The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  Since joining the EU in 2004 and replacing the Maltese lira with the euro, Malta had become a haven for shady financial institutions setting up elaborate money-laundering schemes and it therefore wasn’t long before the Mafia had moved in. And it did so in a big way, buying up properties and businesses and infiltrating all arms of government with bucketloads of money, triggering corruption and compromising the rule of law.

  Alessandro’s plane was arriving from Florence, and Rodrigo was flying in from London half an hour later. Alessandro was approaching this meeting with Professor Fabry with some trepidation. With so much riding on it, and with the entire Stolzfus matter hanging in the balance, he knew the meeting could have a significant bearing not only on Alessandro’s future, but on the future of the entire Giordano family business for decades to come. While his father had met Fabry several times before and had done business with him for years, Alessandro had never met the controversial doctor and only knew him by reputation.

  Located in an imposing stone building next to Fort Saint Elmo in the historic centre of Valletta, dating from the days of the Knights of St John in the sixteenth century, Fabry’s exclusive private clinic was only a short taxi ride from the airport.

  The receptionist, an immaculately dressed young woman who spoke several languages, ushered Alessandro and Rodrigo into a spacious, vaulted waiting room on the ground floor. Filled with paintings and antiques, it looked more like the foyer of an exclusive boutique hotel than the waiting room of a private hospital. Moments after Alessandro and Rodrigo had sat down on a couch facing a large stone fireplace, one of the wooden side doors opened. Professor Fabry entered and quickly walked over to the fireplace to greet his guests.

  Tall and slim, in his mid-forties with a tanned face and a muscular physique, he looked more like a movie star on holiday than one of the leading, albeit controversial, surgeons in Europe, if not the world.

  ‘You remind me of your father,’ said Fabry, shaking Alessandro’s hand. ‘You look just like him, only a little younger of course.’

  Fabry had presence and knew how to put people at ease. His manner was easygoing and relaxed, inspiring confidence and trust. Women especially were drawn to him by his charm and magnetic personality. Yet this affable, urbane facade was hiding a ruthless, calculating man consumed by ambition and blind self-belief without moral compass, who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

  ‘How was your flight from Colombia?’ asked Fabry, turning to Rodrigo. ‘I was there last year. It’s a long way. Is this your first visit to Malta?’

  ‘It is,’ said Rodrigo, feeling instantly at ease in the fascinating man’s presence.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Forgive me if I appear somewhat in a hurry, but I have a busy operating schedule this afternoon. So if you don’t mind, we should get straight down to business,’ said Fabry after the receptionist had served tea.

  ‘Perfectly fine by me,’ said Rodrigo, who appreciated the no-nonsense, businesslike approach of the man who quite literally, held the future of the critical project they had come to discuss in his hands.

  ‘Then let’s go to my office,’ said Fabry and stood up. ‘I can explain everything much better there.’

  Fabry’s office was on the first floor, with tall windows overlooking the bustling harbour. He motioned to two chairs facing a large chrome-and-glass desk next to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  ‘I never tire of this view,’ said Fabry and pointed to the windows. ‘The history in this place is amazing. Fort Saint Elmo is just over there – the Great Siege of Malta, 1565?’

  Alessandro looked bemused and Rodrigo shook his head, so Fabry continued. ‘A watershed moment in European history. The Phoenicians arrived in the eighth century BC and were conquered by the Persians in 539 BC. In the fifth century BC the islands became an important Carthaginian naval base and played a crucial part during the Punic Wars in the third century BC. Then in 218 BC, Malta was incorporated into the Roman province of Sicily; it became part of the Roman Republic and stayed under Roman rule until the fifth century when the Vandals and the Goths invaded the island. The Arabs arrived in the ninth century ...’

  A pedantic man like Fabry couldn’t help but recite his practised spiel to impress guests. The looks on Rodrigo and Alessandro’s faces told him that as always, he had succeeded.

  ‘I could go on and on, but enough of ancient history. One of my passions, I’m afraid.’ Fabry paused and turned on the light of a glass display board behind his desk used for examining X-rays.

  ‘You may not be aware of this,’ he continued, ‘but Malta has been known for centuries as the hospital of Europe. And for very good reasons, right up to today. Medical tourism is booming here and we have incredible, state-of-the-art facilities, excellent medical staff and very high standards. The reason I’m telling you all this is because of what I am about to suggest. There is, in my view, no better place to carry out what I have in mind than right here. Not only for medical reasons, but for other critically important matters that will become apparent shortly.’

  ‘May I assume that you are fully aware of who we are talking about here and how – let’s call him the American patient – has come to be here, and why?’ said Rodrigo, who wanted to make absolutely sure there was no room for misunderstandings before the discussion went any further.

  ‘I am,’ said Fabry. ‘I appreciate your concern, but Alessandro and his father have explained everything.’

  ‘Then you are aware of the risks?’

  ‘Absolutely. They will be reflected in my fee, should you decide to go ahead,’ said Fabry, flashing his professional smile.

  Rodrigo nodded, feeling more comfortable after this assurance. This was the kind of language he understood and expected from a man like Fabry.

  ‘I have closely examined the patient,’ began Fabry. ‘He has life-threatening internal injuries caused by a gunshot wound and the delay involved in having the bullet removed. He is presently on life support on the Caritas and cannot, in my view, survive without it. Not for much longer in any event. I don’t believe recovery is possible.’

  Fabry paused to let this sink in.

  ‘Then why are we here?’ asked Rodrigo.

  ‘A fair question in the circumstances. Because I believe there is a way, albeit a risky one, to address the problem.’

  ‘There is?’ said Alessandro, forever hopeful.

  ‘Yes. But I have to warn you. What I am about to propose has never been done before. It is very radical and many of my colleagues would say it isn’t possible. But I think otherwise.’

  Rodrigo looked at Fabry. He hadn’t expected this. ‘What exactly is this radical way?’ he asked.

  ‘Here, let me show you.’ Fabry pinned a large X-ray to the illuminated glass board and stepped back. ‘This is an X-ray of the patient’s head, neck and shoulders that we took yesterday, seen from the front. The patient’s problem, in essence, is multiple organ failure. In short, his body is shutting down, dying, but I believe he has a healthy, working brain. I tested its functions. And it is that brain we want to preserve, right?’

  ‘Yes, but—’ began Rodrigo.

  Fabry held up his hand. ‘I believe we can do just that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By preserving the healthy, working brain, and discarding the dying body.’

  Rodrigo was the first to speak. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘But I am. Allow me to speak frankly. I believe it can be done, and our patient and the unique circumstances of this case provide all the necessary elements to make this a reality. I have waited for years for an opportunity like this,’ said Fabry, becoming excited. ‘Apart from anything else, that’s what’s in it for me. I get a chance to perform something that has never been done before and if I succeed – and I believe there’s an excellent chance that I will – then your professor will live with his extraordinary mind intact for many years to come.’ Fabry paused, folded his arms and
leant against his desk. ‘That’s what’s in it for you,’ he added quietly.

  ‘Incredible,’ said Alessandro. ‘Almost too hard to believe.’

  ‘It is. Just like anything new and revolutionary at first appears incredible and too hard to believe until we get used to it, accept it and realise it actually works. This is no different.’

  ‘Can you give us some more detail about how this would work, without being too scientific?’ asked Rodrigo. ‘I would like to get my mind around this before we go any further.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Fabry pointed to the X-ray and then briefly explained the complex procedure he had in mind.

  Both Alessandro and Rodrigo listened in silence, totally fascinated by Fabry’s riveting account of a procedure that seemed fantastical and Frankensteinian.

  What Fabry didn’t tell his guests was that he had already experimented for several years on humans, perfecting the procedure while he had been working on the Caritas in Africa.

  ‘We have all the necessary medical staff right here,’ continued Fabry. ‘With all the expertise and experience required to do all that. As you know, we mainly do transplants in our clinic. I myself have been doing transplants for over twenty years ...’

  Rodrigo held up his hand. ‘My head is spinning, Professor,’ he said. ‘I think this is more than enough for now, especially for a layman like me.’

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ said Fabry, smiling. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘My client is a businessman. He understands risks and percentages. If I understand you correctly, if we do nothing, the patient will die very soon.’

  ‘Correct. That’s a certainty.’

  ‘So, the question I would like to put to you is this: if we go along with what you suggest, are you able to provide us with a likely success ratio?’

  Fabry turned to face the X-ray behind him and looked at it in silence. ‘Seventy–thirty in favour of survival,’ he said quietly.

  ‘For how long?’ asked Rodrigo.

  ‘Several years.’

  ‘With the brain intact and able to communicate?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Extraordinary. What do you think, Alessandro?’

  ‘It’s your call, but we are certainly prepared to go along with it.’

  ‘And Spiridon?’ said Rodrigo.

  ‘Already taken care of,’ said Alessandro, looking smug.

  ‘I have to make a phone call.’

  Fabry nodded. ‘Alessandro and I will go down to reception. You can join us after you’ve made the call.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Rodrigo and waited until Fabry and Alessandro had left the room. Then he took his encrypted satellite phone out of his briefcase and dialled Cordoba’s number in Colombia.

  Rodrigo joined the others in reception a few minutes later. ‘My client has one question,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Fabry.

  ‘What about a donor body? Obviously without that, this cannot work.’

  Fabry smiled. It was the question he had expected. ‘You can safely leave that to me, Mr Rodrigo. It’s included in my fee. As I said before, all we do here is transplants and sourcing organs. That’s what we are known for. We have our sources. That is another reason why Malta is the perfect place for this kind of business ...’

  ‘In that case, gentlemen, we have a deal,’ said Rodrigo and held out his hand. Fabry walked over to him and shook it.

  24

  Chief Prosecutor’s office, Florence: 22 June

  Jack looked down at the familiar terracotta rooftops of Florence and the silver band of the river Arno snaking lazily through the city below. Peaceful and serene in the first light of the early morning sun, it was difficult to imagine that this splendid city full of priceless art and architectural masterpieces should harbour so much violence and bloodshed. Feels good to be back, thought Jack as he remembered the astonishing events that had brought him to Florence two years earlier, culminating in the dramatic and very public assassination of Salvatore Gambio, a notorious Mafioso, at a funeral service. Jack just managed to catch a glimpse of the iconic cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore – the Duomo – before the plane made a turn and lined up for landing.

  After the frustrating MI5 meeting with Cross the day before, Jack had decided to fly straight to Florence and meet with Chief Prosecutor Antonio Grimaldi to pursue the Mafia connection that now appeared to be at the centre of the Stolzfus case.

  Major Andersen had remained in London to keep in touch with MI5, as she had been instructed to do by her superiors in Washington, and Sir Charles promised to make further enquiries through his extensive network of contacts.

  Jack had persuaded Rebecca to return to New York with Celia, as there seemed little point in her staying in London just to be waiting for news. He believed keeping busy would be the best way for Rebecca to cope with the stressful situation.

  Everyone agreed to stay in touch and share information. Celia was standing by to break the story of Stolzfus’s bizarre disappearance when the time was right and more information was to hand. However, it was understood that timing the release correctly would be critical because once this story got out, it would take on a life of its own and there would be no way of stopping it. If things went wrong, the damage could be considerable.

  Grimaldi, renowned Mafia hunter with a fearsome reputation and survivor of several assassination attempts, stood up as his secretary opened the door and admitted Jack. Genuinely pleased to see his friend, he embraced Jack and then pointed to a plateful of crostini on the coffee table. ‘Your favourites,’ he said, smiling. In Italy, food and friendship were never very far apart.

  ‘From across the road?’ asked Jack, taking one.

  ‘Where else? They have the best.’

  ‘My God, these are good,’ said Jack, munching happily. He had called Grimaldi the day before and briefly told him about Stolzfus and the likely Florence Mafia connection. To his surprise, Grimaldi seemed to know a lot about the matter already.

  ‘So, not all is well in Florence I hear,’ began Jack, reaching for his second crostini.

  ‘No, it isn’t. It just goes on and on. After Gambio was shot, there was a brief period of calm. Turns out it was the calm before the storm and it wasn’t long before the Giordanos and the Lombardos were at each other’s throats and began to fight over Gambio’s territory. Bodies were floating in the river again.’

  ‘Who won?’

  ‘For the moment they seem evenly matched, but things are changing.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We’ve made significant progress, not only here in Florence but in the whole of Italy, closing down the drug supply routes and moving against the Mafia generally. An entirely new generation is now fighting these guys and they are not prepared to put up with the old ways.’

  ‘But that’s good news, surely?’

  ‘Up to a point. But you can’t catch a shadow. The faster you move, the faster it moves. Every time we close in, they somehow manage to evade us and move out of reach. Because Italy was becoming too hot, the Mafia decided to move its operations elsewhere. Out of our reach.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Malta. They seem to control the entire country. As you know, it’s a republic now with its own international airport and the euro as its currency, which has made Malta incredibly attractive to the Mafia. Add to this its strategic position in the Mediterranean and the fact that the Mafia controls virtually all arms of the government, it makes pursuing them there very difficult for us. In fact, they are laughing at us, you know?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The Mafia, too, has a new generation at the helm. Smarter, better educated, very savvy. They use Italy to park their money and buy up legitimate, respectable businesses, and do their shady business elsewhere, like Malta. Their children go to the best schools here, they live like princes in palaces and are slowly “buying” respectability.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was that bad.’

 
‘It is, but we do what we can. We’ve been closely watching the Giordanos lately, especially Alessandro, who seems to be taking over from his father. He is charming, ruthless, but not very smart, which makes him unpredictable and dangerous. Something is definitely going on. A power shift of sorts between the families. That’s why I was quite surprised when you rang yesterday about him in connection with this Professor Stolzfus matter. But yours wasn’t the first call.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘MI5 contacted the Squadra Mobile – our elite police force in Florence – the day before asking for information about the Giordano family, and our help.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘To search the Nike in Port de Fontvielle. We have excellent contacts in Monaco and collaborate all the time.’

  ‘And did you; search the vessel, I mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve asked Cesaria to join us. She should be here any moment. She can tell you much more about it than I. She was there.’

  ‘How is Cesaria?’ asked Jack, remembering the bright, courageous young police officer from two years ago who had played such a vital part in the rescue of Lorenza da Baggio and Tristan Te Papatahi, who had both been kidnapped by the Mafia.

  ‘She’s now the acting chief superintendent of the Squadra Mobile,’ said Grimaldi, smiling. ‘After Conti’s horrible death in Istanbul, she was the most suitable officer we had who could take over.’

  ‘But she’s so young ...’

  ‘Yes, and that’s exactly why we appointed her. She has the fire within that’s needed in this deadly game. She hasn’t been disillusioned or corrupted. She still knows what’s right and what’s not. She still believes in the fight ...’

  ‘Just like you, my friend?’

  ‘Yes, but our ranks are thinning. You know her background ... her father...’