He could’ve used my name in the piece he wrote all those years ago, but he didn’t. He protected me when I was only eight-years old. Taught me a lesson on how to keep my word. Had he used my name, it would’ve ruined my life. Because of him, I got a good education and a good job. I’m eternally grateful.”

  “Is there a way you can admit me as a gunshot victim without it being traced back to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What room am I going to be in?”

  “Room 202.”

  “Got it.”

  She gripped the sides of the stretcher so she wouldn’t roll off and meditated on what she had to do. She had no specific plan, but waiting for De Luca inside the hospital was all she needed.

  When they met again, Frank De Luca would be surprised.

  They all will be.

  Chapter 52

  Frank De Luca had never yearned to kill a man as much as he wanted to kill his employer, Silvio Capelli. Usually he remained detached, his kills impersonal, business. But with Capelli, his emotions had gotten involved, and now it was personal.

  The kind of information in the email sent to Capelli by The Cowboy, who Frank had warned Capelli about in Rome, was lethal. If they didn’t shut The Cowboy down and erase everything he had, everyone, including him, would have to disappear for a while. His movements would be seriously constrained in the coming years. His identity would have to be altered again, his ID redone. Running would be the new existence, at least in the short term.

  In order to get to The Cowboy, Sarah couldn’t be killed. Instead, Capelli had come up with the idea to make her tell him where The Cowboy was hiding, then kill her.

  Frank De Luca didn’t kidnap people or torture them for information. He simply killed them. That’s what people like Capelli hired him for.

  One of Frank’s best snipers was arrested in the bathroom of the farmer’s house because of Sarah. All De Luca saw when the name Sarah Roberts crossed his mind was blood on her decapitated face.

  “You hired me to do a job,” De Luca breathed into the phone. “As I said before, once we enter into a contract, I fulfill my end and expect you to fulfill yours. Your dealer has left the game but I don’t see my compensation.”

  “Because I added a clause. At midnight, when our friend is mended at the hospital, bring her to me. I will compensate you for what I owe you and reward you handsomely for the delivery.”

  “That wasn’t our agreement. But if you’re willing to enter into a new one, how much are we discussing?”

  “One million euros.”

  “Two.�
�

  “Done. Just be there by one in the morning.”

  “What assurances do I have?”

  “Assurances?”

  “How do I know I’m not walking into an ambush? You and your pal Delarusso could have every cop in Italy surrounding that hospital. Convince me this isn’t a trap.”