“What went wrong?”
“They were locked up, but we didn’t have a clue where Violetta was. Yahontov told us the girl was underground with a limited air supply and we only had forty-eight hours to find her. He knew we wouldn’t.”
“They cut a deal didn’t they? Agreed to tell you where Violetta was if you released them?”
“I don’t think the Ravenna commissioner would have caved in, but he was under enormous pressure from on high. The girl’s father was rich and had influence in Rome.”
“So you let them go?”
“I watched them walk away. I knew the girl wouldn’t be found alive, but they weren’t listening to me. The Americans had the technology to track them, but the commissioner wouldn’t let me set it up. I was told to be quiet and go away. I followed orders.”
“You didn’t have a choice, Brocelli.”
“Yes I did. Of course I had a choice. I picked blind, stupid obedience over the life of an eight-year-old girl.”
“When was this?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“Yahontov and Puz ran, I take it?”
“They crossed the border into Switzerland. After that, they just vanished.”
“And never told you where she was. But why? They had nothing to lose by then, you already knew they were involved?”
“Because Yahontov would have enjoyed it. The thought of us running around the countryside digging holes would have pleased him. I think he was punishing me – all of us. Evil. Plain and simple.”
Both men stared at Yahontov’s photograph. The man in the picture was smirking. Conza began to understand.
“Listen, Brocelli. Have you got anything on today? I could do with a chat.”
“I don’t need your sympathy, Conza.”
“I’m not going to give you any. It wouldn’t do any good, anyway. No, I need your help. I’m in over my head and could do with some advice.”
“As long as it’s not about a woman.”
“Chance would be a fine thing. Do you know Benito’s on Mercato?”
“Yes.”
“Can you be there at one? I need to make some calls first.”
Brocelli nodded before turning to go.
“Is it anything to do with your trip to Berlin yesterday?” he asked as he reached the door.
“How did you guess?”
83
Central Police Headquarters, Milan, Italy
Conza decided to walk across town to the police station. A niggly headache had started behind his eyes, and he needed fresh air. He stopped off at Gina’s and ordered a double espresso. He sat in an alcove at the back of the café, away from the morning sun.
Brocelli’s story had thrown him and scared him too. These men he was pursuing, they really were evil. They had no empathy. They didn’t understand suffering, other than as a means to an end. They had dealt with Kadin and his father as if they were already dead. They starved small children to death. They reduced everyone to nameless and soulless entities; masters in the art of dehumanisation.
Trying to beat them by following the rules until they were locked away was the ‘shit’ that Brocelli could no longer ‘push uphill’. Brocelli was wrong, Conza did get it, Harry Chase had said something similar to him before. He hadn’t understood at the time. He did now.
He drank his coffee and called Sergeant Moretti.
“Where are you, Georgio?”
“I’ve just arrived at the safe house to finish taking Kadin’s statement. Twenty-two pages so far. But we’re nearly done.”
The weariness in Moretti’s voice made Conza think of Brocelli.
“I need you in my office at noon. What time can you get away?”
“It’s Saturday, Raffy. If I come to your office, I won’t get away until Sunday.”
Conza waited.
“All right, I’ll be there at twelve. I’m not going to ask why you need me, it would spoil the surprise of whatever bomb you are about to lob in my direction.”
“You know me so well, Georgio. See you at twelve.”
◆◆◆
Police headquarters was unusually quiet, and no one was in the incident room. Conza read the updated investigation folder and was satisfied to see that there had been a possible sighting of the bakery assailants. He wrote a note on a new page which he called ‘Georgio’.
Pulling out Stolz’s USB, Conza called Lanfranco Pisani’s mobile.
Pisani wasn’t too happy at being called on a Saturday but warmed when given the opportunity to talk about a technical matter.
“They all have a Skyguard-designed password-protection system, Lieutenant. Lukas Stolz invented the encryption algorithm. He called it the Skyguard Encrypted Data Safe, SEDS.”
“So, in simple terms, how does SEDS work?”
“Think of it as an information bank.”
“Tell me about how to access it, the password system.”
“OK, so we all use passwords that act like a key. You put your data in the room and lock the door. If you want to access the data, you need to unlock the door with the correct key.”
“So far, so good.”
“The problem with that is the data is stored in a readable form. If you bypass the password or break down the door, you can access the information.”
“I can see that.”
“SEDS is different, you set the password before storing the data. Think of the room now containing trillions of boxes. The password determines which box is used to store each bit of data. As each tiny fragment of information goes through the door, it is sent to a box determined by the password, in other words, the data becomes incoherent; encrypted.”
“So even if you break down the door, the data is unreadable?”
“You’ve got it, but there’s more to SEDS than that. It isn’t just a data storage device. It’s physically secure. Tamper-proof and able to withstand extreme temperatures. It runs off a microprocessor; programmable to meet the needs of the user. For example, it can be set up to prevent copying, or only usable on a particular device. There are lots of options.”
“Tell me about the password system.”
“You get three goes to input the password correctly. If the third attempt fails, the system scrambles the data. Impossible to read even if you subsequently apply the correct password. It will do the same sort of thing if it senses a threat.”
“You make it sound alive.”
“It’s a good way to think of it, Lieutenant. Whilst it’s a clever gimmick to demonstrate Skyguard’s attitude to security, in reality, SEDS is a dynamic and highly sensitive storage system.”
“How many characters in the password?”
“Ten, always ten. Numbers, symbols, letters, upper or lower case.”
“Great, that reduces the chances of cracking it to about a million to one.”
“Actually, it’s about two billion, billion, billion to one.”
“Great. As you’ve probably guessed, we’re trying to get into Stolz’s fob. The data may be relevant to his murder. You don’t happen to know his password do you?”
“Sorry, no. As I told you, Lukas Stolz rarely talked to any of us, or anyone else for that matter. Not the sort of chap to share secrets.”
“Can you suggest anything, Mr Pisani? I’m in a hole.”
The phone went quiet briefly.
“About a year ago, Skyguard reconfigured SEDS. People kept forgetting their password and as a result lost their data – permanently. Nothing Skyguard could do to help; there’s no backdoor. But even though Stolz didn’t like it, the company added a password reminder function.”
“How do I access it?”
“It’s not obvious. Look for the letters ‘PR’ in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, double-click on it and the reminder should appear.”
Conza had one final question.
“What’s a backdoor?”
“Basically, it’s a means by which a program’s code writer is able to bypass normal protocols to read the data
or alter its parameters. Clearly, they’re highly controversial and strictly forbidden in the defence industry.”
Conza thanked Pisani and rang off. He logged on to a computer, twisted the fob and inserted it into the USB port. The now familiar pop-up appeared with the Skyguard logo. He hadn’t noticed the small shaded ‘PR’ before. Clicking on it caused a second pop-up to appear entitled ‘Password Reminder’. It was a single word: ‘Hund’.
Conza closed the program and typed ‘Hund’ into an internet search engine. The webpage filled with variations on the same theme: ‘Hund’ was German for dog.
Katherine Harper had a dog. He checked his notebook. ‘Lulu.’ He compiled a list of ten-character possibilities. ‘Katherine.’ Only nine letters. Her two children, Felix and Jennifer. Put together, they added up to thirteen characters. ‘Lukas Stolz.’ ‘Too predictable.’ The code he’d copied from Stolz’s notebook, ‘DLR-EAC1 4D/9C/555’, eighteen characters if you include the space.
“Shit. This is futile.”
He tore the page from the pad and tossed it in the bin.
84
Guardia di Finanza Headquarters, Milan, Italy
Sergeant Moretti was already waiting at Finanza when Conza returned from the police station. They discussed Kadin’s statement.
“Nearly finished, thank goodness. Should have it wrapped up by Monday.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Kadin? Mentally, he’s pretty beaten up. Being with his family has helped, but he’s not eating or sleeping much.”
“We should tell the doctor.”
“Already sorted. He’s going out there today.”
“Well done, Georgio, and thanks for coming in.”
Conza told him about the conversation he’d had with the colonel about Kurti. He didn’t mention his trip to Berlin.
“So we’re now working on the basis that Stolz was the intended target?”
“Correct. Well I am. You’re going to continue feeding the legend that Stolz was killed as a result of mistaken identity.”
“Why?”
“Georgio, you’re going to have to trust me. The mistaken identity story will buy me the time I need.”
“To do what?”
Conza just stared at him.
“OK Raffy, I give up. I won’t ask any more questions.”
“I want you to lead the hunt for Zeffirelli’s men.”
“Has Brocelli agreed?”
“He will, I’m meeting him in half an hour. He’ll play ball.”
“I love your confidence.”
“Before I tell you what I need you to do, I want to show you something.” He brought out the SEDS fob.
“Where the hell did that come from? Have they found Stolz’s stuff?”
“No. Brocelli had it the whole time. Don’t ask.”
Conza told Moretti about his conversation with Lanfranco Pisani.
“So, does it have a password reminder?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t help. It just says ‘Hund’, which is German for dog.”
“Bloody hell, Raffy,” Moretti exploded, standing up to search through his pocketbook.
“Fideccio. That was the name on the picture!”
Conza was deeply confused.
“Here it is. Fideccio. Kadin told me he found a photo of a dog amongst Stolz’s money, on the back he’d written ‘Fideccio’. I saw it.”
“Kadin? When? It doesn’t matter, show me.”
Conza sighed with disappointment.
“Not enough letters, the password needs to be ten characters long. Pisani told me. Fideccio only has eight.”
“There must be a connection. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Moretti picked up the phone and dialled the number for the Milan Skyguard office.
“Mr Pisani, it’s Sergeant Moretti. Yes, I know he’s with me now.”
…
“I understand, but I won’t keep you a minute. Just one more question. Do you happen to know if Stolz owned a dog?”
…
“Damn it. OK. We think he did, by the name of Fideccio. Does that name mean anything to you?”
…
“F I D E C C I O, that’s right.”
…
“OK thanks anyway, it was a long shot. You too.”
Moretti put down the phone and walked to the board.
“Pisani doesn’t know if Stolz had a dog and the name didn’t mean anything. But I’m not letting go of this.”
“Katherine had a dog, named Lulu,” Conza said, in resignation.
But Moretti wasn’t listening. Under the ‘Stolz’ column on the whiteboard, he wrote ‘FIDECCIO’ and ‘HUND’.
Conza sauntered over and picking up a pen, added a large red question mark.
85
‘Benito’s’, Via Mercato, Milan, Italy
Conza had already ordered drinks by the time Brocelli arrived. They sat at the far end of the room in the booth Conza usually shared with Moretti when they needed to talk in private.
“I assumed you’d want a beer.”
“Actually, I don’t drink.”
“Really? I’m sorry, what can I get you instead?”
“Just kidding.”
Brocelli took a long draught and put the half-empty glass on the bar. Conza shook his head slowly.
“That’s it isn’t it? I just don’t know you at all, do I?”
“Don’t worry about it. Not many do. But that’s my fault. Cheers.”
Conza ordered Brocelli another beer.
“What you said to me about pushing shit uphill. I get it you know.”
“You shouldn’t take too much notice of me, Conza. I’m a dinosaur. Cynical and twisted. I’m battle-scarred.”
“The colonel is a fan of yours, did you know that?”
“Really? No, I didn’t. He’s a very clever man. Served with him a while back. You’d go a long way to find someone better to follow.”
“You still would then? Follow him, I mean.”
“He’s a frosty sod, but a damn good officer. Yes, I’d follow him. But I’m guessing you didn’t ask me here for career advice.”
“You’re right.” Conza took a sip of beer. “But before I tell you, I’m going to have to ask you to swear something.”
“Why on earth would you believe any promise I made, Conza? It’s not like we’re best buddies.”
“Because the colonel trusts you and that’s good enough for me. All I want is your word that if you don’t buy into what I’m about to tell you, this meeting never happened.”
“Bloody hell, Conza. Have you buggered the commissioner or something?”
Conza’s expression didn’t change.
“All right. I swear. You’ve got me interested and I didn’t think you were capable of that. So, come on. What’s all this about?”
Conza told Brocelli about the meeting at the BND and his discussions with the colonel. He also summarised the meeting with Major Fischer. Brocelli listened with neither comment nor question.
“That’s some story.” He met Conza’s gaze. “You’re going after them aren’t you?”
“The colonel is and I’m not letting him do it on his own.”
“What do you want me to do? That’s why I’m here, presumably?”
“I want to tell the colonel you’re in. We can’t do it alone and to be honest, I need your experience. I’m out of my depth.”
“Where’s your buddy, Moretti? Why hasn’t he got your back?”
“I’ve sent him up north to chase down Zeffirelli’s boys. I needed him as far away from me as possible.”
“To protect him?”
“He’s newly married, with a kid on the way. He can make something of his life.”
“Whereas I’m old, have no career and my wife left me years ago. Thanks.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Shut up, Raffy. I’m only joking. Half-joking anyway. But what about you? Your future? I always thought you were a high-flyer?”
“I can�
��t let them walk away from this, Brocelli. Someone told me once, about putting justice above obedience.”
“You should be more careful who you take coaching from, son.”
“Too late, I’m afraid.”
Brocelli slapped Conza on the shoulder.
“OK, I’m in. Do you have a plan?”
Conza felt his mobile vibrate and he listened to a voicemail from Harry Chase. He emptied his glass and threw twenty euros on the table.
“I’ve got to call a friend but I’m meeting the colonel tomorrow. I’ll phone you afterwards. The three of us need to get together.”
Brocelli waved an arm in response.
“And you lied to me, Brocelli?”
“How so, Lieutenant?”
“You do give a shit. See you later.”
86
Guardia di Finanza Headquarters, Milan, Italy
Conza walked slowly back to the office. There was so much to think about, and he wasn’t sure he was making the right choices. He dropped by the colonel’s office on the off-chance, but his office was empty.
He called Harry Chase and tried to sound cheerful.
“Thanks for calling back, Raffy. I have news. I called Jimmy, asked him about Stolz, why he was in Milan and so forth. Seems Stolz had been acting strangely for some time. He’d always been a bit cold, but lately, he’d become quite reclusive as well. My friend thinks he may have been affected by something that happened last year in a place called Tilza in Latvia.”
“Stolz travelled to Latvia last year, it was in his passport.”
Conza shuffled through a notepad.
“Here you go, entered via Riga Airport on the thirteenth of July. He was there for three days. He was also there for two days from the twenty-seventh.”
“That matches. Jimmy said something went wrong with the Skyguard system around the thirteenth of July. Significant enough for half the board to fly out to Latvia.”
“Does Jimmy know what the problem was?”
“No. But he did tell me the Russians were peddling a tale about NATO shooting at an airliner.”
The Milan Contract Page 23