Any casual onlooker would have thought nothing wrong with the encounter. Had they known that the bearded man, whose name was Lorenzo Storti, was an accomplished terrorist with many deaths attributed to his name, they would probably have found it hard to believe.
In the summer of 1980, Lorenzo Storti travelled from Pisa on Alitalia flight 375 to Sicily where he was met by a Libyan Arab named Yusef Ali Akhbar who was a member of Colonel Ghaddafi’s Intelligence Service, and who handled the transfer of contacts from Sicily to Libya. Some fifteen miles in distance, but a world apart in culture and political integrity. They met in the airport lounge at three- thirty as arranged and had a coffee sitting at a table at the back of the room.
Akhbar asked Storti for some identification and when he was satisfied as to his identity said, ‘I have arranged for a private boat to take you across the Med to my country. You could have taken a flight, however that would have been flagged up by the Italian Intelligence Services who monitor every flight to Libya from here. When you arrive at a small port near Tripoli, you will be taken by your contact to a desert camp where you will remain for six months. Your training will include everything you will need to know about become effective in terrorism on your return to Italy.
One more thing. You will meet many people at the desert camp from many different countries, and friendships may develop amongst you all, however when you leave the camp you must forget who you met or saw there, and never mention them again to anyone, ever. This is for your and the others security. Do you understand Lorenzo?’
Lorenzo nodded in agreement.
Akhbar continued, ‘The site of your camp must also remain a secret. If we hear that you have broken these rules and have been slack in their observance, then we will hear about it and we will kill you wherever you are. Do you understand?’
Lorenzo looked at Akhbar with suppressed anger in his eyes, ‘I understand what is required Akhbar. I have not come here to play games, and I can assure you that I will be discreet.’ Akhbar, satisfied with this comment, said, ‘We will leave now. Don’t discuss anything with the boatman. He will take you to the landing port and introduce you to your next contact in Libya. Even in the camp, keep yourself to yourself if possible. Others in the camp will have been told the same, so it will not appear odd. I will wish you well here, and we will not speak to each other again. Walk a few metres behind me and when I stop at the boat I would ask you to carry on without looking at me again.’
Lorenzo did as he was told and eventually reached the desert camp. Six months later a tanned and fit looking Lorenzo, fully trained in all aspects of terrorism and killing returned to Lucca. It may have been a coincidence but round about the time of his return to Italy, a spate of bomb attacks and kidnappings happened in increasing frequency in the region of Tuscany.
Chapter 6
The alarm sounded shrill in the stillness of the room. Marco opened his eyes and reached to turn it off. He had slept later than normal and felt all the better for it. His first thought was to make coffee using the little sachets he found on a service tray beside the television. He filled the kettle and waited on it boiling.
Holding his freshly brewed cup of Nescafe, he opened the French windows leading onto a small balcony and he felt the freshness of the city below coming up to greet him. The morning sunshine crept into his room like a silent intruder. It felt good to be back in Lucca. He had loved this city from the first time he had come here as a small boy with his father. If he had time, he thought, he would love to visit the family he had here in Lucca and of course his fathers’ birthplace of Coreglia. He reflected that he had more family in Italy than he had in Scotland. He always thought it strange that his mother’s side didn’t really socialise together or keep in touch with each other, but he had put that down to them being dour Scots. He put the thought out of his mind; he was here on business and not for a family visit. Looking at his watch he realised that time was short before his meeting so he finished his coffee with haste and rushed off to the bathroom.
Marco examined his face in the shaving mirror before proclaiming his shave a success. He put on the shower and waited until the water was warm before showering with the scented hotel gel he found in the courtesy pack in the bathroom.
One of the only things in Italy that irritated him were the thin towels the Italian hotels always seemed to favour. He was used to thick fluffy British ones. It must be for the climate here, he thought. He reached for the aftershave he had brought with him. It was one of his weaknesses that he had nurtured since his youth that he put on after-shave three or four times a day. These days his favourite scent was Armani, and he made a mental note to buy some before he left Italy.
Marco wondered what the correct dress for meeting a spy was, or did people call them agents these days? Should he dress casually, or collar and tie? He decided that a suit with an open necked shirt was the best option.
He put on a red striped shirt and a navy blue two-button single-breasted suit jacket. He took the trousers out of the trouser press and admired the sharp crease before putting them on. As he finished dressing, he heard a loud knock on the door. Checking his watch, he saw that it was exactly eleven O’clock. Right on time he thought as he crossed the floor to the door and opened it.
Standing there was a tall, very attractive woman. Marco was taken aback. He had never expected to see such a beautiful woman at his door. With her long dark hair, piercing blue eyes and elegant dress, she would not have looked out of place on a Milan catwalk. ‘Signor Corti?’ she said in a voice that Marco thought sounded like a tinkling bell. She stretched out her hand. ‘My name is Anna Bastiani.’
In her outstretched hand, she held an Identity Card. Marco smiled and took the card from her. After examining it, he handed it back. ‘Come in Signora Bastiani,’ he said as he stood aside to let her in. Anna entered the room and looked around before saying ‘Are we alone Signor Corti?’ ‘Yes,’ a surprised Marco answered, ‘for some reason I never expected a woman, and one who speaks such fluent English.’ He had almost commented on her looks but stopped himself at the last moment. Might appear too forward, he thought.
‘People usually are surprised at a woman in this line of business,’ she said as she opened the en suite bathroom door and looked inside. ‘I learned my English at University in Pisa. I always thought it may come in useful.’
‘You expecting someone in there? Marco said. ‘You can never be too careful,’ Anna replied. ‘May I sit down,’ she said, moving to a chair. ‘Before we begin talking, may I see your passport? Just a precaution you understand.’ She took Marco’s passport and scrutinised it carefully. She checked the passport photograph against a quick glance at Marco. Eventually when she was satisfied to Marco’s identity, she visibly relaxed. ‘Before we begin our business together could you please tell me something about your background Signor Corti.’ ‘Call me Marco,’ he said smiling again.
‘Thank you Marco and you can call me Anna,’ she confidently replied, smiling in return. Marco sat down opposite her. ‘I was born in Scotland of an Italian father and a Scottish mother, so therefore I was raised bi-lingual. I was called up for Italian Army conscription and did eighteen months service stationed around Rome. Is there anything else you would like to know?’ Anna thought for a moment before answering.
‘Do you feel more Scottish than Italian Marco?’ Marco was used to this question. Growing up in Scotland he was usually asked this from new friends or people he had just met. However, he was irked at being asked it just now. ‘Why is that relevant to our meeting?’ Anna calmly answered, ‘It’s relevant for me to know how you feel about your nationality and if I am speaking to someone who is involved or interested in Italian or British politics. You have to understand that I don’t know a thing about you except your name and anything that you can tell me about yourself and your background is relevant.’
Marco pondered this for a moment before replying, ‘It’s difficult to choose between the land of your birth and the people of your b
irth, although at times the two seem to fuse together, however to keep the balance right I volunteered for a spell in the British Army after my Italian conscription and that seemed to satisfy my conscience. If pushed I would say that as my home is in Scotland, I would consider myself to be Scottish, but strangely not a Scot.
The race I belong to is the Italian race, and that is just a matter of fact and not choice. As for politics, I have no interest in this, either in Scotland or in Italy. I just want to run my family business and get on with my life.’
He was aware that Anna was studying him as he spoke. She appeared to be sizing him up. ‘What is your relationship with Carlo Togneri?’ She asked.
Marco paused for a second before answering her as this direct questioning was beginning to unsettle him. ‘He was a friend of my father’s during the war. My father knew him from Carlo’s police service in Special Branch.
Anna thought for a moment before continuing,’ what did your father do during the war?’ Marco didn’t really want to answer this as the Blackshirts in post war Italy were considered an unacceptable part of their past. ‘I need to know,’ said Anna. Marco thought long and hard on how to answer. She could probably know already what his father did during the war and was just testing how truthful he now was, or could she be really ignorant of his father’s war record? He decided to be truthful. ‘My father was a Blackshirt in the Rome Cohort, and was a Moschettieri Del Duce.’
Anna let out a little gasp of astonishment. ‘I had no idea of his involvement with the Duce’s bodyguard. She thought for a moment before saying, perhaps it’s now time for you to tell me why you wanted to speak to us.’
Marco took his time, and starting with Sergio Rossi being the first guardian of the briefcase and its contents, he told Anna the whole story of how he had ended up as Sergio’s successor to the letters. He told Anna that Sergio had hidden the briefcase in Tuscany where it had remained undiscovered for all these years. He told her of the circumstances of how the mantle was handed over to his father, and how he had no choice but to accept. He brought her right up to date, including his last conversation with his father before he left for Italy.
The only part he was sketchy on was where the briefcase was actually hidden. He wanted to be sure of the Italian Government’s intentions before telling them. He was aware that even in the Italian government there was the possibility of enemies.
When he had finished, he looked across at Anna, who was sitting all this time still in her chair with an astonished look on her face. When she had sufficiently recovered her composure, she managed to say, ‘So it’s true then, there are letters.’ Marco nodded in agreement, ‘It’s not just a story that’s been re-told many times over the last forty years, but is a fact and I know where they are.’ Anna said, ’When I was a young police officer I had heard of Sergio Rossi and how he could possibly be involved with the disappearance of the Duce’s letters. I know the police had interviewed him in the early days after the war, and that he had always denied any knowledge of the letters.’
Marco explained, ‘Sergio Rossi did not want the letters to fall into the wrong hands and cause division in Italy. He was adamant that neither the parties of the left nor the right should get them, only the government of the day, with certain assurances.’
She tried very hard to remain calm, ‘Where are they now, and can you show me them?’ Marco smiled at her impatience,’ At this stage of our negotiations I won’t say where they are, but when I am convinced what the Italian government are going to do with them, I will hand them over.’
‘Do you want money? Marco felt his face redden with anger. ‘I don’t want anything from you or your paymasters, I only want assurances on what the Italian government’s intentions would be concerning them.’ He said in a frosty manner.
Anna felt sorry she had mentioned money. ‘I’m sorry Marco; forgive me, I was wrong to say that.’ Marco relaxed a little and gave her a smile. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly, let’s start again,’ he said. ‘How do we move this forward? an embarrassed Anna asked ‘Marco thought for a moment before saying,’ I would like you to talk to your superiors and assure them that this is not a red herring, that I am serious about the briefcase, and ask them to give me an official letter outlining what they intend to do with the letters.’ Anna frowned, ‘what is a red herring? Marco laughed aloud, ‘a red herring is an English way of saying that the letters are real and not a lie.’
What assurances would you require?’ Anna asked.
‘I would need to know that the letters would not disappear again, and that the Italian state would allow access to bona fide scholars. I would also ask them to display some of them in museums for the Italian people to view. Apart from these assurances, I have no further requests.’
Anna was impressed with Marco, she saw him as a confident and handsome man, a powerful combination in her eyes. She felt attracted to him. ‘Marco, there is something you need to know. In Italy, every region has Carabinieri officers seconded to the Italian State Intelligence Service. This gives the SISI access to police resources and also gives the Carabinieri access to intelligence information on an ongoing basis. We find it helps us unite in fighting organised crime, terrorism, and the Red Brigades, in Italy. My role is as a Carabinieri officer seconded to the SISI. What I have to do now is go to my office in Lucca and contact SISI on a secure link and get instructions from them. I can meet you later on tonight and tell you what will happen next. Is that okay?’
Marco nodded agreement;’ perhaps tonight we can have dinner together and discuss your proposals later in my room.’
Anna hoped that she did not appear too eager when she accepted the invitation.
On her way back to the Police Station, she pondered on her last meeting. She wondered why Angelo Corti hadn’t come to Italy to oversee the retrieval of the documents himself. Perhaps he was not in good health, or was too old for this kind of activity. She came to the conclusion that perhaps Signor Corti thought the venture could just be a little too dangerous, or demanding for his time of life.
Her mind wandered to Marco Corti. She had to admit that she was quite impressed by his demeanour, and was looking forward to working with him. She thought, it has nothing to do with his tall dark handsome appearance, or his charming personality, it was purely business. She smiled to herself as she walked along.
Anna opened the door to the Lucca Police station and waved to the duty officer on the front desk. She knew that his eyes would be following her as she walked down the long corridor to the Commandante’s office. The officer had made no secret of his attraction to Anna, and he appeared to enjoy looking at her whenever he could, especially from behind.
She barely noticed the secretary sitting at her desk beside the Commandante’s door. She knocked and waited until she heard a gruff voice telling her to enter. Behind a cigarette -ash-strewn desk piled high with papers and coffee cartons her boss sat puffing away on the cigarette that seemed to hang eternally from his lips.
He was a small rotund man with thick grey hair who always seemed to be bulging out of a shirt with large sweat stains around the armpits. His teeth were yellowed with tobacco stains, as was the Mexican style moustache that grew untidily over his upper lip. His appearance was deceptive, as was his gruff manner. Enzo was one of the kindest, warmest men that Anna had ever known.
‘What do you want Anna?’ he growled over his desk. Anna always felt motherly towards Enzo Capaldi. He was a senior officer in the force when Anna had first joined and he had taken her under his wing. That was 12 years ago and she had retained a soft spot for him ever since. Enzo was due to retire next year, and the authorities had promoted him to Commandante of Station to sit behind a desk and see out his remaining time.
His was a well-known face in Lucca. He was born within the old city walls and had spent his whole working life in service to the community. As a young man, he had joined the Carabinieri and during the war had not let the politics of right or left interfere with his duty as a p
olice officer in upholding the law. Due to this, he was viewed by the community at large as a fair and just man and had made many friends over the years.
Enzo had been happily married for forty years and had five children to prove it. His ruby wedding was in August and he dreaded to think of what the celebration was going to cost him.
‘I’ve just come back from interviewing Marco Corti, the man who requested a meeting with SISI. I think we may have something here of interest.’ Anna said, as she sat down in a chair facing his untidy desk.
Enzo took a long draw on his cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray. He reached for another one and let it dangle unlit from his lips. ‘What do you think you have?’
Anna paused for effect. ‘Mussolini’s letters between him and Churchill.’
Enzo’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘Do you think he’s for real?’
‘Yes I do’ she said without any hesitation, ‘his father was a member of Mussolini’s bodyguard during the war and was a close friend of Sergio Rossi.’ Enzo knew who Sergio Rossi was. After the war there was a lot of speculation as to the whereabouts of the letters and the name of Sergio Rossi was frequently mentioned in connection with them. Enzo also knew that Sergio had consistently denied knowing anything about any letters.
He lit his cigarette with an old American Zippo lighter he had picked up years ago from a GI stationed in Lucca. ‘What does he want from us? ‘he growled.
‘Nothing much,’ Anna said, ‘Just some assurances they won’t disappear again and that scholars and museums would have access to them.’
‘Is he on the level Anna, or is he publicity seeking? Anna thought for a moment, ‘I believe him Enzo, and I think we should pass this onto SISI for authorisation. If they agree, we could wind this up quite quickly. I think a couple of plain clothes officers would be enough to provide back up as there appears to be no one else aware why Signor Corti is here.’
Legacy of Sorrows Page 19
