The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  After exchanging pleasantries, Rodrigo introduced the real subject of interest.

  ‘We understand you are looking for a new supply line ...’ began Rodrigo, steering the conversation in the desired direction. Alessandro wiped his mouth with his serviette, took another sip of wine and then launched into a detailed account of the family’s drug business, providing quantities, territories and connections. He explained how, with Gambio’s death, a main rival had been removed, allowing the family to dramatically expand its influence, territory and reach, as far as drug supply was concerned. He pointed out that the family’s business interests now extended deep into Central and Eastern Europe, with extensive new interests in the United States as well, especially in Chicago.

  Making sure he looked suitably impressed, Rodrigo listened patiently. ‘If I understand you correctly, you are looking to us for an exclusive drug supply line, possibly through Naples or Marseilles; is that correct?’ he asked.

  Alessandro nodded. ‘Could you deliver the quantities I mentioned?’

  Rodrigo began to laugh. ‘You know we can,’ he said. He was intentionally a little curt, to put Alessandro off balance. ‘The real question here is, do we want to?’ he continued. ‘Do we want to restrict ourselves to an exclusive arrangement with you, or do we continue to do business with our existing partners as usual?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s the real question here,’ conceded Alessandro. He realised he was no match for Rodrigo when it came to negotiating a deal of this magnitude and complexity, and almost regretted having come alone. Rodrigo saw a flicker of uncertainty on Alessandro’s face, and a hint of dejection in his body language. It only lasted for an instant, but being a practised observer of human behaviour, he had noticed it. At that moment, he knew he had his opponent exactly where he wanted him to be: vulnerable and exposed. It was time to throw him a lifeline. Yet, what that lifeline entailed was the very thing Rodrigo needed himself, desperately. It was the very reason for the meeting itself. But of course, Alessandro wasn’t to know this.

  ‘As an experienced businessman, you will understand that a deal like this is only possible if there is something in it for both parties,’ said Rodrigo.

  ‘Obviously.’

  Rodrigo sat back in his chair and watched Alessandro carefully. ‘As it happens, there is something we need; something you could provide that may persuade us to consider your proposal,’ he said. ‘And it isn’t money,’ he added quietly.

  Alessandro sat up. Perhaps not all was lost. ‘What might that be?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Your expertise and your connections.’

  Alessandro looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. Would you care to elaborate?’

  ‘Of course. Your family has all the right connections, experience and expertise to carry out something we need, but we wouldn’t be confident to do ourselves.’

  ‘Forgive me, you speak in riddles. What is it you need?’

  ‘An abduction.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You heard right; we want you to abduct someone and deliver him to us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘High-profile target?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Public place?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘Huge.’

  ‘Difficult then,’ said Alessandro, draining the last of his wine.

  ‘What do you think? The stakes are high here, but so are the profits,’ said Rodrigo, lowering his voice. ‘If it were simple, I wouldn’t be talking to you. In our world, Alessandro, nothing is free. I’m sure you know that.’

  Alessandro nodded, feeling more confident. This was the kind of language he understood. ‘To be perfectly clear, what you are telling me is this,’ he said. ‘If we carry out the abduction successfully and deliver the target to you, you will enter into an exclusive supply arrangement with us?’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘I will have to discuss this with my father. In our family ... you know ... he—’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ interrupted Rodrigo, smiling. He knew he was on the home stretch now. ‘I will need a decision.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘By Friday.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘Let’s drink to that.’ Rodrigo reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses, secure in the knowledge that Operation Libertad had just taken a huge step forward; it had moved from probable to possible.

  ‘Good idea. Salute!’ said Alessandro, and held up his glass.

  4

  Giordano villa, Florence: 5 April

  Florence airport was bustling as usual. Because he had no luggage, Rodrigo walked straight past the baggage carousel and headed for the exit. Dressed in a pair of khaki pants, white shirt, blue linen jacket and wearing a panama hat, he looked like one of the many tourists who had just arrived from London.

  When he gave the taxi driver the address, the driver looked at him, surprised. ‘Are you sure this is the right place, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Quite sure,’ replied Rodrigo.

  The driver shrugged as he pulled his taxi away from the kerb.

  Rodrigo put on his dark sunglasses, settled back into his seat, and prepared himself for the meeting he had so hoped would eventuate. Used to dealing with the ruthless mega-rich and powerful, he wasn’t fazed by what he was heading towards. However, it wasn’t every day that he went to meet one of the most notorious Mafia bosses in Italy. An experienced negotiator, Rodrigo knew that preparation was always the key to a successful outcome.

  So far, everything had gone exactly as he had planned. After their meeting in Amsterdam, Alessandro had gone back to Florence to talk to his father, and Rodrigo had gone to London to wait for the invitation he was almost certain would come soon. It did. He had received a phone call from Alessandro the night before, inviting him to come to Florence to meet with his father to discuss the proposal raised during their meeting.

  The baited hook had been thrown into the lake of temptation; it was now up to Rodrigo to make sure it was swallowed as well. And that, Rodrigo knew, would be far more difficult to achieve because what he was about to ask in return for the juicy bait, was so daring and audacious that only a handful of ‘specialists’ in Europe were capable of carrying out what he had in mind. Most, he knew, wouldn’t even consider it at any price and dismiss the whole idea as the fantasy of a lunatic. Rodrigo was hoping that greed, ego and ambition – his main negotiating tools – would be strong enough to tip the scales in his favour, and override caution and good sense. And to get to that point, he had to know how to deal with the man he was about to meet. And to know how to do that, he first had to know as much as possible about him.

  Rodrigo had done his homework. His research team in New York had done a marvellous job digging up Giordano’s murky past and had come up with a few surprising gems that Rodrigo could use during the negotiations should unexpected obstacles stand in his way.

  Rodrigo smiled as soon as the taxi pulled up in front of the massive, wrought-iron gates of the Giordano villa just outside Florence. Fortified compounds look the same all over the world, he thought. An armed security guard came over to the taxi and opened the back door. ‘Mr Rodrigo?’ he asked.

  Rodrigo nodded, paid the fare and gave the anxious driver a large tip.

  ‘You are expected, sir. Please come with me,’ continued the guard. ‘But first I will have to search ... please stand over there. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Completely,’ replied Rodrigo, smiling, and held up his hands, quite used to the procedure. It was standard practice every time he went to see Cordoba. There were no exceptions when it came to security.

  Rodrigo followed the guard up the long gravel driveway to the magnificent seventeenth-century villa overlooking Florence that had once belonged to a wealthy merchant. Al
essandro greeted Rodrigo at the front door, thanked him for coming and ushered him inside.

  Riccardo Giordano was waiting for his guest in the palatial ballroom on the ground floor, which had been converted into a comfortable living room with large couches facing the tall windows overlooking the gardens. Despite its size the room, with its striking marble floor and two large fireplaces facing each other at either end, was surprisingly intimate.

  Giordano, a man of simple tastes, hated ostentation. Unlike his rivals – the Lombardos and the Gambios – he preferred comfort over pretence and didn’t believe in spending a fortune on paintings and antiques just to impress. Always aware of his humble childhood in Calabria, where a pair of shoes was a treasure that had to last for years, the women toiled in the fields from sunup to sundown just to put food on the table and the men disappeared, often for weeks, doing what was never discussed around the dinner table, Giordano was a predictable product of his past. Growing up in a traditional Calabrian Mafia family with almost no formal education came at a price.

  Barrel-chested, short and stocky, with a tanned face like creased leather that had seen too much sun and violence, he looked more like a peasant from the south used to hard labour than the feared head of one of the most powerful Mafia families in Italy.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Giordano, walking towards the door to meet his guest. While perfect, his English had that melodious accent that reminded Rodrigo of Italian celebrity chefs who presented popular cooking shows on TV.

  Rodrigo realised at once that the man’s appearance was deceptive and disguised a sharp, cunning mind, and he was instantly on guard. He had often met men like Giordano in the course of his career and knew how dangerous and costly underestimating such a man could be. Cordoba, his notorious client, was of the same ilk. Meeting Cordoba for the first time, it had been difficult to imagine that the unassuming, quietly spoken, balding man with the handlebar moustache was a billionaire businessman with a drug empire and a private army that had whole countries living in fear, and presidents and generals doing his bidding at a click of his fingers.

  They are well suited to do business together, thought Rodrigo, extending his hand. ‘Thank you for inviting me. Like you, I prefer to do business in person,’ he said, as they shook hands. As he looked at Giordano, he noticed that the man’s most striking feature was his eyes, radiating intelligence and danger.

  Giordano pointed to one of the couches. ‘Please take a seat. I’m just having a morning snack; would you care to join me?’ he continued affably.

  ‘Love to,’ replied Rodrigo, recognising the traditional hospitality. In Italy, it was always about food.

  Moments later, a little old lady dressed all in black and wearing a headscarf entered the room and placed a large wooden platter stacked high with thinly sliced prosciutto, various salamis, a slab of goat’s cheese and handfuls of olives, on the table in front of them.

  ‘My mother,’ said Giordano. Rodrigo stood up and smiled at the lady, who smiled back.

  ‘I bring bread and wine,’ she said in broken English and hurried out of the room.

  ‘At ninety-two, she still bakes fresh bread every morning,’ continued Giordano. ‘Come, Alessandro. Sit down and let’s eat.’

  For a while the three men sat in silence, enjoying the food, and Giordano’s mother returned as promised with fresh, warm bread and chilled wine. Rodrigo had decided to let his host take the lead when he was ready as he was clearly used to calling the shots.

  ‘A little more wine?’ said Giordano and reached for the bottle of Chianti on the tray.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Rodrigo, aware that Giordano was watching him carefully. He’s sizing me up before starting any negotiations, he thought.

  ‘Alessandro has told me about your proposal,’ began Giordano. ‘I must say, I was a little surprised.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Rodrigo, instantly on guard. The negotiations had begun.

  ‘Is that why Mr Cordoba got in touch with me and sent you to negotiate? This is more than just about a new supply arrangement, isn’t it?’

  It was a shrewd opening question and Rodrigo realised at once where this was heading. To sidestep the question or give an evasive answer would be a grave mistake.

  ‘Quite possibly, yes.’

  ‘Why would he do that, you think?’

  ‘Because he obviously considers you the best choice for what we have in mind, and because he believes you are a man we can trust.’

  Giordano nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. ‘And why would I be the best choice?’

  ‘Because of your track record.’

  ‘Track record? What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘May I speak frankly?’

  ‘Of course. In my home there is no room for anything else.’

  ‘You have already demonstrated that you have what it takes to carry out a complex, high-risk, high-profile operation similar to the one we have in mind. You have the contacts, the resolve, the courage and the means, and that is exactly what we need.’

  ‘And what makes you say that?’

  Rodrigo took his time before replying. He knew he had to choose his words carefully. If he approached this delicate subject the wrong way, the negotiations could quickly turn sour and he could find himself leaving empty-handed. With a man like Giordano there was no second chance. On the other hand, if he chose the correct approach and gained Giordano’s confidence, a deal was definitely possible.

  ‘Someone who can arrange the daring assassination of his son’s killer in front of a crowded church at a funeral service attended by hundreds, while the chief prosecutor is standing next to him at the time, has all the qualities we are looking for.’

  For a while there was silence and Rodrigo could feel his stomach begin to churn as a flicker of sickening doubt raced through him. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong approach? After all, he had just accused his host of having arranged the assassination of a deadly rival, who many believed had ordered the killing of his son two years ago. While there had been much speculation and innuendo in the papers for months about the killing, and accusing fingers had pointed at Giordano, no-one was ever charged. The perpetrator had got away with it. Rodrigo noticed that Alessandro was looking at the floor, but his father was staring straight ahead.

  ‘I like your candour, Mr Rodrigo,’ said Giordano, turning towards his guest, ‘and your courage.’ The ice had been broken. ‘In our business, straight-talking men are rare. Yet, I believe it’s the best, no, the only way. Now, please tell me about your proposal.’

  During the next hour, Rodrigo went through the daring plan in detail. He explained every step, holding nothing back except the identity of the target and the precise date and location of the proposed abduction. That information would be supplied later, once a more formal agreement had been reached. He touched on the obvious risks and dangers without trying to downplay the real possibility of mayhem, even death, should something go wrong. At the same time, he was carefully watching Giordano for signs of hesitation or displeasure or, God forbid, shock. He couldn’t see any.

  ‘And in return?’ asked Giordano quietly after Rodrigo had finished.

  ‘We enter into a long-term supply arrangement that suits your needs, at a price that will reflect our gratitude and appreciation, after the mission has been successfully completed.’

  ‘And your current arrangements with Lombardo?’ asked Giordano, watching his visitor through hooded eyes.

  Rodrigo had been expecting this. The Lombardo family was Giordano’s main rival in the drug business, and a serious thorn in his side. After the removal of Salvatore Gambio and the collapse of his business empire, the Giordanos and the Lombardos had reached an uneasy truce that had steadily deteriorated as the Lombardos slowly extended their influence and gained the upper hand. To a large extent this had been due to the Lombardos’ superior supply arrangements with the H Cartel in Italy and the United States.

  A skilled negotiator, Rodrigo realised it was n
ow the right time to play the card that would clinch the deal. It was always prudent to hold something back for just such an opportunity.

  ‘Upon successful delivery of the target, unharmed, to us, we will stop our supply arrangements with the Lombardos and make yours an exclusive one,’ said Rodrigo, dropping the bombshell that could drive the Lombardos out of business and establish Giordano as the undisputed master of Florence. This possibility alone was worth millions.

  The expression on Giordano’s face told Rodrigo everything he needed to know. He had hit the mark.

  ‘In that case, Mr Rodrigo, we have a deal. However, in our circles we seal such a deal with a kiss,’ continued Giordano and stood up.

  Surprised, Rodrigo stood up as well. Giordano walked over to his visitor, embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. Rodrigo knew this was an expression of great trust and honour, and to break such trust was unthinkable and would have dire consequences. This gesture alone was worth more than the most watertight contract. His client in Bogota would be pleased. Operation Libertad was on.

  ‘Where are you off to now?’ asked Giordano, escorting his guest to the front door.

  ‘Back to London. I have a connecting flight to Colombia leaving tonight.’

  ‘Please tell Mr Cordoba we very much look forward to working with him.’

  ‘I will,’ said Rodrigo. He stopped at the front door and turned to face Giordano and his son. It was time to ask the final question. ‘There is one more thing I’m sure my client would like to know, if possible, and so would I,’ said Rodrigo, ‘for peace of mind ...’