The Milan Contract
Page 25
For the next forty minutes, Conza told the story of Stolz’s SEDS, his conversations with Pisani, the Russian report about the missile firing, Tilza and the event log.
“You think the Skyguard system was altered in some way, causing a missile to fire?” the colonel asked when Conza had finished.
“I’m pretty certain of it.”
“Who by?”
“Stolz. He was the only person with unfettered access to the code. Probably the only person who would know how to do it too.”
“So why did the Russians drop the story? They could have made a meal out of it – for a very long time.”
“Maybe because the plan failed. The airliner only received minor damage. They were embarrassed because nothing could be proved. The story would just look like fake news.”
“But Skyguard knew a missile fired when it shouldn’t have. It wouldn’t have taken them long to work out it must have been Stolz who sabotaged the system.”
“Josef Schuman. I think he protected Stolz. Probably concocted a story about software glitches or something like that. NATO and the British defence ministry would have been desperate to believe him. There’s too much money tied up in it for it to fail.”
“But why would Schuman shield Stolz? That goes against everything the Stasi major told us.”
It was Conza’s turn to wait. The colonel’s eyes suddenly flashed in understanding.
“My God, Raffy. You’re absolutely right. But who’s this friend you’re waiting for?”
“A lawyer in England. He’s translating Stolz’s video for me. I just hope it confirms my theory.”
The colonel leaned forward.
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, what you’ve discovered changes everything. We’ve got to hand it all over to the security services. There are repercussions for more than just Italy. The fallout is going to shake much of the world, one way or another.”
“And in the turmoil, Kurti gets away, again.”
“I’m sorry, Raffy. That’s likely to be true.”
“They can’t afford to let any of this out can they? The public can never know. The whole thing will be swept under a very thick carpet.”
“You’re probably right. But they’ve got to deal with it somehow, and that won’t be easy.”
“So who do we give it to? Who will make sure all of these people face the music?”
“Babcock would be my choice. Certainly not Rome or Berlin.”
“He’s my choice too.”
Conza took a deep breath as he steeled himself.
“Colonel, are you sure that there’s nothing we can do, on our own?”
“On our own? Don’t go crazy on me, Raffy. I’m suspended and whilst you’re a first-class detective, you haven’t got the experience or knowledge to deal with this sort of thing. We’re talking about national security matters. I wouldn’t allow it.”
“I’m not alone,” Conza responded defensively. “Captain Brocelli said he would help us.”
“Brocelli. How much does he know about all this?”
“He knows the SEDS exists, but not what’s on it. But he’s agreed to help us track down Kurti.”
“Stop. Just stop. You can’t be serious. A junior officer and a man on the edge of retirement. It’s over, Lieutenant.”
90
Guardia di Finanza Headquarters, Milan, Italy
Utterly deflated, he decided he would call Babcock from home but changed his mind as he climbed into the taxi and asked the driver to drop him at his office instead.
At the end of the corridor, the colonel’s office door was half-open. Conza peered in.
“Who the devil are you?” asked the senior officer curtly, eyeing him over half-moon spectacles balanced on the end of his long nose. ‘Shit. Brigadier de Falco.’
“Lieutenant Conza, sir.”
“Colonel Scutari is not here. He’s been reassigned. You’d better come in, Lieutenant. I wanted to talk to you.”
Conza’s temples suddenly throbbed and his legs felt weak.
“You smell of beer, Lieutenant.”
Conza stared at the Finanza crest on the wall behind the brigadier: ‘Nec recisa recedit’ – ‘Does not retreat, even if broken.’
“You went to Berlin with Colonel Scutari yesterday. Is that right?”
“Yes. It was part of the investigation into the murder of Lukas Stolz.”
The brigadier stared at him with contempt and waited.
“Sir,” Conza added, eventually.
“You had no authority to consult the intelligence agency of a foreign power. However, I don’t hold you responsible. Scutari should’ve known better. What did you find out?”
‘Careful, Raffy.’
“I’m afraid I don’t remember too much, sir. All a bit over my head. May I suggest you refer to the colonel’s report?”
The brigadier bit down. Conza could see the muscles in his jaw flex and tighten.
“Don’t come the smartarse with me, Lieutenant. There isn’t a report, which is why I’m asking you. The only reason you haven’t been suspended is that you were in the company of a senior officer. Anyway, I thought Herr Stolz was killed during a robbery? We’ve apprehended the killer. Why hasn’t this case been closed?”
“I did locate and arrest Kadin Bennani for the murder of Lukas Stolz, but I needed some background.”
“Background?”
‘He still has friends in powerful positions.’
“We were investigating possible links between Lukas Stolz and people he knew in Potsdam, sir.”
“Potsdam? The man was living in England, wasn’t he?”
“Just background, sir. It’s standard procedure in a murder case.”
“Don’t tell me what standard procedure looks like, you smug little shit.”
‘He’s not angry. He’s scared.’
“Unfortunately, sir, it was a waste of time. We didn’t discover anything of assistance.”
The brigadier pulled his jacket down by the lapels and twisted his neck to release the collar from his blotchy skin.
“Did you discuss a man called Josef Schuman?”
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t recognise that name. But I could check my notes.”
The brigadier closed his eyes for a moment.
“Your sense of loyalty is misguided, Lieutenant. But I won’t waste any more time on you.”
He looked down at a folder on the desk.
“You’re overdue some leave. You will go back to your office and bring me your notebook, after which you will take two weeks’ holiday. Those are not requests. I will decide on what your future holds when you return to work.”
Conza’s mouth was dry.
“I’m sorry, sir. My notebook is at home. I wasn’t supposed to be at work today.”
“Have it on my desk, first thing tomorrow morning. Then you will disappear, Lieutenant.”
“On the colonel’s desk, sir. Right.”
Conza turned and departed. He didn’t salute.
91
Benito’s, Via Mercato Milan, Italy
Conza determined on the way to the bar that he was going to get drunk. Forty minutes later, he’d achieved his objective.
On the phone, Conza was shocked at how calmly Brocelli took the news about the colonel’s suspension. He wasn’t the least bit surprised, which made Conza even more angry. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Brocelli had been behind it, but the notion made him feel guilty.
‘It’s over. The colonel’s right,’ he told himself as he ordered another beer and bourbon chaser. He’d never drunk bourbon before but had decided it would help.
‘They’ve won. Stolz is dead. Issam’s dead. Amadi is being kept alive by a machine. Kadin will go to jail for the rest of his life. Kurti will be free to kill and destroy, and Schuman…don’t talk to me about Schuman.’
But no one was talking about Schuman and they never would. That was the problem. This is what Harry meant. Brocelli too. ‘I’m such a mug.’
‘Bastards. Well, that’s it. I’m finished. I’m not joining your club. I wash my hands of the whole damn lot of you.’
The barman chuckled to himself. He was used to watching policemen disintegrate after a bad day at work.
92
13th July Last Year
Tilza, Latvia
Captain Shaun Griffiths was glad to escape the summer heat as he stepped into the air-conditioned cabin. He’d chosen to walk the two kilometres to the command vehicle, and whilst he’d enjoyed the relative quiet of his wooded surroundings, the trees made the air heavy and breathless and turned his shirt into a patchwork of tan and dark brown.
He signed in on the console and took a handover brief. All was quiet. The next VIP visit was not until tomorrow. He could look forward to a quiet shift.
He checked the monitor and, using the fixed roller-ball mouse, clicked on the five missile-shaped icons that formed an imperfect 200-kilometre-long oval around the central square. Each missile reported itself operational, so he poured himself a mug of tea from the pot and leaned back in his chair.
Summarised Transcript of Event No. 1307/Op/LAT/01
08:39:11 Zulu. Skyguard was tracking forty-seven airborne contacts. Their flightpaths, speed, height and other characteristics were subject to update by various ground and airborne radars, including a NATO Boeing E3 AEW flying over the Baltic Sea.
08:39:32 Zulu. Track No. 16 was identified as a civilian airliner operated by Baltair out of Moscow heading north-west. It was at flight level 270 over Lake Peipus on the border between Estonia and Russia. Track No.16 was designated as ‘civilian’ and associated with a four-digit number the Finnish pilot had entered into his transponder on instruction from air traffic. Control of the aircraft was handed between ‘Moscow West’ and ‘Estonia Central’. The Skyguard Threat Assessment Figure of Track No.16 showed +25,231 points.
08:39:43 Zulu. A ‘DL Tracking’ warning appeared on the main console.
For the next 28 seconds, it was subsequently established that Captain Griffiths carried out the actions in response to a ‘DL Tracking’ failure in accordance with his Operator Manual.
08:40:11 Zulu. The Event Log recorded that the Fire Control switch was changed from ‘FC-MAN’ to ‘FC-AUTO’; the final step in response to a ‘DL Tracking’ failure.
08:40:12 Zulu. The Skyguard Threat Assessment Figure of Track No.16 dropped to -5,020 points. The Skyguard system commanded missiles 23/04, 23/05 and 23/07 to power up.
08:40:13 Zulu. The Skyguard system calculated that missile number 23/04 was in the optimum position to intercept Track No.16. The flight time of missile 23/04 was calculated as 26.712 seconds.
08:40:14 Zulu. Missile number 23/04 launched autonomously. The event was recorded and given the descriptor 1307/Op/LAT/01.
08:40:15 Zulu. Missile 23/04 reported positive acquisition of Track No.16 and entered ‘Armed Mode’.
08:40:16 Zulu. Missile 23/04 reported an altitude of 14,191 feet on a heading of 013.68 degrees. The flight time of missile 23/04 from launch to impact was recalculated as 27.234 seconds.
08:40:38 Zulu. A self-destruct command to missile 23/04 was initiated on the command console.
08:40:40 Zulu. Missile 23/04 reported ‘Loss of Tracking Data’ and the Skyguard system initiated a ‘Missile Failure’ warning on the command console.
08:40:49 Zulu. A valid ‘Command Override Key’ was entered on the command console. The Skyguard system powered down.
08:41:03 Zulu. Event Log ceased recording.
93
Monday
Raphael Conza’s Apartment, Milan, Italy
The nightmare didn’t end when he woke at six-fifteen. He suspected that the bones of his skull were about to unknit, and his brain would ooze out. His mouth was dry, but he could still taste bourbon. The brown stain on his bed emitted an odour of stale beer and cheese. ‘I’m never drinking again.’
After a shower, he still felt sick, just cleaner. His head had stopped pounding, but he felt giddy as his eyes and ears battled for supremacy.
The call from Brocelli came at seven.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. I called you last night, didn’t I?”
“You did. You were pretty angry. So they got to the colonel. No great surprise, he knew he was taking a risk talking to the BND.”
“You want to meet up later?”
“Can’t. I’m working tonight. I’m going back to bed in a minute.”
“What the hell do I do, Brocelli?”
“You go on holiday. Forget the case. Forget Kurti. Give yourself a break. You can’t fix the world. I know, I’ve tried and look what it did to me.”
Conza decided not to tell Brocelli about the Stolz recording or Tilza. It wasn’t paranoia, he just wanted to keep the number of people involved in this mess to an absolute minimum.
“They’ve won haven’t they?”
“They always win, son. It’s just the way it is. If you fight them, they still win, it just takes them a little longer.”
“I’m going to resign, Brocelli. I can’t live in their world. I won’t be part of it.”
“That’s your call, Conza. But if all the good guys go, where does that leave the rest of us?”
‘What did Babcock say? ‘Sometimes, we can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.’
“What did you call for anyway?”
“Thought you’d like to know. Salterton’s dead. Along with Max Yahontov.”
The news made Conza sit up in bed.
“How? What happened?”
“Manchester police were called by a neighbour who’d heard gunshots coming from Salterton’s place. They arrived to find both men dead on the stairs. Most of Yahontov’s head had been blown away and Salterton died with a commando knife embedded in his groin. His femoral artery had been sliced open. He bled to death before reaching the bottom step.”
“That’s crazy. Salterton was never the target – how the hell did this happen? Why?”
“Beats me. This case is full of surprises. But as luck would have it,” Brocelli said without irony, “he’d only just got rid of his protection. Up until Saturday, Salterton had three ex-marines guarding him.”
Despite his headache returning, Conza understood the sadness in Brocelli’s voice.
“How do you feel now that he’s dead? Yahontov, I mean?”
“It’s strange, Raffy. I always imagined killing him myself. I’ve thought about it a hundred times. I still wish I had. But I didn’t and, as a result, a little girl died in the most horrible way. I dream about her sometimes. I should’ve sent him back to hell when I had the chance.”
“She may have died anyway, Brocelli, you know that.”
“Or maybe she wouldn’t.”
Conza knew he had to let it go.
“I know you want to pack it all in, Raffy. But if you ever get the same chance, don’t do what I did. People like Yahontov only live to kill again because of our doubts.”
Brocelli hung up. Conza went to the bathroom and spoke to the pale face in the mirror.
“You’ve got to leave this job, Raphael. You’ll just end up like Brocelli. Broken, bitter and haunted by those you can’t stop. That’s the truth isn’t it?”
He turned away. He didn’t like the question and the answer only made his stomach twist with pain.
94
Village of Brenner, Italy
Brenner is a pretty, two-road village in the valley straddling the border between Italy and Austria. Many of the houses are built in the style of the Tyrol, and most have white, high-sided walls and long wood-beamed roofs. The eastern side of the village is dominated by the rail depot, servicing the trains that carry goods and passengers through the pass of the same name.
Sergeant Moretti parked his car next to the sidings and watched a goods train gathering wagons. The sun was shining, and the air smelt of pine. The tree-cover
ed mountains stretched into the distance in both directions and not for the first time, Moretti considered leaving the choked streets of Milan.
Brenner police station stands on the southern intersection of the loop that runs around the village. Moretti sighed, crossed the narrow road and pressed the intercom button on the iron gate. He was met by a tanned, fit and cheerful middle-aged lieutenant. Moretti knew he had to get out of Milan.
They went inside and passed more contented-looking policemen.
“We’ve kept them under observation since Saturday, Sergeant, as requested,” he said handing over a photograph.
“Thank you, sir. That’s definitely the guys we’re after. Who spotted them?”
The lieutenant pointed through the glass wall of his office.
“Corporal Lombardi. He’s only been with us for a year. He came to us from Milan, actually.” Moretti grimaced. “He’s one of the few officers around here who puts effort into reading the bulletins you guys send out. Nothing much happens up here.”
“He’s done well. Where are they now?”
The lieutenant looked at his watch.
“In about half an hour they’ll be sitting in ‘Vesuvio’s’. It’s what they do every lunchtime. It’s a local bar, but popular with backpackers.”
“Do you think there’ll be many people in their today?”
“Hopefully not. But once the targets are inside, I will put a man at each end of the street to stop anyone else entering.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll decide if it’s a ‘go’ once I see who’s in there. I’d prefer to get them when they’re on their backsides, if possible. But if it’s too busy, we’ll grab them as they come out.”
“Are you expecting trouble, Sergeant?”
“No, I don’t think so. They’re almost certainly armed, but I plan to render them harmless before they know what’s happening.”
“How many men would you like in support?”
“Four should be enough, a policewoman would be good. And can Corporal Lombardi come along? He should see the fruits of his labour.”